the 46th week

Monday. Tori and I opened. I ran the deposit for the studio down to Covington, and after studying the Loyalists at The Anchor, I headed to the Loth House. Amos and I played Call of Duty and Blake & Traci joined us. Ams came, too, and John & Brandy returned late after doing some “cleaning” at their new house.

Tuesday. “I like your dorky moments,” Mandy K. teased. Eric and I opened. Tiffany unveiled our new cream-cheese pumpkin bread. “Keep an eye on Anthony,” she warned Eric. After work I went to The Anchor—Gorman’s chapters on Christ-like love are both spellbinding and convicting—and then I packed up 90% of my belongings in a handful of boxes. “I’m a hermit!” My furniture includes my bed, desk, and several bookshelves (though I may “steal” one of the unclaimed sofas in our living room). As to the bookshelves, I wonder what my priorities are? I like not having a lot of stuff; I could easily (albeit mournfully) sell a few of my books, roll up my bed, shove some boxes in my car and take off to never come back (it’s tempting sometimes). Mandy K. thinks my love for books and learning is wonderful. Ams came over, having a really shitty day over stuff with Josh. My heart breaks for her; I hate to see her cry.

Wednesday. I didn’t sleep well, woke up feeling quite off, a strange unsettled feeling, as if my intuition were telling me things with the Wisconsinite were skewed. I didn’t work Tazza Mia this morning, so I went to The Anchor. Mandy K. called me, and it was nice talking to her; it made me feel better. I’m sure things are okay, I just get paranoid (I need to get over that). I told her that I’ve been missing her lately, and she said she’s been missing me, too. Corey joined me at the diner and ate breakfast while I drank coffee. I hurried home from The Anchor to fix some toast and eggs before a mandatory meeting with W.O.J. I worked till 5:30 out in Delhi, and then Amos, Ams and I met up at Rock Bottom for drinks and dinner. Corey and Mandy joined us. Amos, Ams and I headed over to the Loth House to round out the night hanging with John and Brandy, and Missy and Aaron B.

Thursday. I worked till 1:30; no trip to the farm today. I picked up UDF’s pumpkin coffee to pick me up. It was damned delicious. Pumpkin ale at the brewery yesterday, pumpkin coffee today. It’s about time I got on the pumpkin bandwagon, since autumn seems to be all but over: all day it’s been cold and rainy, and as I ate pine club pasta and a stuffed pork chop, snow fell outside. I spent the quiet evening reading, and Mandy K. and I got to Facetime! Her beauty renders me breathless every time.

Friday. Eric and I opened. I dog-sat Clover for John and Brandy while their landlord examined the house; they headed to Kentucky for yet another funeral. Way too much of that these days; who’s next? Amos came home from work, and we played video games. Ams swung by, and we picked up Chinese from Double-Dragon II in Surrey Square and watched episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia late into the night.

Saturday. A rough day. The Wisconsinite called things off again. This time I didn’t talk about Jesus enough AND she found someone else. So it was a pretty rough night that I spent alone because everyone was gone. I wrote several pages expressing my feelings, but to post that here, now, would be to make myself vulnerable, and I’m learning that’s not a good thing to do. *SIGH* This feels like a great time to listen to some Spill Canvas. God help me.

Sunday. I was up until 5 AM last night, unable to sleep, wide awake, drowning in thoughts and memories, hearing her voice over and over in my head, reliving the conversation. It was a weird sensation, at 4 AM, having the urge to just bash my head against the wall over and over to try and bleed those memories, those thoughts, from my mind. Eventually I passed out, and I woke too late for church and went downtown to do the food order and ran into Tiffany and told her everything that happened. She didn’t say “I told you so” (but she did). Mandy, Ams and I got breakfast at Keystone in Clifton followed by coffee. Corey joined us back at the house, and though the evening seemed to be going fine enough, it degenerated pretty quickly: Mandy thought she was dying, Corey was dealing with his mother’s death, and Ams and I sat in the living room mocking the comedic tragedy that is our lives. “Sometimes I look at my life and think, ‘This can’t be real, this HAS to be a joke.’” The ironic thing is, two days before the Wisconsinite called things off, I made the conscious and difficult decision to allow myself to hope, to force myself to trust her. I exercised patience all along, and caution, too, and the moment I allowed hope to flourish, that hope turned into just another disappointment. My life is a tragic comedy, but I’m not the one who’s laughing.

Gorman: "Cruciform Faith" (V)

To enter into relationship with God is to identify fully, both cognitively and existentially (with both the Head and the Heart) with the cross and resurrection of Jesus. It is by THIS sort of faith that we are justified.

A Note on Justification. Gorman doesn’t delve too deep into the concept of justification, and I find myself more drawn to N.T. Wright’s work on justification—originally titled Justification—but Gorman does have lots of good points. He points out that the Hebrew and Greek terms for justification, justice, and righteousness are all related via the same root. Each word is part of (at least) three “lexical clusters”: the language of divine and human virtue, the language of covenant, and the language of apocalyptic judgment. Justification is the language of restoring and maintaining right covenantal relations in the present; it is also the language of acquittal and acceptance on the apocalyptic Day of Judgment. In both case, right relationship and acceptance by God include the right treatment of other people, for those who are in right relationship with God will express the righteous character of God through the righteous treatment of others (the New Testament is quite clear about this: there is no justification if we do not love one another). Justification can be called “right-wising”: it’s establishing right covenantal relations with God. Proper relations with God assumes acquittal or even vindication on the Day of Judgment. Justification ALSO means performance of just or righteous deeds, fulfilling the “just requirement of the Law” made possible by the Spirit. Thus justification may be described as (a) right relations with God (covenant), issuing in (b) right (or “godly”) relations with others (virtue), and (c) acquittal or vindication on the Day of Judgment.

Gorman’s whole premise is that it is by sharing in the faith of Jesus—that faith of obedience and devotion before God flowing out in love for other people—that brings about justification. Some will argue, “Doesn’t this turn justification into moral transformation rather than a judicial declaration?” Gorman answers them. Justification isn’t merely a declaration but a restoration to covenant faithfulness, which is an inherently moral enterprise, as the Greek and Hebrew terms make clear but the English terms obscure. Justification is indeed a sheer and unmerited gift of divine grace, but the gift demands and offers complete identification with the cross of Christ, not only as the BASIS of right relations with God but the very SHAPE of that relationship.

“Isn’t this making justification by works, since faith of this nature requires cruciformity and not simply cognitive and heartfelt belief?” Gorman points to Romans 10.9-10, where Paul says that if you just believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, you will be saved. “Look how easy it is!” we proclaim. But Gorman says, “Wait just a minute.” Paul’s celebrating the universal availability of justification for all people, Jew or Gentile, with the condition that they both believe and confess. The confession part is where things get tricky. Such a belief and confession maintains that the crucified Jesus has been raised by God and exalted to the position of Lord, and this confession places the confessor under the lordship of the crucified Jesus, making a deliberate move from the sphere of any other lord (whether pagan idol, Roman emperor, or anything else) into the sphere of the crucified lord. To confess “Jesus is Lord” involves the implicit confession, “And I am the servant of this exalted crucified Lord.” It is to change from a posture of disobedience to obedience. This confession could be called a performative rather than declarative statement: it’s not only a declaration about reality but also a vow as to how one will live.

Cruciform faith—the faith of Jesus—isn’t a human deed or badge meriting divine approval (a “work” performed to attain right covenant relations with God). The fact that faith is costly doesn’t mean that it’s a work. Gorman writes, “Faith is the confession that Jesus is Lord and I am his servant, and the conviction that God’s offer and demand are one gift to bring about the restoration of covenant faithfulness in disobedient, faithless Israel and in ungodly humanity at large.” (145)

Faith as Cruciformity. Gorman rounds out his chapters on faith with these five “points” on cruciform faith:

(1) Faith is renunciation of (death/crucifixion with respect to) any other possible basis for justification. Any boasting—other than in God or the cross—is absurd.

(2) Faith is liberation from the hostile powers that enslave humans, including those about which humans may be tempted to boast.

(3) Faith is conformity to Christ’s faith, his narrative posture of faithful obedience and trust before God.

(4) Faith is an initial and ongoing experience of the above dimensions; cruciform faith liberates people from the powers of this age and inaugurates and maintains restored covenant relationship with God.

(5) Faith, like Jesus’, can be costly.

Gorman: "Cruciform Faith" (IV)

Although a once-for-all death to sin occurs in baptism, as Christ died only once, this death must be constantly re:actualized. One habitual action of self-seeking is to be replaced by another in those who have moved from death to life. Sanctification—growth in holiness or dedication to God—must replace “greater and greater iniquity.” This is achieved by means of regular self-offering to God. This regular “self-offering” finds its roost in a dynamic and ongoing narrative posture before God. Those who have died to sin and now live to God in Christ Jesus must embrace the logical corollary: we now offer ourselves in obedience not to our passions but to our newfound Lord (Rom 6.11, 13, 19).

In Galatians 2.19, Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ.” His use of the Greek perfect tense can be translated as English present tense: “I am crucified with Christ.” This crucifixion had a starting point but no ending point “this side of the eschaton.” Paul uses the same grammatical construction in Galatians 6.14: “The world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” The daily life of believers is one of reaffirming and re:actualizing the separation from former ways (whether pagan or ethnic Jewish) that faith in the gospel inaugurated and baptism expressed. It is the ongoing expression of our “fundamental option” rightly ordered, our narrative posture of dynamic faith before God.

To share in Christ’s faith is to share in his obedience. Heartfelt obedience to the gospel means accepting Christ’s death not merely as the SOURCE of salvation but as the PATTERN of faith/obedience. Paul hints at the interrelationship of faith and obedience with a coin he termed and uses twice in Romans: the “obedience of faith” (Rom 1.5, 16.26).

Obedience isn’t optional, nor even a good supplement to faith.

The gospel isn’t merely to be BELIEVED but OBEYED.

Obedience and Faith are essentially synonymous.

New obedience to the gospel MUST replace obedience to one’s passions. This obedience is a self-offering to God. When this self-offering occurs, the results are (1) nonconformity to this age (“death” or “crucifixion” to the world) and (2) transformation or renewal of the mind (elsewhere, having “the mind of Christ”; conformity to Christ crucified. This transformation of the mind is the fruit only of a stance towards God that welcomes the divine power of the cross to effect change.

Faith is a separation from the Law and from the self, and an identification with the cross of Christ. It is an experience of participating in the death of Christ in order to experience to the life of Christ. Faith begins by acknowledging the faith of Jesus and dying with him by no longer relying on the law or the self for right relations with God. Faith continues by daily relying on Christ as the energizing force for all of life, and by allowing the faith of Christ—expressed in his self-giving, loving death—to express itself over and over in the life of the believer. Paradoxically, this life is a death, a crucifixion, so that the Crucified One may live in the crucified one; the crucified but living Christ lives in and through the crucified but living believer.

Gorman: "Cruciform Faith" (III)

Faith is the means of beginning life in Christ, life in the Spirit. Faith, alongside baptism, is initiation into the messianic faith and community. Those who believe are justified by faith, becoming children of God and heirs of Abraham, and recipients of the Spirit. Private belief and public confession of it, including baptism, are both needed for salvation.

Faith is the appropriate response to the gospel. It has a cognitive dimension: it affirms the content of the gospel as true. It involves confession of Jesus as Lord, which is also a confession that Caesar is not: what has become a “tradition” in our Jacuzzi-style baptismal pools was a political claim that very well marked one for treason! Faith also involves trust and confidence: it is “pride” in God and God alone, and the abandonment of all other grounds of assurance before God. Faith in God is loyalty or allegiance to God: this cannot be slighted.

Faith liberates and enslaves; it incorporates and inaugurates*. It liberates us from the interlocking directorate of hostile powers that enslave us in order to make us servants of God; it incorporates us into Christ; and it inaugurates in us a new life of faithfulness made possible by the Spirit.

Faith as Liberation. As a death experience, faith terminates certain relationships and realities. Those things characterizing a world in rebellion to God must be “died to”: idolatry, immorality, injustice. The “world” is the sphere in which sin reigns, and faith necessitates dying to it. Death to sin and the world involves death to self; the “self” is under the power of sin and controlled by its anti-God impulses, and therefore it must be crucified. In Galatians 2.19-20, Paul says that he himself has been crucified with Christ and no longer lives; i.e. he no longer lives for himself and the desires inspired by the flesh, just as he no longer lives for sin or the world. Rather, he lives for God, he lives for Christ. Faith is indeed a death experience, and as such it frees those who die and enter a new sphere of life from the reign of powers associated with a pre-death existence. This experience of liberation through sharing in Christ’s dying to sin and rising to new life toward God is a transfer of dominion, from a sphere of existence ruled by sin, death, and unrighteousness to one ruled by righteousness and life. It is a transfer from a malevolent to a benevolent Lord. Human beings always live under one master or another; what matters is being under the right master. True freedom is belonging to the right Master.

Faith as Re:Enslavement. Faith effects a liberation and, consequently, a “new” enslavement, enslavement to God, to Christ, to righteousness. Faith transfers us from the realm of sin, death, the self, the flesh, the Law, unrighteousness and what-have-you into the realm and reign of the world’s true Lord. The Old Testament Exodus was a signpost to Christ; the Exodus wasn’t a “context-less emancipation” but an “exchange of overlords.” Israel was liberated to become YHWH’s servant; likewise, we are liberated to become God’s servants. Enslavement to God is the critical disposition of genuine human living. Human beings apart from Christ belong to and live for themselves (1 Cor 6.19-20, 2 Cor 5.15); i.e. they live with themselves as the goal and benchmark of their lives in a sort of slavery to their own ambitions, desires, etc. Faith reorients humans away from self and towards God in whom we live; in the language of the slave market, God has redeemed believers by means of Christ’s death. We were bought at the slave market by God to become his slaves, which is the truest sense of freedom. Consequently, in Christ we are no longer “masters of our own fate” but have become the slaves of God. This shift of life-for-self to life-for-Christ is NOT an optional addition to faith; IT IS THE REASON CHRIST DIED (2 Cor 5.15). In Romans 6, Paul builds upon this new enslavement: believers are dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus; we are “enslaved to God.” Therefore, we are to daily offer our selves to God, our new Lord. The children of God are liberated from all past slaveries and their related fears, but only insofar as they are led by the Spirit.

Faith as Incorporation refers to the Christian’s incorporation into Christ and his body; faith (and baptism) transfers us from one sphere of life into another, that of life “in Christ” (see Gorman: Life in Christ, an earlier post). Faith as inauguration refers to our inauguration, by faith, into the community (or body) of Christ, as well as inauguration into a life of dying with Christ (cruciformity). This life of “dying” is a life of love; faith and love are inseparable. After all, what matters is “faith working through love.” (Galatians 5.6)

Gorman quotes E.P. Sanders from Paul & Palestinian Judaism: “[The] prime significance which the death of Christ has for Paul is… that, by sharing in Christ’s death, one dies to the power of sin or to the old aeon, with the result that one belongs to God. The transfer is not only one from the uncleanness and of idolatry and sexual immorality to cleanness and holiness, but from one lordship to another. The transfer takes place by participation in Christ’s death.”

Gorman: "Cruciform Faith" (II)

The faith of Christ is the model of our faith. The faith of Christ, rather than the law or “works of the law,” is the basis and instrument of justification and righteousness. The faith of Christ is manifested in his death, his act of self-giving obedience to God and self-giving love for humanity. The faith (or faithfulness) of Christ is the manifestation of the faithfulness of God, as God takes the initiative to fulfill the covenant with Israel and extend it, as promised to the Gentiles. Christ’s faith must be shared by those who would be justified.

Seven times in Paul’s letters he writes he pistis [Iesou] Christou. This Greek phrase has traditionally been rendered “faith in Christ,” but it can also equally be rendered “faith of Christ.” The occurrences are Galatians 2.16 (twice), 2.20, 3.22; Romans 3.22, 26; and Philippians 3.9. By going from “faith in Christ” to “faith of Christ,” lots of neat theological packaging becomes more than disturbed. Since no one likes spit-and-polished theologies being messed with, the proposals from most New Testament scholars to “make the jump” has been met with fierce resistance. If such a rereading forces theologians to imagine afresh their theology, why do it at all? Because, Gorman says, it makes more sense of the text.

“Faith of Christ” rather than “faith in Christ” expresses a natural translation of the Greek phrase, it makes God (rather than God and Christ) the consistent object of faith for Paul, and it’s parallel in form and content to “the faith OF Abraham” in Romans 4.12, 16. Additionally, this interpretation makes coherent sense: it makes the most fundamental basis of salvation Christocentric rather than anthropocentric (“Christ’s faith” rather than “our faith.”). This interpretation also grounds the inseparability of love and faith in the one faithful and loving act of Christ on the cross. Construing every case of pistis Christou as the fidelity of Jesus removes unwanted awkwardness from Paul’s statement and clarifies the key point: the role of Christ in salvation. (Gorman notes that there are two exceptions to this “rule” in the Pauline letters, one in Galatians 2.16 and the other in Philippians 1.29; these texts involve the use of “believe into,” faith effecting a transfer of allegiance and social location—into Christ—rather than focusing on the object of faith).

Is the Christian faith nullified in this view? Not at all! Paul stresses the need for human faith over and over. Human faith is necessary, and it must match Christ’s faith in God. Romans 3.21-26, one of the most complicated of Pauline passages, makes more sense in this light: God’s means of justification isn’t the Law but the faith of Christ. The faith of Christ is manifested in his death, which effects justification, redemption, and atonement. The righteousness that comes through the faith of Christ comes ultimately from God; the faithful act of Jesus is also the demonstration of the faithfulness of God. The faithfulness of God demonstrated in the faith of Jesus must be met by the human response of faith to be effective. Although justification is not by means of the law but by means of Jesus’ faith met by human faith, the law and prophets bear witness to this odd means of justification. Implicitly, this justification by means of God’s faithfulness, revealed in the faith of Jesus, is available to all people, apart from their relationship to the “works of the law.”

God has solved the problem of human unrighteousness—and of Israel’s faithlessness—by putting forward as a sacrifice the one perfect human being, Jesus. Though others rebelled and refused to give glory to God, Jesus remained faithful. Romans 3.21-26 highlights the faithfulness of God revealed in the faithfulness of Christ, which is meant to engender human faith leading to justification. The odd phrase in Romans 1.17 (“from faith toward faith”) makes sense in this light: the righteousness of God (his covenant fidelity) is revealed in the faithful death of Jesus and for the purpose of evoking a response of covenant faithfulness from both Jews and Gentiles. The gospel proclaims that God’s righteousness both originates in fidelity and engenders fidelity. The accent is placed on the faithfulness of God revealed in the faithfulness of Jesus.

In Philippians 3.8-9, Paul notes that his “life goal” is to be conformed to the death of Christ in order to be raised with him, and he invites the Philippians to imitate him—and others who live like him—rather than those who live as “enemies of the cross.” What marked Christ in the hymn in Philippians 2.6-11 was his obedience, his faithfulness to God, and it is this obedience to God—not keeping human laws or ethnic boundary markers—that is the basis of justification. Christ’s faithfulness to God, climaxing in the cross, is the prototype of humanity’s appropriate, dynamic, narrative posture before God.

Gorman defines the faith of Christ as his “narrative posture” of faithfulness, or obedience toward God, the right ordering of his “fundamental option,” which led him to, and was particularly manifested in, the cross. The “faith of Christ” is, fundamentally, trust, or LOYALTY, to God. The phrase “faith of Christ,” found through the New Testament, is a summary allusion to Christ’s proper posture before God. In Christ’s death, Christ is faithful to God, and God is faithful to Christ. Christ’s faith is the prototype of humanity’s proper dynamic, narrative posture before God, the heart of faith.

In Philippians 2, Christ’s death by crucifixion was a voluntary act of obedience, the culmination of a human life lived as the servant of God. Obedience as God’s servant was Christ’s life-stance before God, his “narrative posture.” In Romans 5, we see that Christ is the anti-type to Adam, who was disobedient to God’s command, and who may well have sought to exploit for his selfish gain being made in God’s image. Here, Paul contrasts the affects of humanity of the one representative “trespass” and act of “disobedience” of Adam with the affects of the one representative act of “grace,” “righteousness,” and “obedience” of Jesus. Christ’s one act of obedience was cosmic in scope and power; by means of Christ’s death, death’s reign has ended and life begins. Sin is no longer the norm for those who receive the grace effected by his death; the righteousness of Christ leads to the righteousness of many. Implicitly, the obedience of one leads to the obedience of many. The gift of Christ’s obedient death restores believing humanity to a proper relationship with God (in a word, justification) whereby those who respond in faith are enabled to become righteous and obey with the power of the Spirit. Thus Christ’s obedience permits and enables OUR obedience.

Those who wish to benefit from God’s grace must “have” or “share in” the faith of Jesus. God justifies those who share Christ’s faith. The justified are “co-crucified” with Christ and continue to live “by the faith of the Son of God,” whose faithfulness to God expressed itself in self-giving love.

Gorman: "Cruciform Faith" (I)

Gorman begins his lengthy chapters on faith by looking at a term from Catholic morality: our fundamental option. He uses the term in a way different from classic Catholic morality, defining it here as one’s posture before God. People are basically oriented towards God or away from God. It’s about one’s disposition towards God. We have the fundamental option to either accept or refuse the love and grace of God offered in Christ. The fundamental option refers to the free and basic self-commitment to either love God or not love him.

Our “proper” stance before God is one of surrender to God. It is the total act of the will to surrender oneself to our Creator. This surrender to God involves a surrender to the demands God makes on us as persons. His ownership and demands are right, because, as Creator, he has fashioned us and truly owns us. He who surrenders to God will seek to integrate with his basic intention every part of his life, so that grace makes its way from our center to our extremities, spreading into our acts of free choice and our operation in the world.

Our proper stance before God is our fundamental option rightly ordered.

In the Old Testament, this “proper stance” was defined as “love for God.”

“Love for God” is total surrender to self-commitment in loving God.

In the Old Testament, God demanded total commitment and nothing less. For Israel, “love of God” was the appropriate response to God’s initiative in their calling and Exodus. “Love of God” has both an affective dimension and an ethical (or political) one. The first involves self-abandonment, devotion, and trust; the second involves “hearing,” loyalty, and obedience. “Love of God” is a political idiom, a pledge of allegiance to the policies of YHWH, to refuse any other allegiance, ultimate love, or loyalty; love for God is about FAITH and FAITHFULNESS.

Paul only occasionally speaks of “love of God.” The twofold sense of trust and faithfulness are carried forward into the New Testament by the shorthand “faith.”

Faith is the comprehensive and proper response to God as revealed in Christ.

Faith is humanity’s proper stance before God, and it involves both trust and faithfulness.

Faith is devotional, total commitment, and loyalty to God and his ways.

For Paul, abandonment to God is specifically abandonment to God as revealed in Christ. It is abandonment to a God who is just, loving, merciful and full of grace; it is abandonment to God not as a capricious, vindictive, or hateful God but to a God whose disposition towards us is that of a Father.

Paul attributes faith not ONLY to believers but also to Christ. Jesus’ fundamental stance towards God was one of trust and faithfulness, a posture of obedience before God culminating in his faithful death. The faith of the Christian is informed by the faith of Christ: our faith is “Christ-faith,” the relationship to God that Christ exemplified, the life-stance that he actualized and which now characterizes the faith of all who live in him. The believers’ faith, patterned after Christ’s life and death, is from start-to-finish a liberating, life-giving “death”, the “obedience of faith” that is our proper response to God’s initiative in Christ.

The appropriate fundamental stance for human beings is faith, an initial and ongoing experience of dying to self and living for God. There are two kinds of “dying with Christ” in Paul: initial death with Christ, a decisive past event transforming one’s identity and existence, involving, to some degree, baptism; and existential death, the ongoing “death to self” in the arena of sanctification. This faith isn’t static but dynamic; it’s active rather than inactive. This faith is narrative: it tells a story. The “action” and “dynamo” of faith is faithfulness, obedience to Christ through cruciformity. 

the 45th week

Columbus Day. Brittany and I opened, a slow day what with the holiday and all. I went to The Anchor after work to read some Cruciformity, and I grabbed Subway for dinner and spent the evening hanging out with Corey and Mandy. Ams came over, too.

Tuesday. Chloe and I opened, and after work I dog-sat Gigi and Rocco for Brandy, who had a funeral in Berea. I played with the dogs, took them for a walk, and did some reading on the screened-in porch. I headed over to Amos' once my "shift" was over. Corey, Dave, and Ams headed to the Loth House as well. 

Wednesday. I spent the morning at The Anchor listening to Yale lectures on the American Revolution, and W.O.J. found me fishing at a pond. I caught three catfish and a bluegill! I craved a deep-fried catfish fillet all evening but (wisely) chose not to satisfy said crave. Ams came over later in the evening and we watched Youtube videos about the Battle of Shiloh, and Ams listed off at least twelve wars involved in America's history (I gave her the French & Indian War, for I didn't specify the United States rather than the continent named after Amerigo Vespucci). She won... nothing. But that was her fault for not asking for a prize.

Thursday. The morning found me out at Gorman Heritage Farms with W.O.J. Rains scoured the fields, ice-cold and goblet-sized raindrops, and we loaded into a golf cart to escape into the main building, but not before launching pumpkins across the fields from a GE-built pumpkin launcher. One of the boys didn't like the rain, but as soon as he launched his pumpkin, he laughed so hard he almost choked. It brings me joy, it really does. I went to The Anchor after work to finish up a several-month study of Galatians 5 (note that it was supposed to be a two-week study, so don't think I was being extra studious). After The Anchor I rounded out my evening at the Loth House, playing NBA Jam with John and Amos.

Friday. Eric and I opened; we were slammed, and I made $60 in tips. After work I checked out a pretty good-looking studio in Covington; I'm going to apply for it on Monday. Since I was in Covington I went to The Anchor (just a few minutes from the studio; what a perk!) and listened to some more lectures on the American Revolution (Itunes University is the best thing to ever happen to Apple). Mandy was home when I returned to the apartment, and she dyed her hair an amazing dark red. We sat in her bed-fort and talked about girls and boys. Ams came over and took an exam while Mandy and I worked on our budgets. Dylan called from a bar in Washington, D.C., and we talked and laughed. I asked who he was at the bar with. "No one," he said. I asked if he was meeting someone; he said he wasn't: "I'm literally just sitting here drinking because the government shut down and my hiring has been put 'on hold.'" I love him. Luckily the government came "back on" yesterday (a deal being struck Wednesday), so hopefully he'll get in the swing of things. However, since Wednesday's deal didn't really deal with any of the issues, and since the G.O.P. are being dicks, he may be back at the bar alone sometime early next year. 

Saturday. I went to The Anchor when I woke up, and then met up with a client before hanging with Ams and Mandy. I went back to The Anchor, and someone was shooting up heroin in the bathroom again. It's a good thing I'm comfortable with Covington, since I'm going to try to move there. My evening was spent at the Loth House with the Usual Crew. Ams, Andy, and Frank were there, too. John roasted hot dogs and Brandy served root beer. 

Sunday. I went to The Anchor before U.C.C., and after a trip to Fusian with Ams and a nap, I went back to The Anchor to do some writing. I headed up to the Loth House, and we watched football and Ams came over. She ordered pizza and got me one, since she's awesome like that and knows I'm being super frugal. The Walking Dead came on at nine: awesome, as always. I headed back home and lit my oil lanterns and read some scripture before bed.

on cowboy boots

These past few days have been pretty stressful, what with looking for a new place to live and figuring out how to afford it in the weird interim period with my new job slashing my income in half. Lots and lots of precise budgeting and I'm more than able to pull it off. That's been a huge relief in and of itself. I've found a place I'm definitely interested in, toured it a few days ago, and I'm applying for it tomorrow. Fingers crossed. 

The weather's been beautifully fallish lately.

And by beautiful I mean awful.

Winter may be coming a bit early this year, I'm afraid.

(That's what I've heard from meteorologists)

It's given me an opportunity to start wearing my cowboy boots again. I've gotten lots of compliments on them (and ZERO complaints). They're rustic, minimal, absent decoration, and totally real. They were $500 originally and on sale for $350. I'd just returned from Minnesota and had $1500 in my pocket. So I bought them. And a cowboy hat that didn't fit. Also, I got an alligator head on a keychain. "That was an impulse buy," I told Amos (ss if the boots and cowboy hat weren't). But as far as impulse buys go, these boots have been by far the best buy ever. I've had them five years, worn them rain, sleet, and snow (and ran over them with my car), and they're in just as good shape as they were when I bought them. I guess that's what you get when you buy real cowboy boots rather than imitations or knock-offs. 

Speaking of alligator heads, I'm reminded of my days with Jeff and Mindy and 412 Student Ministries back when I was in high school and running around with Chris, Pat, and Lee. When Mindy was pregnant, we threw a baby shower to celebrate, and everyone gave her all sorts of normal gifts. I decided to take an African statue of a giraffe, saw off its head, and attach a foot-long alligator head to the neck. Once that was complete, I put weights down in the base of the wooden statue so that it wouldn't topple forward. I added a note explaining that this would be an amazing first toy when their daughter was born. (She didn't give it to their girl, but she DID put it in their tropical-themed bathroom, and she said it scared her every time she went to get a drink of water in the middle of the night). Now that I think about it, I did have a tendency to give dead animals as gifts. Not the "dead and scraped off the street" sort of dead but the "dead and stuffed and treated" kind of dead. For one of our White Elephants one year, for example, I wrapped a squirrel fur around a smooth but ridged rock, wrapped the whole thing in tissue paper, and placed it in a small box. I poked holes on the top and threw it in the pile. It was one of the last gifts picked (surprisingly, I think; I would've been on that so fast), and as the girl held it, her face went a bit ashen. She shook it, heard something knocking about, dead weight in the box, and you could see she thought what everyone thought: "Whatever's in there has died." (you know, since there were holes on top). She unwrapped the package, reached in, felt the smooth fur over the ridged and hard surface--as if an animal had gone into rigormortis--and screamed and dropped the box. Classic moments of my days in student ministry. 

*SIGH* I miss doing youth ministry.

Youth ministry is sorta like a license to scare kids all the time.

Plus, you get to teach them about God and the gospel.

It's really a win-win vocation.

Point of all this: I really enjoy wearing my cowboy boots. I like wearing them any season, though I don't wear them in the summer because they just look plain weird with shorts. On Thursdays I work with W.O.J. and take my guys out to Gorman Heritage Farm in Blue Ash. The farm was built in 1818 (or something like that), and many of the original buildings still stand. I love plodding around the grounds in my cowboy boots, as if I were strolling the fields as an early-19th century farmer. This past week we launched pumpkins across the fields from a GE-built "pumpkin launcher". Right as we got started, hammering rains started falling, and we got a few launches in before we had to high-tail it to the main building. I rode in the back of a covered golf cart, my legs sticking out the back, cowboy boots slicked black with rain, soaked from head-to-toe, and I loved it because I felt alive. 

I like life rustic and raw.

Sometimes technology gives me a headache.

All the noise, the glaring screens, the buttons.

Sometimes I just want to "turn it off".

(Another reason I love NBC's Revolution)

On the topic of TV shows, Ams and I just finished the recent season of Parks and Recreation. In one episode, Leslie "faces off" with a disgruntled citizen. The challenge: last the longest living in a 19th century house. (I do believe they said 18th century in the show, but in the 1700s the only residents of Illinois were scattered fur traders and Indian tribes, not to mention the ruins of an Indian mega-city called Cahokia whose inhabitants had suddenly disappeared, probably from European disease carried forward by early Spanish conquistadores). Leslie didn't last too long, but the moral of the story (as I tell it) is that I'd love to live like that for a hot minute. All during the show I was fantasizing about living in that cabin, having it to myself, just being dorky and living "frontier style" for a bit. Just to try it out.

During my studies colonial America, I've become fascinated with what life would be like as an average 26-year-old man living in colonial Boston in 1775. Often I lie in bed at night and close my eyes and pretend that I'm falling asleep in a small upstairs room of The Green Dragon, imagining the den of the drinking below, the clinking of tea cups as gristly merchants complain about the closing of Boston harbor and how it's ran their business to the ground, young and boisterous men downing beers by the name of Blackstrap and Rattle-Skull, but no one drank Sam Adams' beer because he'd run his brewery into the ground by mismanagement and disregard. They cursed Parliament for its arbitrary abuse of power, for London's strangulation of Boston and willful disregard for the rights the townspeople had by virtue of being British citizens. Sometimes, on the verge of sleep, I hear talk of "standing armies", supposedly sent for the protection of the people, being the first step towards an arbitrary wielding of power that strips citizens of their rights, but the talk's silenced for a moment, and then there comes an uproar as two British soldiers enter the tavern. Shouts of Lobsterback! and Redcoats! and Bloodbacks! ring out. There's a fistfight, and the soldiers hold their own and then hurry back out onto the street. The tavern empties, the soldiers followed out into the dark, and it's then that I drift off to sleep, and I dream it's daylight in Boston, spring's blooming on the Boston Common; here we used to graze our cows, but now it's filled with tents and barracks. Down King Street people are milling about; there's far more women here than men, and far more children than adults. The town's ringed by docks, but they're empty, the ships taking off to sea or being scuttled in the weeks before the closing of the harbor. Here there's the quiet, the waters of the Charles lapping against the dock's moorings, and I'm wearing my cowboy boots and looking out beyond Boston, towards the sea, past dozens of craggy islands, where the town used to graze its cattle before the harbor closed.  

The heart of this rambling, somehow-tied-together-but-not-really post is that I REALLY like wearing my cowboy boots. 

And maybe now you can get a sense of why. 

It's an hour until The Walking Dead, Ams ordered me a pizza and it's just arrived, and John has the Colts vs. Broncos on. It's a big game, Brandy says, because Peyton Manning (I don't even care enough to spell-check that) used to be with the Colts but now he's with the Broncos, and this is the first game he's going to be playing against his old team on their own field. But all I can think is this:

"Little Talks"

Of Monsters and Men has become one of my favorite artists, and this is one of those songs I listen to over and over and never get tired of. The awesome thing about music is that it can capture things you can't quite put into words, giving voice to an atmosphere. I've connected with this song in so many ways over the last two years.

I don't like walking around this old and empty house.
    So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear.
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake.
    It's the house telling you to close your eyes.
And some days I can't even trust myself.
    It's killing me to see you this way,
       'Cause though the truth may vary,
       this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back.
    Well tell her that I miss our little talks.
Soon it will be over and buried with our past.
    We used to play outside when we were young,
    And full of life and full of love.
Some days I don't know if I'm wrong when I'm right.
    Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear,
       'Cause though the truth may very,
       this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

Don't listen to a word I say, the screams all sound the same.
You're gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear.
    All that's left is the ghost of you.
Now we're torn, torn, torn apart, there's nothing we can do.
    Just let me go, we'll meet again soon.
Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around.
    I'll see you when I fall asleep.

[gandalf in real life]

Gorman: "The Human Condition"

Human beings are under the power of an interlocking directorate of anti-human and anti-God realities and forces. These “forces” come under a host of names: sin, death, the world, this age, idols, cosmic powers, satan (“the god of this age”), the flesh, and the Self. This present evil age is characterized by evil and injustice; the “age to come” will be characterized by righteousness and peace. This interlocking directorate of hostile powers has rendered the human race spiritually and morally dysfunctional. The root dysfunctions are disordered relations with God and disordered relations with other people. Gentiles are marked by idolatry (disordered relations with God) and immorality (disordered relations with people.” Jews are marked by hardheartedness and pride, and hypocrisy. Both Jews and Gentiles are disobedient to the summons of God found in nature or the Law. Both fail to love God with all their heart, mind, and soul, and both fail to love their neighbors as they love themselves.

So far as God’s covenant goes, humans fail.

We lack both faith (loyalty and submission to God) and love (serving one another).

We’re powerless to break free from the grip of these disabling hostile powers and their ever-increasing effects. We’re in what’s been called a No-Exit situation: escape is both necessary and impossible, at least on our own accord. What’s needed is a solution that deals not just with “sins” but the enslavement of sin. Christ does exactly this: he deals with both sins and “sin” to restore and enable proper relations with God and with people. Those who have the Spirit of God share in this solution and are enabled to relate properly to God and others, in a word, faith and love.

The cross of Christ inaugurates the new age by liberating those who respond in faith from the powers of the present age. 1 Cor 10.11 refers to the “overlap” of the ages, when the promised Age to Come has reached back into the present evil age. This overlapping of the present and the future was inaugurated by the death of Christ, an eschatological and apocalyptic moment. Christ’s death was “to sin,” permanently ending the power of sin over those who respond to God in faith. Consequently, those in Christ can now “become” the righteousness they were not; in Christ, people are liberated from sin so that the formerly impossible is now possible: they are no longer covenantally dysfunctional.

Christ’s death likewise liberates human beings from their selves. Outside Christ, we are enslaved to ourselves, living a life improperly oriented towards ourselves rather than towards God and others. Christ liberates us from ourselves so that we can live for him; conversion is exchanging one “Lord” (our selves) for another, proper Lord. In 1 Corinthians 6.19-20, Paul says that we are “not our own,” i.e. we are not our own master or owner. Believers are redeemed from slavery unto themselves in order to belong to our rightful owner: we were once our own, but no longer. Our “old self” or “old person” has died. 

Gorman: "The Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ"

Paul everywhere assumes and occasionally states that all believers have the Spirit, and without the Spirit there is no Christian believer and no Christian community. The reception and experience of the Spirit is an act of God’s grace appropriated by faith. The Spirit is a “cure” to the rotten human heart: the Gentile heart is darkened by refusal to acknowledge God as God, and the Jewish heart has become hard and impenitent, and is thus in need of “circumcision.” The heart is the fundamental human problem, and thus the right target for repair; consequently, it is from the heart that human response to the gospel occurs, both faith and obedience. The Spirit is a fulfillment of the Hebrew biblical injunctions to circumcise the heart, as well as the fulfillment to the prophetic promises to remove Israel’s hard and stony heart and replace it with a new heart and a new Spirit, a heart of flesh. The “Israel of God,” the community of Jewish and Gentile believers, has received the promised Spirit, the Spirit’s heart-circumcision, and the law written on their hearts by the Spirit. This Spirit has renewed and reconstituted God’s people around Christ and now lives among them.

Gorman does a sweeping examination of Romans 8, one of the most prominent Pauline texts on the Spirit of God/the Spirit of Christ (henceforth “the Spirit”). The experience of being “in Christ” is that of “walking… according to the Spirit.” Believers are “led” or “guided” by the Spirit, an echo of the Old Testament times when God’s people were called to live as a journey in the way of YHWH, guided by the Law. The Spirit enables Christians to do that which, without the Spirit’s power, is impossible: fulfilling the “just requirement of the law.” To live “according to the Spirit” isn’t merely to have an external norm (such as with imitation) but with a power within, a power that acts to override—indeed, replace—the power of “the flesh,” the power of sin.

In the present, the Spirit powerfully brings life out of sin and death.

In the future, the same Spirit will give life to the dead in parallel to the raising of Jesus.

Because the Spirit forms a link between believers’ present and future experience, Paul refers to the Spirit as the “down payment” or “first installment” (Greek arrabon, a modern word for an engagement ring) of our future life with God. Paul refers to this act of recreation (transforming death into life) via the metaphor of “fruit”. In Galatians 5, Paul lists nine fruit, but tantamount is LOVE—understood as service to neighbor—and, also, FREEDOM. These are the chief works of the Spirit. The freedom of the Spirit, in fact, is the freedom to love, to become the servant of another.

Although the flesh with its passions and desires has been crucified, and although the experience of the Spirit is one of freedom and not living under the rule of the flesh, it is possible to allow our freedom to become “an opportunity for the flesh” (or an opportunity for self-indulgence, as the NRSV puts it). Gorman quotes New Testament scholar James Dunn: “Life in the flesh can very easily and quickly (and unconsciously) become life according to the flesh.” Although Christians have been transferred from life “in the flesh” to life “in Christ,” those passions and desires which have been crucified with Christ nevertheless we remain part of a world caught in the tension between Easter and Consummation, and we are subject to the attack of the old powers under which we used to live. In the face of such attacks, the believers’ death with Christ must be maintained and affirmed.

The Spirit of God is a “Spirit of Adoption”. The early Christians addressed God as Abba! (Father), and it’s the work of the Spirit to assure believers of their identity as “children of God.” Paul doesn’t sentimentalize the Spirit; yes, the Spirit relates us to God in an intimate way, and even helps us in our weakness or inability to pray. But there are two conditions. First, we must “put to death the deeds of the body.” The Spirit has an active killing function: the Spirit’s work isn’t just about adding “fruit” to our lives; it isn’t about remodeling but new creation, and as such it involves total destruction of the old to build the new. Through the Spirit, what took place decisively in the death of Christ is continually replayed in the life of the Christian: the believer dies to life “according to the flesh.” The Spirit propels us to put to death the flesh—and consequently live to serve and love God and others—and to suffer in the present. The second condition, then, is suffering with Christ: the Spirit links Paul to the cross, and through the cross to Christ in suffering and love. The Spirit marks and ‘seals’ people as God’s own possession, but only insomuch as they are marked by conformity to Christ’s death.

In 1 Corinthians, charismatic gifts became indicators or “litmus tests” of spirituality. Paul says that what matters is love, and in 1 Corinthians 13 he spells out this kind of look. The “mark of the spirit,” the right “litmus test,” is love, and a specific type of love: selfless, sacrificial, self-giving love. What matters, then, is cruciformity to Christ. Thus the criterion of the Spirit’s activity is cruciformity, understood as Christ-like love in the edification of others rather than oneself. 

Gorman: "Life in Christ"

Some books are best chugged like cold water on a hot summer day; others are best when they’re sipped like a high-shelf bourbon. Michael Gorman’s Cruciformity falls into the latter category, and the sipping has been fantastic. As I slowly work my way through this book, I’ll share some of his thoughts and insights on Christian spirituality. The book’s focus, insofar as I can tell, is on the Christian life being a narrative reenactment of Christ’s death and resurrection; Christian spirituality is rooted in death to self and life to God.

* * *

Paul sees identification with and participation in the death of Jesus as the believers’ fundamental experience of Christ. To be “in Christ” is to be under the influence of Christ’s power, most poignantly the power to be conformed to him and his cross by participating in the life of a community acknowledging his Lordship. Gorman defines cruciformity (his own made-up word) as an ongoing pattern of living in Christ and dying with him that produces a Christ-like (cruciform) person. Cruciform existence is what being Christ’s servant, indwelling him and being indwelt by him, living with and for and “according to” him, is all about, for both individuals and communities. (48)

This “cruciformity,” Gorman makes clear, goes beyond mere imitation. Much of modern Christian living revolves around the question, WWJD? The Christian life becomes a matter of imitating Christ, or at least doing our best to decipher how he would live and act if he were in our shoes. There’s certainly value in imitation—as Paul testifies that he imitates Christ, and encourages believers to imitate him—but cruciformity takes it a step further: it’s what happens when Christians, as individuals and communities, live with/in Christ. There are more than ninety references to being “in Christ” (or variations upon that phrase). Gorman doesn’t see this as “mystical” language but spatial language: it’s about living in a “sphere” of influence, that “sphere” specifically being Christ. Although Gorman takes the language as spatial, he doesn’t for a second decry intimacy in the relationship: we dwell in Christ and he dwells in us, so much so that Paul can say that the operator in his life isn’t him but “Christ who lives in me.” The with language that we find so often in Paul—dying with Christ, rising with Christ, etc.—is technical language with an undertow of personality. Living “with/in” Christ is a spatial and intimate experience.

The biggest question is, “How are we in Christ? And how is Christ in us?” Gorman uses a lot of big words, but the take-home is this: just as we breathe in air and it fills our lungs, so we also live in this air. In the same way, the Christ in whom we live also lives in us, individually and corporately. Gorman highlights Romans 7: for those outside Christ, sin both dwells in them (7.17, 20) and is the sphere in which, and under the power of which, they dwell (7.14; 3.9). Those outside Christ are “in the flesh,” the “sphere of influence” governed by sin. The power of Christ replaces sin as the power that lives in us and the power in which we live, so that there’s a transfer of “spheres” and, likewise, a metaphysical change in our identity. Thus, people are either “in the flesh/in sin” or “in Christ/in the Spirit.”

It’s poignant that Paul can use “in Christ” and “in the Spirit” almost interchangeably. Life “in Christ,” which is about cruciformity rather than imitation, is likewise “life in the Spirit.” The Spirit is a key piece to the puzzle of the Christian experience. Perhaps the distinction between “imitating Christ” and “cruciformity” is a matter of operations: unlike imitation, cruciformity can’t be attributed to human effort. There’s a power at work within Christians and our communities that produces Christ-like qualities. This power enables the exalted, crucified Lord to take shape in and among those who belong to him and live in him. This power, Gorman says, is the Spirit of God, who is also the spirit of Christ. The Spirit is often associated with power: the power of creation, the power of moral and spiritual transformation, the power of new creation. This new power and its outworking lies at the heart of the purpose of the Spirit. The Spirit isn’t just there to give us guidance, to comfort us in times of need, to pray for us when we don’t know how or what to pray for, to give us gifts and tongues and the fruit of Spirit. All of these workings of the Spirit dovetail on the Spirit’s primary purpose: CRUCIFORMITY.

the 44th week

Monday. I tossed and turned all night and perked up with coffee at The Anchor before getting my CPR and First Aid certification at Walk of Joy. Corey and I hung out most of the afternoon, and I spent the evening at the Loth House playing Mario-Kart with John & Brandy, Frank & Rebecca, and of course Amos. Mandy K. called and we got to talk for an hour. My roommate Mandy can always tell when I'm talking to her; there's an excitement in my voice and a glow on my face.

Tuesday. I ran some errands before closing shop with Tori. My night was uneventful: catching up on Revolution "Season Two". Amos and I are going to start watching the show on Wednesdays at his place. I took a walk to U.D.F., about the same distance from Revere's house to Old North Church. Dork moment #1 this week.

Wednesday. Eric and I opened. We have a new hire, Miranda, who just returned to the States from a stint in France. She's awesome, because she wears a pair of World War Two French cartridge boxes on her belt as a purse. I told her about my B-24 Liberator navigator's bag that I use to carry around my books and journals, and how it was filled with all sorts of goodies: a compass, a blood-stained map of the Philippines (it was made of cloth so it could be used as a tourniquet), and best of all a daily journal kept my the navigator; he wrote about how they shot Zekes out of the sky and how flak almost tore the plane apart at its seams and how the ball-turret gunner caught flak through the windscreen and they had to scrape his body off the inside of the turret. I worked my second job until 6:30, and then Ams and I met up at Amos' house to watch the new episode of Revolution, followed by SVU. 

Thursday. I worked until 1:30 with Walk of Joy, and when Mandy got home from work, I put on my cowboy boots and a jacket and we walked down the railroad tracks by the apartment and found a parked train over the interstate. We climbed on top of it via the steel ladders and hopped car-to-car taking pictures. We're fiends for photography, even if we use our IPhones to do it. We headed home and come dusk we found Corey and Andy on the front porch. Andy went down to the Gorge, but it was closed because of the government shutdown. So he parked on the road and went hiking alone. No one was there to stop him. It was his best experience at the Gorge. Dylan called me drunk from D.C. and we had some great talks about life and faith and everything in between. We both laughed like fools; I always laugh until it hurts with him. He's like the brother I never had (he can't say that, since, well, he has Tyler).

Friday. Eric, Miranda and I opened, and after a nap back home I spent my afternoon writing at The Anchor. Ams and Andy came over, and Mandy ferried us to the new Fusian in Hyde Park. I chose a crab mix roll stuffed with extra vegetables. We spent the evening hanging out, and I took a walk to UDF for a Snicker's bar: I freeze 'em and then eat 'em!

Saturday. I slept AWFUL last night, and I think I know why. I was accosted by weird dreams and passed in-and-out of sleep. One such dream involved me playing Call of Duty (like we do at the Loth House sometimes), except I was actually there in the game. I pulled off slick moves, but it was always survival by the skin of my teeth (pretty much exactly like Call of Duty). I spent my morning drinking coffee and writing before heading to the Loth House to pick up Amos and meet Andy at Dusmesh. Amos and I hung out after the buffet. John and Brandy bought a house in Spring Grove, and they'll be moving there sometime next month. Around 5:00 I met up with Jobst at The Anchor. It was good catching up. Memorable, as always. Ams came over, and we listened to music, and she updated me on Josh drama: he's a dick, end of story. I spent the rest of my evening reading and playing Birds of Steel "up close" (I pull the computer chair around in front of the widescreen TV so that it fills my peripheral and it feels like I'm really there). And that's Dork moment #2 this week.

Sunday. I spent my morning at The Anchor with scripture and prayer. Much of my afternoon consisted of searching the interwebs for a place to live come December (or even November). I'm trying to avoid the cheapest places stuck in the Ghetto. I revisited The Anchor and picked up Subway for dinner, and I talked to the Wisconsinite for about two hours, it was pretty great. Ams, Blake and I met up at the Loth House for the Season 4 premier of The Walking Dead. I'm so glad it's back. I don't care what people think, it'll always be my all-time favorite TV show. Dork moment #3.

a zombie collage

The fourth season of The Walking Dead premiers tonight.
     (though I probably won't see it until tomorrow)
In honor of this momentous occasion, I've zombified myself and many others!
     (via The Walking Dead app for IPhone)

the turning of a page

(one hopes!)

The past few months of job-searching were fruitless, but I’ve finally landed another job, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I’ll be working with a Christian nonprofit that helps developmentally disabled men and women live fuller, happier, more productive lives. My time will be spent befriending these individuals, building relationships with them, and assisting them in life however they need it. The hours don’t allow me to quit Tazza Mia, but I’m not even upset about that; as I told Eric, “I’m always talking about how I want to get out of here, but the moment it becomes even a remote possibility, I’m reminded of all the reasons I love this place in the first place.” The reasons, of course, revolve around the people I work with: my coworkers and employees are AMAZING, and I genuinely enjoy each and every day I get to work with them.

In the next month or so I’ll be abandoning the apartment on Park Avenue and moving into my own place. The extra hours will help me pay what I’m assuming will be larger bills, and hopefully I’ll have enough to start setting aside. Truth be told, I don’t want to be in Cincinnati forever. I’ve been toying with different ideas of where I could move, and always the focus is on the countryside. I’m not a city-dweller, that’s for sure: I love the openness of the country, dark and shadowy woods, dirt lanes and that sickly sweet country scent. I love the quiet of the wind and the insects in the trees; sirens, gunshots, and constant noise pollution aren’t quite my thing. Cincinnati is a wonderful city, and for so many reasons, but I’ve been here for eight or more years, and I’m ready for a change of scenery. (Noting, of course, that if I were to somehow find myself “trapped” in Cincinnati, it wouldn’t be the worst kind of imprisonment) Like I said, I don’t have any specific locations in mind for a “future move,” but Wisconsin is looking pretty appetizing at the moment. There’s more to that comment, but I’m respectfully playing this one close to my chest. 

I would like to write more, but I must be heading off to Clifton.

It's time for Dusmesh with Amos and (possibly) Andy.

Huzzah!