Go to a crowded place. Look around at the people. What do you see? Someone like me would perceive individuals going about their business. In my mind they seem consumed in there purpose (whatever that may be) living a perfectly contempt life. Of course this observation is made out of ignorance and can only remain true so long as the person in question is within the context of my vantage. What if, however, I were to look closer, past the material concealments? What if I were to look past the casual cloths, brushed back hair, plucked eyebrows, narrowed glance, tight genes...what is left when all else is stripped away. It is a man (or woman) who is consumed, not with what business he is about, but with a life only witnessed by himself and those closest to him. This life is filled with secrets, problems, and more then a slight lack of solutions. I will find that the casual cloths are actually wrinkled, the hair is brushed back as if in haste and fear, the eyebrows are slanted ever so slightly to indicate peril, anger, agitation, resentment and a need for help, the narrowed glance is cast by hollowed eyes formed by many sleepless nights, and the genes appear worn at the knees and torn ever so slightly near the calf. Suddenly, before my eyes is, not a casual shopper (or whatever their business may be), but a human being in need of serious help.
So, the next time you go to a crowed place, don't look around at mere people who are causally going about their business. Look, with a scrutinizing glance, at a crowd of people filled, to the point of exploding, with secrets and problems. They are in need of serious help. With this in mind, go up to any particular person and ask in what way they need prayer. "Sir, I probably can't empathize with your situation but I can sure sympathize with you...what exactly do you need prayer for?"
Don't look at this world through the eyes of a passive citizen, but through the eyes of an active Alien. You aren't here to live among fellow citizen’s of a corrupt world but to live among poor dejected sinners who need God so direly. Your Job is to give them what they really need: Jesus Christ.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
What is this post about?
I want to do this post a little differently then the others. I've written out an article on a certain topic. I eliminated any words that would automatically reveal what I'm talking about. Essentially, this is an ambiguous post. Your job is to figure out what the topic is. Comment and tell me what you think. Here it goes...
When I consider that great beast, I wonder who could have composed it! What wrong ideals, brought forth from laziness and inexperience, could be forced upon a creature who needs no prodding in such a matter.
Sadly, these ideals are not ones of merit whether good or bad. For they are the ideals of no-ideals. Yes! It is a lack of teaching; a lack of care which is our problem. This does not take away the reality of sin. Sin is at the heart of the matter (namely pride). But it does reveal a great responsibility for the latter party. Not just the responsibility of preventing trouble but also the responsibility of creating a higher standard.
Where one starts, or, whether or not one can even begin to imagine taming a sin-infected being are very good questions. Both have, I’m sure, been considered by many a struggling person. The answer is quite simple. The true beginning, after everything is torn away, is with the heart of the struggling one in question. Have they committed to something higher then themselves and their earthly achievements? For earthly achievement can only take the passion for teaching and reproof away. Instead of focusing on those poor impressionable creatures, the latter become consumed in what needs to be done for earthly comfort. They must, instead, determine to abstain from earthly obsessions for the sake of a mannerly and moral, future generation. This determination can only come from their very depths: the heart.
Though abstaining is a worthy and noble cause, the process can not be left merely to that great defensive tactic. One must then bring himself to act offensively. Fill that great void with a very noble thing: Simply, the armor of God. With truth and its example, one can only prepare to end victorious. With righteousness and its example, one’s pure motives before God along with that wonderful gift, prayer, will leave the person joyful and ahead in the race. But don’t let me forget that most powerful article of war, faith, which God has given to us for the ultimate victory. Without it one can’t even hope to get through the gates of heaven. Through it one can endure those difficult times where teaching and reproof are dire but least used.
Though many more things could be said on this topic—hundreds of books have been written on it—I believe I should end this writing now. It is enough to contemplate for years to come. So spend some time turning over how you will act when your time comes.
When I consider that great beast, I wonder who could have composed it! What wrong ideals, brought forth from laziness and inexperience, could be forced upon a creature who needs no prodding in such a matter.
Sadly, these ideals are not ones of merit whether good or bad. For they are the ideals of no-ideals. Yes! It is a lack of teaching; a lack of care which is our problem. This does not take away the reality of sin. Sin is at the heart of the matter (namely pride). But it does reveal a great responsibility for the latter party. Not just the responsibility of preventing trouble but also the responsibility of creating a higher standard.
Where one starts, or, whether or not one can even begin to imagine taming a sin-infected being are very good questions. Both have, I’m sure, been considered by many a struggling person. The answer is quite simple. The true beginning, after everything is torn away, is with the heart of the struggling one in question. Have they committed to something higher then themselves and their earthly achievements? For earthly achievement can only take the passion for teaching and reproof away. Instead of focusing on those poor impressionable creatures, the latter become consumed in what needs to be done for earthly comfort. They must, instead, determine to abstain from earthly obsessions for the sake of a mannerly and moral, future generation. This determination can only come from their very depths: the heart.
Though abstaining is a worthy and noble cause, the process can not be left merely to that great defensive tactic. One must then bring himself to act offensively. Fill that great void with a very noble thing: Simply, the armor of God. With truth and its example, one can only prepare to end victorious. With righteousness and its example, one’s pure motives before God along with that wonderful gift, prayer, will leave the person joyful and ahead in the race. But don’t let me forget that most powerful article of war, faith, which God has given to us for the ultimate victory. Without it one can’t even hope to get through the gates of heaven. Through it one can endure those difficult times where teaching and reproof are dire but least used.
Though many more things could be said on this topic—hundreds of books have been written on it—I believe I should end this writing now. It is enough to contemplate for years to come. So spend some time turning over how you will act when your time comes.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Midnight Babbling
It is approximately 10:36 in the evening. The windows are open allowing cool air and the sound of crickets into my room. A fan blows in the distance: a long ten foot walk made even longer by the darkness that surrounds me. A combination of such circumstances brought me to this point of desperation. I need to write.
Step one in the writing process worked itself out evidenced by my presence at the computer. Man, it feels good. I haven’t written in a long time and my fingers have only itched more for this key pad the longer I’ve been away from it. But step two still awaits my attention. I don’t know what to write.
Though it may be an act of sin on my part, I could continue to produce nonsense. This fun use of literary talent requires no form of forethought. As a result, I might say something I would regret later. The alternative, though more tactful and skillful, is quickly becoming less attractive. I don’t have the patience or brain power for it, an excuse not exclusive to this particular hour.
I believe I have convinced myself to continue with meaningless words. It is easier, will satisfy my itchy fingers, and will get me into my warm soft bed much faster. Whether or not it will successfully draw you in and capture your attention is up to you and the length of your patience. As I see it, you won’t last this next paragraph.
While you have been reading this short post according to your reader’s clock, my writer’s clock has been ticking away. It is now 12:08 and I seem no closer to sleep then I was two hours ago. My unshaven beard hangs on my itching skin, sleep pulls at my eyelids willing them to shut completely, and yet my restless leg jumps around under this sad cluttered desk. To put it bluntly, I’m a mess. But you role your eyes looking at your watch which indicates one minute has been wasted. A minute you will never get back. I can’t do anything about that, however.
My decision to write this sad post and your decision to read what I have written are two entirely different matters. Mine is a result of dedication to writing and an inability to go to sleep, while yours is nothing more then simple boredom. Both are unintentional and yet totally inevitable. As some would say it, we both are a victim of God’s providence. But that is how it should be. We do what we do according to God’s ultimate plans.
Normally I would conclude my post with some over arching point. You might even think I have somehow attained one in the midst of this slosh of words. It would probably have something to do with God’s providence able to reveal itself in the kind of chaos that you and I create in our reader/writer relationship. Though that is an interesting and true idea, it does not apply right now. Yes, God providence does govern over chaotic times, but no, that is not my point. This post has strictly been nonsense. There are no hidden messages; no secret codes. This is just a tired, restless writer humoring his unintentional impulses gladly excepting that God intended it to be.
Good night.
Step one in the writing process worked itself out evidenced by my presence at the computer. Man, it feels good. I haven’t written in a long time and my fingers have only itched more for this key pad the longer I’ve been away from it. But step two still awaits my attention. I don’t know what to write.
Though it may be an act of sin on my part, I could continue to produce nonsense. This fun use of literary talent requires no form of forethought. As a result, I might say something I would regret later. The alternative, though more tactful and skillful, is quickly becoming less attractive. I don’t have the patience or brain power for it, an excuse not exclusive to this particular hour.
I believe I have convinced myself to continue with meaningless words. It is easier, will satisfy my itchy fingers, and will get me into my warm soft bed much faster. Whether or not it will successfully draw you in and capture your attention is up to you and the length of your patience. As I see it, you won’t last this next paragraph.
While you have been reading this short post according to your reader’s clock, my writer’s clock has been ticking away. It is now 12:08 and I seem no closer to sleep then I was two hours ago. My unshaven beard hangs on my itching skin, sleep pulls at my eyelids willing them to shut completely, and yet my restless leg jumps around under this sad cluttered desk. To put it bluntly, I’m a mess. But you role your eyes looking at your watch which indicates one minute has been wasted. A minute you will never get back. I can’t do anything about that, however.
My decision to write this sad post and your decision to read what I have written are two entirely different matters. Mine is a result of dedication to writing and an inability to go to sleep, while yours is nothing more then simple boredom. Both are unintentional and yet totally inevitable. As some would say it, we both are a victim of God’s providence. But that is how it should be. We do what we do according to God’s ultimate plans.
Normally I would conclude my post with some over arching point. You might even think I have somehow attained one in the midst of this slosh of words. It would probably have something to do with God’s providence able to reveal itself in the kind of chaos that you and I create in our reader/writer relationship. Though that is an interesting and true idea, it does not apply right now. Yes, God providence does govern over chaotic times, but no, that is not my point. This post has strictly been nonsense. There are no hidden messages; no secret codes. This is just a tired, restless writer humoring his unintentional impulses gladly excepting that God intended it to be.
Good night.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Help Needed.
This will probably be the shortest post I ever compose. Go ahead. Cheer and be happy. Relish this moment of simplisity. Enjoy this short minute where I don't go on and on about what I think.
On to the point. Could you, my readers, tell me what I should post that would make this blog into something good and beneficial. I am at the verge of just throwing this mess away. I feel that everything I write is long, drawn out, and highly opinionated. I'm not really getting anywhere. I'm just boring you to death by telling you what I think. I need life and dynamics. Yes! that is it. I need a dynamic blog. But how? What should I post about. Please, readers, give me some ideas. I can just hear my blog screaming out for relief. I know you are too.
On to the point. Could you, my readers, tell me what I should post that would make this blog into something good and beneficial. I am at the verge of just throwing this mess away. I feel that everything I write is long, drawn out, and highly opinionated. I'm not really getting anywhere. I'm just boring you to death by telling you what I think. I need life and dynamics. Yes! that is it. I need a dynamic blog. But how? What should I post about. Please, readers, give me some ideas. I can just hear my blog screaming out for relief. I know you are too.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
My Sister
I sit in my bedroom. Army men lay out in front of me. Strategies and scenarios running through my head, I prepare each plastic soldier for his impending doom. Shots are fired from both sides. Men fall, tanks are blown up from Aerial assault, and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear uncontrollable laughter. I look up at my opened front bedroom door and then back at the battle before me. I am trying to figure out which is more important: a world altering battle, or a very peeked curiosity. With out much further thought I choose the latter. As I make my way out the door and around the corner I wonder what could have triggered the sudden outburst. I’m not left curious for much longer. As I enter the dining room I behold a very humorous scene. A smile begins to form on my face and then I begin to laugh. Less then five years old and standing on a chair, my little sister looks at an hysterical mother. She has a smile of embarrassment on her face even though it is apparent she is enjoying the attention. Cute as could be, strapped down tight to ensure total safety; a little girl’s bike helmet rests on her head.
That is one of my favorite stories about Beth. Apparently, being younger and not used to the kitchen and its hidden mysteries, she had gained a very painful habit of knocking her head against one of the cabinet corners. Where most people would have considered taking out the whole cabinet with a bat or a sledge hammer each time they hit there head, Beth did not. Instead of getting angry, she thought up a very affective way to continue working in the kitchen without altering her position or the cabinet’s position. Strapping a helmet on her head, she eliminated a whole lot of bad kitchen memories and put in its place a very fond one.
Whether wearing a bike helmet to cook chicken noodle soup or trying to dance like a star in the middle of the living room Bethany was constantly the center of entertainment. She could make us laugh in a good productive kind of way. As time passed, however, maturity followed, leaving the funny cute stories in the past while drawing different future recollections to the present.
In another scene I sit in a car pondering what to do. Should I get out and follow my mom and sister into the building? They are already on the grass median in front of our van and aren’t stopping for anyone. A school book lies on my lap. My brother sits in the back. As I look inside at one of the science modules I decide to put it down. School could wait until later. Opening the door I step out and let the book drop into the front seat. After a few minutes we enter the building through one of the doors. Two other people have joined us by now. They engage in a little bit of small talk. We arrive at a door in one of the hallways. Shifting my weight to my left leg I watch Beth go into a room with a lot of other girls. It is her first day of babysitting class.
The stage of cute humorous thoughts and actions far behind her, Beth had entered the era of responsibility. She took the initial babysitting course and was all set for the big leagues. Fortunately a neighbor down the street had home-group meeting on Wednesday night. Beth, being responsible and easy access was picked for the job. Ever since then she has been working hard keeping the children in line and earning the money she can.
One last story that comes to my mind reflects another characteristic of Beth that followed her into her more mature years.
I sit on a couch throwing a tennis ball against the bricks in our fireplace. I haven’t finished school yet, but I don’t intend to. My brain is fried from the endless math and science questions. I hear footsteps in the hallway walking towards my position. The footsteps are not heavy enough to be my brothers. There is no question in my mind about who is coming. Bethany walks into the room a deck of cards in her hand. She gets the questioning look in her face and asks the anticipated question. “Could you play with me?” My initial reaction is to say no. I usually do. But this time I feel bad for her. Besides, I think to myself, I’m bored out of my wits. I go into her room and we play speed for a while.
As the story indicates, Bethany really liked spending time with me and my brother. She would constantly ask us if we had time to play with her or do things with her. Though I haven’t appreciated my sister’s devotion like I should, my mind set is slowly changing. I realize now how great it is to have a sister that cares. One who is willing to ask us a million times to play with her just so she can spend time with us.
So I hope that I have written a post that helps you see Bethany a little clearer now. She is a sister who can be funny and witty. But she can also be determined, responsible, caring, loyal, and much more. Yes, she is human and does have her bad moments. But overall she is a great sister and I couldn’t ask for a better one.
Thanks Beth for being such a great sis
That is one of my favorite stories about Beth. Apparently, being younger and not used to the kitchen and its hidden mysteries, she had gained a very painful habit of knocking her head against one of the cabinet corners. Where most people would have considered taking out the whole cabinet with a bat or a sledge hammer each time they hit there head, Beth did not. Instead of getting angry, she thought up a very affective way to continue working in the kitchen without altering her position or the cabinet’s position. Strapping a helmet on her head, she eliminated a whole lot of bad kitchen memories and put in its place a very fond one.
Whether wearing a bike helmet to cook chicken noodle soup or trying to dance like a star in the middle of the living room Bethany was constantly the center of entertainment. She could make us laugh in a good productive kind of way. As time passed, however, maturity followed, leaving the funny cute stories in the past while drawing different future recollections to the present.
In another scene I sit in a car pondering what to do. Should I get out and follow my mom and sister into the building? They are already on the grass median in front of our van and aren’t stopping for anyone. A school book lies on my lap. My brother sits in the back. As I look inside at one of the science modules I decide to put it down. School could wait until later. Opening the door I step out and let the book drop into the front seat. After a few minutes we enter the building through one of the doors. Two other people have joined us by now. They engage in a little bit of small talk. We arrive at a door in one of the hallways. Shifting my weight to my left leg I watch Beth go into a room with a lot of other girls. It is her first day of babysitting class.
The stage of cute humorous thoughts and actions far behind her, Beth had entered the era of responsibility. She took the initial babysitting course and was all set for the big leagues. Fortunately a neighbor down the street had home-group meeting on Wednesday night. Beth, being responsible and easy access was picked for the job. Ever since then she has been working hard keeping the children in line and earning the money she can.
One last story that comes to my mind reflects another characteristic of Beth that followed her into her more mature years.
I sit on a couch throwing a tennis ball against the bricks in our fireplace. I haven’t finished school yet, but I don’t intend to. My brain is fried from the endless math and science questions. I hear footsteps in the hallway walking towards my position. The footsteps are not heavy enough to be my brothers. There is no question in my mind about who is coming. Bethany walks into the room a deck of cards in her hand. She gets the questioning look in her face and asks the anticipated question. “Could you play with me?” My initial reaction is to say no. I usually do. But this time I feel bad for her. Besides, I think to myself, I’m bored out of my wits. I go into her room and we play speed for a while.
As the story indicates, Bethany really liked spending time with me and my brother. She would constantly ask us if we had time to play with her or do things with her. Though I haven’t appreciated my sister’s devotion like I should, my mind set is slowly changing. I realize now how great it is to have a sister that cares. One who is willing to ask us a million times to play with her just so she can spend time with us.
So I hope that I have written a post that helps you see Bethany a little clearer now. She is a sister who can be funny and witty. But she can also be determined, responsible, caring, loyal, and much more. Yes, she is human and does have her bad moments. But overall she is a great sister and I couldn’t ask for a better one.
Thanks Beth for being such a great sis
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Meaning of Life and a Little Bit on Shaving
I sat across the table from Grant Yost Sunday evening. In front of me an assortment of food awaited my attention. I stared down at the table my purpose in life being quite apparent. I needed to clear that plate. Little did I know, however, that my train of thought would be promptly directed toward priorities I hadn’t considered in a long time.
The young man in front of me began talking. A look of deep concentration and a slight smile showed on his face. Listening intently, I forked food into my mouth without giving the wonderful taste much thought. I was captivated. He presented the idea that life for the Christian should be completely spiritual. The other things that lay on a more material level aren’t important. I think that he was taking the verse in Mathew six about selling everything we have and following Christ literally.
Next to me on my left another great mind, Bryan Elliff, put his ideas in the mix. He seemed to lean towards Grant’s train of thought. We shouldn’t have the picture of five Christian business men, he told me. Instead, he presented the view that all Christians everywhere should live with the necessities only preaching the gospel and further the kingdom.
In the end, we left the table with unresolved issues, confused ideas, intangible thoughts and one main question: Is the passage, “sell everything you have, pick up your cross, and follow me” a mindset or an action? Should we live a life where spirituality is our only action while the rest like fashion, hobbies, or more important secular activities like work lay stagnate? Or should we live a life where our main Goal is spirituality while we incorporate the material as a means of supporting the spiritual.
The main point of this post is not really to answer that question because I can’t do so with confidence. I want to cause you readers to consider your life and what it means. What is your purpose and how exactly do you go about fulfilling it. So, though I will tell you a little bit about what I think, I only want to provoke your thoughts enough for you to go out and find the answer for yourself.
So, we all probably hold the view that we must glorify God in this life. That is our life’s meaning: "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” (Mathew 5:16) But how much of our lives and what part of our lives should be dedicated to that cause. We live a life where there are so many more things then just the spiritual realm. Every where we turn around there is always something material staring us in the face. Unless we are missionaries or pastors, work’s goals are always material, so, according to our question, can we work in a material world and still glorify God? Or should we not work at all and focus solely on glorifying God. If we go to a store to look for cloths our goals are material and won’t really glorify God, so, according to our question, can we shop fashionably and yet still glorify God. Or should we not focus on fashion at all. I Hope the picture I am painting is becoming clear. Can we focus on this material world and yet still fulfill our meaning in life? According to Mathew 6, we must “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” So it is somewhat clear from this verse that we should first focus on seeking the kingdom of God, or glorifying God, in everything we do. Then certain things like what we wear and what we eat will be provided for us. But is it sinful if we engage in a material way after we have first sought the kingdom?
Before I continue with this train of thought I want to incorporate a quick illustration. As most boys my age who have begun to sprout facial hair, I must shave. If I don’t I look trashy and ill prepared for my day. There are times when I don’t shave and tend to let the hair grow. It begins to look bad and eventually I begin to feel scratchy. As the days go on and I still don’t shave, my mind starts to be affected. I feel lazy. Not wanting to do anything I won’t work as hard and periodically find myself sitting around doing nothing. So if I want to stay on top of my game I need to shave. Now from a birds eye view, shaving may not seem like a very important part of my overall life. It is way more important for me to finish college and get a good job then to shave every day. However, if you look closely at the subtle affect that occurs from not shaving you will slowly see the birds-eye-view changing. My life would essentially begin to look pretty unproductive. In fact, I might not ever finish college. That doesn’t mean shaving should be my number one priority, mind you, because it doesn’t directly result in my getting a college degree or a job. I must primarily focus on striving for the degree. But since how I feel—like being scratchy and trashy—does affect how well I do at big things like college and work, I should focus somewhat on getting rid of the trashy feeling.
All of that to say, yes, our number one priority should be glorifying God. That is our purpose in life. But that doesn’t mean I should just let my physical existence go. I need to stay in shape so that I will have a body that can continue to preach the gospel and seek first the kingdom of God. That doesn’t mean my main focus should be staying in shape just like my mane focus shouldn’t be shaving, But I still need to put some energy and care in that part of my life so that I can better fulfill my true meaning. In a sense, then, I am incorporating in a material goal and using that goal to glorify God. I also shouldn’t give up on creating a good appearance. Who will take a Christian seriously if he begins evangelizing dressed carelessly? People will find him unkempt and repelling. Again, we are using a material goal to glorify God. The same goes for every part of our physical being. So all I am trying to say is that the material life around us is linked in a very intimate way with our spiritual lives. We can’t have the spiritual with out the physical. We must care about what happens in this material world. We must also be incorporated in material activity because it does flow over into our spiritual lives.
So to answer the main question should we actually physically get rid of everything we own and then follow Christ? It isn’t obligated. But, in a way, it is like separating two very necessary parts from each other: the physical existence we were created to enjoy from the spiritual existence we were created to live for. We can use our physical desires and needs to work as a catalyst for our spiritual growth and the expansion of God’s kingdom. I’m not saying that we can’t sell everything we own and get rid of every material thing we do to follow Christ, because some great Christians do that. I am saying that we shouldn’t feel obligated as Christians to literally sell everything and just stop incorporating ourselves into certain material things. I believe God was saying that we should use everything we own and everything we do for His glory. If that means selling everything, giving to the poor, and going out to evangelize then follow that call. But even then the Christian won’t escape all of material things in this world. He must still deal with them as they come using them to further the kingdom. So don't just rid yourself of everything material but use everything and every circumstance you have and are in for God’s glory.
The young man in front of me began talking. A look of deep concentration and a slight smile showed on his face. Listening intently, I forked food into my mouth without giving the wonderful taste much thought. I was captivated. He presented the idea that life for the Christian should be completely spiritual. The other things that lay on a more material level aren’t important. I think that he was taking the verse in Mathew six about selling everything we have and following Christ literally.
Next to me on my left another great mind, Bryan Elliff, put his ideas in the mix. He seemed to lean towards Grant’s train of thought. We shouldn’t have the picture of five Christian business men, he told me. Instead, he presented the view that all Christians everywhere should live with the necessities only preaching the gospel and further the kingdom.
In the end, we left the table with unresolved issues, confused ideas, intangible thoughts and one main question: Is the passage, “sell everything you have, pick up your cross, and follow me” a mindset or an action? Should we live a life where spirituality is our only action while the rest like fashion, hobbies, or more important secular activities like work lay stagnate? Or should we live a life where our main Goal is spirituality while we incorporate the material as a means of supporting the spiritual.
The main point of this post is not really to answer that question because I can’t do so with confidence. I want to cause you readers to consider your life and what it means. What is your purpose and how exactly do you go about fulfilling it. So, though I will tell you a little bit about what I think, I only want to provoke your thoughts enough for you to go out and find the answer for yourself.
So, we all probably hold the view that we must glorify God in this life. That is our life’s meaning: "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” (Mathew 5:16) But how much of our lives and what part of our lives should be dedicated to that cause. We live a life where there are so many more things then just the spiritual realm. Every where we turn around there is always something material staring us in the face. Unless we are missionaries or pastors, work’s goals are always material, so, according to our question, can we work in a material world and still glorify God? Or should we not work at all and focus solely on glorifying God. If we go to a store to look for cloths our goals are material and won’t really glorify God, so, according to our question, can we shop fashionably and yet still glorify God. Or should we not focus on fashion at all. I Hope the picture I am painting is becoming clear. Can we focus on this material world and yet still fulfill our meaning in life? According to Mathew 6, we must “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” So it is somewhat clear from this verse that we should first focus on seeking the kingdom of God, or glorifying God, in everything we do. Then certain things like what we wear and what we eat will be provided for us. But is it sinful if we engage in a material way after we have first sought the kingdom?
Before I continue with this train of thought I want to incorporate a quick illustration. As most boys my age who have begun to sprout facial hair, I must shave. If I don’t I look trashy and ill prepared for my day. There are times when I don’t shave and tend to let the hair grow. It begins to look bad and eventually I begin to feel scratchy. As the days go on and I still don’t shave, my mind starts to be affected. I feel lazy. Not wanting to do anything I won’t work as hard and periodically find myself sitting around doing nothing. So if I want to stay on top of my game I need to shave. Now from a birds eye view, shaving may not seem like a very important part of my overall life. It is way more important for me to finish college and get a good job then to shave every day. However, if you look closely at the subtle affect that occurs from not shaving you will slowly see the birds-eye-view changing. My life would essentially begin to look pretty unproductive. In fact, I might not ever finish college. That doesn’t mean shaving should be my number one priority, mind you, because it doesn’t directly result in my getting a college degree or a job. I must primarily focus on striving for the degree. But since how I feel—like being scratchy and trashy—does affect how well I do at big things like college and work, I should focus somewhat on getting rid of the trashy feeling.
All of that to say, yes, our number one priority should be glorifying God. That is our purpose in life. But that doesn’t mean I should just let my physical existence go. I need to stay in shape so that I will have a body that can continue to preach the gospel and seek first the kingdom of God. That doesn’t mean my main focus should be staying in shape just like my mane focus shouldn’t be shaving, But I still need to put some energy and care in that part of my life so that I can better fulfill my true meaning. In a sense, then, I am incorporating in a material goal and using that goal to glorify God. I also shouldn’t give up on creating a good appearance. Who will take a Christian seriously if he begins evangelizing dressed carelessly? People will find him unkempt and repelling. Again, we are using a material goal to glorify God. The same goes for every part of our physical being. So all I am trying to say is that the material life around us is linked in a very intimate way with our spiritual lives. We can’t have the spiritual with out the physical. We must care about what happens in this material world. We must also be incorporated in material activity because it does flow over into our spiritual lives.
So to answer the main question should we actually physically get rid of everything we own and then follow Christ? It isn’t obligated. But, in a way, it is like separating two very necessary parts from each other: the physical existence we were created to enjoy from the spiritual existence we were created to live for. We can use our physical desires and needs to work as a catalyst for our spiritual growth and the expansion of God’s kingdom. I’m not saying that we can’t sell everything we own and get rid of every material thing we do to follow Christ, because some great Christians do that. I am saying that we shouldn’t feel obligated as Christians to literally sell everything and just stop incorporating ourselves into certain material things. I believe God was saying that we should use everything we own and everything we do for His glory. If that means selling everything, giving to the poor, and going out to evangelize then follow that call. But even then the Christian won’t escape all of material things in this world. He must still deal with them as they come using them to further the kingdom. So don't just rid yourself of everything material but use everything and every circumstance you have and are in for God’s glory.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Reminisce and God’s Glory: Part Three
I look up, and, in front of me is a house. It is larger then the others we have looked at. It is so much more appealing then the little two room apartment we are forced to endure. Our realtor stands outside the door, an ant in comparison to what looks like a towering structure. She opens the door and we go in. At once I am captivated. I look to my right and there is a large mirror that creates the illusion that the house is really bigger then what it is. As I look around I can see stairs going down and up. I follow my parents up the first flight. The house is larger then I thought. “This is it,” I say, “We need to get this place.” My parents sound somewhat skeptical, but aren’t altogether opposed to the idea. They look around mentioning that it needs some work. My dad goes outside to look over the shed in the back yard. The door shuts and so does my memory of that time.
In the midst of the blurred indistinguishable memory another time stands out. I sit at the dining room table. My mom is on the other side. We had just finished having a play date with our friends. I am worn out and sit breathing heavily at the table. Suddenly as we are discussing the friends and what they are like, my mom asks me if I think they are Christians. I begin to answer with words I think are intellectual and well thought out. But they only serve to cause another inquiry. “Are you a Christian?” Out of nowhere my mom asks the question I never knew I would get. It scares me and I quickly say yes. But she continues to pry at me. The room disappears to reveal another room filled with people looking at me and smiling once again.
I hold a piece of paper in my hand. It is my “testimony”. I have just finished reading it and am now signing my name on a piece of paper. I am told to go get some different cloths on. All goes dark. Then, I am outside soaked and shivering. I have just been baptized for the last time. In that moment and in this one I remember all of the times I had pridefuly ignored God. I remember the different people I was with and the different times I was baptized. I remember the influences I had. Some were good. Some were bad. But all in all I remember how it all, my whole life, was directed by God for his glory and for my salvation. Everything I had done and that had happened to me all came down to the moment (I don’t know the exact time) that I was saved. And it was all symbolized in that baptism: the one not for my salvation but to signify it. Now the rest is yet to happen it isn’t in my past so I can’t really tell you about it. But I hope through this post you have come to know me a little bit better and have come to know what I live for. May God, then, be glorified in the rest of this life I live.
In the midst of the blurred indistinguishable memory another time stands out. I sit at the dining room table. My mom is on the other side. We had just finished having a play date with our friends. I am worn out and sit breathing heavily at the table. Suddenly as we are discussing the friends and what they are like, my mom asks me if I think they are Christians. I begin to answer with words I think are intellectual and well thought out. But they only serve to cause another inquiry. “Are you a Christian?” Out of nowhere my mom asks the question I never knew I would get. It scares me and I quickly say yes. But she continues to pry at me. The room disappears to reveal another room filled with people looking at me and smiling once again.
I hold a piece of paper in my hand. It is my “testimony”. I have just finished reading it and am now signing my name on a piece of paper. I am told to go get some different cloths on. All goes dark. Then, I am outside soaked and shivering. I have just been baptized for the last time. In that moment and in this one I remember all of the times I had pridefuly ignored God. I remember the different people I was with and the different times I was baptized. I remember the influences I had. Some were good. Some were bad. But all in all I remember how it all, my whole life, was directed by God for his glory and for my salvation. Everything I had done and that had happened to me all came down to the moment (I don’t know the exact time) that I was saved. And it was all symbolized in that baptism: the one not for my salvation but to signify it. Now the rest is yet to happen it isn’t in my past so I can’t really tell you about it. But I hope through this post you have come to know me a little bit better and have come to know what I live for. May God, then, be glorified in the rest of this life I live.
A Reminisce and God’s Glory: Part Two
Several years have passed. We walk into an office. I don’t focus on much around me. I see a face but I can’t describe it: young and yet somehow old. My parents talk for sometime, saying things I can’t or don’t want to understand. I am stuck in my own world. I hear words like “church”, “false doctrine”, and “need to change”. We get up and leave.
We never attend that church but instead go to another. My parents decide they like it. I don’t care.
The office fades out and I find myself in another room. But this room looks out on a large audience who watch with smiles on their faces. Below me swaying back and forth is a small body of water. I’m in a baptistery. I see my family with me. I’m in a robe like garment. As I watch, each family member is being dunked under the water by my dad. It is my turn. My father says a few words and then all sound is drowned out as I go underneath. Coming up from the water everything around me is gone, I’m no longer wet.
I sit in a pew hands in my lap. I look to my side and see my dad sitting next to me. He is listening intently to the words being spoken in the front. Looking down at my hands I ignore the sermon. I wonder who my favorite football teem is playing today. The buffalo bills I remember with a smile. I can’t wait to see who wins. Then suddenly a man hands me a plate from the right hand isle. It has two different contents on it: a small glass with grape juice in it and a white flake of bread. I reach out to grab the bread. Hesitating I wonder if I should take it. My life hadn’t reflected the symbol I was about to partake of. I reluctantly grabbed both contents, however, and held them in my shaking hands. Then every thing was fogged over.
My monotonous life is becoming more monotonous. I find scenes molding into each other more and more. They are becoming less distinct. I remember depression. I remember being sick of my surroundings. One scene pulls itself away from the rest. It becomes distinct and clear in my head. I am riding in a car. A friend of mine sits next to me. It is the older boy who opened that door in the earlier memory. His name is David Moore. In his hand is a walkie talkie. He smiles and speaks into it. A girl’s voice answers on the other end. I don’t know what it says. The words are muffled by forgetfulness. I don’t know why but I begin to sing. My friend’s mom smiles and looks back, “that is very good,” she says. I blush and quickly stop. I look back over at my friend. I had seen him for the past several weeks in a row. And I knew I would probably see him for the next weeks to come. I stopped smiling and wondered when I would pull out of the present monotony. Suddenly I can’t see his face any more he is gone along with the car.
Several months have passed by now. I hold a controller in my hand. The voices of younger kids playing and talking in the distance carry into the dark room. I stare dumbly into a TV screen. On it a man runs through the woods. I am controlling him. In the distance grenades go off. I’m nearly hit. I stop, turn and shoot an unsuspecting soldier in the back. He dies. Suddenly from outside of my own little world a call breaks me out of my stupor. “Your computer time is up.” It is my mom. I stay on for another thirty minutes ignoring the call. Then, out of pure boredom, I turn of the game station and look around the room. All is dark. Then, through a window, I can see some kids playing around out back in a sand box. The backyard reminds me that I won’t be seeing it for to much longer. I am going to move in a week. It seems so unreal that it isn’t unusual. I accept it. Maybe mostly because it is a break from the deadly monotony. Every thing goes black as, for the last time; I see my old world and old friends. It is gone forever.
Suddenly I’m in a blue van. We are driving up a long small road into a parking lot. I remember hearing something about a heartland center. I am more then a little nervous. The building looks large, which can only mean one thing: there are a lot of people. Suddenly everything is gone. It disappears in the fog of forgetfulness. A second later I am walking through a hall. I look around and wish that I wasn’t there. As we reach two glass doors we turn left and enter a large sanctuary. A lot of people are moving around inside. A lot of unfamiliar faces. I look around to see what kind of faces. They all seemed nice and welcoming. We sat down in the middle row four rows from the front. I can’t distinguish faces. There is what looks like a young man standing on the stage. He is speaking. Then what looks like a younger girl, who I find out later to be his sister, is up on stage with him. The young man sings: it sounds very good. The sermon is a blur as I only remember that a foreigner is speaking. Suddenly everything clears. The sermon is over and I am sitting in my seat next to my brother. We are wearing our leather jackets. I look around and see a little boy who is wearing glasses. Then, suddenly the young singer comes over and introduces himself as Bryan Elliff. He is followed by several other younger people. They introduce themselves too. I feel the questions raining in and am flattered enough to answer them happily. As I go to answer another question I turn around and see…nothing…it is all gone. I am no longer in the sanctuary. All around me is fog.
We never attend that church but instead go to another. My parents decide they like it. I don’t care.
The office fades out and I find myself in another room. But this room looks out on a large audience who watch with smiles on their faces. Below me swaying back and forth is a small body of water. I’m in a baptistery. I see my family with me. I’m in a robe like garment. As I watch, each family member is being dunked under the water by my dad. It is my turn. My father says a few words and then all sound is drowned out as I go underneath. Coming up from the water everything around me is gone, I’m no longer wet.
I sit in a pew hands in my lap. I look to my side and see my dad sitting next to me. He is listening intently to the words being spoken in the front. Looking down at my hands I ignore the sermon. I wonder who my favorite football teem is playing today. The buffalo bills I remember with a smile. I can’t wait to see who wins. Then suddenly a man hands me a plate from the right hand isle. It has two different contents on it: a small glass with grape juice in it and a white flake of bread. I reach out to grab the bread. Hesitating I wonder if I should take it. My life hadn’t reflected the symbol I was about to partake of. I reluctantly grabbed both contents, however, and held them in my shaking hands. Then every thing was fogged over.
My monotonous life is becoming more monotonous. I find scenes molding into each other more and more. They are becoming less distinct. I remember depression. I remember being sick of my surroundings. One scene pulls itself away from the rest. It becomes distinct and clear in my head. I am riding in a car. A friend of mine sits next to me. It is the older boy who opened that door in the earlier memory. His name is David Moore. In his hand is a walkie talkie. He smiles and speaks into it. A girl’s voice answers on the other end. I don’t know what it says. The words are muffled by forgetfulness. I don’t know why but I begin to sing. My friend’s mom smiles and looks back, “that is very good,” she says. I blush and quickly stop. I look back over at my friend. I had seen him for the past several weeks in a row. And I knew I would probably see him for the next weeks to come. I stopped smiling and wondered when I would pull out of the present monotony. Suddenly I can’t see his face any more he is gone along with the car.
Several months have passed by now. I hold a controller in my hand. The voices of younger kids playing and talking in the distance carry into the dark room. I stare dumbly into a TV screen. On it a man runs through the woods. I am controlling him. In the distance grenades go off. I’m nearly hit. I stop, turn and shoot an unsuspecting soldier in the back. He dies. Suddenly from outside of my own little world a call breaks me out of my stupor. “Your computer time is up.” It is my mom. I stay on for another thirty minutes ignoring the call. Then, out of pure boredom, I turn of the game station and look around the room. All is dark. Then, through a window, I can see some kids playing around out back in a sand box. The backyard reminds me that I won’t be seeing it for to much longer. I am going to move in a week. It seems so unreal that it isn’t unusual. I accept it. Maybe mostly because it is a break from the deadly monotony. Every thing goes black as, for the last time; I see my old world and old friends. It is gone forever.
Suddenly I’m in a blue van. We are driving up a long small road into a parking lot. I remember hearing something about a heartland center. I am more then a little nervous. The building looks large, which can only mean one thing: there are a lot of people. Suddenly everything is gone. It disappears in the fog of forgetfulness. A second later I am walking through a hall. I look around and wish that I wasn’t there. As we reach two glass doors we turn left and enter a large sanctuary. A lot of people are moving around inside. A lot of unfamiliar faces. I look around to see what kind of faces. They all seemed nice and welcoming. We sat down in the middle row four rows from the front. I can’t distinguish faces. There is what looks like a young man standing on the stage. He is speaking. Then what looks like a younger girl, who I find out later to be his sister, is up on stage with him. The young man sings: it sounds very good. The sermon is a blur as I only remember that a foreigner is speaking. Suddenly everything clears. The sermon is over and I am sitting in my seat next to my brother. We are wearing our leather jackets. I look around and see a little boy who is wearing glasses. Then, suddenly the young singer comes over and introduces himself as Bryan Elliff. He is followed by several other younger people. They introduce themselves too. I feel the questions raining in and am flattered enough to answer them happily. As I go to answer another question I turn around and see…nothing…it is all gone. I am no longer in the sanctuary. All around me is fog.
A Reminisce and God’s Glory: Part One
The first thing that comes to my mind when I reminisce about my life is the great mercy dealt to me. It spared me from a lot of pain and turmoil.
I can vaguely remember my parents splitting up. I recollect certain scenes when I was with one or the other. In one of those scenes I am very young. I stand on a bed watching my dad working in the kitchen. He has just finished helping me with something. I can’t quite remember what. I look out the window and see my grandmother walking towards our front door. Everything fades as the rest is only a fogy picture in my mind. Suddenly I am there again embracing my grandma. I find out she has something for me. It is a three-wheel bike for toddlers. I am elated. I can still remember the feeling of joy even to this day.
The mercy I mentioned comes later on in my life, but not too much later. My parents who have been away from each other for some months go to meet with a pastor one night about their relational issues. My Dad wants so bad for things to be different. He has been changed and wants a second chance. My mom doesn’t want to hear about it. She reluctantly goes with him that night, however. But quickly ends the meeting by saying that it is finished and leaves without another word. My Dad who is devastated talks to the pastor a little longer asking him what chance he has of ever being with my mom again. The pastor is pretty sure the relationship is finished.
Through the grace of God, however, my mom changes her mind and eventually they both are together again and soon after become professing Christians. That mercy would follow me through the rest of my young life and, I am certain, would help mold me into the person I am today.
The next scene I recall is a few years later. I lay down on another bed in a room that my brother and I share. We live in a trailer. My dad stands over me. He is tucking me into bed. As I get comfortable in the covers enjoying the presence of my father and the warm glow of the lamp, I look up into his eyes and listen quietly to his words. He asks me a simple question, “Jacob, have you ever heard of goliath?” I hadn’t heard of that great giant who was slain by a mere young but faithful man. That is the first time I recall hearing about the bible. Again every thing fades into the fog of forgetfulness.
Objects and people suddenly come into focus as my memory clicks into another stage of my life. I am bent over, hands on my knees looking at the ground, trying to catch my breath. In the distance a girl is walking slowly towards me. Her face is very familiar. I have known here for years. She is smiling but I know her purpose. As she gets closer I must make my move. I take one last deep breath, turn around, and jolt for a door in the side of the church. I can hear her behind me. As I make it to the door I quickly open it mapping out the path I need to take. Down the stairs, through fellowship hall, and out the big glass doors. As I take the stairs two at a time I hear heavy breath behind me. Terrified I look back but am relieved to see my friend, Bryan, behind me. The terror comes back as both the girl chasing me and another girl appear behind us. They aren’t letting up. I yell as loud as I can and fly through the door. Every thing fogs over once again.
We decide to leave that first church with the sole intent of going to a more family focused congregation—one which focuses on strong parental guidance of their kids. We drive over to the house of the pastor of family covenant. I remember walking up the front steps. My throat is very sore, and I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m going to have to meet someone new. All the while, I’m making sure that I stay behind my mom and dad. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” My dad raps his knuckles against the door in that rhythm he always uses. The door opens slowly to reveal the face of an older boy, with whom I would soon come to be good friends. He smiles and lets us in. Suddenly the contents of the room swirl around in an invisible, tornado-like wind fading from view until all goes fogy once again.
As some years go by, we stay with the church growing somewhat close to the five families within. Another scene begins to materialize.
I’m running as hard as I can through a park. It is Fifth Street Park over by the brick streets and older homes. That is how I distinguish it from the rest. I always remember the red bricks. As I run, I can hear kids my age screaming and laughing along with me. I look over and see another friend I have made. We are playing tag. Suddenly I slide to avoid being tagged, scrapping up the grass and staining my genes. Getting up I feel like kicking myself knowing that the slide isn’t worth my embarrassment. My memory world fades out for a second and back in. I stand with one foot on a bench. Towering over me is an outside pavilion. We are still in the same park. My best friend is standing to my right. He is talking somewhat heatedly to an acquaintance. They are discussing Lord of the Rings. Marcus, my friend, says that Lord of the rings is sinful and bad. I stupidly agree with him getting in an argument with the acquaintance and his older brother. Fog once again envelopes me, but, only momentarily. We suddenly appear in the drive way of large house. My friend’s mom stands, hand on her hips, listening as a lady and her son apologize for their behavior at the park. I see a glint of prideful victory in the former’s face. She nods matter-of-factly and accepts the apology.
Our prideful self-righteous attitudes continue for a couple more years to come. I go along with it because that is how the people around me act. We are right and others are obviously wrong. Suddenly that life is gone while yet another scene surfaces.
I can vaguely remember my parents splitting up. I recollect certain scenes when I was with one or the other. In one of those scenes I am very young. I stand on a bed watching my dad working in the kitchen. He has just finished helping me with something. I can’t quite remember what. I look out the window and see my grandmother walking towards our front door. Everything fades as the rest is only a fogy picture in my mind. Suddenly I am there again embracing my grandma. I find out she has something for me. It is a three-wheel bike for toddlers. I am elated. I can still remember the feeling of joy even to this day.
The mercy I mentioned comes later on in my life, but not too much later. My parents who have been away from each other for some months go to meet with a pastor one night about their relational issues. My Dad wants so bad for things to be different. He has been changed and wants a second chance. My mom doesn’t want to hear about it. She reluctantly goes with him that night, however. But quickly ends the meeting by saying that it is finished and leaves without another word. My Dad who is devastated talks to the pastor a little longer asking him what chance he has of ever being with my mom again. The pastor is pretty sure the relationship is finished.
Through the grace of God, however, my mom changes her mind and eventually they both are together again and soon after become professing Christians. That mercy would follow me through the rest of my young life and, I am certain, would help mold me into the person I am today.
The next scene I recall is a few years later. I lay down on another bed in a room that my brother and I share. We live in a trailer. My dad stands over me. He is tucking me into bed. As I get comfortable in the covers enjoying the presence of my father and the warm glow of the lamp, I look up into his eyes and listen quietly to his words. He asks me a simple question, “Jacob, have you ever heard of goliath?” I hadn’t heard of that great giant who was slain by a mere young but faithful man. That is the first time I recall hearing about the bible. Again every thing fades into the fog of forgetfulness.
Objects and people suddenly come into focus as my memory clicks into another stage of my life. I am bent over, hands on my knees looking at the ground, trying to catch my breath. In the distance a girl is walking slowly towards me. Her face is very familiar. I have known here for years. She is smiling but I know her purpose. As she gets closer I must make my move. I take one last deep breath, turn around, and jolt for a door in the side of the church. I can hear her behind me. As I make it to the door I quickly open it mapping out the path I need to take. Down the stairs, through fellowship hall, and out the big glass doors. As I take the stairs two at a time I hear heavy breath behind me. Terrified I look back but am relieved to see my friend, Bryan, behind me. The terror comes back as both the girl chasing me and another girl appear behind us. They aren’t letting up. I yell as loud as I can and fly through the door. Every thing fogs over once again.
We decide to leave that first church with the sole intent of going to a more family focused congregation—one which focuses on strong parental guidance of their kids. We drive over to the house of the pastor of family covenant. I remember walking up the front steps. My throat is very sore, and I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m going to have to meet someone new. All the while, I’m making sure that I stay behind my mom and dad. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” My dad raps his knuckles against the door in that rhythm he always uses. The door opens slowly to reveal the face of an older boy, with whom I would soon come to be good friends. He smiles and lets us in. Suddenly the contents of the room swirl around in an invisible, tornado-like wind fading from view until all goes fogy once again.
As some years go by, we stay with the church growing somewhat close to the five families within. Another scene begins to materialize.
I’m running as hard as I can through a park. It is Fifth Street Park over by the brick streets and older homes. That is how I distinguish it from the rest. I always remember the red bricks. As I run, I can hear kids my age screaming and laughing along with me. I look over and see another friend I have made. We are playing tag. Suddenly I slide to avoid being tagged, scrapping up the grass and staining my genes. Getting up I feel like kicking myself knowing that the slide isn’t worth my embarrassment. My memory world fades out for a second and back in. I stand with one foot on a bench. Towering over me is an outside pavilion. We are still in the same park. My best friend is standing to my right. He is talking somewhat heatedly to an acquaintance. They are discussing Lord of the Rings. Marcus, my friend, says that Lord of the rings is sinful and bad. I stupidly agree with him getting in an argument with the acquaintance and his older brother. Fog once again envelopes me, but, only momentarily. We suddenly appear in the drive way of large house. My friend’s mom stands, hand on her hips, listening as a lady and her son apologize for their behavior at the park. I see a glint of prideful victory in the former’s face. She nods matter-of-factly and accepts the apology.
Our prideful self-righteous attitudes continue for a couple more years to come. I go along with it because that is how the people around me act. We are right and others are obviously wrong. Suddenly that life is gone while yet another scene surfaces.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Charles Dickens: Babbling Buffoon or Genius of His Art?
Charles Dickens wrote books of literature in an attempt to convey the physical and moral environment—mostly the corruption of the environment—of historic times through the actions of fictitious characters. Many people have read his books and loved them. Most of these admirers lived either during Dickens’s time or during the years after the 1940’s. They described him with phrases like, “The Greatest writer of his time”, “Far more then a great entertainer, a great comic writer”, and “A genius of his art”. After Dickens’ death, however, his literature was critically analyzed and deemed too flippant and wordy. No one could take his seemingly careless writing seriously. He, as “A genius of his art”, was replaced by Russian counterparts who, ironically, admired him and imitated some of his techniques. Was Charles Dickens really an over-rated writer who deserves to disappear from the list of great literary prodigies? Should we raise our eyebrows at his works and discard them as wasted time and effort?
Eighteenth century poet/writer, George Meredith, wrote, “Not much of Dickens will live, because it has so little correspondence to life...If his novels are read at all in the future, people will wonder what we saw in them, save some possible element of fun meaninglessness to them.” Meredith seemed to hold the view that reading Dickens’ writing was a pointless exercise. He thought that though Dickens’ books possessed a hint of attractive entertainment, they did not teach anything meaningful about human nature. Essentially, they were meaningless and wordy. One of Dickens’ books, “A Tale of Two Cities”, portrays this type of writing. Containing excess description and an ample amount words to describe simple, unimportant things, it proceeds to strain the mind to the point of explosion. The wordiness raises a question regarding Dickens’s literary purpose. Why does he persistently hammer scenes into the reader’s head when his audience probably understood them several paragraphs earlier? There does not seem to be any real answer, except that he had a great fascination for words, scenes, and human action. The last fascination appears to hint towards Dickens’s interest in the psychology of man as he attempted to show us, in a way that we can understand, what the human is like by nature and why he thinks what he thinks.
Dickens’s wordiness was only one reason people disliked him. He was also criticized for his sense of humor and sarcasm. Frowned upon by many, his satire was discounted as nothing more then pointless babble. For some reason, the Critics could not take Dickens seriously. Their view of his writing and its significance was drastically altered because they could not help but scoff at what they thought should have been a serious matter: content and theme. It was wrong of them to judge so quickly, however. Dickens had, as a writer, the right to intersperse some humorous material amongst the many serious, real-life events within his novels. It was the critics’ job to go to the context of the humor in question and determine if it was appropriate. Was Charles Dickens having fun at the expense of someone else? Or was he using a valid form of satire to mock the corrupt Governmental laws and human actions of his time? If the latter was the case—which it seems to be—then his form of literary humor should have been admired, not criticized.
Another aspect of Dickens’s writing that roused conflict is his Characters. “As his eyes rested on a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair, a pair of blue eyes that met his own with an inquiring look, and a forehead with a singular capacity (Remembering how young and smooth it was) of lifting itself into an expression that was not quite one of perplexity, or wonder, or alarm, or merely of a bright fixed attention.” As the description of the lady in the above sentence goes on for a paragraph, the reader will begin to formulate a mental picture of her. He may even begin to have an opinion of what the young woman in the story is like by nature. This opinion is the result of great skill on Dickens’ part. With mere ink and paper he essentially captures, so well, the very essence of human character. He describes each person with such care and moves them about there business in such a way that he creates a personal attachment between them and his readers. His books are not like most books of the twenty-first century. They are so much deeper with their character and human intent. There is no doubt that Dickens’ readers can relate the characters they read about to people they see in every day life.
Dickens’ writing is a true master piece of literature. His ability to describe a scene so well draws the reader into a whole other world where corruption is unveiled through satirical humor and human nature is critiqued with in-depth Character development. How can someone read such a book as “A Tale of Two Cities” and yet discount it as pointless rambling? It is the essence of good writing. By being so informative it leaves the reader enriched with a better knowledge of who he is by nature as a person. It also leaves no doubt in his mind that he has just read a true work of art: A tale with so many different themes, characters, and lessons woven together that it forms a beautiful tapestry of life. Charles Dickens, then, is not a babbling buffoon as some would think. He is a true writer whose talent is expressed in every word he writes.
Eighteenth century poet/writer, George Meredith, wrote, “Not much of Dickens will live, because it has so little correspondence to life...If his novels are read at all in the future, people will wonder what we saw in them, save some possible element of fun meaninglessness to them.” Meredith seemed to hold the view that reading Dickens’ writing was a pointless exercise. He thought that though Dickens’ books possessed a hint of attractive entertainment, they did not teach anything meaningful about human nature. Essentially, they were meaningless and wordy. One of Dickens’ books, “A Tale of Two Cities”, portrays this type of writing. Containing excess description and an ample amount words to describe simple, unimportant things, it proceeds to strain the mind to the point of explosion. The wordiness raises a question regarding Dickens’s literary purpose. Why does he persistently hammer scenes into the reader’s head when his audience probably understood them several paragraphs earlier? There does not seem to be any real answer, except that he had a great fascination for words, scenes, and human action. The last fascination appears to hint towards Dickens’s interest in the psychology of man as he attempted to show us, in a way that we can understand, what the human is like by nature and why he thinks what he thinks.
Dickens’s wordiness was only one reason people disliked him. He was also criticized for his sense of humor and sarcasm. Frowned upon by many, his satire was discounted as nothing more then pointless babble. For some reason, the Critics could not take Dickens seriously. Their view of his writing and its significance was drastically altered because they could not help but scoff at what they thought should have been a serious matter: content and theme. It was wrong of them to judge so quickly, however. Dickens had, as a writer, the right to intersperse some humorous material amongst the many serious, real-life events within his novels. It was the critics’ job to go to the context of the humor in question and determine if it was appropriate. Was Charles Dickens having fun at the expense of someone else? Or was he using a valid form of satire to mock the corrupt Governmental laws and human actions of his time? If the latter was the case—which it seems to be—then his form of literary humor should have been admired, not criticized.
Another aspect of Dickens’s writing that roused conflict is his Characters. “As his eyes rested on a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair, a pair of blue eyes that met his own with an inquiring look, and a forehead with a singular capacity (Remembering how young and smooth it was) of lifting itself into an expression that was not quite one of perplexity, or wonder, or alarm, or merely of a bright fixed attention.” As the description of the lady in the above sentence goes on for a paragraph, the reader will begin to formulate a mental picture of her. He may even begin to have an opinion of what the young woman in the story is like by nature. This opinion is the result of great skill on Dickens’ part. With mere ink and paper he essentially captures, so well, the very essence of human character. He describes each person with such care and moves them about there business in such a way that he creates a personal attachment between them and his readers. His books are not like most books of the twenty-first century. They are so much deeper with their character and human intent. There is no doubt that Dickens’ readers can relate the characters they read about to people they see in every day life.
Dickens’ writing is a true master piece of literature. His ability to describe a scene so well draws the reader into a whole other world where corruption is unveiled through satirical humor and human nature is critiqued with in-depth Character development. How can someone read such a book as “A Tale of Two Cities” and yet discount it as pointless rambling? It is the essence of good writing. By being so informative it leaves the reader enriched with a better knowledge of who he is by nature as a person. It also leaves no doubt in his mind that he has just read a true work of art: A tale with so many different themes, characters, and lessons woven together that it forms a beautiful tapestry of life. Charles Dickens, then, is not a babbling buffoon as some would think. He is a true writer whose talent is expressed in every word he writes.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
You Mean “Being Realistic in a Very Unrealistic World…Right? ;)
I want to start out with a hand of applause for Sarah’s boldness in speaking of her escapades. Congratulations!
My initial intention in writing this post was to argue Sarah’s point. I was going to speak of the benefits that come from a realistic world and how pointless it is to live in a world where reality lays dormant. Then I had a wave of inspiration. It washed over me in the form of complete and thorough revelation. What has been revealed to me will now unfold before you in this post.
First of all I would like to make a revolutionary statement. We do not live in a realistic world these days. “What?” you may ask, “But I don’t talk to myself, or look for guys with pink hair. How am I unreal?” What Sarah called “unrealistic” is the true reality we left behind years ago at the invention of the television, and, later, the internet. Even back before the twentieth century we can find this true reality in comparison to the fake one we are now in.
Consider, for instance, the immensity of games out there. You could go to almost any store, pick out a cool video game, plug it into your game station when you got back home, and be immersed in a fake world for hours. Another escape from reality that comes to my mind is the deadly DVD. Pointless and stupid, it will take you on a journey through someone else’s life. For three hours, images formed by a series of three colored dots flashing across the screen almost at the speed of light will pull you away from reality sucking you into a totally fake world
I want to put into consideration what great strides we have made in producing better and more fun ways to enjoy our movies. Throwing away the old bulky television we have replaced it with a high definition version. “It is crystal clear” they say. We turned the rolling film into the VHS; we turned the VHS into the DVD; we turned the DVD into the blue ray and so on. We have essentialy upgraded what we think is so important ignoring the more practical and essential things. I have to drive over roads whose repairs and upgrades have been avoided altogether while I can go home and enjoy the best media has to offer. Do you see the comparison? What is fake and totally unreal has been built up for our comfort, but what is real and practical has been left to die.
Since Sarah’s idea of living is actually realistic and is totally not insane, I will refer to her idea as reality from now on.
So lastly, living this realistic life should be our goal. We need to throw away our pitiful media infested world for a life of imagination. Instead of going into the mall to see Avatar and what great quality it has, we need to look for ways to occupy our minds in this world right now. Go looking for a guy with pink hair. It might be a little bit strange, but at least it is a search for a real person in a real world. Talk to a person who doesn’t exist. At least, that person was produced by your imagination and not some screen. Be active in your thinking.
This is the way that kids back in the colonial days lived. They probably had as much fun with a rock as we do now with all of our games and movies. While there minds were being stretched and cultivated, ours are being compressed and gooified.
In conclusion, we live in a truly unrealistic world which lacks imagination and brainpower. Sarah’s desired kind of living is actually reality, but it was left to die countless years ago. We must re-awaken that kind of life for the sake of reality and sanity ;)
My initial intention in writing this post was to argue Sarah’s point. I was going to speak of the benefits that come from a realistic world and how pointless it is to live in a world where reality lays dormant. Then I had a wave of inspiration. It washed over me in the form of complete and thorough revelation. What has been revealed to me will now unfold before you in this post.
First of all I would like to make a revolutionary statement. We do not live in a realistic world these days. “What?” you may ask, “But I don’t talk to myself, or look for guys with pink hair. How am I unreal?” What Sarah called “unrealistic” is the true reality we left behind years ago at the invention of the television, and, later, the internet. Even back before the twentieth century we can find this true reality in comparison to the fake one we are now in.
Consider, for instance, the immensity of games out there. You could go to almost any store, pick out a cool video game, plug it into your game station when you got back home, and be immersed in a fake world for hours. Another escape from reality that comes to my mind is the deadly DVD. Pointless and stupid, it will take you on a journey through someone else’s life. For three hours, images formed by a series of three colored dots flashing across the screen almost at the speed of light will pull you away from reality sucking you into a totally fake world
I want to put into consideration what great strides we have made in producing better and more fun ways to enjoy our movies. Throwing away the old bulky television we have replaced it with a high definition version. “It is crystal clear” they say. We turned the rolling film into the VHS; we turned the VHS into the DVD; we turned the DVD into the blue ray and so on. We have essentialy upgraded what we think is so important ignoring the more practical and essential things. I have to drive over roads whose repairs and upgrades have been avoided altogether while I can go home and enjoy the best media has to offer. Do you see the comparison? What is fake and totally unreal has been built up for our comfort, but what is real and practical has been left to die.
Since Sarah’s idea of living is actually realistic and is totally not insane, I will refer to her idea as reality from now on.
So lastly, living this realistic life should be our goal. We need to throw away our pitiful media infested world for a life of imagination. Instead of going into the mall to see Avatar and what great quality it has, we need to look for ways to occupy our minds in this world right now. Go looking for a guy with pink hair. It might be a little bit strange, but at least it is a search for a real person in a real world. Talk to a person who doesn’t exist. At least, that person was produced by your imagination and not some screen. Be active in your thinking.
This is the way that kids back in the colonial days lived. They probably had as much fun with a rock as we do now with all of our games and movies. While there minds were being stretched and cultivated, ours are being compressed and gooified.
In conclusion, we live in a truly unrealistic world which lacks imagination and brainpower. Sarah’s desired kind of living is actually reality, but it was left to die countless years ago. We must re-awaken that kind of life for the sake of reality and sanity ;)
Thursday, April 8, 2010
"Hanging Out" at the Mall
The first thing I think when I hear the word “Mall” is of punk skateboarders texting their friends, girls carrying hand bags stuffed to the brim with the latest in fashion, and a guy, hand in hand with his girlfriend, dragged through countless stores for no apparent reason. The Mall has become a hang out for the youth in our society. Friday night comes along, and school is out. The young people leave their homework for another time. Putting on heavy makeup, jelling back their hair, and wearing the coolest cloths, they head off to their weekend hang out; their home away from home: the mall.
I don’t think it is beneficial for the youth to hang out at the mall in their free time. In fact, in most cases, it is a total waste of time. Such ventures provide the younger generation with ample opportunity to be foolish and to gain bad habits for their adult life.
First of all, hanging out in malls can create rebellious teens. Let me give you a hypothetical example. Consider two young boys walking through a mall. They are free to go wherever they want and to look at whatever they desire. What’s to stop them from playing an “M” rated game that they know their moms would never approve of, or buying a few bad music CD’s, or going into some stores that they shouldn’t. They might even become apart of the wrong crowd. Suddenly stealing would become an option. Eventually their minds would be totally corrupted from all the bad influence, resulting in anger and rebellion which could devastate those around them.
Secondly, hanging out in malls can be a cause of bad financial habits for the future. Another scenario comes to my mind when I think of young people in a mall. Consider two young girls. Dressed up in pretty skirts, purses hung over their shoulders, the two make a trip to every store imaginable. If they happen to have a debit or credit card, the sky is the limit to their purchases. One pair of genes multiplies into several. One pair of shoes becomes two pairs. Ten dollars spent turns in to one hundred dollars spent. Suddenly they find themselves in a situation of major overspending. Now, overspending might not be the end of the world for these young girls. But what happens when they become adults and have a family of their own? Their husbands might be the only ones earning money, and might not even have a very big income. Suddenly fifty dollars out of the bank account could mean a month of only beans and rice or, worse, a life on the streets. Why should young people create bad habits that will affect them when they are adults?
Lastly, hanging out in malls eliminates the possibility of gaining skills. Imagine a group of youth going in and out of stores, spending endless ours looking at anything from phones to binge bag chairs. Half of the time they’ll stand around texting their friends about some cute guy, or the latest movie. In the end, they really don’t accomplish much for themselves. Yes, their time was spent enjoying friends and fooling around, but they missed out on learning something new. By “Something new” I don’t mean, “What new movie Gerard butler played in” or “the latest gossip about so and so”, but “How to cook” “How to fix a bike or car” “How to hang up blinds” “How to make a garden” “How to repair damages on a house” or less practical things like “how to defend one’s self against an attacker”, “how to weave a basket” “how to put together and fly an electric plane” “how to write a book” “how to run a marathon without having a heart attack” and other countless skills. Allowing the youth to roam around in malls creates a society of lazy, boring people.
Before I end this article I want to give a few positive words to the opposing view point. It isn’t all bad for youth to hang out at malls in their free time. But they must do so in moderation. Water is good and necessary for everyone, but when taken in excess it can kill. Spending some time in a mall is fine but if the younger generation is consumed in a life at the mall, trouble will arise. It may even cause permanent, future damage. So I am not completely against mall shopping as long as it is limited and, if possible, supervised.
I don’t think it is beneficial for the youth to hang out at the mall in their free time. In fact, in most cases, it is a total waste of time. Such ventures provide the younger generation with ample opportunity to be foolish and to gain bad habits for their adult life.
First of all, hanging out in malls can create rebellious teens. Let me give you a hypothetical example. Consider two young boys walking through a mall. They are free to go wherever they want and to look at whatever they desire. What’s to stop them from playing an “M” rated game that they know their moms would never approve of, or buying a few bad music CD’s, or going into some stores that they shouldn’t. They might even become apart of the wrong crowd. Suddenly stealing would become an option. Eventually their minds would be totally corrupted from all the bad influence, resulting in anger and rebellion which could devastate those around them.
Secondly, hanging out in malls can be a cause of bad financial habits for the future. Another scenario comes to my mind when I think of young people in a mall. Consider two young girls. Dressed up in pretty skirts, purses hung over their shoulders, the two make a trip to every store imaginable. If they happen to have a debit or credit card, the sky is the limit to their purchases. One pair of genes multiplies into several. One pair of shoes becomes two pairs. Ten dollars spent turns in to one hundred dollars spent. Suddenly they find themselves in a situation of major overspending. Now, overspending might not be the end of the world for these young girls. But what happens when they become adults and have a family of their own? Their husbands might be the only ones earning money, and might not even have a very big income. Suddenly fifty dollars out of the bank account could mean a month of only beans and rice or, worse, a life on the streets. Why should young people create bad habits that will affect them when they are adults?
Lastly, hanging out in malls eliminates the possibility of gaining skills. Imagine a group of youth going in and out of stores, spending endless ours looking at anything from phones to binge bag chairs. Half of the time they’ll stand around texting their friends about some cute guy, or the latest movie. In the end, they really don’t accomplish much for themselves. Yes, their time was spent enjoying friends and fooling around, but they missed out on learning something new. By “Something new” I don’t mean, “What new movie Gerard butler played in” or “the latest gossip about so and so”, but “How to cook” “How to fix a bike or car” “How to hang up blinds” “How to make a garden” “How to repair damages on a house” or less practical things like “how to defend one’s self against an attacker”, “how to weave a basket” “how to put together and fly an electric plane” “how to write a book” “how to run a marathon without having a heart attack” and other countless skills. Allowing the youth to roam around in malls creates a society of lazy, boring people.
Before I end this article I want to give a few positive words to the opposing view point. It isn’t all bad for youth to hang out at malls in their free time. But they must do so in moderation. Water is good and necessary for everyone, but when taken in excess it can kill. Spending some time in a mall is fine but if the younger generation is consumed in a life at the mall, trouble will arise. It may even cause permanent, future damage. So I am not completely against mall shopping as long as it is limited and, if possible, supervised.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Dogs Rule; Cats Drool
“Here kitty, kitty,” I called, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. I was squatting on the kitchen floor beckoning an orange cat with my finger. “Noah, come hear, Please, I promise I won’t hurt you.” My voice was set in the annoying tone you hear parents use as they rebuke their three year old child. But not even that could get a response out of the stump before me. The cat licked his paw ignoring my call like I didn’t even exist. That was it. Enough was enough. “Just come on you dumb cat! I know you can hear me!” I yelled, more then annoyed at the prideful animal. The cat jolted off in a hurry scared by my voice. I stood up and glared at the dinning room table, “I hate cats.”
Before I continue this post I must say that the opinions expressed here come from a fervent dog lover. I am sorry for the feline prejudice, but my experience with cats has completely tainted my view of them. So please don’t take anything personally. Thanks.
Why oh why did God create Cats? They look down on the human race, tear up the furniture, and disobey every command given to them. There independent and prideful nature leave people like me scratching my head and wondering why they exist. Was it God’s joke to humanity? He thought that He would make a small, cute creature with claws and a horribly assertive disposition. I personally don’t think it is funny. Consider how impractical cats are in general. What do they do for us: Nothing. In fact, we do every thing just to make the ungrateful animals comfortable. All we get in response is scratch marks all over the face.
On the other hand, dogs are wonderful creatures. Their practicality, obedience, and intelligence put them high up on my list of respect. Just the idea of having a large powerful beast between me and any intruder is reason enough to get a dog. On top of that, they are a wonderful friend to live around listening to their owner’s problems with a kind pant and waging tail, and obeying him with loyal obedience. What is not to like about a dog? They are practical and yet great fun.
We once had a dog named Ritz. Before dying, he was a loyal watch dog. His kindness towards family and yet fierce behavior towards strangers was a testimony to his character. He always showed a desire for companionship by nuzzling my hand. At some points he would even lay his head against my lap and fall asleep. Anytime someone drove past or came up to the door he would always bark as if to say, “If you’re going to hurt my family you have to come through me.” When it came to running around out side, Ritz was a playful animal and would never give up a good chance at stealing a stick from my hand. He was a true dog: smart, fun to be around, and protective.
So in conclusion to this short article, I hate cats and love dogs. Now, it is your turn to decide what you think. Would you rather be with the fierce, yet obedient canine, or stuck up, self righteous feline? I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.
As a side note: the above article applies to only certain types of dogs. Poodles are surly not one of them. Thanks for reading!
Before I continue this post I must say that the opinions expressed here come from a fervent dog lover. I am sorry for the feline prejudice, but my experience with cats has completely tainted my view of them. So please don’t take anything personally. Thanks.
Why oh why did God create Cats? They look down on the human race, tear up the furniture, and disobey every command given to them. There independent and prideful nature leave people like me scratching my head and wondering why they exist. Was it God’s joke to humanity? He thought that He would make a small, cute creature with claws and a horribly assertive disposition. I personally don’t think it is funny. Consider how impractical cats are in general. What do they do for us: Nothing. In fact, we do every thing just to make the ungrateful animals comfortable. All we get in response is scratch marks all over the face.
On the other hand, dogs are wonderful creatures. Their practicality, obedience, and intelligence put them high up on my list of respect. Just the idea of having a large powerful beast between me and any intruder is reason enough to get a dog. On top of that, they are a wonderful friend to live around listening to their owner’s problems with a kind pant and waging tail, and obeying him with loyal obedience. What is not to like about a dog? They are practical and yet great fun.
We once had a dog named Ritz. Before dying, he was a loyal watch dog. His kindness towards family and yet fierce behavior towards strangers was a testimony to his character. He always showed a desire for companionship by nuzzling my hand. At some points he would even lay his head against my lap and fall asleep. Anytime someone drove past or came up to the door he would always bark as if to say, “If you’re going to hurt my family you have to come through me.” When it came to running around out side, Ritz was a playful animal and would never give up a good chance at stealing a stick from my hand. He was a true dog: smart, fun to be around, and protective.
So in conclusion to this short article, I hate cats and love dogs. Now, it is your turn to decide what you think. Would you rather be with the fierce, yet obedient canine, or stuck up, self righteous feline? I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.
As a side note: the above article applies to only certain types of dogs. Poodles are surly not one of them. Thanks for reading!
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Point of This Blog
When I awoke this morning I began developing ideas for a new blog post. It took five minutes in a state of deep thought before a question occurred to me. What is the main theme of this blog? That question seemed like the one needing asked. But it would still leave some things unsaid. So I dug a little deeper for something a little more revealing. Then it hit me. Who is my audience? Who am I writing to, and, thus, what issues or thoughts do I need to address? The answer I came up with was quite interesting: it doesn’t matter.
First of all, I probably don’t have an audience. I wouldn’t blame anyone for not reading this blog. If I were someone else and had stumbled upon these writings I would have abandoned them a long time ago too.
Second, a blog isn’t meant to conform to any one group of people. What is the point of beginning a blog if I am going to limit it to a predetermined set of people with predetermined interests? It’s like keeping a wild tiger caged up when it should be roaming free. I need to let my writing display my interests. It doesn’t matter how random they may be. Leave the audience that wants a strict subject and theme to their math text books. While they are figuring out the quadratic equation the rest of you will be captivated by my unique style, opinions, and tastes. Yes, you may even be drawn by the randomness of the posts.
However just as there is a danger in letting our hypothetical tiger roam free in New York City, there is a danger in letting my ideas and thoughts run unimpeded throughout the blog. I may find myself pretty popular with some people, but others will hate me for my flippant and whimsical nature. They will call me names. They may say that I am no writer, and may make me feel like dirt. But I will stand my ground and be as fearless as the tiger.
With all that in mind, I have no question to what this blog is about. It isn’t a blog with a single theme for a one-minded kind of people. It is a reflection of my thought, ideas, ramblings, stories, articles, and life experiences. Scraping the corners of my thought and clearing out the cob webs I will show you, in all randomness, what I think. In the end, then, wouldn’t you think that I might actually become predictable? Believing that would be your biggest mistake. As I have already established with one of my best friends: I am unpredictable: be prepared for anything.
First of all, I probably don’t have an audience. I wouldn’t blame anyone for not reading this blog. If I were someone else and had stumbled upon these writings I would have abandoned them a long time ago too.
Second, a blog isn’t meant to conform to any one group of people. What is the point of beginning a blog if I am going to limit it to a predetermined set of people with predetermined interests? It’s like keeping a wild tiger caged up when it should be roaming free. I need to let my writing display my interests. It doesn’t matter how random they may be. Leave the audience that wants a strict subject and theme to their math text books. While they are figuring out the quadratic equation the rest of you will be captivated by my unique style, opinions, and tastes. Yes, you may even be drawn by the randomness of the posts.
However just as there is a danger in letting our hypothetical tiger roam free in New York City, there is a danger in letting my ideas and thoughts run unimpeded throughout the blog. I may find myself pretty popular with some people, but others will hate me for my flippant and whimsical nature. They will call me names. They may say that I am no writer, and may make me feel like dirt. But I will stand my ground and be as fearless as the tiger.
With all that in mind, I have no question to what this blog is about. It isn’t a blog with a single theme for a one-minded kind of people. It is a reflection of my thought, ideas, ramblings, stories, articles, and life experiences. Scraping the corners of my thought and clearing out the cob webs I will show you, in all randomness, what I think. In the end, then, wouldn’t you think that I might actually become predictable? Believing that would be your biggest mistake. As I have already established with one of my best friends: I am unpredictable: be prepared for anything.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
I'm Sorry for not Posting Sooner!
Okay, so maybe the title implies that I am making an apology to you, the general reader. Maybe I felt guilty for leaving you all in suspense. This being the case, I determined to write an apology post so that I could receive a warm pat on the back and an, "It's alright," by those dedicated and loyal to me. Before I gag, I think I'll stop right there. By this part of the post I am sure you have begun to realize that I don't intend to apologize to you. It is just simply not the case. "Then," you may ask, "What is the point of this post? Who could you possibly be apologizing to if it isn’t me?" That is a good question and I am sure I will do a horrible job of answering it. But I’ll try anyway. Drum role please...
"I'm sorry, dear writer for not posting sooner." That statement is ambiguous and probably needs further explanation. But first, let’s quickly reflect on the mess I have made thus far. I wrote a whole paragraph explaining what this post wasn't about, lest you be deceived. Then I started the second paragraph-and preferably the last-with a very confusing statement. It not only kept you hanging but has also caused me to write a few more useless sentences in an attempt to "really" explain every thing! Yes, I can empathize with you...this is getting really tiring. Please bear with me, though.
Now for the explanation: what writer is the apology indicating? It is me. Clearly, then, I am apologizing to myself. But why? Doesn't that seem a little Conceited? I mean, who but the stuck up sissy's apologize to themselves. Well, I'll get to that in a minute. First, I need to answer the question, "Why am I apologizing to myself?" I am sorry for not making myself more disciplined. I want to be a writer; I say I love to write, and yet, I am hurting myself immensely by not determining to write at least once a week. This blog is the perfect opportunity for that type of discipline. Not posting, then, probably plays a huge affect in what kind of writer I am and in what kind I become. The less I write, the less comprehendible my writing is, and, thus, the less fun I will have as a writer. For that reason I am sorry. Does it make sense now? If not, then I can't help you. As to the idea of me being a sissy for writing this post…it is only a matter of opinion.
Now that this horrible and long apology is finished I must do something. I must say “sorry,” for the apology. Please don't be too surprised by that last odd statement. Just get used to the fact that you are reading an odd kind of writing from an odd kind of person. So in closing, I’m very sorry whoever you are out there: Interested or (Probably) board reader. I hope the next post better suits your reading tastes.
"I'm sorry, dear writer for not posting sooner." That statement is ambiguous and probably needs further explanation. But first, let’s quickly reflect on the mess I have made thus far. I wrote a whole paragraph explaining what this post wasn't about, lest you be deceived. Then I started the second paragraph-and preferably the last-with a very confusing statement. It not only kept you hanging but has also caused me to write a few more useless sentences in an attempt to "really" explain every thing! Yes, I can empathize with you...this is getting really tiring. Please bear with me, though.
Now for the explanation: what writer is the apology indicating? It is me. Clearly, then, I am apologizing to myself. But why? Doesn't that seem a little Conceited? I mean, who but the stuck up sissy's apologize to themselves. Well, I'll get to that in a minute. First, I need to answer the question, "Why am I apologizing to myself?" I am sorry for not making myself more disciplined. I want to be a writer; I say I love to write, and yet, I am hurting myself immensely by not determining to write at least once a week. This blog is the perfect opportunity for that type of discipline. Not posting, then, probably plays a huge affect in what kind of writer I am and in what kind I become. The less I write, the less comprehendible my writing is, and, thus, the less fun I will have as a writer. For that reason I am sorry. Does it make sense now? If not, then I can't help you. As to the idea of me being a sissy for writing this post…it is only a matter of opinion.
Now that this horrible and long apology is finished I must do something. I must say “sorry,” for the apology. Please don't be too surprised by that last odd statement. Just get used to the fact that you are reading an odd kind of writing from an odd kind of person. So in closing, I’m very sorry whoever you are out there: Interested or (Probably) board reader. I hope the next post better suits your reading tastes.
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