tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38343476278327250082023-11-16T11:05:32.681-08:006 Way IntersectionAn intersection of the thoughts of six siblings through writing and art6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-46244638440451477382010-11-07T18:00:00.000-08:002010-11-07T18:08:15.962-08:00Irish Inspiration<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I was trying to think of what I should create for a history assignment about a church in Ireland. I knew I wanted to paint, but I couldn't see the painting in my mind. It was getting late and I was tired of trying to think about it, so I just went to bed. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I had a dream that I walked into an art gallery and saw a painting that I thought looked right for my assignment. Then girl 2 shook me awake. I could still see the painting in my mind. This is what came out of my paintbrush...</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">girl 3</span></i></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5DTOu6PyKY-qSVlHctoKbwTnmKL7yBu_H4dW9wo-IpyZBId1NffHyTgRxfApMbPeohOcfg3c70kRUgUvQ32fxKONqaLnhOq1WUBMP2yc4MblM9eUCTvI3oCCkPL54_R48zEZr8Tvv8t8/s1600/Irish+Church.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5DTOu6PyKY-qSVlHctoKbwTnmKL7yBu_H4dW9wo-IpyZBId1NffHyTgRxfApMbPeohOcfg3c70kRUgUvQ32fxKONqaLnhOq1WUBMP2yc4MblM9eUCTvI3oCCkPL54_R48zEZr8Tvv8t8/s400/Irish+Church.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536993152480629026" /></a>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-50381853802237387822010-09-22T16:39:00.000-07:002010-09-22T16:40:55.087-07:00Thinking Deep on a Drive<div class="post-header"> </div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">The other day while I was driving and I started thinking about the people in life I respect the most.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Why do I admire <i>them</i> so much? What was it about them I appreciated so much that made them stand out from all the rest of the people I know?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Then I began thinking of who in life has had the greatest influence on me. People that I have wanted to emulate, be like, copy--even become. Why did I want to become <i>them</i>? Had I?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Humility. Of the traits I found myself both admiring and desiring to imitate in my own life, what stood out to me was that many of the people I loved so much are humble. What does that even mean? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">"God created the world out of nothing, and as long as we are nothing, He can make something out of us." -Martin Luther</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Luke 22:26 says "The greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">This verse might as well have never left the original language it was written in. It has for the last twenty-two years of my life had absolutely no bearing on my life whatsoever. I'm sure every time I've ever read or heard that verse spoken it has had little or no weight on my heart. Now I look at it and wonder, how do you live like that?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">How can I, a naturally selfish person who out of impulse looks for the shortest line, changes lanes frequently and ends prayers quickly because I'm hungry even BEGIN to understand what this means?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Luke 5:8 Peter cries out "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man" which is how I've lived my entire life.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It is the fullness of the Spirit that makes me take in Christ and live as if He is in my life. Not anything I do.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Andrew Murray writes, "...the reality is that external teaching and personal effort are powerless to conquer pride or create the meek and lowly heart in a person."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Jesus came as a man not to be served, but to serve. That is key. The connection I am beginning to realize is that it is not through my own empowerment I am redeemed, but through riding the wake of Christ that I begin to realize what humility truly means.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I have been given a tremendous gift of grace, a learning curve in life that allows me to pursue relentlessly becoming exactly it is that Jesus has for me to be. Unlike drag racing, I do not have a straight line I need to adhere to, but instead the freedom of the law to live in. I can chase after becoming a godly man and discovering what it is God has for me without worry that I'm going to mess things up or fall short. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It isn't about the end goal, it's about the journey. It's about following Him moment by moment. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">James 4:6 says "God opposes the proud." This directly affects and deals with me, as I am by nature of my humanity, prideful. But this is not a stand alone statement. "God opposes the proud <i>but gives grace to the humble.</i>" And it is there I must live. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I suck at the daily tasks of submission. Serving, praying, thinking about holy things, these things don't come naturally to me. But God delights in me, His child, somehow anyway. I am promised this, told this, shown this, and time and time again reminded that it isn't about me. It isn't about me. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It isn't about me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It's to the glory of God.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Donald English says in his book <i>The Message of Mark</i>, "At the source of all Christian service in the world is the crucified and risen Lord who died to liberate us into such service." Our service then, my service, is not what brings about humility. It is the act following the submission of my heart to His, recognizing that I am not deserving of any pride. None.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I cannot serve my way out of this prideful hole my life so often exists in. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Instead, I need to recognize my position as recipient to a huge kingdom, my place being to serve that kingdom and in as many ways as possible, effectively communicate the love and sacrifice that Jesus is to our hurting world.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">What I have admired most in the people I respect are their humility, how effectively they communicate, how often they choose to serve, and their love they have for others.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">These things come from a perfect Savior who promises the same to me. I can become what I see and long for.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It starts with the decision to realize with humility that I have been given much; many opportunities to serve, many chances to love, and more than both combined to live the way Jesus has asked me to.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Originally posted by guy1 at <a href="http://tastedangerouslyrandom.blogspot.com/">tastedangerouslyrandom</a></span><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-39595004756169704082010-08-26T16:02:00.000-07:002010-08-26T16:30:43.700-07:00Tableux from Ephesians<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcznlLlEb0tMy_VpkPxywJcR3Ds_rQs3L-IdH3Y33kwmPd4GmiJGtPK1LVr28A8Fnwj8WAHnW6_1C4i1tO7vGHQONsNgRtPF_0YMwTYMwoDNAP7xUqdk-31Kp9u0E7Ys3F9xRzunr68N0/s1600/sunset.jpg"><br /></a><br />Jesus Christ, standing in the corner of a thistly, barren field, arms outstretched, holding uplifted a single living structure, his church. <span style="font-size:78%;"> (Ephesians 2:19-22)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br />Angel rulers focusing, peering into this living church, amazed to see the many-faceted wisdom of God on exhibit. <span style="font-size:78%;">(Ephesians 3:10)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br />Dead men wandering about the field, following a prince of the air. Chasing after each want of their flesh, each self-centered desire, each sick curiosity. <span style="font-size:78%;">(Ephesians 2:1-3)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br />The Father, rich in mercy, reaches in and lifts a man out of death and into life in his church with Christ. And another. And another... <span style="font-size:78%;">(Ephesians 2:4-10)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br />Christ loves, washing his church with the water of his word, cherishing her by smoothing every wrinkle of her garments. <span style="font-size:78%;">(Ephesians 5:25-27)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></div><br />Now, fully loved by Christ, we choose to walk as though we are indeed fully loved.<br /><br />Hidden sexual immorality, impurity, consuming thoughts of what does not belong to us, crude talk and thoughts... once part of our every day life, now we expose. We now bring these into the light to melt. We choose to walk as ones fulfilled by light, not darkness. We choose to walk as ones cherished. <span style="font-size:78%;">(Ephesians 5:1-15)</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcznlLlEb0tMy_VpkPxywJcR3Ds_rQs3L-IdH3Y33kwmPd4GmiJGtPK1LVr28A8Fnwj8WAHnW6_1C4i1tO7vGHQONsNgRtPF_0YMwTYMwoDNAP7xUqdk-31Kp9u0E7Ys3F9xRzunr68N0/s1600/sunset.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcznlLlEb0tMy_VpkPxywJcR3Ds_rQs3L-IdH3Y33kwmPd4GmiJGtPK1LVr28A8Fnwj8WAHnW6_1C4i1tO7vGHQONsNgRtPF_0YMwTYMwoDNAP7xUqdk-31Kp9u0E7Ys3F9xRzunr68N0/s400/sunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509864288971293618" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 78%;">photo </span><span style="font-size: 78%;">© RPE 2010</span></div>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-71191466918486725412010-08-05T10:35:00.000-07:002010-08-05T10:36:47.452-07:00In Love? Wear a Tribal Symbol<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why do they do it?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Good question.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Every person above the age of 37 has wondered that completely original thought since facial jewelry started to come with an "imbedded" option.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Ears, nose, cheeks, ears, lips, chin, tongue, eyebrows, ears...it can all become a strange and wonderfully magnificent meeting place for all types of metallic and plastic infection inducing works of human art. (The word “ears” is used three times because there are three times as many places in your ears to pierce than the whole rest of your face combined.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I often wondered why on earth people of a non-ethnic minority chose to wear bones in their nose and ears. You know, the curved ones that are pointed on either end...sometimes big, sometimes bigger.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Then it came to me. They were simply hopeless romantics.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yes, the kids walking around jingling like Christmastime in enough metal material to subdue a small country were chivalrous, idyllic, imaginary dreamers. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> The cartilage-like matter dangling from their faces and ears meant they were in love.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Sweetheart, I will love you with every bone in my body.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thats what they told their girlfriends. Every one of them, scared that they wouldn't be able to give enough love, added just a few more bones to their bodies.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Notice, no one actually asks these kids why they have chosen these piercings, for fear the individual will take out their iPod headphones and have an intelligent conversation with them, shattering their stereotype of the subculture.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've had my lip pierced... in the same spot. Three times.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Why did you do that?” you ask. Well, its like this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don't really know.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'll list responses in order that I think them up.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1. There was something comforting in the knowledge that I was never to be bored again, having endless entertainment there at my lips. It was like a friend just waiting to be played with.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2. After getting it, I had to change the way that I spoke to allow for the irregularity on the left side of my mouth, and after taking it out each time, it threw me off completely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3. “Dance, Dance,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We're falling apart to half time</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dance, Dance</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And these are the lives you'd love to lead</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dance, this is the way they'd love...”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4.The ability to psyche people out when I had it by conversing intelligently with them made my day every time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But that is the perspective of a guy with one big logical fallacy for a brain.</span></span>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-30862155974374818812010-07-29T09:37:00.000-07:002010-07-29T10:47:31.906-07:00When He SpeaksThere are many questions that the Bible does not answer. It doesn't disclose what God thought about Abram sending his servant to choose a wife for his son. It doesn't say whether the animals hibernated or raised a ruckus on the ark (or whether they had babies). It doesn't foretell the year that Jesus will sweep the church off her feet.<br /><br />When my ESV Study Bible reminded me to search for what the Bible <span style="font-style: italic;">does say</span>, instead of what it doesn't, I was slightly surprised, then relieved. With this refreshing view, Genesis 1 fit hand in hand with John 1.<br /><br />Question: How does God create new life?<br />Answer: Genesis 1<br />He speaks. He says out loud, "Fruit trees," and there are figs, peaches, and starfruit <span style="font-size:85%;">(Gen. 1:11)</span>. He speaks, "Swarms of Living Creatures in the Sea," and there are orcas, swordfish, and electric eels (<span style="font-size:85%;">Gen. 1:20-21</span>). <span style="font-size:85%;"><br />(For a pictureful, well-told story, try the "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jesus-Storybook-Bible-Every-Whispers/dp/0310708257">Jesus Storybook Bible</a>".)</span><br /><br />Q: How does God create new life?<br />Answer: John 1<br />He speaks. He gives his Word (<span style="font-size:85%;">John 1:1-5, 9-11</span>). His Word, his action, his reaching out and speaking to man, is his Son (<span style="font-size:85%;">Heb. 1:1-2</span>). And in people who receive his Word, his Son, he creates new life (<span style="font-size:85%;">John1:12</span>-<span style="font-size:85%;">13</span>).<br /><br />To Him who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (<span style="font-size:85%;">Heb 13:8</span>).<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qqMpDJLZxWvq0QVq3J9ftoQaxfdjpMWQIuXw3QNmLZBwsYfBWzREZxvv_lk7vIE4W2l4zX11jtqL_sKZGn3wrM8iU-O1Qhh5fqBdiea7twWL2Hj92xwm_iyBF8vsPJDd7KqzxUsEnrHJ/s1600/he+says+treee+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qqMpDJLZxWvq0QVq3J9ftoQaxfdjpMWQIuXw3QNmLZBwsYfBWzREZxvv_lk7vIE4W2l4zX11jtqL_sKZGn3wrM8iU-O1Qhh5fqBdiea7twWL2Hj92xwm_iyBF8vsPJDd7KqzxUsEnrHJ/s400/he+says+treee+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499384997482362002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />photo </span><span style="font-size:78%;">© RPE 2009</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBw5nYUFiLudXcZkvomoptk16hxdvYGoy5NpQdP03lmMj1Qq5Xg2u1tn-QlrM7jLY_pSe8zv6Y1EpfEI5ltj88RRqPBicFp-v3F_ln6uhUDN3GCx0XQ_vQkcRO0MWLQ16Kz4pB77xUDsk/s1600/he+says+tree.jpg"><br /></a>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-28508281219393401812010-06-25T15:11:00.001-07:002010-06-25T15:13:35.663-07:00Montana<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEZaOTDfnsRYcNB_4TlIn2S6w6hJUdL1YWK2fO5ivDYfYDpFWP1jf5WhL_fgnJOeiBy2Q4oIcHd8Xu1IIgydJGVBEr2R1sFVx94ror3rVvQtlwSVFDIJUcFNXmvZiMqVzz0UoKb4IAsja/s1600/img039.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 347px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEZaOTDfnsRYcNB_4TlIn2S6w6hJUdL1YWK2fO5ivDYfYDpFWP1jf5WhL_fgnJOeiBy2Q4oIcHd8Xu1IIgydJGVBEr2R1sFVx94ror3rVvQtlwSVFDIJUcFNXmvZiMqVzz0UoKb4IAsja/s400/img039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486837756520638882" border="0" /></a><br />Montana<br />by Girl 36wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-64857584401602379502010-05-29T14:40:00.000-07:002010-05-29T14:42:35.213-07:00Over PBJ and CarrotsHow Joshua (2) prayed over PBJ and carrots this noon,<br /><br />"Dear God, Thank you for God. Thank you. Amen."<br /><br />May I pray this way sometimes too.6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-80449300733225816922010-04-28T11:00:00.000-07:002010-04-28T11:20:29.353-07:00LunchI've just walked past nine booths lined up on either side of me displaying the pictures of hungry, dirty children with the most beautiful eyes and smiles you could ever hope to see. In our marketing culture of small payment plans, redit lines, sex appeal and sales that draw us in, at the heart of it all is our culture. We are a culture that spends. We buy comfort, love, health, laughs, counseling sessions and new movies.<br /><br />Hand-in-hand with every taste or preference you have is an opportunity to serve or an outreach to join with. If you want to build a well, adopt a child, buy incredible photographs to support a given cause or travel the world in service, the opportunities are there. On this planet with networking now so extensive I can identify with someone four states away who just posted an update about doing their taxes at the last second possible just like I did, there is literally a limitless, infinite number of available chances to serve or give.<br /><br />We pull up in our Buick Rendezevous careful to park with an even space nest to both sides of the vehicle, get out and lock it with the push of a button, then go inside the Youth Ministry Conference to get our badge for the week. We walk by the ministry tables and smile courteously, making a mental note to avoid that section of the conferencing area from now on. I glanced then walked by to lunch, and so, so many people reacted that way.<br /><br />Jesus said "there will always be the poor." This may or may not surprise you, but He was speaking the truth. I contend, however, that He was not providing an escape route. We are not called to serve everyone in the world tirelessly and care about every single outreach, He was also clear about that. We are given specific gifts, passions, intuitions and abilities. But what Jesus did say, and what I saw a startling lack of, is compassion.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Caring" and "getting involved" are not synonymous with compassion</span>. Compassion is sincere, scriptural, and an aspect of our faith that is both unique and powerful. What does it look like to be compassionate, to have compassion for those who hunger for and need it more than a well, medical help or an education? Every single answer to life as we need is found in the bible, and we have it as an open book to refer to as often as we like, no holds barred. That should be where we learn to sift through hundreds of organizations, thousands of people passionate about them, and the millions of needs that are represented. What is it that God is calling me to, how can I encourage these people and what they do? How can I use the gifts I've been given for His glory and learn how to become more compassionate and full of grace?<br /><br />I saw many people give the booths they walked by the same look I imagine they give homeless people asking for a dollar, and it was so apparent the difference between what a hardened heart looks like and what compassion comes across as. A hardened heart shuts out each booth and makes the person feel a slight twinge of guilt as they walk by and later push a button to unlock their 2009 SUV. A compassionate heart sees the unity in Jesus through grace and is open and honest as they interact with the individuals who are so drawn to those needs, joining them in prayer and through fellowship with the Holy Spirit whether or not they adopt a child for $38.00 a month.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />originally posted by Guy 1 on <a href="http://tastedangerouslyrandom.blogspot.com/">Taste Dangerously Random</a></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBR6KU9lQLeieqvyB4k6hvbLR5NdGwJMzrxhYibLIoWefAEa2Sp5v6ei5uODr9oTuhZjU7vkLsUprOi_7i1bAuLardTtStcytTcBKhZIFTxVP13W_dDOZ53BU4Q7m53uv2wxNcMnp5RFA4/s1600/ugandan+kids.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBR6KU9lQLeieqvyB4k6hvbLR5NdGwJMzrxhYibLIoWefAEa2Sp5v6ei5uODr9oTuhZjU7vkLsUprOi_7i1bAuLardTtStcytTcBKhZIFTxVP13W_dDOZ53BU4Q7m53uv2wxNcMnp5RFA4/s400/ugandan+kids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465253685850447394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2nnK5CYcBHq5GSRNJKsCcx-bOAPmqdc1izOii3rOthhoveQWKuzw_sVKIOSBtRNXcAorkz7duTxPmxjfryJ8JnG5z48GeDMeZN9T5Pp2KTQNdPbvFC3oCsDnNZ6_DBxru77zf9Ih7F6q/s1600/ugandan+girl.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga2nnK5CYcBHq5GSRNJKsCcx-bOAPmqdc1izOii3rOthhoveQWKuzw_sVKIOSBtRNXcAorkz7duTxPmxjfryJ8JnG5z48GeDMeZN9T5Pp2KTQNdPbvFC3oCsDnNZ6_DBxru77zf9Ih7F6q/s400/ugandan+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465253989311367522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpJfAspw7QkN96AYRzdymeg77Jut3UhJuX0QLRuTnvF28UEh3BdzLoJmzXxkBjVC2DraWvMkJfbj75Y7pxqiy1KlyxyRULmhLrua1XU6n2AOQz7NoYq2E288V3F5BYtPbBRtMdUfh1KZX/s1600/matoke.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpJfAspw7QkN96AYRzdymeg77Jut3UhJuX0QLRuTnvF28UEh3BdzLoJmzXxkBjVC2DraWvMkJfbj75Y7pxqiy1KlyxyRULmhLrua1XU6n2AOQz7NoYq2E288V3F5BYtPbBRtMdUfh1KZX/s400/matoke.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465254234588168418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAA3oIKiSdyV5oLu807GdjmTkGrZ77xyTfSHQD_EzJrVzmypHWF-E6gUrLF-zNPsHqNKVaI_RF6MNaVZBwvpAHqYYI4kjGvDJdmOWXNU51KCeG6FKrjVyI6pAOaZiJaB05pEJiezIgQMW/s1600/ugandan+kids+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAA3oIKiSdyV5oLu807GdjmTkGrZ77xyTfSHQD_EzJrVzmypHWF-E6gUrLF-zNPsHqNKVaI_RF6MNaVZBwvpAHqYYI4kjGvDJdmOWXNU51KCeG6FKrjVyI6pAOaZiJaB05pEJiezIgQMW/s400/ugandan+kids+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465254411358660466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13WRlm2tPUH97lwGNUXWGxTXr8g4ewIhC5zdRX4uP9XQkh4IINMdk87s3AgQL6IofWPQSGfUMV-YDG8WikA4E23016g4ep8ld763QFxGH5v-PtQSDNNvpMa2khDz1nJzWtsmcsNwxG08v/s1600/ugandan+kids+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13WRlm2tPUH97lwGNUXWGxTXr8g4ewIhC5zdRX4uP9XQkh4IINMdk87s3AgQL6IofWPQSGfUMV-YDG8WikA4E23016g4ep8ld763QFxGH5v-PtQSDNNvpMa2khDz1nJzWtsmcsNwxG08v/s400/ugandan+kids+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465254686982546162" border="0" /></a>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-64314461612725031342010-04-19T11:34:00.000-07:002010-04-19T11:38:55.598-07:00Medicine Cabinet MistakesGrammy Morgan was 85 years old the day she told me "I learn something new ev'ry day".<br /><br />Here's what I learned this week:<br /><br />#1) Don't keep the Desitin next to the toothpaste.<br /><br />#2) When the two year old has a sunburn on his neck, double check to make sure you've grabbed the small bottle of clear aloe, not the small bottle of clear hand sanitizer.6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-41317636382960352172010-03-12T16:17:00.000-08:002010-03-12T17:32:30.606-08:00Boring? No. Insightful? Yes.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifu2Zgi_FWEv2qWKBd5LHA1TCfcovQDgaZokgaUWRnxAKPm0kLmr7eFlVuhrBriqFl2-gXR3TZ_3z8FrHc0198QX5prgmjny3U-IXeKImyof1d-1HFT3gu60QCEMazjru27H3eY81jOaeW/s1600-h/Henri_Nouwen_In_the_Name_of_Jesus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 203px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifu2Zgi_FWEv2qWKBd5LHA1TCfcovQDgaZokgaUWRnxAKPm0kLmr7eFlVuhrBriqFl2-gXR3TZ_3z8FrHc0198QX5prgmjny3U-IXeKImyof1d-1HFT3gu60QCEMazjru27H3eY81jOaeW/s320/Henri_Nouwen_In_the_Name_of_Jesus.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447925238975264578" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Book Look</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Name-Jesus-Reflections-Christian-Leadership/dp/0824512596"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership</span></b></span></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><b>I stereotype books about the Christian life as boring,</b> but I loved <i>In the Name of Jesus</i> from the introduction. It is honest, simply worded, and encouraging. Six pages later, the book started scaring me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">Challenge...</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The biggest hurdles I had to overcome while reading the book were the same things that prevent me from showing love: relevance and wealth. One of the main themes of the book is resisting relevance. On the other hand, one of the main themes of popular Christianity is embracing relevance. Nouwen sees relevance as a way to hide behind one's own accomplishments and abilities. Giving that up means being vulnerable and unattractive, but it also defeats prejudices that prevent us from loving. It is very true in my own life that relevance leads to prejudice.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I read </span><a href="http://www.relevantmagazine.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">relevant</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> magazine. I choose friends that listen to my music, dress like me, and talk like me, because that is what I value. Nouwen challenges that the love of God and the needs of people have to be enough. When Nouwen says that "the Christian leader of the future needs to be radically poor, journeying with nothing except a staff (84), it makes me nervous. Case in point: there is a Godly, pleasant, pretty girl of my acquaintance that I have no interest in dating. Why? Because she is madly in love with Kenya and has no desire to stay in America. Of this, my flesh is afraid. Nouwen convinced me of this when he wrote that "the servant-leader is the leader who is being led to unknown, undesirable, and painful places." (81).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>Temptation... </b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">My family jokes in church that the pastor has bugged our house when he chooses the topic that dominated our week. In the same way, Nouwen seems to have a direct line to my brain. The temptations that he described are the same that plague me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He sounds like a psalmist pouring out frustration as he writes, "I have found over and over again how hard it is to be truly faithful to Jesus when I am alone" (85). This truth has especially painful consequences in my life because I am an introvert: People drain my battery, even happy people. Every time I get alone, though, I have to deal with myself. Therefore I fear quiet times. I fear what I need the most. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>Brokenness...</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Sufjan Stevens sings a song about the serial killer John Wayne Gacy Junior. The last line sung as the music fads is, "In my best behavior, I am really just like him. Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid." It is a truth I should not hide, I am broken. How I fight against my quiet sins is for me to confess them. "Future leaders... must always be persons always willing to confess their own brokenness and ask for forgiveness from those to whom they minister" (64). In context of his own Catholicism, he clarified that confession to one's own priest is not enough. The people I serve need to know who I am.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>Encouragment...</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>In the Name of Jesus</i> gave me a vision for how things could be. Random statements he made reached inside of me and made me joyful. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"We are sinful, broken, vulnerable people who need as much care as anyone we care for" (62).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">This admission of his feels like chains dropping off my ankles.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"Through contemplative prayer we can keep ourselves from being pulled from one urgent issue to another and from becoming strangers to our own heart and God's heart" (43). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Prayer: time spent walking directly toward Jesus</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-29854246111419318462010-03-04T16:29:00.000-08:002010-03-04T17:57:40.226-08:00Shocking, Indeed<span style="font-family:courier new;">Dear James,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I picked up your letter, sir, because I remembered you having mentioned something about holding one's tongue and a brief introductory bit of encouragement to get through trials. This morning, however, your first three paragraphs gave me quite a shock.<br /><br />Must you say "trials of various kinds" <span style="font-size:85%;">(James 1:2-4)</span>? I can imagine stealthily paddling a river boat through a closed country in Southeast Asia, smuggling a Bibles that have covers made to resemble some nationalist propaganda, getting bitten by a mosquito, and counting that itchy spot joy for the sake of the gospel. It's quite another story when you insist I consider my husband's lack of full-time work hours, my uncle's pancreatitis, and the daily bout with dishes and laundry... joy. When I am expecting, I routinely lose my breakfast, lunch, and supper and most of the water I drink for four months, then lose just my breakfast for another four. (I don't expect you to understand this, obviously never having been in that condition yourself). I assure you, it is most uncomfortable. Am I to consider this joy as well? You say that this testing of my faith brings steadfastness (<span style="font-size:85%;">James 1:3-4</span>). I am accustomed to spending more time thinking about the trials themselves and less time thinking of what those trials could produce in my faith.<br /><br />You recommend asking God for wisdom, if I lack it <span style="font-size:85%;">(James 1:5-8)</span>. Alright, I concede. I do lack it. However, in the past, I have found it most expedient to first ask my friends at sewing group and my husband. Their answers are prompt, and require less searching the Word and waiting than His. This will require quite a change of habit.<br /><br />Your third paragraph was a bit easier to digest, "Let the lowly brother boast in his exaltation, and the rich..." (<span style="font-size:85%;">James 1:9-11</span>). Of courseI read this from the perspective of a "lowly brother", or at least, a "middle-class brother". We live in two bedroom, 1,000 square foot home, certainly not in the best neighborhood. I only occasionally shop for clothes, and then only at second-hand stores. I am not at all discontent with being...<br />Oh! Please excuse me. I've just looked up some statistics that rather change my view. Apparently, in our current situation, my family is more wealthy than most of the families in Estonia, Czech Republic, Poland, Lithuania, India, Japan, Denmark, Mozambique, South Africa, and approximately 200 other countries. From this, I assume you would consider me one of the rich (<span style="font-size:85%;">James 1:11</span>)? As I read on, I will try to read with this understanding, then.<br /><br />Your letter is well worth reading, in spite of your affront to my pride. However, I think three paragraphs at a time is enough to set me reeling.<br /><br />Sincerely Yours <br /> </span>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-36106248101580521402010-02-19T15:00:00.001-08:002010-02-23T10:15:29.301-08:00Wonder<div style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">Thoughts well worth reading<br />Written by Aunt Joyce<br /></span></div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">I sat beside her just a week ago at our last meeting of Solemn Assembly.<span> </span>I turned to her and said:<span> </span>I love you, Nancy.<span> </span>She looked at me and said:<span> </span>I love you, too, <span class="il">Joyce</span>.<span> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">A few days later she was in the Father’s House. ‘Eye has not seen nor ear heard, neither has entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him….’</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Unaccustomed to the dazzling light of Glory, so lately come was she</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">From earth’s dark labyrinths of shadows,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">With eyes of wonder, she beholds the beauties</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Of celestial majesty spread out before her;</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">With heart so full of indescribable delight</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">She hears the sounds of harmony she’s never heard before!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">But wait – What now does her eye behold?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">The Wonder has centered in the light-filled eyes of <span>One</span> she knows and loves</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Yet Who up to now <span>she</span> has not seen - except with the eye of Faith!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">With awe and worship she gazes upon His Holy Beauty, </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Such love overwhelms her <span>soul,</span> she listens to a Voice as of many waters, saying:</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Welcome Home!<span> </span>You have come, He said, in answer to <span>My</span> call.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">For your delight and joy <span>i</span>n</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"> every way, these things have been prepared<span> </span>– </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Things your earthbound mind could not imagine but which now you see and hear.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Look and listen and glory in their beauty for they are yours because - you love <span>Me</span>.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">But wait, that’s not all, He said, <span>My</span> brightest jewels are coming through the gate!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Come with me and see the precious eager crowd <span>of<span> </span>My</span> children there.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">They have just arrived from </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;">Haiti</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"> and I wanted you </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To stand with <span>Me</span> and welcome them Home! </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">They’ve come through trauma and loss of all around them </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To the Heavenly Home of warmth and joy and fulfillment at last;</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Where hunger and sorrow, earthquakes and tsunamis, cannot touch them ever again.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">And so she stands, with arms outstretched beside her <span>Saviour</span>;</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">In awe she contemplates the Salvation He has completed <span>for His own</span>.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">She gathers to her heart these little ones once lost and far from God.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">For He has called them, too, from living in the <span>Shadowland</span> outside the Gate</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Into the Reality of <span>His <span> </span>presence</span> – into the <span>Fulness</span> of Life in His Father’s House.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Together they raise their voices in Praise to Him!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">With such multitudes streaming through my Gate just now, He said, I wanted you</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To join my welcome Team – to stand with me to greet my other sheep whom I love,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To hug the little ones, to reach out a healing hand to my wounded ones –</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To watch with me as they become strong and whole in My Presence.</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Yes, she said, there is no greater joy than to be a ‘ministering angel’ </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">In the courts of my Lord!<span> </span>My heart responds to His voice –</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">This is what I’ve been practicing for lo, those many years on earth!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">To serve Him in His heavenly Kingdom is my highest calling.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">I fall in worship and praise at the feet of my Lord.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US">Amen!<span> </span>Blessed in the eyes of the Lord is the death (Homecoming) of His saints!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >written by </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" class="il" >Joyce</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > Wiebe ~ at </span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" lang="EN-US">2 a.m.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" lang="EN-US">, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" lang="EN-US">Friday, January 15, 2010</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > ~ for Nancy who has gone from the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Shadowlands into the shining Presence of His Glory</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiwjkciz_Jc4QM6xOpiCeMXZedd0AMJHLz8taWXJn9KxHOPWN2d88LBn40_mHrSZWdLwVCpOCoEQdS0D5ioAGyR9zfxDXO0RzKb5wgAuG4koxeY3BiBb7fto0u0a7kxE28l1nQA5WAanD/s1600-h/bridge.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiwjkciz_Jc4QM6xOpiCeMXZedd0AMJHLz8taWXJn9KxHOPWN2d88LBn40_mHrSZWdLwVCpOCoEQdS0D5ioAGyR9zfxDXO0RzKb5wgAuG4koxeY3BiBb7fto0u0a7kxE28l1nQA5WAanD/s400/bridge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441504117511269858" border="0" /></a></p> </div>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-45655176572423838592010-02-09T17:27:00.000-08:002010-02-09T17:33:44.065-08:00Chamber Music in a Barn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3XovBwuw2C9zCy1Tc4BzO07cbnCl3YFwYkqZZM2EXyw7QvlqZuwkNFGshFFUhgazkelro3Zi7XOqZSnvkRjG_bM9sDfuVZtPZVwUdncs9-_MVAXMOExRim8KDi656xqA7vSgEQ_hkhDA/s1600-h/flute.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3XovBwuw2C9zCy1Tc4BzO07cbnCl3YFwYkqZZM2EXyw7QvlqZuwkNFGshFFUhgazkelro3Zi7XOqZSnvkRjG_bM9sDfuVZtPZVwUdncs9-_MVAXMOExRim8KDi656xqA7vSgEQ_hkhDA/s400/flute.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436421195147990914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR66NKu3fUZw4q8jKt3iGpcYsuYIftB84iNtYgCwcfVtufuxbVcdCjXSWXu48_70MSDtRQGDg1-sChmJ54qnr1sa_VF2S8gRmRO0vCVq-fvJxeLr-nzhUX0xskdSaPkzSobdovTnv99LVq/s1600-h/barn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR66NKu3fUZw4q8jKt3iGpcYsuYIftB84iNtYgCwcfVtufuxbVcdCjXSWXu48_70MSDtRQGDg1-sChmJ54qnr1sa_VF2S8gRmRO0vCVq-fvJxeLr-nzhUX0xskdSaPkzSobdovTnv99LVq/s400/barn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436420976836781330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFuql7X4K1BFn425txIrX7UWftTSVZb1fyptNwEOeLjEBA41s8pzAOj23t6Eh0Dc2Jkh6oQ7HSBlC71167Hd2T8nMH2yVggaaaLQd7RGPTBikThN_8EpQw9-pdJPdQKr4vYw8YQ_jOJSH/s1600-h/goat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFuql7X4K1BFn425txIrX7UWftTSVZb1fyptNwEOeLjEBA41s8pzAOj23t6Eh0Dc2Jkh6oQ7HSBlC71167Hd2T8nMH2yVggaaaLQd7RGPTBikThN_8EpQw9-pdJPdQKr4vYw8YQ_jOJSH/s400/goat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436420884482816674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrwE8H1OFMEBNW5zQrYDjwEW5libboXohNmpzCT-WrXfjUsAQ_Q43CbQbGDsJOkW-o3QmJyQ-H9kIi4DWohZnJgxHtQjzrYN94ZpVTWHbdAEGtLSAz7ii7oY2iMGQhpFEOzBxTeVocmMH/s1600-h/owl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrwE8H1OFMEBNW5zQrYDjwEW5libboXohNmpzCT-WrXfjUsAQ_Q43CbQbGDsJOkW-o3QmJyQ-H9kIi4DWohZnJgxHtQjzrYN94ZpVTWHbdAEGtLSAz7ii7oY2iMGQhpFEOzBxTeVocmMH/s400/owl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436420825411556018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">© RPE 2010</span>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-80012708805832665872010-02-03T22:09:00.001-08:002010-02-03T22:09:42.607-08:00Swashbuckling Heroes<p class="MsoNormal">“And the people of Israel did what was evil in the sight of the Lord and served the Baals.<span style=""> </span>And they abandoned the Lord, the God of their Fathers, who had brought them out of the land of Egypt.<span style=""> </span>They went after other gods, from among the gods of the peoples who were around them, and bowed down to them...”<span style=""> </span>Judges 2:11-12<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So the Lord gave the Israelites over to plunderers, who did what plunderers do best… plunder.<span style=""> </span>The Israelites fought back in their own strength.<span style=""> </span>And lost.<span style=""> </span>Several times.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Enough!” they cried, “We want you back, Lord, save us.”<span style=""> </span>The Lord listened.<span style=""> </span>(This phrase shocks me whenever I see it in the living Word).<span style=""> </span>The Lord listened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Lord chose judges to rescue his people.<span style=""> </span>Judges beat back the enemies of the people of Israel… <span style=""> </span>sometimes with a two edged sword, sometimes with an oxgoad, sometimes with jars and torches.<span style=""> </span>If ever you know a twelve year old boy looking for a book of violent adventure, he need look no further.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But as I am older than twelve, and never was a boy, the pattern becomes discouraging.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Whenever the Lord raised up judges for them, the Lord was with the judge, and he saved them from the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge.<span style=""> </span>For the Lord was moved to pity by their groaning because of those who afflicted and oppressed them.<span style=""> </span>But whenever the judge died, they turned back and were more corrupt than their fathers, going after other gods, serving them and bowing down to them.<span style=""> </span>They did not drop any of their practices or their stubborn ways.” Judges 2:16-19</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The judges were swashbuckling heroes.<span style=""> </span>They rescued the people of Israel time and time again from their enemies.<span style=""> </span>But that’s all they could do.<span style=""> </span>The judges couldn’t rescue the people of Israel from their own corrupt hearts.<span style=""> </span>In the end, it seems the judges couldn’t even save their own hearts from corruption.<span style=""> </span>Disobeying God, falling for wives of the bad guys, it’s what judges do. <span style=""> </span>Gideon got my hopes up.<span style=""> </span>Humble, hospitable… but that was in the beginning of his story.<span style=""> </span>In the end Gideon’s son slaughters 68 of his other sons.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The accounts of these judges leave my soul feeling bleak.<span style=""> </span>How can one rescue other when he cannot rescue himself?<span style=""> </span>This question pushes me upwards for a breath above the surface.<span style=""> </span>One does rescue me.<span style=""> </span>“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” 2 Cor. 5:21</p>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-23749957513778854432010-01-21T21:20:00.000-08:002010-01-21T21:32:09.486-08:00Lullaby for the Innocents<span style="font-size:130%;">Lullaby for the Innocents</span><br /><b><span class="Unicode">© 1989 </span></b>Birdwing Music<br /><br />(never to be sung)<br /><br />Hear now a lullaby<br />You'll never hear<br />For your life was something<br />That wasn't held dear<br />You need not a lullaby<br />For you do not weep<br />Nor love's arms to hold you<br />In death you do sleep<br /><br />What your life might have been<br />We'll never know<br />A miracle happened<br />But there's nothing to show<br />We're left with this sorrow<br />But hope all the same<br />That in heaven there's Someone<br />Who knows you by name6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-89805210991063763702010-01-19T15:41:00.000-08:002010-01-19T15:45:10.569-08:00From the Mind of 1884This Christmas my brother and I drove from Washington to Montana. During our trip we sang songs, took turns driving, argued about the effect of autotuning on the music industry and it's downfalls/benefits, drank energy drinks, sang anthems loudly, peered through a snowy windshield, yelled at passing semi-trucks, and actually used the restroom maybe twice for the whole eight hundred miles, a topic of great pride.<br />One of our stops was a ten minute drive back the way we came off an exit to find a rumored bookstore.<br />We found it.<br />Upon arriving at the front door that jingled merrily, we saw floor to ceiling every square foot of the place covered in books. Treasures. Invaluable and intoxicatingly joyful treasures.<br />We dispersed, went our separate directions, and dove headlong into the past. An hour later I emerged with one of my most prized finds. See, since dating this incredible girl who has all but renewed my fire for reading and literature as well as old books, I found a gem among the dime novels, outdated text books, and editions of past National Geographic. It was titled "the Human Body and It's Health" by "Smith." Copyright: 1884. Marked in penciled old lady handwriting was the price "7.95" on the inside cover.<br />She took five dollars.<br />I walked away with my heart light and my hand filled with a tiny little "reader" for elementary students of the past, a surprisingly well versed and detailed overall entailing of the human body.<br />I will share with you a short paragraph titled "Effect of Alcohol and Tobacco."<br /><br />"Section V. --1. By the action of alcohol, muscle is sometimes changed, in part, to fat. It thus becomes flabby and feeble. Alcohol affects the muscles indirectly, by affecting the digestion and the blood, and so spoiling their nourishment. The athlete training for a prize, knows well, that, if he indulges freely in alcoholic drinks, he will surely fail to bring his muscles to a hard and vigorous condition. Total abstinence from alcohol and tobacco is important for his success.<br />2. Firm and active muscles are desirable for every one. The boy who thinks it manly to smoke, is, by doing so, lessening that muscular power which is an admirable and manly possession. The pale faces, dull eyes, and flabby limbs which this practice tends to produce, give no sign of manliness. It is true that men distinguished for strength of body are often users of intoxicating drinks or tobacco. But it is also true that such men frequently become diseased, and die before their time. They have squandered the powers which nature has given them."<br /><br />I found the article surprising and concise...even if the science behind it was only speculated, not proven.<br />Be ye warned, young males: drinking makes for flab.<br />Flab just isn't sexy.<br />Nor is dying of disease.<br /><br />At least we know Harry Truman, John McCormack and Eleanor Roosevelt weren't born from drunks in 1884 with this quality education being taught in New York and Chicago at the time.<br />The world needs more little green elementary reader books and less Ludacris lyrics about "gin and juice."<br />Well, maybe. Or maybe it's that back in the day people were tough.<br />Like...I would so not mess with this group of people. They could all totally outrun my flab, and I rarely, rarely touch the stuff.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhija4GPyvSq8oi__GnP9pUptht99wPGQdcL9fxISOYV-rJtExVB7ISMyl4b6Z7XgHMdGk-FbeN4SvjwpSf4Vr89dFcHVSYmoBNkAZN99Jc6-Nefq8H9uj4_aU-JhDIj0wDpNAMxXvvWvNG/s1600-h/1884.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhija4GPyvSq8oi__GnP9pUptht99wPGQdcL9fxISOYV-rJtExVB7ISMyl4b6Z7XgHMdGk-FbeN4SvjwpSf4Vr89dFcHVSYmoBNkAZN99Jc6-Nefq8H9uj4_aU-JhDIj0wDpNAMxXvvWvNG/s400/1884.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428600879238747858" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Post-note. I can't be certain, but I think the subliminal messaging behind this elementary reader is that if you drink or smoke, these people in the above picture will come back from the past and point their finger at you.<br />Drink and smoke at your own discretion.6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-6528321490589143102009-12-02T15:38:00.000-08:002009-12-02T15:46:35.561-08:00Kangaroos and Buffalo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbgZ7J6MCip7ojHUV8Aw91QGmfAKvuVGyyJZ3kGoxhyphenhyphen6qzD1o9092oBB82YoP4WdOZQ8ObusU8QgDYmU7D7kVGuGy57UmdmQM-n8VdrVisQPIJ3TME1bYiIO745gTDu06Bl1lA1kpsvfT/s1600-h/Volcanic_Activity_at_Kilauea.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbgZ7J6MCip7ojHUV8Aw91QGmfAKvuVGyyJZ3kGoxhyphenhyphen6qzD1o9092oBB82YoP4WdOZQ8ObusU8QgDYmU7D7kVGuGy57UmdmQM-n8VdrVisQPIJ3TME1bYiIO745gTDu06Bl1lA1kpsvfT/s400/Volcanic_Activity_at_Kilauea.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410788888452471810" /></a><br />My imagination has always been, and is to this day, a ravenous beast in a peaceful wood that will never be silenced.<br />Take a left off the highway and go along the main drive through town eventually making several turns. It is here you’ll find the “Barn House.”<br />We lived in a two story house with features that for some reason my older sister and I attributed to a barn. And so it was called the Barn House. I’m twenty-one now, and to this day we will refer to that particular home as the “Barn House.”<br />There were always next door neighbors. It wasn’t until I was in high school and learning to separate myself voluntarily in attitude and behavior from the normal world that I learned the practice of knowing and being friends with one’s neighbors was decidedly unpopular.<br />These neighbors had a son my age, and we did stuff together. All the time. Or not that often. I can never remember.<br />He wore a red shirt sometimes. I think.<br />His mom was a short lady and had curly hair.<br />Their house was blue.<br />And there was definitely a stone wall, about two and a half feet tall that divided our property and theirs.<br /><br />Dad owned a garage door company, and it was in the early years of its becoming…whatever it is that companies become.<br />This meant that since we had little-to-no warehouse space for the doors, we stored them in racks in our garage. Dad had a small office located somewhere else he left for to go to work each day.<br />When I was six, he came home one day and wearing his signature Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, sat me down on our blue, felty-feeling couch with big buttons all over and said “Jimmy, I’ve got some pretty exciting news.”<br />This had to be important. Really important. I know ‘cause Mom was sitting across from me with the camera all ready.<br />My older sister put her pencil down and completely abandoned the homeschool math sheet she was working on. She could add seventeen minutes to three-thirty pm later.<br />Dad wasn’t mad at Jimmy, and her eight year-old mind didn’t already know what Dad was going to say, so she had to listen.<br /><br />“Well Jimmy, one of my customers wanted a garage door. But this was no regular customer, this guy had a very special job. He goes to work every day and takes tourists for helicopter rides up the side of Mauna Kea and takes them right over the volcano.”<br />My Dad probably said more. I’m guessing what followed was he told me about how the customer traded him a helicopter ride for part of the payment for his garage door. I’m sure my Dad told me when we were going, and that it was at least several days away. There is no doubt in my mind that my sister waited until the opportune moment when she and Mom were alone in the kitchen, then she asked her how come Dad was taking me and not her, and she maybe even cried about it.<br />All I know is the seconds flew by and then I was dressed in my favorite Sher-kahn t-shirt from the jungle book that a Vietnamese lady who lived in an apartment building made for me, climbing into the cockpit of a helicopter.<br />Another second or two and I was adjusting my headphones, telling Dad and the pilot that I could hear them both.<br />Then we were moving smoothly over hundreds of acres of grass and cattle. Roads, tiny little cars and pretend-looking buildings passing relentlessly below.<br />To this day I’ll swear I saw kangaroos and buffalo. I can see them in my mind just as I did the day we flew over them on our way to the Volcano. I only wish they existed.<br />Then we were there. I could see the smoke rising angrily, billowing dark and other-worldly from the most deadly and dangerous thing a little boy’s mind could conceive of.<br />Lava was more dangerous than the ocean.<br />People died in lava.<br />We were at the edge of the volcano. I could see it bubbling and spurting orange and red liquid fire out at me. What if it burned a hole in the plane.<br />In a horrified, fascinated panic I gripped the arm at the edge of my seat and leaned back from the window.<br />The pilot was going right over the lava.<br />“Whoa, its getting pretty hot in here, can you feel that Jimmy?” I could feel it. I could smell certain death below. We were going to die. People died in lava. We were right over it and the pilot was steering us so that now we were totally over the lava. What if the helicopter stopped spinning and we dropped into it? Me and Dad were gonna die. And the pilot too.<br />“Wanna go down a little closer to the lava?”<br />“No Dad!”<br />The laughs in my headphones were no competition for the loudness of my imagination.<br />I didn’t want to die. Other people already died in that lava down there, and Dad wanted to go closer!<br />I could feel it all over my skin as I sank into it. It felt just like the jacuzzi I got into at the hotel before one time. Then a security guard came over and told Dad no kids allowed in it, so Bethany and I had to go play in the pool while Dad got to talk with the older tourist people from Canada with funny accents.<br /><br />Somewhere a gasp and another dip in the rotors later, we landed at the airfield in Waimea. It was cold and rainy, fog covered the small private airstrip we drove away from. I was cold and numb from my mind out to my still crawling skin.<br />We had flown over the Volcano.<br /><br />Dad had done what the imagination of a little boy could not have conceived in a million little boy years.<br />My sister graduated first, married first, and had the first grandchild.<br /><br />But I flew over the Volcano.6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-60378390868527322202009-11-15T20:39:00.000-08:002009-11-15T21:06:47.056-08:00Einstein, Ann of Green Gables, and Hurricane Katrina<meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.4 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --></style><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">After looking around at the house, I settled on the couch for a delicious read. I knew this weekend stay with friends would be refreshing. The air was becoming fresher by the moment as the sun stretched its long arms across the valley. It was going to be a gorgeous autumn day; I could feel it.
<br /></p><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">When my neck stopped cramping from viewing the sunrise over the sofa back, I heard the bathroom door slam. A small boy hummed “How Great is Our God”. A few seconds later the toilet flushed and the wordless tune turned to a yodel. Bare feet padded slowly toward the living room making propeller sounds between choruses. I watched as the mighty ship battled the waves and I listened as the captain reassured the first mate that he had complete control over the boat in the awful storm. Mid-sentence, the captain broke out in song, “How gre-e-e-a-a-a-t-t-t is our God… Brrrrrr-vroomvroom-brrrrrrrrrrr-put-put-put-brrrrrrrr-put-jdjdjdjssshhh. Oh no! We’re out of gas, Captain! Quick, turn her around…Sing with me-e-e-e-e, how gre-e-e-a-a-a-t-t-t is our God…”
<br /></p><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">At this point, Gary was with in a few feet of my living room observatory and still did not know I was in the vicinity. So, not wanting to scare him, I quietly said his name. He jerked and looked at the door, puzzled. I repeated his name. This time he found me and ran over with a grin, “Wow. Hi there. I didn’t even know you were here; you’re pretty quiet. Why are you here? How long are you going to be here anyways? Can you sleep in my room? What are you reading? Is that a big-kid book? I can read SOME big-kid books but not the big-kid books that have really long words. Like this long (showing hands a foot apart). I bet I could read that book. Hey! Maybe you could read it to me!” </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Thus, my weekend with a 7 year old, a 5 year old, and a 2 year old began. When I say 7, 5, and 2, don’t think of kids. Think of Einstein and Leonardo De Vinci mashed together, given red fruit punch, and told to stay inside an unsuspecting 7 year old boy. Think of Anne of Green Gables and Lucille Ball enslaved by Cinderella’s stepmother, given one room to share, and told to stay inside a theatrical 5 year old girl. Think of the Three Stooges and hurricane Katrina handcuffed side to side, given boxing gloves, and told to stay inside a brilliant 2 year old bundle of rosy cheeks, spring, and giggles.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">After breakfast on the first day, they taught me how to write Egyptian hieroglyphics and we made secret letters to each other. I gave 5 year old Penny her letter and she asked me to read it to her. It said something along the lines of, “Dear Penny, How are you? I am fine. I like staying at your house. Love, D”. She strutted around the kitchen reading the letter to herself; a letter which was probably no longer from me but from some prince far away who was wholly devoted to her.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Gary and Penny sat resembling gargoyles while I read them “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”. Every nanosecond or so, little Paige would punch the book out of my fingers so I could see her face. Each time she was more thrilled with herself than the last. <meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.4 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> </p><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Finally, I dodged her tiny fist, “Paige, it’s time for you to do something else now. Right now I am reading to Gary and Penny. Later on I will play with you.” She immediately raised her eyebrows to unbelievable heights and pointed at my lap, “Me?” “No, Paige. You can’t sit in my lap right now.” She bounced off the couch and proceeded to point at each item in the room that she could lift her saying, “Me? Me?” All the while raising her eyebrows and cocking her head. When she found that I said “No.” too many times, she sat down to shatter the hopes and dreams of the captain and first mate.</p> <p></p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">Later that afternoon, I had to go to work and went to the bathroom to get ready. I got dressed, put up my hair with one of those huge clips that looks like a claw and opened the door. Right outside was my little 5 year old friend looking starry eyed and wistful. She looked me up and down saying “Oh!” and making big motions with her hands. The inspection ended with her asking me to turn around and kneel. I did as she asked and was rewarded with a tiny shriek of excitement. “Oh,” she squealed for the 11<sup>th</sup> time, “I love your hair. It looks so <i>professional</i>! Can you do my hair like that?” I checked my watch, “Sure, but we’ll have to do it fast. I have to go soon.” “Ok.” She hurriedly searched through her mother’s hair-thing box trying to be as businesslike as possible. Finding what she wanted, she ran back to me. I did up her hair as fast as I could while she expressed how lovely it was and how her mom was going to be astonished by how <i>professional</i> she looked. Her mother was very impressed, so Penny marched through the house proclaiming that she was a professional now. She ended our hairdressing appointment with a request for me to let her help me work at the office. Unfortunately, that didn't work out.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">After many different escapades with the three, I came to a conclusion; Gary builds a masterpiece, Penny writes its life story, and Paige owns it.</p><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;">
<br /></p><p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 200%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD0ZOhhr7aSVdqritCMI3tpdpBtI3J1uztUkcBuWnKsRSYM15ZcKM6YH2uTI_rRKgOrNjZSyAot2hSm_x31o2sLWe9TI371m2rnpYiVKqL7bMK1CtNre8Zfz-2wr72ktzzO6n8zgBmm4V/s1600/toys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD0ZOhhr7aSVdqritCMI3tpdpBtI3J1uztUkcBuWnKsRSYM15ZcKM6YH2uTI_rRKgOrNjZSyAot2hSm_x31o2sLWe9TI371m2rnpYiVKqL7bMK1CtNre8Zfz-2wr72ktzzO6n8zgBmm4V/s320/toys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404563031689970434" border="0" /></a></p> 6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-19964585528133786092009-10-20T13:38:00.000-07:002009-10-20T13:53:27.943-07:00Dewdrops turn Factories into Fluffy CloudsLife from a different vantage point<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV5UH5VVBkjXgQ6vcqM2UramKLG6lBv6GSoOT2Y0Or9ANouNtLWXNAQgqPPvL-XoxH6ve4rlMmo3uCIyhXxrC-mINDiZquWI9nbAC0Wj2Q1VMMpcSXYjMZX5ZhTMho0pGQuY5hAR9-2Ff/s1600-h/8332_1240967741161_1138324564_30740068_8297363_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV5UH5VVBkjXgQ6vcqM2UramKLG6lBv6GSoOT2Y0Or9ANouNtLWXNAQgqPPvL-XoxH6ve4rlMmo3uCIyhXxrC-mINDiZquWI9nbAC0Wj2Q1VMMpcSXYjMZX5ZhTMho0pGQuY5hAR9-2Ff/s400/8332_1240967741161_1138324564_30740068_8297363_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394785216254337474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Dewdrops turn factories into fluffy clouds<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9zW1EsUy12WzN7p8DMOzjux3meIybLUTEfm1018rJGUmXtbyIoWD1mLPt6g7Nldvyedt5SMQelmABArIBeUd4Lrl67Gyu4_TO53vbAUT7SEZxohFAYzY171cTD1_ZSzPuUgqbfp2HK4M/s1600-h/8332_1240968261174_1138324564_30740081_1132840_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9zW1EsUy12WzN7p8DMOzjux3meIybLUTEfm1018rJGUmXtbyIoWD1mLPt6g7Nldvyedt5SMQelmABArIBeUd4Lrl67Gyu4_TO53vbAUT7SEZxohFAYzY171cTD1_ZSzPuUgqbfp2HK4M/s400/8332_1240968261174_1138324564_30740081_1132840_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394785151772599314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Cameras turn fields into photographs<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyINt5y-mkeSUwWno66bxReTfeJI1_LqRgg6aBd_3rwiEQZ2_f039tKR_wzvTmHecAbRUt53KaTS8u0MztyhuJkpaRxTMJgkbR6fbbWphIAI9RsbErnL3de9vb9x2MGORP_XRGge1mxLde/s1600-h/8332_1240967781162_1138324564_30740069_8307904_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyINt5y-mkeSUwWno66bxReTfeJI1_LqRgg6aBd_3rwiEQZ2_f039tKR_wzvTmHecAbRUt53KaTS8u0MztyhuJkpaRxTMJgkbR6fbbWphIAI9RsbErnL3de9vb9x2MGORP_XRGge1mxLde/s400/8332_1240967781162_1138324564_30740069_8307904_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394785064476371458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Sunshine is sneaky<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3DTP4tQJL8_RSaNlJsv8k025l1Mn5mxxaekZZ04dWBynuTZJL0_vhWKEvt7vHY4JRzTfUu4RUGd55ca8A3d0SSGaiN7AVr4PgObJks6_CqBHog50GjXaRPlaXFZiZzGo-XrMQyBalWIY/s1600-h/8332_1240967701160_1138324564_30740067_307737_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3DTP4tQJL8_RSaNlJsv8k025l1Mn5mxxaekZZ04dWBynuTZJL0_vhWKEvt7vHY4JRzTfUu4RUGd55ca8A3d0SSGaiN7AVr4PgObJks6_CqBHog50GjXaRPlaXFZiZzGo-XrMQyBalWIY/s400/8332_1240967701160_1138324564_30740067_307737_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394784861851270338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Islands don't live only in oceans<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gM3mRB9sr4ZNOXk5ozr448IJdpd7Sox-syHGy3Cdj-OuiLt2UqR2ejQbzYPMG0fKpC8tUPrhEyV_hyphenhyphentNEjRMNtdu7PwLxE3h5ryUJIrIPJAmWpJjgDTTiIIKa36kuamZHj48MP-DVjsk/s1600-h/8332_1240967661159_1138324564_30740066_2648011_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gM3mRB9sr4ZNOXk5ozr448IJdpd7Sox-syHGy3Cdj-OuiLt2UqR2ejQbzYPMG0fKpC8tUPrhEyV_hyphenhyphentNEjRMNtdu7PwLxE3h5ryUJIrIPJAmWpJjgDTTiIIKa36kuamZHj48MP-DVjsk/s400/8332_1240967661159_1138324564_30740066_2648011_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394784766507926978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />My room and metaphysics have a barely cordial relationship<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALipRzy1MPCgnuO95QvsY-Kx1odL2c7PZlPAnW74PX7BrWsa_y2twPx6FNiBIry2ucOrAYDKu7X_ZI45B7iztJXJ9Zr_RBCt-qaifblhCRoIjqJd0cNfqJlYWgujZHJiCxUYQcQD_faMq/s1600-h/8332_1240968301175_1138324564_30740082_4121752_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALipRzy1MPCgnuO95QvsY-Kx1odL2c7PZlPAnW74PX7BrWsa_y2twPx6FNiBIry2ucOrAYDKu7X_ZI45B7iztJXJ9Zr_RBCt-qaifblhCRoIjqJd0cNfqJlYWgujZHJiCxUYQcQD_faMq/s400/8332_1240968301175_1138324564_30740082_4121752_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394785320421376770" border="0" /></a>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-42323481975644186652009-10-17T14:16:00.000-07:002009-10-17T17:20:12.309-07:00A Letter to Faith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsX6IsNnGSngJ_XkoDi1YKqHBWYrc1J9i1Pb71HCtRsWHyVS78szdwXmsr1S9yas2_xQvrjJ2PEN6ArHtkENz8DA_BYyPpuDrsCEHUfElWk57b78DuOdkU69LK7RmHjou8aDA4RKe8kMF/s1600-h/IMG_4843.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsX6IsNnGSngJ_XkoDi1YKqHBWYrc1J9i1Pb71HCtRsWHyVS78szdwXmsr1S9yas2_xQvrjJ2PEN6ArHtkENz8DA_BYyPpuDrsCEHUfElWk57b78DuOdkU69LK7RmHjou8aDA4RKe8kMF/s320/IMG_4843.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393724893419971826" border="0" /></a><br />Dear little Faith,<br /><br />Hi my beautiful girl. Yesterday, you turned three weeks old, but it seems like you've been in my heart forever. What it it like, being plunged from darkness into oh-so-bright light? Were you surprised how solid and colorful everything seemed? There's no going back to the dark, squishy place, you know, even if you want to.<br />We've got a lot to walk through, you and I. You see, I've never had a little girl before and I don't quite know what I'm doing. Sometimes I'll be grumpy and glare and say things I shouldn't. Sometimes you'll be grumpy and glare and say things you shouldn't. Then we'll have to forgive each other and start fresh again.<br />I want to know you, and I want you to know me, but mostly, I want you to know my Jesus. He's worth knowing. There's so much I want to tell you about Him, but we've got time; I'll be your mom for quite a while! I love you, daughter.<br />Guess what? I pray for you every day. I pray for you to rest, I pray for you to be safe, but my strongest, deepest prayer is for you to one day give your whole heart to Jesus and let him make you fresh and new.<br /><br />When you do, He'll say something like this:<br /><br />Hi my beautiful girl. Your new heart is only one day old, but it seems like you've been in my heart forever (Jeremiah 31:3). What it it like, being plunged from darkness into oh-so-bright light (Ephesians 5:8)? Were you surprised how solid and colorful everything seemed (2 Corinthians 5:17)? There's no going back to the darkness, you know (Colossians 1:13-14).<br />We've got a lot to walk through, you and I (John 16:33). Don't be afraid, though, I know all things about you (Psalm 139:1-6). Sometimes people will still be grumpy with you and glare and say things they shouldn't (John 15:20). Sometimes you'll still be grumpy at people and glare and say things you shouldn't... Then you'll have to forgive each other and start fresh again (James 5:16, Luke 17:3-4).<br />I want to know you, and I want you to know me, but mostly, I want you to know my Jesus (Ephesians 3:17-21). He's worth knowing (Colossians 1:15-20). There's so much I want to tell you about Him, but we've got time; I'll be your Father for all eternity (1 John 5:17). I love you, daughter (Isaiah 54:10).6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-84770650045038961912009-09-15T14:26:00.000-07:002009-09-15T14:56:50.570-07:00Mums in Season<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWfx0kK-yjbE0JbFhLqAjpEb0xslOrdp82n0_62Vk1EUJwYrzwXboco5hHuDAXgGNuIB_Gj6mCqLo9h8TjwQLQO6FKBW8ufDV9vkyUsQ_xmqtV1Zxe0VIk_-3j_XnfKfnL0_m6_nj8SY6/s320/mums" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381811267346799826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">Taking a deep breath, there was the sound of denim on leather as he slid out of the bucket seat of his 1976 Chevy pickup. The door slammed hard, maybe just a little too hard.<br /><br />Booted shoes laced up to the ankle plodded softly on the cemented walkway.<br />A single petal from the bouquet of Mums (her favorite flower) dropped to the ground unnoticed.<br />Somewhere several hundred yards to his left a frozen pine cone dropped with an echo that resonated over the frozen creek bed.<br /><br />Almost there.<br />Heavy breathing.<br /><br />He started to slow, realizing that it was cold outside.<br />His fingers tugged at the zipper that always seemed to catch halfway up his worn leather jacket.<br /><br />Everyone he knew thought it was unhealthy for him to go and see her again, but he didn’t care. He had to. He’d promised her.<br />She was his everything. He lived for that smile, the laugh, the look in her eye that she kept special for him alone.<br />And every time he visited her, he got to see those again.<br /><br />“Hello sweetheart. I missed you so much this week. So much happened that I haven’t gotten to tell you about.<br />Before I go any further though, here. I got these for you, I know they’re a little gone by, but they’re Mums. I had to."<br /><br />“I was late to work again on Friday. Luckily Aaron didn’t say anything, but I know he noticed. He just gave me one of those smiles that said, 'lets not have this conversation.' I really like him, and I know you do too. You were so happy when I got that job, I remember you lit up like a Christmas tree and practically squeezed my lungs flat. Then you called all your family and everything…you’re amazing. You never fail to make me feel like the most important man in the world.”<br /><br />“All the other men at work talk about how their wives gossip about them or nag all day. I got to come home every day to the most beautiful woman in the world with eyes that said I love you. You got excited with me, you made me laughed and laughed at my jokes, and your favorite thing was to just be with me.”<br /><br />“I got a phone call from Christine the other day. She said she’s doing well, she likes college, and she’s taking a ton of hours but that there’s this guy that makes her take a break and go for a walk or to the movies every once in a while. I’ll have to get your opinion on him.”<br /><br />“You are without a doubt the smartest, loveliest woman I know. If something big in my life happened, I couldn’t wait to come home and tell you about it because I wanted so badly to know what you thought about it.”<br /><br />“I’m thinking about selling the truck. I know it was your favorite, but its getting old like us, and I’m going to need something more reliable soon. Especially since its winter time. Should I go with another truck or a car? Truck? Of course. Heh heh, the first truck I ever bought was because you told me it was attractive to see a man driving around in a truck. I’ll never know why you decided I should be your attractive man. Its not like I was in your league. I guess the truck was though.”<br /><br />The sun had gone down and it had gotten eight degrees colder while he’d been talking to her, but he’d gotten much warmer.<br /><br />On and on he spoke. And still she listened with her soft smile and eyes that held something special for him alone.<br /><br />Eventually the flowers froze in his gloved hands, the scarf wrapped around his neck preserving him against the snow that had begun to fall.<br /><br />The distant streetlights at the entrance glistened on her grave, reflecting on the iced-over tombstone that had her name, age, and favorite quote chiseled on its face.<br /><br />Saying goodbye, he kissed the floral arrangement tenderly, then dropped them beside her.<br />Getting up off his knees, he trudged slowly through the wind that had just picked up, and head down, arms wrapped around his chest, headed back towards his truck that would go for sale in the morning.<br /><br />As always, even though he knew instinctively what she’d say it was so important that he asked and heard her opinion.<br /><br />He respected it more than anyone else’s in the world.<br /><br />A solitary tear fell to the frozen ground.<br /><br />The truck coughed once, then turned over and came to life with a roar.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWfx0kK-yjbE0JbFhLqAjpEb0xslOrdp82n0_62Vk1EUJwYrzwXboco5hHuDAXgGNuIB_Gj6mCqLo9h8TjwQLQO6FKBW8ufDV9vkyUsQ_xmqtV1Zxe0VIk_-3j_XnfKfnL0_m6_nj8SY6/s1600-h/mums"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-82802429443777106922009-09-12T10:41:00.000-07:002009-09-16T20:39:58.505-07:00Sheep in Deep Kimchi"Beep! Beep! Sheep in a jeep on a hill that's steep."<br />And so it begins.<br />A tale "guaranteed to tickle every reader's funny bone" according to Amazon's review.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sheep-Jeep-Nancy-E-Shaw/dp/039541105X">Sheep in a Jeep</a> has become a cornerstone of literature in our family. True story: when guy 1 (last month) wanted to send a gift to a girl he likes, he sent her not only Sheep in a Jeep, also Sheep on a Ship and the one and only Sheep out to Eat. Apparently, the books spoke friendship in a way roses never could.<br /><br />Given the almost-two year old's affinity for farm animal noises, I thought the time was right. He could now appreciate Sheep in a Jeep. I read the words, he supplied the appropriate sound effects (extra beeps, baaaaaas, nasal pig grunts, and "uh-oh"s). As the plot tension mounted, he became knit his eyebrows. His little voice sniffled. He literally understood the sheep's transportation predicament. To almost-two year old, Sheep in a Jeep is not comedy, it is tragedy.<br /><br />Guess we'll wait a while to introduce Shakespeare.6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-41976146583749614902009-08-29T17:50:00.000-07:002009-08-29T18:38:21.219-07:00Ravens and WaterGod gives him a mission, something to say. He says it. Nobody wants to hear it. They'll most likely kill him if he sticks around. <br />God says, "You don't have to stick around" (whew, what a relief) "Hide yourself by this brook." (gurgling, burbling, could be relaxing) <br />God provides for his needs.... water in the brook and bread and meat delivered by ravens twice a day (ravens? the precursor to pizza delivery?). <br />Then, the brook dries up. (dries up! God's perfect provision DRIES UP?)<br />God enters again, "Go to city X, where I've told a widow to feed you".<br />He goes.<br />He meets a widow.<br />He asks for water. She says yes.<br />He asks for a morsel of bread. She says no. (wait, this isn't how I imagined it going)<br />A little flour and a little oil is all she has left and she thinks she and her son will die.<br />God intervenes, gives flour in her jar and oil in her jug whenever they run low.<br />All is well?<br />All is not well.<br />The widow's son becomes ill until there is "no breath left in him". She is bitter, angry, remembering old sin.<br />Elijah cries to God. God listens. The boy lives. The widow believes.<br /><br />And this is just 1 Kings 17. Elijah's life takes more turns and goes through more upheaval. God does not always seem present, but He always is present.<br /><br />I expect my life to follow certain paths and take certain courses. I trust my Father to provide. But maybe it will not be as I expect. Did Elijah anticipate ravens with bread, a disappearing brook, a contrary widow?<br /><br />Oswald Chambers said it this bluntly,<br /><blockquote>"Let me say I believe God will supply all my need, and then let me run dry, with no outlook, and see whether I will go through the trial of faith, or whether I will sink back to something lower. Faith must be tested, because it can be turned into a personal possession only through conflict... Faith is unutterable trust in God, trust which never dreams that He will not stand by us."<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jkmza5fsyEnyWbMwhyJIFEz_EdzDjehfdsYgu4E1C2zSUFaC6AXVI_5x5IWdpA6H474H6PhD9qz7Z0vZ4q9HwQIsX5qAktSXMcRNV7Cm_35182oU52OtWq1QowMQc6g2s2cJMP98YmGO/s1600-h/800px-Corvus_corax_(NPS).jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jkmza5fsyEnyWbMwhyJIFEz_EdzDjehfdsYgu4E1C2zSUFaC6AXVI_5x5IWdpA6H474H6PhD9qz7Z0vZ4q9HwQIsX5qAktSXMcRNV7Cm_35182oU52OtWq1QowMQc6g2s2cJMP98YmGO/s400/800px-Corvus_corax_(NPS).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375557961958257522" border="0" /></a><br /></blockquote>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-54472513898778793282009-08-19T11:50:00.000-07:002009-08-19T11:52:49.145-07:00A Delivery of Accidental Irony<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">He wore a look that only young men who have had to take their Father's place as man of the house can wear.<br />A scraggly goatee, tanned features, and eyes that gleamed with teases of maturity taking shape told me that he was several years older than his age of 18.<br />I sized his bloody face up. "What happened to you?"<br />Obviously he had the crap beaten out of him.<br />"Three guys jumped me."<br />My fingers pulled at his swollen cheek bones, spread the cut above his brow apart, and prodded around his eyes.<br />"Ow, shit."<br />I stopped for a second to acknowledge his glare.<br />"You are allowed to think whatever you want, make up any name for me you possibly can. You cannot curse in front of your sister. I know it hurts, I'm sorry."<br />He stared.<br />"She's heard it all already."<br />"I didn't ask that. Don't move your head, just follow my finger with your eyes."<br /><br />Another few moments and I stepped out of the room.<br />Just under two minutes to gather up a basin, saline solution and nice expensive medical soap, scrub sponge, towel, gloves, and inform the doctor his patient was ready.<br />Knocking, then I pushed open the door.<br />"Okay, I'm just going to clean you up a little so when the doctor comes in to take a look he can see a little better what's going on. This is just expensive soap and water, and here; feel this sponge, see? It's not rough, it's soft. But it'll still sting some."<br /><br />The ever present question.<br />"Will I need stitches?"<br />"Most likely. It looks like four, maybe five, but I doubt it. It'll need to be closed though for sure."<br />He grimaced, then a flurry of threats and harsh words came out of his mouth against the people who did it to him.<br />The room grew quiet as Mother and daughter watched his face slowly reappear, the crimson disappearing into the sponge and drips.<br />No warning whatsoever.<br />Just a question, his voice low and startling sincere.<br />"What would you do? I mean, how would you handle the situation if you knew who did it to you?"<br />The sponge froze on his forehead.<br />Every particle in the room stopped moving as Mother and daughter stared at me.<br /><br />I've never been attacked by three people who used my own bicycle to beat me, who kicked me in the head while I was lying on the rough pavement being punched, who laughed and got into their car and drove off.<br /><br />"Do you know who did this to you?"<br />"Yes."<br />"Where's your Dad?"<br />"He lives in Michigan."<br />"I think you need to ask him."<br />"I don't talk to him."<br />"Do you have an Uncle, Grandpa, some family here? You need to ask them."<br />"No, just my Mom and sister and two Aunts."<br /><br />Caked blood from his ears made the water in basin officially too murky to see through.<br />"What would you do? Would you just let them get away with it?"<br />He looked at me fiercely, his query cutting and relentless.<br /><br />The doctor came in and spent several minutes asking his own questions, voicing concerns and clarifying statements.<br />"We'll use 4.0 vicryl for him...I'll write up the orders and we'll send him to get a CT scan, I want to rule out any possible internal trauma, although it seems like he's fine."<br />Lidocaine and Marcaine took any discernment for detail from him and his cut was soon ready to be closed.<br />As the needle dove in, hemostats gripped and twirled in a choreographed dance that tightened and looped, flipped spun and tied, our words did the same as we talked man-to-man.<br /><br />"Sit tight. I'm going to get a wheelchair and then I'll take you to get your head scanned."<br />It came out negative.<br />The damage would be bruises, cuts, abrasions, swelling, throbbing, anger, frustration, and the battle for making an incredibly tough decision few have encountered.<br />I shook his hand and had him sign at the bottom by the "X."<br />"You're free to go, hope you feel better man."<br />He smiled, a first for the evening.<br />"Thanks."<br />He shook my hand firmly. Of course he had a good grip.<br />"And don't come back in here to get stitched up again without bringing me a pizza."<br />He looked at me and rolled his eyes, ice pack held to the back of his head.<br /><br />"That's what I was going out to get when this happened."</span></span></span></div>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834347627832725008.post-41917061106527836802009-08-02T16:35:00.000-07:002009-08-02T17:00:14.377-07:00Meeting PandoraWhat first alerted me to their presence next door was an the heavy aroma of spices that spilled around and over the slightly cracked door, allowing the thick scent of curry to fill the entire hallway. As I walked past their door carrying an excess of luggage that belied my eight months of traveling I picked up the faint murmur of a foreign language.<br />Both were both scent and sound were legitimate and strong.<br />Exhausted, I slid my key-card into the door and got...red.<br />Trying again...still red.<br />Impatiently I threw down my luggage, wanting green. Green, not stupid red.<br /><br />Her tiny voice startled me.<br />"You shouldn't throw things. That's how you break stuff."<br />I turned sharply around and saw a short olive-skinned girl with long black hair and beautiful eyes. She was smaller than most five year-olds but spoke with the authority of at least seven birthdays.<br /><br />"Be careful. You're making a lot of noise."<br />I was completely put in my place.<br />"Sorry. I'm super tired and my key isn't working. Whoops, there it goes, see? I wanted green but it kept giving me red."<br />She stared up at me completely unimpressed.<br />"So. You don't have to throw things Army man."<br />Now it was my turn.<br />"Wrong. I'm in the Air Force."<br />"Same thing."<br />If I hadn't already, I was going to lose a huge battle with someone a third of my age and more than that smaller than me.<br />Completely unacceptable. So I changed topics.<br /><br />"Your dinner smells good, were you the cook?"<br />She smiled at me, finding it humorous. Whew.<br />"No, its supper, and I didn't cook it. I get to eat it now though, and it's going to be so good. Bye!"<br />With that she turned on her heel and exited the conversation and hallway.<br /><br />...<br />A week or two passed as each evening I returned to ever diverse meal fragrances.<br />...<br /><br />I stood waiting for the insultingly slow elevator to arrive, my basket of laundry weighing more as my boredom grew.<br />"I bet you can't tell what we've been saying. It's in another language that you don't know."<br />This time I knew better than to give her the first hit of astonishment, regardless of whether she deserved it.<br />"You're right. I don't. You know an entire language that I don't know?"<br />"Yep." The smug look on her face was pronounced. What was it I did to deserve this relationship again?<br /><br />"Wow. Guess what."<br />Instead of answering, she looked straight into my ignorant eyes and spoke several sentences of her native tongue, whatever it was.<br />"No, I'm serious, guess what."<br />The only way for me to avoid annihilation was to ignore her shots across my bow.<br /><br />The elevator door opened and closed.<br />I set my laundry down.<br /><br />It was on.<br /><br />"What."<br />"I know another language too."<br />"No you don't."<br />"Yes, I do. I'll prove it. You ready?"<br />"Yep."<br />I smirked at her.<br /><br />I crouched down and pointed to her stomach.<br />"What is this called?"<br />"Its my tummy."<br />Nope. Not even close.<br />"Nope, not even close ma'am."<br />She challenged me.<br />"Then what is it?"<br /><br />I began pointing at her tummy, guessing roughly as to where things were located.<br />"Here's where your duodenum is, it's the beginning of your intestines. Here's your colon, and you have mucosa and submucosa all through there. Your pancreas should be about here, and this is your gallbladder. Hey look, it's your liver! Not. You can't see it, but it's there. And here is where your stomach is."<br />She looked at me.<br />"Yep, I knew all that."<br />"No you didn't. Just like I didn't know what you were saying."<br />Win or lose, she wasn't going to lose.<br />"Fine."<br />And with that she turned around and scootered off down the hallway.<br />As I leaned over to pick up my bags, her father followed in his daughter's footsteps and scared the living everythings out of me.<br />"You know, I am quite impressed. She's usually very shy but for some reason she gets along with you. That is very good!"<br /><br />I smiled at him and backed into the elevator.<br />"Thank you, your daughter is very sweet."<br />The doors closed and I caught myself audibly snorting.<br />Shy? Sweet?<br />No...neither one of those.<br /><br />She was...acute, calculating, clever. Aggressive, daunting, and fearless, intelligent, small and...<br />she won.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/51/Naan.jpg/800px-Naan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 214px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/51/Naan.jpg/800px-Naan.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>6wayintersectionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14387790342654340774noreply@blogger.com0