God really spoke through Roger’s message this past Sunday. For the first time ever I got to check out 1^st service at Southwest Church (usually I’m twenty minutes late to 2^nd service) because my family and I went to Frisch’s breakfast afterwards. So I’m sitting in there with my friends Dylan and Tyler, and Roger starts giving a message on marriage relationships. I’m not married (I hope to be one day!) but everything he said could apply to the other relationships in our lives, like our everyday, run-of-the-mill friendships.

I would be willing to bet that most of you who read this blog know that I am having some difficulties regarding some of my long-time friendships. I do not wish to infest a gossip party, but I will just say that there has been some lack of love and respect amongst a handful of my relationships, and to be honest, it’s been going on a long time and I am getting/have gotten sick and tired of it.

Yet Roger starts speaking, and he’s talking about loving and respecting our friends, and the bitter part of me is saying, “Yeah, look at where I am. Lots of love and respect floating around here.” But then he goes on to say that we, as Christians, are free to make a choice. We can either choose to be bitter about how others treat us, and we can likewise treat them with disrespect and adamant, unloving hostility, or we can imitate Jesus, and even if they don’t love and respect us, we love and respect them (note: this does not mean we let them treat us like crap; we may have to distance ourselves, and even break a relationship – but not in hostility, and not treating them like dirt). In fact, we are called as Christians to love them, and respect them, not based on whether they love and respect us, but because, as John writes in his letter 1 John, “Christ first loved us.”

Yesterday I felt God telling me, “Look: you don’t deserve to be treated like this. I know this. You know this. You can’t change how they treat you. They must make a decision to change. I cannot force them to treat you with the love and respect that real friendships include. But you must make a choice: either, in your anger at how they treat you (a righteous anger), you treat them likewise, with disrespect and without love; or you treat them as I have treated you, despite the many times you’ve treated me with disrespect and without love. How have I treated you, Anthony?” The answer is clear: he has loved me, shown me mercy and forgiveness, and has treated me with respect. “So you can either choose to treat them as they treat you, or you can treat them as I treat you – as a genuine disciple of mine would treat them. Really, the choice is yours.”

I am going through a hard time right now, trying to figure some things out, and trying to figure out where to go from here. Sometimes you'll ignore what people tell you over and over until you finally see that they were right. Sometimes, from your position, you won't be able to see things right because your angle is skewed, and it takes some serious thought and contemplation to see a new angle - an angle that shows the whole picture - to see what might have been going on for a long while. Please, don't leave comments of pity. I want none of that.

"Don't give pearls to swine. They will trample the pearls, then turn and attack you."

Who knew Micah could be this interesting?

Mic 6:1-5 Listen now, listen to GOD: "Take your stand in court. If you have a complaint, tell the mountains; make your case to the hills. (2) And now, Mountains, hear GOD's case; listen, Jury Earth-- For I am bringing charges against my people. I am building a case against Israel. (3) "Dear people, how have I done you wrong? Have I burdened you, worn you out? Answer! (4) I delivered you from a bad life in Egypt; I paid a good price to get you out of slavery. I sent Moses to lead you-- and Aaron and Miriam to boot! (5) Remember what Balak king of Moab tried to pull, and how Balaam son of Beor turned the tables on him. Remember all those stories about Shittim and Gilgal. Keep all GOD's salvation stories fresh and present." - the Message

I am subject to easily becoming depressed, even when life is going great. It only takes small things to tip the scales and slide me into some fits of depression. It is something I inherited. For those of you who have experienced depression, you know how terrible it is. Sometimes I am tempted to say that I am cursed, to wonder why the world seems to hate me, why I am so stepped on and trodden. These are thoughts common with depression, and ultimately, thoughts often with no bearing on reality. So when depression comes, I try to remember what God has done for me. In Micah, God is asking, "What have I done to wear you out? What have I done to make your life so horrible?" It is tempting to blame God for circumstances in our lives - things we have (or don't have), whether it be wealth or illness or girlfriends or whatever. When I am tempted to clutch onto this dysfunctional escapist mentality, I hear God saying to me, "What have I done to hurt you? Come on! Remember all that I've done for you!" And I remember how my life has changed. I remember how I am free of my sin, free in the arms of God. I remember how I have God's last name. I remember how I have a home that I can't even imagine. "Keep all God's salvation stories fresh and present."

"Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before the high God? shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves of a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God? " - Micah 1:6-8, KJV

After God's pretty much said, "Don't get all teary-eyed over your troubles - remember all I've done for you!" Micah is meditating, "What do I have to do to get right with God?" Sacrifices? Offerings? Religion? Do I have to sing all the right songs, pray all the right prayers, go to church every Sunday, tithe ten percent, to be completely right with God? The answer is simply, No. That stuff is the minors; the Pharisees majored in the minors and minored in the majors. God spells out what really counts, he shows what the majors really are, through Micah's meditation: do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with thy God.

Do what is fair and justly to those around you. Be compassionate and love extravagantly. And live in an ever-present, intimate communion with the high God.

Painter and Poet

I woke this morning and lay in bed and thought, "God is a poet." Have you ever thought about that? Everything God says is so majestic, so poetic, so epic. He works his words like clay, molding them into bronze and marble statues that make Michelangelo's bow their heads in disgrace. He doesn't just say, "My name is God." He says, "I AM who I AM." He doesn't just say, "I'm your God." He says, "I'm the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob." Every word he speaks is eloquent and beautiful. His imagery is intense all the way through the prophets to Revelation. Even Jesus' stories drip with a poetic beauty. I find this comforting. There's something wonderful and beautiful about waking up to the songs of the birds, the sighs of the wind, and knowing we are in love not with a mathematical equation, not with a shrewd business manager or loan shark, but a poet whose pen draws living waters!

As my mind continued to wander, I thought, "God is a Painter." He turns a dark and shadowy world into a landscape of brilliant light and piercing colors. He is the designer of every mountain, every tree, every bird and fish and creature that walks this planet. He puts us upon a canvas and paints out unique personalities, unique desires: he makes us all wonderful, each in a different way. Our world literally falls apart with God's artistic brush: every sunrise and sunset, rainshower and thunderstorm, desert sandstorm and hummingbird flutter. Every person walking the streets resonates with the power and beauty of God - even if they themselves deny such a painter exists.

We live in a world created not by a computer, not by a mathematician, not by an analysist. It is a world created by a painter who is a poet. A world where every thunder blast, every flash of lightning, every dog bark and every leaping dolphin dances in a rhythmic sonnet. A world of unparalleled beauty. Just looking out the window will take your breath away.

Following four and a half hours of I.G.A. slave-work, I ran over to Chris and Lee's. I thought Pat went into the bathroom, so I started knocking; the knocking was returned, and four about five minutes we tapped out a pretty smooth drum beat. Near the end it kind of turned stale because it evolved into a war drum, which sounded really bad on a bathroom door. Not wanting to make a masterpiece go further down river, I snuck into Lee's vacated room, stole his life-size posterboard George W. Bush, and leaned it against the door. I stood there for about three minutes until I heard the toilet flush; I hid in the shadows; the door opened and George W. slid inwards; there was a hesitant shout, then a dark figure with black bangs falling to the shoulders - the freaky girl off the Ring, my mind said - launched at me from the shadows, drilling me into the wall. It scared me, because it was Chris and I was expecting Pat. However, I was glad to see him clutching his chest in terror. It's not every day George W. falls on top of you, and he found it to be quite frightening.

Pat, Chris and I went to Donut Haus to visit my friend Dylan. Dylan was closing, all alone, and the store was packed, he was really behind, and really frustrated. So we just grabbed our donuts and left. Pat and I wrote some newspaper articles for Centerville High School, and went to bed. Chris returned to his own bed. Morning dawned, and Lee drove over this morning. We went to Cafe a-go-go, drinking coffee like kings. I was served my usual frozen mocha a-go-go (dripping with caramal and cinnamon, YES!!!). Lee rushed off to a 1-10 shift at F.Y.E.. Pat's mom picked him up, and I waltzed downstairs and joined my father.

The nine hours has been spent drenched in labor. My dad and I moved furniture, washed the floors, laid down carpet (a nice plaid patchwork, it looks very nice), and after a trip to Drug-Mart for carpet tape and poster hangars, we ate porkchops for supper, and Mom and Dad went to a school play - a spoof on Shakespeare. I moved all my stuff from my old room down two flights of steps into the basement, and have spent the last two hours setting it up. Right now my bedsheets are in the washer, being cleaned from all the dog hair that's accumulated (Doogie sleeps with me at night sometimes - heh, not anymore!).

So my back hurts from where I sprained it many weeks ago, but I've got my horse pills next to me if it gets too bad. They'll numb my muscles and I'll feel fine. So I will listen to some Straylight Run and await the arrival of Pat Hague, followed by - hopefully - an interesting movie and the first night - a christening, I imagine - spent in my new downstairs room!

If I, deeply in love with another, begin describing with passionate appreciation what has been unnoticed or ignored by everyone else for years, some people around me are sure to dismiss me, "Love is blind." They mean that love diminishes my capacity to see what is actually there so that fantasy, tailor-made to fit my desires, can be projected on another and thus make him or her acceptable as a lover. The cynical follow-up is that if that did not happen, if I saw the other truly, I would never get involved. Why? Because everyone is, in fact, quite unlovely, either visibly or invisibly, or, in some particularly unfortunate cases, both. Love doesn't see truth but creates illusions and incapacitates us for dealing with the hard-edged realities of life.

But that popular saying, as popular sayings so often are, is wrong. It is hate that is blind. It is habit, condenscension, cynicism that are blind. Love opens eyes. Love enables the eyes to see what has been there all along but was overlooked in haste or indifference. Love corrects astigmatism so that what was distorted in selfishness is now perceived accurately and appreciatively. Love cures shortsightedness so that the blur of the distant other is now in wondrous focus. Love cures farsightedness so that opportunities for intimacy are no longer blurred threats but blessed invitations. Love looks at the one who had '"no form or comeliness that we should lock at him, and no beauty that we should desire him" and sees there the "fairest of the sons of men... anointed with the oil of gladness above your fellows."

If we could see the other as he is, as she is, there is no one we would not see as "fairest... all fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia." Love penetrates the defenses that have been built up to protect against rejection and scorn and belittlement, and it sees life created by God for love.

"If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love."

- 1 Corinthians 13:3

There is nothing like lying down beneath the stars, with the rain sliding down your face, and opening your mouth, and just laughing as lightning sears the sky with deep purple scars, and thunder echoes your own laughter. There is nothing like spreading your arms, letting the wind pull at your clothes, as you walk down the dirt paths, bathing in the scent of spring's ripe awakening. There is nothing like driving to school, the heat blasting, and looking out the window to a landscape of sparkling snow, a blanket of whispering white, and then seeing the sky, burnt sapphire and orange. There is nothing like walking out of school, the air warm once more, and looking to the west, and seeing splintered shafts of light piercing broken clouds. There is nothing like the waves against the rocks, the wind in the sails, and that beautiful scent of ocean saltwater. There is nothing like the solar system, nothing like an unreachable universe filled with millions and millions of galaxies.

David Crowder is right: "There is no one like You. There has never, ever been anyone like You."

It was an odd feeling, almost a step through a portal and into another world. Under the cover of darkness we crept into a labyrinth of twisted nails, thrown timber, decrepit walls of peeling paint. Any moment we could get caught and punished, but we trusted the Creator - surely He could keep us safe! We carried no flashlights, and descended into the darkness of a half-finished basement, a skeleton of wooden beams in a mist of sawdust. We huddled in a circle, some of shivering in the cold, and our voices rose from the basement, echoing all around us. Sirens wailed past, and yet we continued to sing, no-hands-barred, and for a moment our modern world with computers and fax machines and plasma TVs vanished, and I was shivering in the cold of a world where Christians were fed to wild beasts, condemned to die in the gladitorial games, and burned on crosses to light the paths at night-time Roman parties. For a moment, a split-second, a mere splinter in time, the knowledge in my head became knowledge in my heart, and we continued to sing:

Capture me, O Spirit, wrap me in your wisdom. Make your home inside of me. Take me over, strip me of myself, and then some... Cause captive in your arms, I somehow feel so free... Yeah... So free...

days like these...

It is on days like these that I feel the passionate burn. The air is cool, tingling, the mist wraps around the trees and shafts of sunlight break through broken clouds. Days like these when I want to lie down, close my eyes, imagine a time when the world wasn't like what it is now. Imagine a time when there was no suburban sprawl, no multi-million dollar housing developments, just pristine nature, untouched: ravines, waterfalls, mountains and valleys, all bowed down in untainted worship of our Holy God. It is days like these when I wish to see them up-close, days when I want to touch their skin, feel their breath, and dare I say it: lock eyes. It is days like these when I am reminded that one day the ache, the burn will be suaved, the sweet aloe-vera of a re:made creation, and my wildest dreams shall make today seem a foggy, black-and-white, faded-out blur, an off-the-cuff memory. It is days like these when I see them everywhere I look... ah, such a golden name: dinosaurs.

Quite a fun day, really. Mom taught 'Sunday School' at Southwest Church, a message on how we can't do this whole Jesus-thing alone: we need community! Pat D. and I ate at China Cottage, browsed 1/2Price, thought about seeing a movie, decided against it. Amanda and Ashlie ordered pizza and chowed down; Pat ate some of their pizza. They didn't like that. I watched The Rock with Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage before Adrenalin 412.

While the Jr. Highers all played basketball, my friends and I threw shoes into the air, danced drunk on the wine of laughter, and dehydrated to death because the water fountains weren't working. We filmed some short videos for K2 on the 27th. I laugh because if someone saw me and my friends and our everlasting jokes, they'd think I was being bullied; truth is, I love those guys to death and they say the same in my direction. We're like a little quartet running around - quintet if you include Hague when he's down from Northmont.

As Amanda and I were driving home, I smiled because I think Jeff and the sponsors hit off with a brilliant idea in this whole 'circuit' thing. I've enjoyed all of it (even though I missed some of Base Camp; good words from those who were there, though). I think this is really working well because everyone is getting to know each other better; laughter is the suave of friendship and laughter was constant. We all mixed together and had a grand old time. I'm really excited about the future of 412 and the circuit. I can't wait to hear the plan for Expedition next weekend.

One day I will be reminescing on these good old days - but until then, good-bye.

I.G.A. has been really slow lately; we always bog down around the end of January, to about Valentine's Day. I don't know why. Thursday night, from 9:30 to close (at 11:00) there were no customers; the store only brought in $18 and that, my friends, was from all the cashiers buying food and drinks and eating at the registers to make time pass. Yesterday wasn't really fast, either. I got off half an hour early because we were so dead.

After work I cleaned out my closet, throwing away such things as an Army box full of seashells, a jock-strap, a fishing trophy wrapped in Christmas tree lights, and a half-dozen models (my helicopter reminded me of Black Hawk Down, if that gives you an idea of how smashed it was). I didn't do it as some sporadic act of grace; by this time next week I should be moved down into the re:modeled downstairs. The room is huge, spacious, and has twin windows, and I'll have lots of privacy. I am excited. I keep hounding Dad to get it done.

In about an hour and a half I will be on the road to I.G.A., working 10-4. It is an easy shift. I like it a lot better than the horrible 8-4; two hours less, and I get to sleep in! Afterwords I will probably either dig up a friend and go out to coffee at Borders, go out to eat with my dad or mom (if I can convince one of them to take me!) or just spend the rest of the day 'chilling' at home. Tomorrow proves to be more exciting: church, Rev, and friends!

Shaw: Do you see heaven as being radically continuous or discontinuous with our present earthly life?

Willard: Continuous. Jesus in John 8: 51-53 talks about this. "Those who are involved with my word will never see death."

Shaw: Will we recognize the kingdom of God when it comes, when it arrives?

Willard: I think it will take us some time. I think there will be some great moments of revelation. But if I hesitate in what I say it's because I believe that the kingdom of God is already here, already at work. Jesus told us, "We're not going to say, 'Oh, here it is,' or 'Oh, there it is.' Because it's among you."

I think when we step through death we will be in a different world, and it will suddenly occur to us, "Hey, I'm seeing things I've never seen before." Or, "Oh, here's someone I thought was dead. Aren't they dead?" I think it will come that way. For those who are not companions of Christ I don't think it will be obvious, but that's another story.

But the question is so important. Currently, and for some time now, really, the teaching about heaven and hell has totally lost its impact. That's partly because it hasn't been thought of in any realistic terms. We have thought of it as some sort of celestial "fall-back," with shelves where the old saints are parked, I suppose, with fabulous images of harps and clouds and so on.

My reading of Jesus is that he understands there to be a radical continuity here. There is almost a casualness, a flippancy, we might say, when he talks about this. Imagine just turning to the thief on the cross and saying, "See you later today, in Paradise."

Shaw: Almost a throw-away line.

Willard: I think it's regarded as not meaning much. But when you go back and read Scripture, one of the few things that's recorded in all four Gospels is that at Jesus' baptism "the heavens opened." Of course, in the Old Testament, the heavens opened periodically. I believe that at such moments what had been there all along suddenly became visible.

When it opened for Stephen as he was dying, after being stoned, he simply saw what was there all the time. That clarity never ceased for Jesus. On the Mount of Transfiguration he was just operating in the world that was real for him all the time, and the three witnesses were enabled to get a little glimpse. Of course, Jesus couldn't go around with his face and his clothes shining like that, or the people would have taken him to be some pagan deity.

Shaw: What about Moses, when his face shone so much as he descended from Sinai that he had to veil himself?

Willard: Well, we're supposed to manifest that glory too. I think of the story in Genesis where there's a description of Adam and Eve after their disobedience - they "knew they were naked, and sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves." I don't think that's about sex, or the human body, but it's about what they were like before that. They were naked, and unashamed; there's no indication that they'd had clothes and lost them; rather, their bodies glowed, as we get a glimpse of in these other incidents.

When you look at a light bulb, you can't see the light bulb, but you see the light. When that light's turned out, we're aware of the limitation, the loss.

from http://www.dwillard.org/articles/artview.asp?artID=56

the vision is mine

I have a vision. A vision of being like Christ. A vision of being salt and light in a very real way, a vision of people seeing me and seeing Christ. A vision that one day I will effortlessly love without an agenda, personify the Sermon on the Mount, live day in and day out in the peace and love of Christ. I have a vision where I am not confined to the world’s way of doing things, but instead am engulfed by God’s grace, living not for my own lusts or for the world, but living for the kingdom. I have a vision that all my ills and pitfalls will be replaced with holiness, radiant in the fruits of the spirit. I have a vision of, one day, being like Christ. I have a vision of one day having radiant love for others, living without effort the fruits of the spirit, being salt and light, living in the kingdom, becoming on the outside and inside a new creation – in short, personifying – bringing to organic life – the Sermon on the Mount.

But a vision that remains a vision without action is a vision – and I want to look back one day and say, “Then I had the vision. It is a vision no more!” It is errant to think that such a transformation comes by just wanting it; it’s not true that just because you want it in your heart, it’s going to drop in your lap. Transformation is two-fold: us and God. We must strive for it, too. I have a vision and am ready to run after it.

following jesus

It’s so confusing. We don’t even really know what it means. We could sit down and make out a bulleted list of what following Jesus means, but that really won’t do it, will it? I think this is because following Jesus isn’t a business plan, a logistical graph, a mathematical equation, or a step-by-step, rung-by-rung ascent to successful Christian living. If anything, it is a tumultuous, wild, nerve-wracking, bewildering and unable-to-grasp storm where you don’t know up from down. One moment you’re here, the next moment you’re there. How can we really follow Jesus when it’s not so simple as it really sounds? How can we really follow Jesus when it’s not as ‘neat and tidy’ as the world makes it out to be? Can we grasp the idea that maybe, just maybe, following Jesus is – messy?

I think of following Jesus as a journey. We can try to make a list of what it means to follow Jesus, but it will never be complete. It will always be changing. It will be organic. Culture is changing. The world is changing. Our psychology and sociology is changing. So following Jesus must change, too. Come up with a list, and you’ll be back at it a week later, deleting, adding, re:modifying. Some days we will think we have the perfect route, and hours, days, months and even years later, we will look back and say, “What was I thinking?” And so we start over again. But isn’t that part of the journey?

Following Jesus is a journey because it is a discovery. Sometimes we’ll be strolling through the prairie, under the sunshine. Other times we’ll be hiding under a rock, trying to hide from the rain. We will grunt and grind as we climb the mountains, our hearts will flutter as we hang one-handed from a cliff. We will taste the sweetness of honey and berries, and also the bitterness of dust in our mouths and sand in our shoes. Sometimes we will feel like the most blessed people on earth, sometimes like the most cursed. Sometimes we will want to keep pushing ‘til the end. Sometimes we will want to give up.

More than once we’ll just sit down for a day or two to relax, gather our thoughts, our strength, and then we will continue the journey. Unexpected things come up: forks in the road, dead-end trails. Half the time we really won’t know where we’re going, or if we think we know, we won’t know if we’re really heading in the right direction. We will take short-cuts that end up being long-cuts; we will go down dark alleys with thugs in the shadows; we will spend countless hours on paths that dwindle to nothing. We will find ourselves backtracking, retracing our steps, imagining new ideas for the journey.

Following Jesus is a journey. It is a process. One day you don’t just wake up and look at your life and say, “Finally, I’m a Jesus-follower!” The journey isn’t the destination. The journey is what happens on your way to your destination. The journey begins the moment you say, “I’m going to follow Jesus.” At that moment we scan the horizon, wondering what lies beyond the mountains, we step forward, and as Sam says in the Lord of the Rings, so we mutter to ourselves: “I wonder what sort of tale we’ve fallen into?”

We’ll never have following Jesus completely figured out. And I imagine tomorrow I will be adding, deleting, and re:modifying. That’s the journey, too.

I am in a lot of pain. I skipped breakfast and lunch because I had my blood drawn about an hour ago. I don't mind the needle, but breakfast and lunch are sacred. I just got on because I am actually pretty excited. I've never really published any of my works, but this is a first step: Pioneering Internet Authors.

On the side bar of my blog is a link to My work. That isn't I.G.A. I'm not crazy. It is just my recent writings, no doubt more will be showing up. Other than this, here is something I wrote today in Modern Literature, inspired by the idea of the American Dream:

What's the point of working so hard, storing up so much wealth, and losing sleep to stress just so you can have that bigger house with the nicer car? What's the point of slaving your entire life to fill your pockets with stuff, stuff, stuff? To me, peace and rest and joy and simplicity is far more valuable than a Porsche, a plasma TV, or fancy dinners. I would eagerly abandon all my material junk just to travel back in time to experience life as it is meant to be lived - authentically, slowly, enjoyably, simplistically.

I do not speak against working to feed the family, to put gas in the car, to pay the bills. Such work is honorable. I speak agaisnt the twisted American dream - work, work, work! succeed, succeed, succeed! money, money, money! President Bush said that America is a land of hard workers; a foreigner commented, "Maybe that's why it's so steeped in sin." In 200 years, we are all going to be dead. What will I have to show for it? A pocketbook full of cash - or a life worth living?

So now I must go and fix my chili and portabello mushrooms.

Superbowl Sunday! Woohoo! 412 Superbowl Party was GRAND fun. Running around, hijacking cars, chasing each other outside and nearly falling asleep outside on a swing (how about this nice weather? It's got to be at least forty! I've worn shorts all weekend!). Base Camp was tonight, too, but I didn't really get to check that out, though I hear it was simply great fun. Lee's car's electricity broke down and it was taken to the shop. I had to take him with me, and the trip to the shop took an hour and a half. I picked him up, we went to Drug-Mart because I needed a folder and a red posterboard, and when we finally arrived, the party was already underway! Tons of awesome food: shrimp cocktail, 7-up bread, pizza and brownies. I feel ashamed I ate so much, especially since I had BW3's for lunch with my college roomie (future), John. I also taught Sunday School class, and that went pretty well. I didn't demand attention, and most people gave it. Funny how if you demand their attention you can never have it, but if you kinda let them do whatever, you'll get a lot of people who really DO care what's going on!

I am going to try and pray more often. I haven't been doing too well lately. I have been reading a lot of Eugene Peterson (writer of the Message Bible) and his words on prayer have really inspired me.

The superbowl is tomorrow. Can't tell you how excited I am. My soul just falls over, enthralled and in chains - my eagerness to watch a ball get passed back and forth is undeniable. Deep-rooted sarcasm. I don't really like football. If there's a waste of time, there it is :-).

So what are my plans tomorrow? Hang out with friends. Eat good food. Much like today. Ice cream. Hot dog. Pasta and garlic bread. Pillow-fight while listening to Gladiator music. Massive battles in Rome. That 70's Show, King of Queens, a man who got struck by listening and can read peoples' minds. Enya. Never-ending laughter. Ceasar's Legion. In the Name of Rome and 17 Melons. Of course bagging and running the cashier. Such is my Saturday. I am sure you are equivocally jealous. I listen to Gladiator now. I actually watched some of that movie today.

"vox quod veneratio." That's Latin. Translate it.

In physics we have learned a little bit about "string theory." While I don't really know all the specifics, there is supposedly evidence for this. One major component of string theory is the idea of "multiple" or "parallel" universes - or dimensions of reality - that co-exist with us, beside us, within us, that are tied into the fabric of the universe we touch and taste and see, but yet we cannot see or experience. This is some pretty crazy stuff, and here are some things that have been running over and over in my mind:

1) Could heaven/hell exist in possible parallel dimensions?

2) In the Bible it says angels/demons belong to another realm/dimension. Could this 'spirit world' be yet another parallel universe that co-exists with the one in which we live our day-to-day lives?

3) Could ghosts be those who transcend parallel dimensions into different parallel dimensions? In the Old Testament, God allows the spirit of Samuel to 'come up' to those who have not yet died (1 Samuel 28). Is it possible that Samuel was allowed to travel from one very real dimension (Heaven) to our dimension (the one in which you read these words)?

4) Perhaps Satanists or spirit worshippers are those who, through some weird way, can open windows for the dimension of the spirits to enter into our dimension and interact with us in ways they are usually not capable of (possession, occultic problems, etc.)?

Weekend looms. Just seven more hours of school, and it is here. I don't enjoy the weekends as much as I used to - never have, since part time started. I.G.A. likes to work all its baggers/cashiers at least two days of the weekend, and so I spend most of my weekend - usually - in the store; I am jealous of my friends, because a lot of times they get their Fridays and Saturdays off. Today I work four and a half hours, then tomorrow I'm working four hours as a bagger, two hours as cashier, so it's going to be easy. A lot of my friends are going bowling tonight, but probably not me. I didn't get too good a sleep last night - up till midnight, tossing and turning, just insomnia I imagine.

Now I must be off. I prepare for a day of school. Farewell for now.

It has, I admit, been a while since I've posted (at least in my scale of things). For a host of reasons dealing with the worthiness of my internet, I wasn't able to actually get on and post, and whenever it decided to work (which was rare), I was out of the house. Finally a friend came by today and did some work, reset some things, and it looks golden now.

Today at small group we talked about why we need God. We talked about capital punishmet. We talked about John 8:1-11. We discussed the story of the prodigal son. We attempted to define grace. And then Jeff led us forward in some time before the throne, and a few of us spoke up with things on our heart. It reminded me so much of the CIY His Time's from last summer. Summer. Ah. Good times. My detest of school shines through.

I have spent most of my time lately hanging out with friends. Driving around, drinking coffee, browsing books at Borders. This trend will break tomorrow, as I am a slave driver for I.G.A. for three hours (4-7, odd shift, eh?). I just wanted to break the monotony of you always seeing the same thing on my blog. You are probably disappointed. Sue me. Hah. Good-bye for now.