[september contemplations]

9.1 My sins haunt me. The shame literally makes me feel sick. I fear that there is no mercy for me, no grace to cover these sins. I fear I've gone too far, that there's no coming back from this. I know I'm not alone: we all have our dark secrets, the awful skeletons in our closets, and even the great men of faith suffered moments of heinous sin. Abraham passed off his sister as his wife, Noah got shit-faced drunk, Samson couldn't keep his dick clean, Jeremiah accused God of being a rapist, David slept with another man's wife and had that other man slain to try and cover up the adultery. And yet they repented, and God kept using them, even called them men after his own heart. The heroes of faith in Hebrews 11 are all marked by sin but, even more, by grace. God knows my heart, knows that despite the pollution, despite its convoluted nature, I still desire to please him, yearn to honor him. I guess I kinda thought a switch would be flipped, that the gray would become black-and-white, that things would pan out with ease. But I was wrong. Faith is complicated, and hard, and we're yet made of dust, and we must rely not on our own strength but on the strength God gives us, trusting in His grace rather than our own spiritual accomplishments (if we can call them that). The shame I feel over these sins doesn't justify them, but it does testify to the fact that I am, at least in a certain sense, a good man. Good men who are devoted to God will sometimes find themselves overtaken and overwhelmed by their own humanity, and all we can do is trust in God, confess our sins, repent and keep repenting. The only other option is to submit to our all-too-humanness, to give in to our dark sides, to cast off God in our self-loathing. But the message of the cross isn't that God came to save those who didn't go "too far" but, rather, to seek and save precisely those who did. Any inclination that we'll be perfect after conversion is idealistic (read: unrealistic). God demands our repentance and offers us his grace. Job was a perfect man not because he never sinned but because he repented and kept on repenting. Wallowing in guilt and shame is its own collusion with the powers of darkness, a failure to appropriate for ourselves the great mercy, grace, and love of God, a way of saying that the cross just didn't cut it. My prayer is that God shows me his grace and mercy, and it is my responsibility, as a recipient of his grace and mercy, to likewise be a creature of grace and mercy to those who sin against me, not in an effort to justify myself, or to "make good" on God's love, but out of thankfulness for what he's shown me despite my laundry list of sins and shortcomings. 

9.6 There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. These are profound words worthy of much pondering (as Danny Dyke would say). It's easy to know but difficult to believe, and even more difficult to appropriate. I find myself, in classic fashion, weighted down my the knowledge of my sin. It hangs over me like a turpentine cloud. I find it difficult to pray because of my own unworthiness, I can't bear to ask a thing of God, and I even struggle to ask forgiveness, something I so richly do not deserve. I fear that if the guilt goes away, I'm trivializing my sin, hardening my conscience or something akin. Yet Paul declares that sin has been broken, we're no longer in its debt; the guilt has been transposed and dealt with, our slates have been cleansed. We are not debtors to sin but slaves to God; and not just slaves but children. Our cry is the Aramaic "Abba," the desperate cry of the child to a loving and providential father. We've been adopted as God's children, and as such we're both granted the privileges and responsibilities of family membership. These responsibilities (and privileges) include living by the Spirit, a type of life characterized not least by love, joy, peace, and hope: all things I'm fighting for but failing to attain. There's no joy and peace when my sins haunt me; there's no hope, for how can a creature such as myself claim title to such a thing? But as much as I may seem to be fighting for these things, perhaps I'm really fighting against them, in my own resistance to grace? In my refusal to put the past behind me, to look upon myself as a child of God rather than as an unkempt rascal, in my opposition to what grace means about me, maybe in this way I'm fighting against those things I so desperately crave? St. Paul and Hebrews tells us to boldly approach God, in confidence; not confidence because of our merit but confidence in our justified position before God through Christ. Paul tells us not to "fall back into a slavery of fear" but to stand firm in grace and to look forward to our inheritance. This is an admonition, a command, to know who we are in Christ and to let our mind be renewed by the Spirit. I struggle with this, I really do. I've got the guilt complex of a Catholic schoolgirl.

9.8 I long for a world of black-and-white, where the answer to all our dilemmas is presented to us in crystal clarity. But sometimes life presents us with situations where the right thing to do isn't so clear. At times we're forced to choose the lesser of two evils; there come situations where the only possible outcomes are fraught with perils and shadows. When those times come, I don't know what to pray for. But Paul says that even when we don't know how to pray, or how to pray as we ought, the Spirit is there interceding before God in our stead. There's comfort in that: God knows we're short-sighted and dumb-witted creatures, knows that we're not yet glorified and that our prayers are often marked more by our fallenness than anything else. And he doesn't leave us at the mercy of such things. The Spirit, our Helper & Counselor & Guide, prays the prayers we should pray; and my prayer, then, is that God will listen.

9.12 Paul says that nothing can separate us from the love of God, and yet I find it difficult to imagine how he could love a person like me. The things I've done and haven't done, the way I've hurt others out of my own selfishness, my willing disobedience... I can't help but wonder, "Does God's grace have limits?" Can we truly go too far? I can't help but think of Peter, who, in full knowledge of what he was doing, denied Christ three times; and Christ didn't say, "You've gone too far," but "You're going to go further." He didn't say, "You really fucked up, so go sit on the sidelines." No, he forgave Peter and then, shocking to all sensibilities, he commissioned him. Peter confessed his sin, his public & outright denial of Christ, and Christ gave him not only mercy (which he didn't deserve) but also grace (which he so didn't deserve). And I can't help but think of that next Pentecost, where Peter boldly announced the gospel. Those who had partaken in the mob clamoring for Jesus' crucifixion were gathered, confronted with the severity of their sins, and though standing condemned they were invited to align themselves with the one whom they crucified and whom God resurrected. Those whose hands were bloodied by Christ's death were summoned to be washed, to be made clean and whole; and not only that, but to be filled with God's own Spirit. I look at my sin, not those sins without knowledge but those sins with knowledge, and I ask, "How can God forgive me?" The answer, of course, is on a cross. All that God asks--no, demands--is repentance. If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you WILL be saved. Christ is my Master, my King; I've committed my life to him, and I believe, beyond any shadow of doubt, that God raised him from the dead. And thus I've been saved; my sin is forgiven, no longer held against me; and I'm freed to be the person God wants me to be. There's not just mercy (not getting what I deserve) but also grace: getting precisely what I do not deserve. Friendship with God, a new identity, a commission to advance the good news of what God has done in Jesus. The pondering of this can't help but to inspire praise, awe, and wonder.

9.23 I keep thinking about forgiveness, what it means, what it's like, how to make it a reality in my life. What happens in forgiveness is simple: we're reconciled to God. Friendship is restored. God views us, and treats us, not as enemies at worst nor strangers at best, but as friends and family. Forgiveness breeds reconciliation, and the cross gives birth to forgiveness. Jesus defeated evil on the cross and death in his resurrection, and because sin has been defeated, it no longer holds any power. Forgiveness is the appropriation of that, the dismantling and defeat of all the evil putting us at enmity with God. Our sins aren't held against us, not because God ignores them or pretends they don't exist, or that they weren't really that bad after all, but because he's faced them, named them, and crucified them. This is why Paul can says that while it looked like Jesus was being dragged to the cross by evil, it was really the other way around. And because God has sapped our sins of all authority and power, they no longer pose that stop-gap preventing friendship with him. This means that shameful obsessions with our sin are empty, and fearing that our mishaps will deprive us of friendship with God is nothing short of foolishness. It means we can stand boldly in the Throne Room, it means we don't have to live in shame over sins. And, perhaps most amazing of all, it means God is released from being angry and wrathful towards us. When I reflect on my past sins, I keep thinking that there's simply no way God can be "on my side," no way that he can show me his goodness and mercy, because I certainly don't deserve it. But forgiveness wouldn't be forgiveness if it weren't for that little fact: I don't deserve it. Forgiveness isn't meek & mild, it isn't weak or dainty. It's powerful, it's effective, and it's the result of Christ's cosmic battle and victory over evil in his death and resurrection. 

9.30 Danny Dyke said, "Repentance is damned hard, it makes you want to cuss like a sailor!" He's right. But though hard, it's refreshing to the soul, invigorating to the spirit. My conscience is in need of renewal, and in regards to this whole "Get My Life Back on Track" thing, what I need in my faith isn't a fresh call to ministry but some time in Arabia. The past year has been marked more by low tides than high, and I've come to see through it all my desperate need for a faith that is founded on Christ alone rather than on any self-identity with vocational ministry. I can't equate the character of my faith with my involvement (or lack thereof) in vocational ministry. It may very well be that ministry is the cloth God wishes to cut for me (or, rather, sew me into); but what I need now isn't a pulpit but a good dose of time in God's throne room, just bathing in him and letting him reshape a heart and mind that's been polluted by too much time in the pigsty. Thus my renewed focus is to be on God and God alone, not on my performance for him. And I want to take this time in Arabia to really hack at those sins that so easily entangle me, to get back to the basics of Christian living and teaching, to get involved in church and to hopefully rid myself once and for all of those awful cancer-sticks that turn every back deck and front stoop into a cancer ward. My hope and prayer is that God will heal me and my life, stitch me back together, show me the path he wishes my feet to take. 

N.T. Wright: Romans

I've been making it a habit (or, better put, a semi-habit) to spend time in prayer, scripture reading, and reflection each day (usually at The Anchor, surprise, surprise). Isaac and I sat in my room just this past week talking about our spiritual discipline (or lack thereof), and the conversation ignited a further spark in my own quest to become more regimented in my religious observances. There's always the risk that they become nothing more than hollow ritual, but excising them for fear of what they could become doesn't make sense (because then you're just making the risk complete and justifying the fear). Back in the day I used to hate "Quiet Times" (and to be honest, that very phrase sends shivers up my spine), but I can't deny that setting aside time to reorient oneself is nothing short of wise. Even if you aren't Christian, the very practice itself has value: Buddhists have been advocating it for as long as they've been around (and it's much cooler to practice "Quiet Times" in Eastern mysticism than in orthodox Christianity, let me assure you). 

I went to Family Christian in Florence looking for a good bible study, and I couldn't find one fitting my tastes. I'm pretty picky when it comes to bible studies, and I think it all boils down to this: I want something of substance, and I want something that won't make me go, "Wait, that's not what the text actually means..." How many bible studies did I come across with Jeremiah 29.11 as the centerpiece? You really don't want to know (and I bet none of them were about the future hopes of nationalistic, post-exilic Israel). The bane of going to a Christian college and majoring in biblical studies is that by getting a good dose of common-sense hermeneutics, you realize just how little common sense hermeneutics are actually out there. Bible college teaches you to be critical, and when you come to sermons, to bible studies, to small groups, whatever, that tendency remains. This isn't a phenomenon regulated to me: most of my friends who went to bible college and took the same classes I did have this little quirk. So there I was, in the aisles, leafing through various bible studies, feeling frustrated, thinking maybe I should just throw one together for myself (an idea which I didn't like in the least, for multiple reasons), and then I came across the savior of western theology, N.T. Wright (and, yes, I use "savior" in a sardonic sense).

N.T. Wright, he's a solid fellow. He's primarily a historian, not a theologian, though he's renowned for the latter. He's sort of a bastard child when it comes to theological camps: conservatives don't like him because he goes too far, and liberals don't like him because he points out all the fluff and inconsistencies in their arguments. He writes about the awkward place in which he finds himself in his book on justification (a book aptly titled), but this doesn't deter him from bringing the biblical texts to fresh light in lieu of historical discoveries and research. When I worked at Starbucks (what seems years ago), most of my Christian friends didn't like him. They were bigger fans of Chesterton, Piper, and Driscoll (the latter two who stand in conflict with some of Wright's ideas). Having read many of Wright's books and articles, either for class or pleasure, I've found my own faith enlivened, and I've found that many of the attacks lodged against him really fall flat. Some accuse him of being in the New Perspective on Paul camp, with people like Sanders and Dunn; but this shows how wildly caricatures fly, for Wright himself asserts that while they have similarities in their convictions, there's some pretty hefty differences (it is for this reason, I suspect, that Wright's most popular book on Paul is titled, "Paul in Fresh Perspective"). Not liberal and not orthodox, Wright's under fire from everybody. But I can't help but wonder, "Why revolt against fresh readings of scripture in light of historical study?" The basic premises of the faith are not short-changed but reinforced, and I can't help but subsequently wonder if all those who so viciously oppose him would change tables if historical study supported rather than challenged their traditional beliefs? It's all about keeping the status quo, after all; no one likes their feathers to be ruffled.

Getting back to the main point, I found a series of bible studies written by him and instantly bought one. They're short and sweet, easy to wedge into any busy day, and Wright's good at directing prayer in light of the scriptures read. And, best of all, he weaves lots of history and culture into the bible study, illuminating different aspects of scriptures that we were hitherto blinded to because of the vast distance in time, culture, and geography between our world and Paul's. These bible studies are definitely worth your while if you're looking for something to keep you accountable, something to keep you interested, and they're very applicable to everyday life (being a more theoretical, abstract-thought kinda guy, I need lots of goading when it comes to application). Next up is his study on the pastoral epistles (1 & 2 Timothy and Titus), and for once in my life, I'm excited about a bible study. That's a good sign, I think. 

get on it

You read this post's title.
So do it. Now.

the 65th week

Andy & Blake playing Checkers outside Cracker Barrel

The searingly-hot weather that has defined summer thus far has simmered down, and now the cold's been encroaching (it's a happy encroachment). I've busted out that autumn wardrobe, my sweaters and jeans. This is my favorite time of the year by far, even though I know once all the leaves are gone and the trees stand stark and naked, I'll be over it. But the period between the lushness of summer and the barrenness of winter is one I love. 

Monday. Jake & I opened, and after a post-work nap I went to The Anchor and did some reading on the American Revolution before heading over to the Loth House to hang out with Amos. He came home with me, and after a failed attempt at watching "Kazaam" (Andy was quite upset), we rounded out the rainy night watching episodes of "Eastbound and Down."

Tuesday. Amos & I opened, and the rainy morning brought cool temps and people were wearing jackets and jeans out on the street. Autumn is almost here! I got dinner at The Anchor (eggs, bacon, and biscuits & gravy), and I joined Ams, Amos and Brandy at the Loth House and called it a night early after some good talks with Andy out on our front porch.

Wednesday. Amos & I opened together yet again, and after work I went to The Anchor to do some writing, and I spent the evening reading up on The Battle of Brandywine Creek. Andy & I got Chinese for dinner and watched Mel Gibson's "Payback."

Thursday. I worked a long and tiring 10-hour shift, and spent the late evening over at Amos' playing video games with him and Brandy. John's dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lymphoma and started chemo immediately, already there's significant improvement. That's definitely excellent news! When I headed home I found myself locked out (lost my damned keys again), so I went over to Ams' place down the street and watched "Neverland" with her and Chris until Andy returned home from work.

The Last Day of Summer. I was 15 minutes late to work, but it was NBD. James & I had a solid morning, and I was off by 1:00. Tiffany brought in her kids, and they were adorable as always, and I made them some mini hot chocolates. After work I went to The Anchor and finished hammering out an essay (below) on predestination and election from a corporate perspective. I'm still wrestling with God's sovereignty and human freedom/responsibility, a paradox that has no easy answers or explanations. After hanging with Blake for a while, Ams and I met up with Eric & Tiffany and their kids, Lennon and Adler, at Rock Bottom to try out the newly-tapped Oktoberfest and to eat some good food. It was crowded, with Oktoberfest all up and down Vine Street and the Reds game, but we got a table pretty quickly once Tory saw us. Ams & I split nachos and Lennon had some, too, and we all got pretty tipsy off the Oktoberfest. Amos joined us after the Barista Jam at Carew Tower, and Brandon made his way down from his apartment on Walnut. After dinner Brandon, Ams & I walked around downtown for a while, even stopped by the Starbucks on 5th and Vine to see Carly, and I ended the night over at Amos' house playing MW3 with Amos. 

The First Day of Autumn. I woke early and went to The Anchor to finish by Romans study by N.T. Wright. I decided to celebrate this first day of autumn with a trip into Kentucky: I went down to Big Bone Lick, "The Birthplace of American Vertebrate Paleontology" (so you know it's good), and did some hiking. On the way back home I picked up some ornamental gourds and Indian corn and got some kick-ass books on the Civil War, covering Chancellorsville, The Battle of the Wilderness, Gettysburg, and Sherman's March to the Sea. I had leftover Chinese from Wednesday while watching "American Zombie," and after a nap I went to The Anchor and did some writing. Blake, Andy & I got dinner at Cracker Barrel in Florence and ended the night watching the second "Sherlock Holmes."

Sunday. I went to The Anchor for a while this morning, then got some breakfast burritos from McDonald's for breakfast. I missed Southwest this morning so I listened to a sermon podcast from livechurch.tv, it was about trusting God amidst the unknowns, troubles, and disappointments of our lives. I spent some time at The Anchor and ended the night hanging out with Amos at the Loth House.

[this, the first day of autumn]

It's officially time to break out that kick-ass autumn wardrobe.

Autumn is by far my favorite season. The trees changing colors, the crispness in the air, the cool breezes and frigid nights, the gray skies, pumpkin spice lattes (it's facebook official), country night drives with the windows rolled down, a fire in the hearth, my jacket pulled tight around me, steaming cups of coffee and the dead leaves with wrinkled and throbbing veins at my feet. There's a lot of reasons to love this season, and I'd be amiss if I failed to mention ornamental gourds and Indian corn:

The gourds I bought yesterday to kick in the season aren't quite as awesome, but they're mood-lifting nonetheless. I'm writing this with a cup of delicious diner coffee and wearing blue jeans and my blue sweater (which, I'm told, I look adorable in). 

This evening Blake, Andy and I went to Cracker Barrel in Kentucky. Blake made an excellent first impression, though the wonderful hostess seemed to take offense when he didn't know much about the Pixar movie Cars. We had to wait, so we went outside and Blake & Andy played a game of chess, and Andy would've won had our name not been called. On our way into the dining room I knocked something over, and the hostess politely asked me not to destroy the store. Back at the table we enjoyed a hefty breakfast for dinner: both Blake and I got steak and eggs with biscuits & gravy, and Andy drank glass after glass of lemonade. I couldn't finish my food, felt so stuffed, so I excused myself to have a cigarette, and on the way out I knocked over yet another piece of merchandise in their showroom. I turned to the hostess and said, "So sorry about that." She just laughed. I went outside and paced back-and-forth across the patio with the chess sets and rocking chairs, and there was a cute girl who just got off and saw me and smiled and stood there and said it was cold and I agreed and said nothing more, and she looked at me and then walked away. That's how I roll. After gorging ourselves, Blake, Andy and I watched the second Sherlock Holmes movie, and in that fashion the first day of autumn came to an end.

I'm really not sure why I retold that story.

It's not really noteworthy at all.

But this is my blog, and this is my life, and these are the things that happen.

Now Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" is playing on the jukebox.

I don't hate it, and I'm kind of ashamed to admit that.

The waitress just offered a customer his dollar back.

"Sometimes," she says, "the jukebox just plays this song, and I'm betting you didn't pick it."

[the last day of summer]

Today's the last day of Summer 2012, and it's been a pretty decent summer marked mostly by working but also by hanging out with friends. Amos moved out of Claypole and into the Cellar at John & Brandy's, and thus my life grew a bit more exciting: I actually had someplace to go other than my own home to hang out with my buddies! This, in turn, led to hanging out with John & Brandy much more, and that's been awesome. Andy stopped working at Tazza Mia and started working at Q'doba, and Ams moved down the street to Chris & Sarah's house on Glenway (giving me yet another not-at-home location to see people I love). The brutally hot weather's been replaced with the first tastes of autumn, and people have been breaking out jeans and sweatshirts in preparation for what's coming. It's been a good summer, albeit one marked with anxiety cropping up because of that whole "you may have cancer" thing, and exacerbated by the recent news of one of my friends' dad being diagnosed with lymphoma (he's started chemo and is doing really good, so that's definitely excellent news!). 

I talked to Blake about it a bit this evening, how I've been anxiety-ridden over the last couple weeks, convinced that every little discomfort is a signpost to cancer or something worse. He shook his head, smiled, compassionately told me to stop thinking like that. I've had most of the preliminary tests that doctors order for suspicion of cancer, and I've passed every test with flying colors. If I had any sort of cancer, it would've shown up in the test results somewhere. But as it is, I'm in phenomenal shape (to quote my doctor). But that's how irrational fears work: by ignoring logic, by slighting common sense, they are therefore irrational. We all have irrational fears of some sort, some more toxic than others, and we all need people in our lives who can think clearly outside the fog in our own brains and speak truth to us. I'm thankful that Blake is one of those people in my life. 

I sometimes reflect on the days before I was haphazardly told I might have had cancer. Ever since that moment, those few hours when I was convinced I was dying and the next two months when we were going through the various tests, life's been a bit different. I'm more aware of both my mortality and fragility. There's fear there, but it was never really fear of death itself. It was fear of living an insignificant life, of not making any sort of tangeable impact, of coming and going without leaving the faintest trace. There was the fear of dying and no longer being with my family, and there was the fear of knowing that they'd still laugh and share their lives together without me in it. It's selfish, I know, but I imagined Mom & Dad growing old and me not being there, Amanda getting married and having kids and me not knowing them. I was never too concerned about the experience of death (after all, everyone before me has gone through it and will go through it, and as a shared experience a bit of the fear is taken away), just about the after-effects here after I was gone. Amanda told me that if I died she'd lose it. I can't imagine what it would do to my family. And I don't like thinking these thoughts.

This summer was marked by lots of good moments, but underlying all of it was the constant and nagging fear that something awful was growing inside me, something that would snatch my breath away. I'm hoping this next season won't be marked by these anxieties, that I'll be able to dispel such fears with logic and reason, reminding myself that I've gone through a gauntlet of tests and doctor appointments, and everyone of any knowledge is convinced I'm in great shape. The fears are birthed solely from my own insecurities and issues, and I'm the only one who, at times, is convinced that something's quite amiss. But I'm not a doctor, and it is wise to leave such pronouncements in the hands of those who have the knowledge to make them. And the consensus all around the board is that I'm fine. So here's to autumn 2012, hoping it's filled with its own adventures and excitements and free of the same crippling anxieties that have been overtaking me like a psychological Katrina in the wasteland of my heart. 

on election & predestination

Here is yet another post Mandy won't read. But that's ok, I love her anyways! And I'm well aware that most people don't share my interests and will have no desire to read this. But in the off-chance that someone finds this subject compelling, I'm presenting here a little essay of sorts advocating corporate election over the schemes prevalent within Calvinism and Arminianism. I've studied this subject pretty in-depth, and I think this little article will shed some light on why I think corporate election offers the best understanding of the subject. So for those wanderers who may find themselves on this website due to a google search on the subject (or, perhaps, even Bing?), please enjoy. 

Election and Predestination

As an afterthought, it annoys the HELL out of me that Scribd doesn't keep the justified setting for the typeset. 

the 64th week

Seriously. It's amazing.

Monday. I opened with Amos and closed with Jake, a long and grueling day. It's felt like autumn the past couple days, crisp & chilly, and I mustn't lie: it may be about time to break out that kick-ass autumn wardrobe. I went to The Anchor after work, then spent the evening hanging out with Amos, Andy, Blake & Brandy. We smoked hookah and watched Mel Gibson's "Signs". I hadn't seen that movie in ages, it holds a special place in my heart: really, it's what kick-started my high school social life. Rob always joked that I'm like the little girl on signs, leaving a variety of barely-touched glasses of water around the house. Favorite quote from the movie: "You're too old for this," said to a six-year-old girl who does the same thing I do on a regular basis.

NEVER FORGET! Jake & I opened, and I worked on laundry (always a multiple-day project because of my forgetfulness) before going to The Anchor for a bit. Andy, Mo & I grabbed Chipotle for dinner and enjoyed a cool, quiet evening watching the latest season of "Parks & Recreation" on Netflix.

Wednesday. I had the day off for an appointment that got cancelled last-minute. I had breakfast burritos upon waking, and I grabbed Q'doba for lunch, visiting Andy on the line. I took a nap, went to The Anchor, and then I went over to the Loth House to round out the evening playing MW3 and watching "Deadly Women" with Amos & Brandy. Back home Andy & I got McDonald's for dinner and watched "Parks & Rec." Before bed I talked to Mandy K. for a bit. I talked to her 'bout some things I've been wrestling with, the weight of my past sins wrapping a psychological noose around my neck, how I'm striving to see myself as God sees me, trying to appropriate God's grace in my life. She pointed out that God's grace isn't cheap, but it's effective; and to deny grace is to say, in a sense, that the cross just didn't cut it. She's right: when we can finally accept grace, there's freedom, freedom from who we were and what we've done, freedom to be the kind of people God wants us to be. God is relentless in his love, and clinging to guilt and shame like some moth-eaten blanket is akin to keeping one foot in the sinking boat and refusing to fully climb aboard the one that's securely afloat. She pointed out that while I can accept that God can and does use others who've fallen far into sin, or wandered far off the path, or whatever phrases you want to us, the fact that I think I'm the one exception in all the world is rendered illogical albeit understandable (really, we all do it). If I'm so willing and eager to believe that God forgives and uses others, I shouldn't be so wrapped up in my own issues to think I'm somehow cut from a different mold.

Thursday. Back to the grind: I covered Ana's Food Prep shift with Tiffany & Sarah working the counter. After work I ran some errands and went to The Anchor, and I spent the early evening cleaning around the house and working on laundry (remember: it's a multi-day project), and Andy & I went to the Loth House to play video games with Amos and smoke out on the patio, and Brandon came by for a while and it was so good seeing him outside work. Everyone's been so busy lately, the "family" at T.M. hasn't had a lot of "alone time."

Friday. Ana found a crippled bird outside the store window, just picked it up and brought it right inside, desperate to help it. "Ana! You can't bring that in here! Make sure you wash your hands!" Silly Brazilians. I think she was upset I made her take it back. Bird was damned cute, though. After work I went to Dusmesh to grab lunch with Andy, Kyle S. and his wife, and some friends of theirs. They were 20 minutes late, and I tried to wait, but the buffet was right there, and the chef brought out fresh samosas and bhatura, and that demolished all willpower. So I ate alone and loved every minute of them, and when they arrived I just sipped my diet coke and caught up. Before going to The Anchor I went by Emily's place in Northside, hadn't seen her in at least a couple weeks. We sat on her front porch in the cool and overcast evening, playing guitar and teasing her cats. Isaac and Josh visited me back home after The Anchor, quite intoxicated after a bout of drinking at Neon's, and I went to Ams' new place just down Glenway. It's an upgrade, but the Claypole House isn't much to beat these days. We watched "Parks & Rec" and hit up Rock Bottom. Keith, the G.M., was there and hooked us up. We played video games till about 1:30 AM and then I drowsily headed home.

Saturday. I woke to a clear, beautiful, sunny morning. The chill cut through me, but I shed it like a winter coat at The Anchor with a steaming cup of coffee, N.T. Wright, and Damien Jurado on the jukebox. I went hiking at Mount Echo for a bit, there's some decent trails farther-out past the main ones, and once you go far enough you start getting into woods untouched by liquor bottles, soda cans, and used condoms. I went over to Ams' place afterwards, and we watched "Parks & Rec" and played some video games and went to Target, where I found some amazing college-ruled composition notebooks for only 22 cents! I passed time at The Anchor before enjoying dinner: a pumpkin spice frappuccino and a cream cheese pumpkin muffin from Starbucks and making a second run to Target to buy up the last of their 22 cent college ruled notebook stock. I have problems when it comes to composition, I think. I spent the rest of the evening at Ams' house playing through the campaigns of both Modern Warfare 2 and Call of Duty: World at War. I even wore a headset to make it that much cooler.

Sunday. This morning I met up with Jessie, who was in town, and we grabbed breakfast and coffee at The Anchor. It was so good catching up with her. I miss her, I really do. I didn't go to church this morning, ended up taking a cat-nap that lasted till about one in the afternoon. I still went to Dayton, albeit later than usual, and I spent most of the evening hanging out with Tyler at his place: we played MW3 and shot firecrackers and M80s off his second-story balcony. I didn't return to Cincinnati till late, and on the way I caught up with an old friend who's been having a hard time as of late. "I just want to be happy," she wept. HAPPINESS. What an elusive little whore.

romans 9-11

Over the past couple weeks I've been working through a bible study on Romans by N.T. Wright. I chose Romans because it's one of the most complex yet beautiful letters of the New Testament, and because I wrote a lengthy exegesis on it back in my college days (170 pages!). I chose N.T. Wright because he's pretty much a bad-ass when it comes to anything in the realm of biblical studies. I've loved the study thus far, but I got pretty bogged down in Romans 9-11. It's a complicated passage, and to be honest I've never really had anything close to a solid grip on it. Sure, I could point out things here-&-there, but when it came to the overall scope and narrative flow of the section, I was all but lost. So I decided to take some time to really focus on these chapters, and I tickled my exegetical bone and put together a little synopsis of the section ("little" being 19 pages) so that I could get a decent bird's-eye view of the text without sacrificing the little details thrown in all over. It should come as no surprise that much of my understanding of this passage comes from what N.T. Wright has written regarding it in several of his works (Climax of the Covenant, Justification, and Paul have all been used as research). I've decided to upload the document not because I think any of my readers will be enthralled to read it, but because I'd like to have easy access to it whenever the need arises. So for those who may have bones tickled by such things, enjoy; and for those who don't care, reading this paragraph is a portion of time you'll never get back. Go do something useful. 

Romans 9 to 11

I've decided to use Scribd for most of my "short" writings. It's a good place to catalogue them, and you can embed them anywhere you like. Hell, you can even post them directly to Facebook! I've got another document in the works--"Election & Predestination"--and I'm still piecing together the first "assumption" of The Quest. Please be forewarned, it could be quite a while before it finds itself on this blog. 

an anniversary

American forces holding their own (if only for a bit)

The Battle at Brandywine Creek.
September 11, 1777.
Try to get more patriotic than that. I dare you.

the 63rd week

our campsite at Koomer Ridge

Labor Day. I slept listening to the rains, and Blake, Isaac & I woke early and decided to do coffee and breakfast at The Anchor before the sun fully rose. I love early morning coffee on rainy days. The morning  was spent reading Rebels & Redcoats, a makeshift companion to Shaara's The Glorious Revolution. Rebels & Redcoats is an older book, published in 1957, and it's a phenomenal retelling of the war, a narrative history infused with letters, diary entries, and later recollections of those who lived and fought it. n Andy & I met up with Eric & Tiffany at the Hilltop. I got a traditional cappuccino followed by a chocolate chai, my staple drink back in the days of O.T. History with Danny Dyke and cigar smokin' at Mount Echo. Ams, Blake and I spent the evening over at Brandy & Amos': we ordered pizza, watched "King of the Hill," played Call of Duty, and Amos cut my hair and clipped my ear. "You're the first person I've made bleed!" he exclaimed. I unknowingly had a mullet that needed to be cut.

Tuesday. I slept listening to the rain and hail and woke to a muggy, hazy day. Hurricane Isaac brought rains and then followed it up with sweltering heat and humidity; I just want it to end! Amos & I opened 600. T.M. is an absolute cluster-fuck at this point. Brandon simply doesn't care anymore, and he hates that fact, it goes against the grain of his entire being. Amos is just waiting for the best opportunity to piss off the owner and walk out. Tiffany begged me to stick around for a bit longer. I've no immediate plans to leave: despite all the stress and frustration, it's kinda fun watching the president single-handedly tear down his little "coffee empire". Amos & I went to his place after work and played some MW3, and I went to The Anchor for  bit before making pesto pasta back home with Andy & Mo. We tried making homemade garlic bread but burnt them to a crisp and set off the fire alarm; Chef Waugh came to our rescue, bearing a gift of white wine. Amos and Brandy came over, and we crowded Blake's room playing Mad Libs and coloring dinosaur pictures. 

Wednesday. I opened with Jake, and it was a crazy day with a $500 catering order with no tip. We hired a catering director, some chick named Mears, and I think she'll do all right. Brandon agrees. Isaac offered Amos store management at Carew; "Hell no!" he exclaimed. The day's craziness was made crazier by the fact that with Andy gone from Chiquita, the president's sent two of our best baristas--Sarah & James--over there to fill the gap. Thus he cut 600 (the only profitable store) two people to keep Chiquita (the most unprofitable store) afloat. I spent my afternoon reading Rebels & Redcoats at The Anchor: it's so damned good! Storms tore through, bringing cooler air and washing away the humidity, and the rain fell so hard it sounded like the diner's windows would burst, and the roof leaked and the thunder boomed like cannon. Fitting for reading about the defense of Sullivan Island at Charleston. I enjoyed eggs, toast, and cereal for dinner and went on a late-night drive before winding down with some white wine and Revolutionary War history on the front porch. Also, Andy got a new gig as a manager at Q'doba (sp?) down Glenway. Pretty awesome.

Thursday. Tiffany & I opened, it's always fun to team up with her. It doesn't happen too much, since she's full-time baker and all. After work I packed my bags and went to The Anchor to drink countless cups of coffee and read Rebels & Redcoats: I'm "caught up" to my place in Shaara's The Glorious Cause (i.e., I've reached the battles of Trenton and, subsequently, Princeton), and now I'm moving backwards yet again with a non-fiction narrative history of the Revolution from a political/cultural perspective, and I'm going to read all three books in tandem for a better understanding and appreciation of the fascinating events. The 700-page book is called The Glorious Cause, not to be confused with Shaara's book of the same name. Yes, I'm a nerd. I enjoyed a dinner of eggs & toast at the diner, and then Dad picked me up back home and we headed south to Red River Gorge for two days and nights in the beautiful outdoors. We stayed in a cabin with Joe & Cindy, their daughter Sarah, and a few other folk from Southwest Church. There was a little dog named Molly who had no teeth, and her tongue hangs out from the side of her mouth all the time, and she's pretty cute.

Friday. Dad & I woke early, and after coffee we left the cabin and staked out our tent at a campground called Koomer Ridge. We got an isolated spot tucked deep into the woods. We spent the day hiking: Chimney Top, Natural Bridge, Needle's Eye Staircase and Devil's Gulch. We were beat by the time we got back to camp, and we made a fire and roasted brats and drank beer and reminisced on the olden days at Southwest Church.

Saturday. Rain fell all night and all morning, but we donned ponchos and went hiking anyways after a campfire breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and coffee on the perculator. We admired the views at Sky Bridge and did some free climbing at Gray's Arch. After striking the tent we grabbed pizza and Ale8 at Miguel's Pizza, a must for any solid Red River trip, and then we headed back to Ohio. He dropped me off and I cleaned up, spent some time hanging out with Blake, went to The Anchor, and then headed up to Dayton to spend some quiet writing and thinking out on the patio in the dead of night with Sky curled up at my feet. I love the countryside, the wilderness, could definitely call such a place home someday. That is, perhaps, why I find Alaska so drawing: it's all of that, except on steroids. Also, I got to talk with Rob out in Portland for a bit, it was good to hear his voice and equally good to know things are going amazing for him and Mandy out there.

Sunday. I went by the Centerville Starbucks for an iced soy pumpkin spice latte, my own way of kicking into autumn. The Saturday rains brought quite a cold front in, and I shivered in my shorts and t-shirt. I picked up some breakfast burritos for lunch and joined Mom & Dad for church at Southwest. This was the second sermon on baptism, and it was interesting; I don't know where I stand on the subject, it's a difficult one with lots of different angles, but that's a post for another time. After lunch I spent the day doing laundry, and then I went to The Anchor before heading over to the Loth House to play video games and hang out with Amos. On a sadder note, Ams officially moved out today, and the Claypole House is emptier yet again. Andy will be gone soonish, and then Blake & I will say our goodbyes. The end of an era. 

red river gorge '12

the 62nd week

our weekly, self-indulgent ritual

Monday. Our new store hours (7-4:00) started today, and we're cut down to 20% labor, which basically means we've gone from having six people on the floor per day to four. Thus work was busy and frustrating. I'd better get used to it. I hung with the housemates after work and then went to The Anchor: coffee, blogging, Romans. I did some grocery shopping for the week and made pan-seared swordfish with sauteed mushrooms for dinner, polished off with a growler of Summer Honey Ale courtesy of Luke at Rock Bottom. I took a contemplative drive with peach watermelon juice and City of Colour, and I rounded out the night with cantaloupe hookah and the housemates plus ex-housemate Amos.

Tuesday. Brandon & I opened, and after work I went to The Anchor and a semi all but ran me off the road. I wanted to shoot out his tires; too much GTA4, perhaps? I went over to Amos' and we hung out with John & Brandy and made angel-hair pasta with broccoli, mushrooms, and chicken, but I added too much butter so the noodles were rather gooey. "You know how I am with butter," I told Amos. He quipped, "Cooking dinner with you is always crazy, that's why I love it so much." We've certainly got a laundry list of dinner experiences. We played MW3 with the gang and when I got home Josh & Brandon were waiting for me, and we talked about our frustrations with T.M. and Andy & I sat on the front porch late into the night and then I went to bed.

Wednesday. Jake & I opened, and after work I took a nap and went to The Anchor for a while. I threw together a homemade Greek pizza and despite not reading the directions for the dough, it turned out somewhat decent. I have my little victories, though they're few and far between.

Thursday. Lucid dreaming kept me awake all night, in fits of frenzied terror, and I covered Ana's F.P. shift and we were slammed and understaffed and Brandon and I both drank some rancid orange juice and had some awful, sub-par defecation. Things with T.M. continue to become more and more convoluted (is that the right word?) and peoples' spirits and hopes are breaking. Lots of people are feeling out other jobs, biding their time here. "Anyone who's smart and who respects themselves is looking for another job," Amos said. What's that say about me? It's not that I'm superbly happy at T.M.; I'm not, though I do enjoy working with friends. I've just got so much on my plate right now that focusing on a career (or lack thereof) is the furthest thing from my mind. I took a 2-hour nap and woke feeling sick, and I went over to Amos' and John grilled chicken and Brandy made corn on the cob, broccoli, and baked beans. Ams & Andy came over, too, and we all spent the evening hanging out in the living room and playing video games. I'm so blessed to have the friends I do.

Friday. I opened with James and went to The Anchor instead of taking a nap, and I had dinner at Cancun Mexico down Glenway and enjoyed a quiet evening rewatching episodes of The Walking Dead. Hurricane Isaac is supposed to sweep up here sometime tomorrow, bringing heavy winds and blustering winds. Andy remarked, "We're either going to get a shit ton of rain or no rain at all, just wind." We'll see.

Saturday. I woke too late to go to The Anchor before Indian buffet, so I grabbed coffee at McDonald's and then joined Andy, Amos, and Brandy at Dusmesh. It was Brandy's first time, she was pretty into it (she took the pic above; I'm eating on the left, Andy's on the right, and Amos is filling his second plate at the buffet). We went to the Loth House afterwards for some hanging out and video games, and I started feeling kinda sick so I went back home and took a four-hour nap, woke feeling a bit better. I may have eaten some bad Indian, but will that keep me from it? Hell no. I went to The Anchor to throw off some residual grogginess from my nap, and then I spent the evening hanging out with Andy before jetting up to Dayton to see Mom & Dad and to cuddle with Sky. We watched "Ocean's 11" and "Sherlock Holmes" before calling it a night. I slept with the window open listening to distant thunder from Hurricane Isaac blended with the cicadas in the trees.

Sunday. It rained most of the day, Isaac sweeping through. I went to the Centerville Starbucks to sip on an iced soy caramel macchiato and continue plowing through Romans, and then I joined Mom & Dad at Southwest Church. The sermon was on baptism, it's a four-part series, I'm going to try and be there for the others. It should be interesting. Tyler & I did Wendy's for lunch and spent the afternoon playing MW3 and catching up. I returned to Cincinnati and spent the evening reading The Glorious Cause and hanging out with Andy, Blake, and Isaac. Oh, and I ate not one but four chocolate-dipped cookies & cream ice cream bars. My entire week's allowance, gone in a single day. We were going to go to the rock ledge at C.C.U. to watch the fireworks, but it rained so we listened to them in Blake's room. "Wait, is that Antietam?"