The problem with the way I tell my stories is the fact that I make it so difficult for people to read the whole thing. I’m like a pirate burying treasure that no one cares is missing.
It’s not that I don’t want people to hear the whole thing. I guess I have a love for games and quests. Never really grew out of that phase.
From the viewpoint of brilliance behind nonsense, one could say that Adventure Time is a modern day Alice in Wonderland.
From: A Collection
There were bones. Lovely bones. Crumbly bones. The yard was full, the field speckled. I saw the End there. On the open planes, filled with crimbly-crumbly bones. These bones were dry, these bones were brittle, but these bones were not the End. They were not its child. The bones had come long before the cessation of history. They were different, but the same. They were unequal, but the same. Every bone had its own place and own shape; they each had their own length and own strength. But they were all dry, crumbly bones and they lay in the field with the End. The End was not sudden, the End was not fast. The End started while the bones were not dry. The End did not count time; it did not see the turning of the star or the moon. The End simply was not, and then it was. No one saw it happen, they only whispered, whispering bones. They knew the End was coming and they feared it. For the End is a creeping snake. But there were those who did not know what they could not see. The End would come, but it was not here, so why fear it? Why whisper? These bones were dry. These bones crumbled, crumbly bones. And they were with the End, but they were not the End.
I’ve noticed that the people around me have a consistent view towards the church. Not everyone, mind you, but a large enough percentage as to warrant notice. Several important individuals especially have even tried to solicit this view onto me as well.
It is fear.
Fear that the church wants to use you up and toss you aside. Fear that it is a shallow, manipulative, and controlling thing.
To be fair, there are churches that fit that description. Too many. But the fear of every church being that way is just as ridiculous as fearing every friend you will ever have will abuse your relationship then move on.
If one lived in that constant fear, their life would lose all significance. For we are designed to be in relationship with others. To fear the church in this way is not only unfair to you, but to the others who’s character you are insulting.
There is no such thing as a perfect church. Every single one will have several flaws. Because they are made of people. And people are beautifully flawed. It is not the purpose of the church to serve the emotions of its members. It is not the job of a pastor to make his congregation feel good about themselves. You tend a church to grow, you pastor a church to teach. Growth is uncomfortable and hard, but necessary and joyous. Teaching is harsh and testing, but beautiful and merciful. To expect anything else from a church is to expect the impossible.
It is not your purpose in the church to get something out, but put something in. And by the very act of contribution, you will find satisfaction and growth instantaneously returned. If you feel you’re getting nothing out of a church, a challenge you this: what have you done lately?
"But I can’t serve! I don’t have time!" you say.
A fair enough argument, but weak. So you can’t head up a wednesday night class or help with the kids on Sunday morning. What are you doing for the people you see every week. You may not have a position, but are you pouring into them? Are you encouraging them, building them up, listening to them? The pastor isn’t the only one who should be doing this.
The very minute you make church about you, you will fall. And it will be no wonder why you find yourself so unsatisfied.
It’s all right there inside the letter.
A mother and daughter just sat down next to me at this coffee shop. Apparently their conversation had been about the existence of God and the questions surrounding it, so as they placed themselves two tables away the mother dove right into why God had to exist. My opinion is not on the subject of their discussion, it was on the relationship between these two women.
Judging by the unspoken awkwardness of the two I make a safe assumption in that the mother was divorced, meeting with her daughter for the first time in a while.
Her inquiry about an update on daughter’s daily life confirmed this (“are you still babysitting?”).
They sat next to me for no more than 10 minutes idly conversing, the daughter looking at her food the whole time, a boy was brought up, the mother didn’t seem interested. The mother checked her phone. All conversation ceased. Five minutes they sat in silence staring at food and phone.
"Wow, I can’t believe it, my phone is dying already."
That was the clue for departure.
They rose, brushed away crumbs, and silently left.
It was the most interesting uninteresting conversation I’ve seen lately.
From: A Collection
Never You Mind
Morning barely made it up in Hiver. Harry didn’t seem much inclined to respond to the weak sun, nor, it seemed, did it seem inclined to encourage him. So the two lazily stared at each other for a while before rumbles of hunger spoke from Harry’s stomach. He obliged this call. He was much too old to care about the cares of the world, but he would never outgrow, he decided, the cares of his stomach. He decided on a breakfast of toast with butter and raspberry jam and wildflower tea. He warmed his bread while the pot slowly heated. It took things quite a while to heat these days it seemed. After an irrelevant amount of time, Harry lifted the pot from its place over the fire and poured a cup. The wildflower tea tasted wonderful on mornings like this. The smell of flowers reminded him of the time he visited the people of Prim.
I could spend the next ten minutes typing out exactly what has been happening in my life for the last, oh, however many months it’s been.
But that’s not the kind of writer I am. The problem with telling the world about what’s been going on with your life, apart from the fact that no one gives the slightest flip, is that you spend way too much time talking about yourself and never talking about someone else.
Sure, I have the habit of relating my ideas and opinions and morals with stories from my own life that may or may not be true, but I’d rather an idea be insightful before incredible.
I will satisfy whatever curiosity you may have (if you are, indeed, curious) with this: since my move, I have not stopped moving.
Well, the details don’t really matter. Let’s call it Middlend.
I’m content here and am planning my next adventure already. Hence the lack of writing. I’m sorry.
I haaaaaave an opinion. On a matter that is quite close to my every day consciousness, not necessarily heart.
Speeches, and the art surrounding presenting them regardless of the subject or scenario in which they are presented, are a specialty of mine. You could say I have or am very close to having a degree in them. And my opinion, one of them at least, on them is this.
IF you are going to present a speech AND you plan on recording that speech AND you are going to present it in front of a live audience simultaneously.
Do not for the love of God speak to the recording.
If the recording is video, only briefly, intermittently look at the camera. If the recording is audio do not describe what is happening in the room.
IF you are planning on recording a presentation that requires visual aid record it with video.
This is doubly important in the case of churches (or similar religious gatherings.)
I would say I missed you guys these past months but let’s face it.
I probably saw most of you within the last few days.
Also this blog turned three today so hurray for that.
As of late I have felt the constant itch to rove. The feeling came sudden and persistant. This feeling begs the question, though: why do men rove?
First you must define the word.
Rove: To constantly travel without destination. To wander.
One could also argue that to rove is to aimlessly wander in search of something. So, that brings about the question again, albeit a little more refined.
Why do men rove? Are they searching for something they don’t have, or want more of? Is it a result of dissatisfaction or the hope of something more? Something unknown? Do they do it to learn or to gain?
These are questions that have vaguely whispered in the back of my mind for the past several months.
I do realize that every person, at one point or another feels the urge to “search for themselves.” This statement, in my opinion, is ridiculous. One does not need to travel to find themselves. If you have followed my blog at all, you would understand my views in this matter. If you don’t follow my blog I suppose I should welcome you seeing as this is probably the first post of mine that you’ve read.
What I do agree with is the pursuit of the unknown. While some might be afraid of what they do not understand, I am of the mind that the unknown holds just as much potential as it does danger. I like to believe that there are things, ideas, opportunities out there that are so much greater than anything I have ever known, the only reason I don’t know that they’re there is because I haven’t yet found them.
What is a day without an adventure?
Lately I’ve taken to writing what I like to call “Letters from Truth.” Tiny little notes of compliments or encouragement with a simple “For You” written on the front. I’ve taken to handing these “letters” to random people that I pass or come across, then I leave. I never stick around to see their reaction.
This is some of the most fun I’ve ever had.
┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐ Help me, I- I don’t… ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐ Where a͈̦̲̱̳͈̭m̟͔̥̰̲̰ I? Help, p̐̄͗ͦ̈͐̄l̎ͮeȃͤ͑͒͋̇̈́s͌̑e. ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐I don’t k̭̣̪͇̍̅͋̿̉n̠̞̠̞̗̳̘͉͔͋̾O͈̙̙͗̊̃ͣͣͧ̏w͍̤̫̘̣̳̲̥͉̃̇̎͒͛̌ͯ̿̚ where I a̸̛M͞ .
You’re in the Matrix
How to tick off Doctor Who fans: