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.

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 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.