I was reading Numbers 7 for my nighttime reading, and every time I read it (all 89 verses, haha, because it's the kind of chapter you feel silly stopping in the middle of, because whatever you read tomorrow will be a carbon copy of what you read tonight!) it rings through my head in a very 12 Days of Christmas style.
Presumably because there are lists of numbered things that were given, and they were given on 12 separate days. Funny, that.
Anyhow, I've always sort of had it in my head as a song, and tonight realized that it doesn't fit at all. But, I shall pretty much always sing it as a song when I read it, so I share it here, so you can annoying get the 12 Days of Christmas tune in your head as you read Numbers 7 next. Because I love to share. You're welcome.
On the first day of dedication the prince of Judah brought,
One weighty silver charger.
On the second day of dedication the prince of Issachar brought,
One silver bowl
And a weighty silver charger.
On the third day of dedication the prince of Zebulun brought,
One golden spoon,
One silver bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.
On the fourth day of dedication the prince of Reuben brought,
Various fillings,
One golden spoon,
One silver bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.
Okay, so this could go on forever. And I'm cutting out may important things. But as I said, this is actually remarkably difficult to condense appropriately.
On the twelfth day of dedication the prince of Naphtali brought,
Five first year lambies,
Five only male goats,
Five off'ring peace rams,
Two off'ring peace oxen,
One goat for sinning,
One first year lambie,
One ram for burning,
One young bullock.
Various fillings,
One golden spoon,
One silver bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.
Phew. That is a mouthful, and it leaves out a lot of important details. And uses the word "lambies" because "lambs" isn't enough syllables. So go, my friends. Go forth and read Numbers 7, appreciate the exquisite detail, and feel free to let me know if you find a way to make this passage flow more smoothly (particularly lines that use words like lambies and off'ring)! I think I'd sleep better at night if I had a version of this song that actually fit to this chapter!
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, April 14, 2014
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Worth it
Some days my responsibilities leave me tired. I remember earlier this year when a friend was helping me do Sunday School stuff she remarked, "How do you do it? These kids wear me out!"
I feel you.
Some Sundays I just feel spent. It is ridiculous, of course, because it's only a couple of hours a couple of times a weekend, but the constant chaos has a way of wearing you down. Like a rock in a creek. No matter how innocuous the creek seems, eventually that rock is going to be worn down whether or not it wants to be.
Like tonight, driving the kids home from gospel. Definitely had to pull over and do the, "Whomsoever does not sit down and stop fighting won't come or get cookies ever again." It works for a few blocks, anyhow.
But.
But.
Let me tell you a story that starts a while ago. A story that begins on a different thread, but leads back to the subject at hand.
Earlier this summer I started a book called Get Lost. I started it and realized that it was going to be good, good enough, in fact, for me to *gasp* buy an actual copy for myself, instead of just using the library version I had. (I don't prefer to use money for... anything. I avoid purchasing things unless it's ABSOLUTELY NEEDED. So to think that I should buy something is a Big Deal in my life.) So I bought myself a copy and... then put the book on hold for a while. But earlier this month I picked it up and devoured the book (in the literary fashion, not the rumble in my tummy fashion). It's rather good. Note to self: if I have daughters, I'm pretty much getting them copies. (Unfortunately, the tagline is about finding true love. The author did that to be clever, because she urges you to find true love in Christ, but it's awkwardly misleading when discussing it with others, because I'm not on a quest to find true love, but I would like to read more about deepening my relationship with the Lord.)
Anyhow, it was so good that I bought a copy for a friend who I thought might appreciate it. Three days after I gave it to her she came up to me and told me she'd purchased seven copies, to give to her friends. (Then of course I was all like, "Ugh, must I?" but the Lord urged me to buy even more copies, and now five additional friends are gifted with copies.)
A few days later, the same friend came to me and said there was a line in the book that had gotten her to thinking. The line was something like, "Allow the Lord to use you wherever you are, whether it be in raising children for the Lord alongside your husband, or as a single woman on Wall Street." The author, I'm sure, meant, you know, the stock market version of Wall Street. But... in my neck of the woods a lot of our Sunday School work originated on a street called Wall Street. So, after reading this line, my friend came to me and said she wanted to be more involved in the Sunday School effort.
"Oh, hey, perfect timing. I'm having some girls over for supper this week, can you come?" She made time, and she came.
Insert the night of the dinner. I was stressed. I'd forgotten to make cookies (a tragedy worse than DEATH to these kids) and more girls came than expected (which is to be expected, but sometimes I foolishly forget such things), and I was sort of running around like a headless chicken, helping girls make pizzas, keeping them from breaking the trampoline, that sort of thing.
The evening progressed, and I was much occupied with keeping things moving smoothly. I talked to everyone, tried to get personal conversations in, but... with a dozen or so (more? I already don't remember) girls running around, it was rough.
My friend, however, felt the Lord urge her to talk to one of the girls specifically. To just sit down and get to know her a little better. To see if she was enjoying the evening and see if she had any questions about the Bible reading we'd had.
"Yeah," the girl wondered, when prodded, "what does it mean exactly to be born again?"
An hour later, I was inside watching the least sensical play EVER, as staged by the girls (I have several versions recorded on my phone, but have no idea how to upload them to Blogger--any advice?) and my friend and the girl wandered in. My friend rejoicing with the angels; the girl freshly saved.
My friend told me she might not have come but for reading that line in the book. I wouldn't have thought to invite her except that she brought it up first. And I honestly don't think I would have made time to talk to that one girl myself. All these little things work together, and now we rejoice (me with actual tears, because I ALWAYS cry when our kids get saved, haha) because of the reminders of God's abiding faithfulness.
So when I get worn down (interesting note--when I first heard that song I was particularly tired and worn--I begin to see a pattern in my life--and I'm pretty sure I cried. I seem to cry a lot in these featured stories, sigh) I just have to remember that it's worth it.
Not for my own life, but for their lives, and for His eternal glory.
I feel you.
Some Sundays I just feel spent. It is ridiculous, of course, because it's only a couple of hours a couple of times a weekend, but the constant chaos has a way of wearing you down. Like a rock in a creek. No matter how innocuous the creek seems, eventually that rock is going to be worn down whether or not it wants to be.
Like tonight, driving the kids home from gospel. Definitely had to pull over and do the, "Whomsoever does not sit down and stop fighting won't come or get cookies ever again." It works for a few blocks, anyhow.
But.
But.
Let me tell you a story that starts a while ago. A story that begins on a different thread, but leads back to the subject at hand.
Earlier this summer I started a book called Get Lost. I started it and realized that it was going to be good, good enough, in fact, for me to *gasp* buy an actual copy for myself, instead of just using the library version I had. (I don't prefer to use money for... anything. I avoid purchasing things unless it's ABSOLUTELY NEEDED. So to think that I should buy something is a Big Deal in my life.) So I bought myself a copy and... then put the book on hold for a while. But earlier this month I picked it up and devoured the book (in the literary fashion, not the rumble in my tummy fashion). It's rather good. Note to self: if I have daughters, I'm pretty much getting them copies. (Unfortunately, the tagline is about finding true love. The author did that to be clever, because she urges you to find true love in Christ, but it's awkwardly misleading when discussing it with others, because I'm not on a quest to find true love, but I would like to read more about deepening my relationship with the Lord.)
Anyhow, it was so good that I bought a copy for a friend who I thought might appreciate it. Three days after I gave it to her she came up to me and told me she'd purchased seven copies, to give to her friends. (Then of course I was all like, "Ugh, must I?" but the Lord urged me to buy even more copies, and now five additional friends are gifted with copies.)
A few days later, the same friend came to me and said there was a line in the book that had gotten her to thinking. The line was something like, "Allow the Lord to use you wherever you are, whether it be in raising children for the Lord alongside your husband, or as a single woman on Wall Street." The author, I'm sure, meant, you know, the stock market version of Wall Street. But... in my neck of the woods a lot of our Sunday School work originated on a street called Wall Street. So, after reading this line, my friend came to me and said she wanted to be more involved in the Sunday School effort.
"Oh, hey, perfect timing. I'm having some girls over for supper this week, can you come?" She made time, and she came.
Insert the night of the dinner. I was stressed. I'd forgotten to make cookies (a tragedy worse than DEATH to these kids) and more girls came than expected (which is to be expected, but sometimes I foolishly forget such things), and I was sort of running around like a headless chicken, helping girls make pizzas, keeping them from breaking the trampoline, that sort of thing.
The evening progressed, and I was much occupied with keeping things moving smoothly. I talked to everyone, tried to get personal conversations in, but... with a dozen or so (more? I already don't remember) girls running around, it was rough.
My friend, however, felt the Lord urge her to talk to one of the girls specifically. To just sit down and get to know her a little better. To see if she was enjoying the evening and see if she had any questions about the Bible reading we'd had.
"Yeah," the girl wondered, when prodded, "what does it mean exactly to be born again?"
An hour later, I was inside watching the least sensical play EVER, as staged by the girls (I have several versions recorded on my phone, but have no idea how to upload them to Blogger--any advice?) and my friend and the girl wandered in. My friend rejoicing with the angels; the girl freshly saved.
My friend told me she might not have come but for reading that line in the book. I wouldn't have thought to invite her except that she brought it up first. And I honestly don't think I would have made time to talk to that one girl myself. All these little things work together, and now we rejoice (me with actual tears, because I ALWAYS cry when our kids get saved, haha) because of the reminders of God's abiding faithfulness.
So when I get worn down (interesting note--when I first heard that song I was particularly tired and worn--I begin to see a pattern in my life--and I'm pretty sure I cried. I seem to cry a lot in these featured stories, sigh) I just have to remember that it's worth it.
Not for my own life, but for their lives, and for His eternal glory.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Raindrops on Roses
Some of my favorite things, in no order, and certainly not a complete listing:
Puddles
Pineapple
Bibles. I'd probably have 50 if it didn't seem excessive.
Pciture books
Libraries
Bookstores
Actually, anything having to do with books
Appropriately swift internet connections
Bags. I'm not an accesory girl, but I love purses/bags.
Upbeat music
Also, melencholy music
But only if the music is good. I super dislike naughty music.
Friends
Bibleing with my friends (you know who you are)
Mail. When it's for me! and... not a bill.
Nieces and nephews
Come to think of it, pretty much all family.
Fuzzy things
Speedlimits that are reasonably high. For instance, not 55 mph.
When the doctor's office has cool magazines (aka, not celebrity gossip, but Bloomberg Buisnessweek or something)
Babies
Fairy tales
Couples who are happily married
Well-behaved children
Traveling
Also, traveling buddies
Also, road trips
Fryingpans (who knew, right?)
And, obviously, the upcoming Rapture. Yay!
Puddles
Pineapple
Bibles. I'd probably have 50 if it didn't seem excessive.
Pciture books
Libraries
Bookstores
Actually, anything having to do with books
Appropriately swift internet connections
Bags. I'm not an accesory girl, but I love purses/bags.
Upbeat music
Also, melencholy music
But only if the music is good. I super dislike naughty music.
Friends
Bibleing with my friends (you know who you are)
Mail. When it's for me! and... not a bill.
Nieces and nephews
Come to think of it, pretty much all family.
Fuzzy things
Speedlimits that are reasonably high. For instance, not 55 mph.
When the doctor's office has cool magazines (aka, not celebrity gossip, but Bloomberg Buisnessweek or something)
Babies
Fairy tales
Couples who are happily married
Well-behaved children
Traveling
Also, traveling buddies
Also, road trips
Fryingpans (who knew, right?)
And, obviously, the upcoming Rapture. Yay!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Santa and co.
Last winter I was telling my family about how I had only just then realized that the Santa Claus that Mommy was kissing was really the dad, at which point my whole family (with the exception of my dad, who is smarter than the rest of us, apparently) looked askance and, with light-bulb-like realization said, "ohh!!"
Yeah, I'd just never realized what the song had been saying. I always thought it was an irritating song with slightly naughty connotations. Then one day I realized, wait! the dad is dressed up as Santa! Hence all the references to "wouldn't it be funny if daddy had walked in," or however it goes.
Anyhow, I heard that song again the other day and it made me laugh.
Yeah, I'd just never realized what the song had been saying. I always thought it was an irritating song with slightly naughty connotations. Then one day I realized, wait! the dad is dressed up as Santa! Hence all the references to "wouldn't it be funny if daddy had walked in," or however it goes.
Anyhow, I heard that song again the other day and it made me laugh.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Waiting Game
We play many games. Twister. Dating. Monopoly. Some games we like (Guess Who?, Scrabble, Bejeweled) and some we don't (... Monopoly and dating are two that come immediately to mind). And a lot of parts of life we refer to as games that probably aren't (for instance, dating. Not really a game. I just get tired of what I call "the dating game" amongst youngsters who treat it carelessly, hence the less-than-fuzzy feelings I'm feeling towards it right now), like, for instance, waiting.
We all wait for this or that. Some people wait for the mail, some people wait for a kind word, some wait for a grandchild, and some wait for the eyebrows to grow back. All kinds of things. But I was thinking about waiting last night, as I was listening to Air1 (they have some crazy songs, but I like them mostly). They played a song called "For Those Who Wait" and it's by a band called Fireflight. Now, I'm not wholly certain what the song is about (though it did have words about a "waiting game" which is why I'm suddenly calling waiting a game), but I think it mostly has to do with waiting on the Lord. I think. I don't know. I was driving, and sometimes I pay attention to the road instead of the music. Weird, I know.
Anyhow, the bridge of the song went along the lines of "the pressures make us stronger, the lessons make the difference, the struggle makes us hunger." Something. I guess I could look up the lyrics. No, I'm feeling lazy.
As much as we don't want to wait, it's so helpful for us to wait. And there are so many helpful, and healthy things we can do while waiting (again, this waiting is for anything, be it the pizza delivery guy, that upcoming concert, or for your passport to come). And I think that's the way it was designed to be.
Do you remember the story where Saul was waiting for Samuel to come, but he didn't show up for a whole week, so Saul just sort of up and did some sacrifices, and then when Samuel came (like five minutes later, of course), he confronted Saul about he'd stepped out of bounds and done the sacrifices himself. Well, Saul's answer was that he felt obliged to for a bunch of reasons (the bad guys would get him, the people were scattering), so he just did it.
Please note, I am not an exact translation. Thank you.
So anyhow, Saul just didn't want to wait. So he didn't. And I don't blame him, in a certain sense. I mean, how many of us would just wait patiently for an entire week?! If someone says they'll be at the bus station on Friday, I'm not just going to sit around and wait for him for a whole week, you know? I'd be those people, scattering, and I'd probably be Saul, just taking charge and doing the sacrifices for lack of someone better to do them.
Woe is me. What a terrible attitude! They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary, they shall walk, and not faint.
If you want a list of verses about waiting, see Mrs. B's blog for a very good post on the subject.
There's another song (I'm really into this song thing today, hope that doesn't bother anybody) by John Waller called "While I'm Waiting" and it was used in the Fireproof soundtrack (great movie, great soundtrack) and I love listening to it. It just brings to mind that while we're waiting, we should be hopeful, and serving, and patient. "I'm waiting on you, Lord, though it is painful, I will wait."
That's the sort of attitude with which I want to wait.
We all wait for this or that. Some people wait for the mail, some people wait for a kind word, some wait for a grandchild, and some wait for the eyebrows to grow back. All kinds of things. But I was thinking about waiting last night, as I was listening to Air1 (they have some crazy songs, but I like them mostly). They played a song called "For Those Who Wait" and it's by a band called Fireflight. Now, I'm not wholly certain what the song is about (though it did have words about a "waiting game" which is why I'm suddenly calling waiting a game), but I think it mostly has to do with waiting on the Lord. I think. I don't know. I was driving, and sometimes I pay attention to the road instead of the music. Weird, I know.
Anyhow, the bridge of the song went along the lines of "the pressures make us stronger, the lessons make the difference, the struggle makes us hunger." Something. I guess I could look up the lyrics. No, I'm feeling lazy.
As much as we don't want to wait, it's so helpful for us to wait. And there are so many helpful, and healthy things we can do while waiting (again, this waiting is for anything, be it the pizza delivery guy, that upcoming concert, or for your passport to come). And I think that's the way it was designed to be.
Do you remember the story where Saul was waiting for Samuel to come, but he didn't show up for a whole week, so Saul just sort of up and did some sacrifices, and then when Samuel came (like five minutes later, of course), he confronted Saul about he'd stepped out of bounds and done the sacrifices himself. Well, Saul's answer was that he felt obliged to for a bunch of reasons (the bad guys would get him, the people were scattering), so he just did it.
Please note, I am not an exact translation. Thank you.
So anyhow, Saul just didn't want to wait. So he didn't. And I don't blame him, in a certain sense. I mean, how many of us would just wait patiently for an entire week?! If someone says they'll be at the bus station on Friday, I'm not just going to sit around and wait for him for a whole week, you know? I'd be those people, scattering, and I'd probably be Saul, just taking charge and doing the sacrifices for lack of someone better to do them.
Woe is me. What a terrible attitude! They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary, they shall walk, and not faint.
If you want a list of verses about waiting, see Mrs. B's blog for a very good post on the subject.
There's another song (I'm really into this song thing today, hope that doesn't bother anybody) by John Waller called "While I'm Waiting" and it was used in the Fireproof soundtrack (great movie, great soundtrack) and I love listening to it. It just brings to mind that while we're waiting, we should be hopeful, and serving, and patient. "I'm waiting on you, Lord, though it is painful, I will wait."
That's the sort of attitude with which I want to wait.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Oh, Romeo
Fact: I think the story of Romeo and Juliet is stupid. Fact: Taylor Swift's re-envisioning of the story doesn't really impress me. Fact: maybe it's just because I'm not hopelessly romantic enough, but the whole premise is insane.
You meet, fall in love, can't live without one another, and prove it by dying because you can't be together. Juliet, are you sure you knew this guy? It had only been a couple of days (hours?) before you decided you were in love with him. Romeo, you obviously had no concept of.... well, let's put it this way. Juliet was 13, you were probably not too much older, let's just say you were 17 or 18. You had your whole life in front of you, Romeo, but you chose to throw it all away over a girl barely in her teens. Seriously, mister, get real.
I know you both thought you were smart enough to have figured out the world and its many nuances, but the killing.... WHAT? Obviously you weren't saved, because I, for one, have so much more to live for! I have a life in Christ, and I like to think that I wouldn't throw that away over something as stupid as someone you hardly even knew.
In other news, I just read a news article that declared that it was actually scientifically proven that you can fall in love at first sight. Weird.
You meet, fall in love, can't live without one another, and prove it by dying because you can't be together. Juliet, are you sure you knew this guy? It had only been a couple of days (hours?) before you decided you were in love with him. Romeo, you obviously had no concept of.... well, let's put it this way. Juliet was 13, you were probably not too much older, let's just say you were 17 or 18. You had your whole life in front of you, Romeo, but you chose to throw it all away over a girl barely in her teens. Seriously, mister, get real.
I know you both thought you were smart enough to have figured out the world and its many nuances, but the killing.... WHAT? Obviously you weren't saved, because I, for one, have so much more to live for! I have a life in Christ, and I like to think that I wouldn't throw that away over something as stupid as someone you hardly even knew.
In other news, I just read a news article that declared that it was actually scientifically proven that you can fall in love at first sight. Weird.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Finding home
I rarely ever hear songs by The Afters, but I happened to hear one this week that struck me as kind of up my alley. I don't actually remember much of what the song sounded like, but I looked up the lyrics when I got home because I was pretty sure that the words intrigued me. Either that, or I'd heard them totally wrong. But no, I'd heard them right.
"The World's got me tied on a string/Wanderlust has overcome me/Like Lewis and Clark I'll dream/There's a million different ways to go/Only God can know where I will call my home."
I actually have no idea what the point of this song is. I sort of get the impression that perhaps they wanted a few filler songs for a CD and just decided this one was good enough. Not that I dislike it, but I literally have no idea what the point of it is. It's called "Love Lead Me On" and the entirety of the chorus goes as follows: "Love lead me on/Where no one else has gone/Faith keep me strong/Love lead me on."
It also rambles about finding home, and love, and picture perfect sunsets, so I'm pretty sure it's just a feel-good song about finding home, but I mostly liked the lines about wanderlust and Lewis and Clark. One of my friends and I used to play Lewis and Clark (I'm pretty sure I was Lewis) and we were masterful waterfall jumpers. It was pretty swell.
I have a friend who is going to school to be a guidance counselor, and he's already pretty good at it. We'll be having a conversation and suddenly I'll realize that I'm just rambling about all sorts of stuff I normally wouldn't. It's rather unsettling, actually. That being said, I was talking about traveling the other day, and he asked me, "Do you get antsy if you stay in one place for too long?"
I had no idea what to tell him. I don't even remember the last time I stayed in one place for a long time. At least one weekend a month I'm somewhere else--anywhere else! And it's not that I don't love my family, or my home (because I love both, very much), but I'm just always doing other things on the weekends. It was odd for me to take a step back and look at myself the way others must see me. I know there are some people who think I'm out and about too much, that I should be home more.
But... I am pretty tight with my family. We eat two meals a day together, we discuss anything and everything whenever we have spare minutes, we travel places together when we get the chance, I ask my parents for advice about most things (even crazy-sounding things, so they can talk me out of it), and my siblings and I are incredibly close.
So, does my traveling a lot mean I'm escaping from something? Because I can't think of what I'd be running from, or what I'd be trying to run toward. My home is just that: Home. I wouldn't want to think I'm out trying to find another place to belong. I'm just out to find that perfect sunset, to play Lewis and Clark and make discoveries worth discussing at the dinner table.
I like to think of it like T. S. Eliot always said: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
"The World's got me tied on a string/Wanderlust has overcome me/Like Lewis and Clark I'll dream/There's a million different ways to go/Only God can know where I will call my home."
I actually have no idea what the point of this song is. I sort of get the impression that perhaps they wanted a few filler songs for a CD and just decided this one was good enough. Not that I dislike it, but I literally have no idea what the point of it is. It's called "Love Lead Me On" and the entirety of the chorus goes as follows: "Love lead me on/Where no one else has gone/Faith keep me strong/Love lead me on."
It also rambles about finding home, and love, and picture perfect sunsets, so I'm pretty sure it's just a feel-good song about finding home, but I mostly liked the lines about wanderlust and Lewis and Clark. One of my friends and I used to play Lewis and Clark (I'm pretty sure I was Lewis) and we were masterful waterfall jumpers. It was pretty swell.
I have a friend who is going to school to be a guidance counselor, and he's already pretty good at it. We'll be having a conversation and suddenly I'll realize that I'm just rambling about all sorts of stuff I normally wouldn't. It's rather unsettling, actually. That being said, I was talking about traveling the other day, and he asked me, "Do you get antsy if you stay in one place for too long?"
I had no idea what to tell him. I don't even remember the last time I stayed in one place for a long time. At least one weekend a month I'm somewhere else--anywhere else! And it's not that I don't love my family, or my home (because I love both, very much), but I'm just always doing other things on the weekends. It was odd for me to take a step back and look at myself the way others must see me. I know there are some people who think I'm out and about too much, that I should be home more.
But... I am pretty tight with my family. We eat two meals a day together, we discuss anything and everything whenever we have spare minutes, we travel places together when we get the chance, I ask my parents for advice about most things (even crazy-sounding things, so they can talk me out of it), and my siblings and I are incredibly close.
So, does my traveling a lot mean I'm escaping from something? Because I can't think of what I'd be running from, or what I'd be trying to run toward. My home is just that: Home. I wouldn't want to think I'm out trying to find another place to belong. I'm just out to find that perfect sunset, to play Lewis and Clark and make discoveries worth discussing at the dinner table.
I like to think of it like T. S. Eliot always said: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Second Chances
My brother and I were talking about second chances the other day. Sure, there are second chances, but can we really go back to the way things were? When something starts over can it really be a continuation of the original product, or does it have to be built on a new foundation?
Actually, we weren't really getting that philosophical about it, it went more like this:
My brother: "It was stupid that [so-and-so] said that they could never start again."
Me: "I know, right?"
But I sort of ended up thinking about it a little more on the side, so these thoughts were what I've been pondering about it.
The song Castaway by Chasen (love these guys!) always reminds me of this thought. The last line of the chorus says, "And I know You gave me a gift of a second chance." Even though I was saved when I was quite young, and sometimes bemoan the fact that I don't have a dramatic story of being saved from a live of unhealthy addictions (actually, I'm fine with that fact, trust me), I still love knowing that my whole life is a second chance. And when I mess up (and I do, sigh), the Lord stands, waiting, holding out His hands, willing to give me that second chance.
It's only through His grace that such opportunities exist. His grace extended to Rahab, giving her a whole new life, a new chance, and a lineage of joy. To King David a second chance was given, even after his indiscretion with Bathsheba and murder of Uriah. To me, when I stray, and cease to seek His voice in favor of my own way, He stands, giving chance after chance.
Oh, plus, there's Israel. Nearly every chapter in the Bible has an account of yet another time the Lord gave them yet another chance, and saved their day yet again.
He's a God of second chances. And even though we humans are weak and can't go back to where things started and truly start anew, God can. The cross was the starting point for all of our second chances, and through his gift to us of our second life, we have the assurance of knowing that in His eyes, we begin through the work of the cross. My second chance is possible because of His sacrifice. My eternal life--and rescue from the second death--is mirrored out in everything I do, or He does through me, because Jesus Christ gave His life for me.
It makes every day worth living. And every second chance that we extend, worth giving.
Actually, we weren't really getting that philosophical about it, it went more like this:
My brother: "It was stupid that [so-and-so] said that they could never start again."
Me: "I know, right?"
But I sort of ended up thinking about it a little more on the side, so these thoughts were what I've been pondering about it.
The song Castaway by Chasen (love these guys!) always reminds me of this thought. The last line of the chorus says, "And I know You gave me a gift of a second chance." Even though I was saved when I was quite young, and sometimes bemoan the fact that I don't have a dramatic story of being saved from a live of unhealthy addictions (actually, I'm fine with that fact, trust me), I still love knowing that my whole life is a second chance. And when I mess up (and I do, sigh), the Lord stands, waiting, holding out His hands, willing to give me that second chance.
It's only through His grace that such opportunities exist. His grace extended to Rahab, giving her a whole new life, a new chance, and a lineage of joy. To King David a second chance was given, even after his indiscretion with Bathsheba and murder of Uriah. To me, when I stray, and cease to seek His voice in favor of my own way, He stands, giving chance after chance.
Oh, plus, there's Israel. Nearly every chapter in the Bible has an account of yet another time the Lord gave them yet another chance, and saved their day yet again.
He's a God of second chances. And even though we humans are weak and can't go back to where things started and truly start anew, God can. The cross was the starting point for all of our second chances, and through his gift to us of our second life, we have the assurance of knowing that in His eyes, we begin through the work of the cross. My second chance is possible because of His sacrifice. My eternal life--and rescue from the second death--is mirrored out in everything I do, or He does through me, because Jesus Christ gave His life for me.
It makes every day worth living. And every second chance that we extend, worth giving.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Muse
I love to muse about things. Not just in sort of a "Where is that magazine," she mused, kind of way, but in the way that I ponder things to the point of tedium. Sounds silly, but I honestly like to just think about the same thing until I've exhausted its' charm, and I can move on.
I used to sort of laugh at people who consistently listened to the same CD until they knew it, I knew it, and everyone in the vicinity knew it. It seemed like a waste--why would you dwell on those same 10 songs when there's a myriad of songs you could listen to instead? The variety was compelling.
But now I see the beauty of the familiar. There's something about humming along to a CD and knowing exactly which bar of the song has a half note, something about knowing exactly which song is next, and how many times the intro is played. In the same way, there are some books that I just keep on coming back to, because I love knowing which parts to look forward to.
Likewise, the same ol' trains of thought (my musical theory? I still think about that sometimes when I can't sleep) that keep chugging through my head. It's a good thing I'm not easily bored by repetition.
Right now I have, from the library, a CD by Libera, and, while most of it is in Latin, I find myself singing along. I usually have no idea what's going on, and those boys sound better than I ever will, hands down. I only wish I could have their ranges of voice. Sigh.
I'm not sure where I was going with this, by the way, except to say that it's a good soundtrack to think to. And, incidentally, I think every child should have a subscription to Muse magazine.
That's all.
I used to sort of laugh at people who consistently listened to the same CD until they knew it, I knew it, and everyone in the vicinity knew it. It seemed like a waste--why would you dwell on those same 10 songs when there's a myriad of songs you could listen to instead? The variety was compelling.
But now I see the beauty of the familiar. There's something about humming along to a CD and knowing exactly which bar of the song has a half note, something about knowing exactly which song is next, and how many times the intro is played. In the same way, there are some books that I just keep on coming back to, because I love knowing which parts to look forward to.
Likewise, the same ol' trains of thought (my musical theory? I still think about that sometimes when I can't sleep) that keep chugging through my head. It's a good thing I'm not easily bored by repetition.
Right now I have, from the library, a CD by Libera, and, while most of it is in Latin, I find myself singing along. I usually have no idea what's going on, and those boys sound better than I ever will, hands down. I only wish I could have their ranges of voice. Sigh.
I'm not sure where I was going with this, by the way, except to say that it's a good soundtrack to think to. And, incidentally, I think every child should have a subscription to Muse magazine.
That's all.
Monday, May 24, 2010
The music in me
I couldn't sleep on Sunday night. Very well, at any rate. I'd had sort of an emotional weekend, and I was just sort of decompressing, and instead of getting much-needed rest, my brain went wild. The weird part, though, is that it wasn't going wild with World-Problem-Solving problems, like usual (no, really, I have education reform plans all up in this pretty little head of mine, but only late at night, and it never makes sense in the morning), but something far, far, less sensible.
I was thinking about words. How if words are just comprised of letters--and we all know letters are just marks we're trained to recognize--then why does it have to be words? If we assigned a musical note to each of the 26 letters, could we learn, over time, to listen to language as if it were a song? We could play each word as if it were part of the grand symphony of life, and we'd know (because our ears would be trained in this manner) what the music was saying.
This is what I laid in bed and thought about for about an hour. There are a lot of issues with this thought pattern, of course, first and foremost that it really doesn't make sense and wouldn't work, due to octaves only having eight keys. I'm sure something could work though.
But I got on this whole thing about what these proposed musical words would sound like. Would mean-sounding words sound... mean? Like you know how the word "harsh" sounds sort of, well, harsh? And grating really does bring to mind a grating feeling? I mean, because we haven't grown up with musical words, we don't even really know how our brains would interpret something like that.
While I miss the sleep (yes, I still miss it), I don't really regret that hour of puzzled thought I put towards the harebrained scheme. I knew that morning couldn't be that bad. After all, my Good Mornings still sound like words, not like angry feeling expressed through music.
Something to be thankful for, yes?
I was thinking about words. How if words are just comprised of letters--and we all know letters are just marks we're trained to recognize--then why does it have to be words? If we assigned a musical note to each of the 26 letters, could we learn, over time, to listen to language as if it were a song? We could play each word as if it were part of the grand symphony of life, and we'd know (because our ears would be trained in this manner) what the music was saying.
This is what I laid in bed and thought about for about an hour. There are a lot of issues with this thought pattern, of course, first and foremost that it really doesn't make sense and wouldn't work, due to octaves only having eight keys. I'm sure something could work though.
But I got on this whole thing about what these proposed musical words would sound like. Would mean-sounding words sound... mean? Like you know how the word "harsh" sounds sort of, well, harsh? And grating really does bring to mind a grating feeling? I mean, because we haven't grown up with musical words, we don't even really know how our brains would interpret something like that.
While I miss the sleep (yes, I still miss it), I don't really regret that hour of puzzled thought I put towards the harebrained scheme. I knew that morning couldn't be that bad. After all, my Good Mornings still sound like words, not like angry feeling expressed through music.
Something to be thankful for, yes?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Stop and let me... read
I have sort of a habit of reading a lot. My lunch break is about 3 and a half minutes of eating and 21 and a half minutes of reading. I read in the bank drive-through, I read standing in line to buy boxes at Home Depot. I read when I'm alone, and when I'm surrounded by people. I read in cars, on planes, and on trains. If books were green eggs and ham, and I were Sam, I'd have to give a resounding "Yes" every time I were asked if I'd read it.
This has created some rather bad habits, however. For instance, stoplights are one of my bad habits. Around where I live and work, I know exactly which lights are long enough to read at, and which ones aren't. And if I have a book (and I usually do) and happen to be at one of the long-enough lights, I'll read. No harm has been done thus far, due to the fact that I'm usually fairly tuned into to when the other cars begin their trek across the intersection, but I keep on thinking that I should stop. Not just stop at the red light (I do that, trust me), but stop reading while I am stopped.
But it feels useless to do nothing at a light, is my thing. I like to listen to music in the car, but I don't like to just sit and do nothing while listening. I always joke that I'm better at listening to music than I am at watching movies. Thing is, with radio, you can make dinner, and do dishes, and drive, and do other things that require eyes. With a video, you're looking, and that's about it. Unless you knit while you watch. That would be clever.
But back to the book thing. I just find it so aimless to waste quality quiet time just sitting. Hence my stoplight habit. When my brother couldn't yet drive, but really wished he could, I would put him to good use and read without a thought for the road, because my brother would alert me to the green when it came.
For a while I took my sheet of Bible memorization in the car and would work on that during stoplights, but then I kept on trying to read it while I was driving, which ended up being a little frightening.
So if you ever see little ol' me stopped at a stoplight long after the red changed to green, make sure to honk a little. Chances are I'm engrossed in the pages of my current book.
This has created some rather bad habits, however. For instance, stoplights are one of my bad habits. Around where I live and work, I know exactly which lights are long enough to read at, and which ones aren't. And if I have a book (and I usually do) and happen to be at one of the long-enough lights, I'll read. No harm has been done thus far, due to the fact that I'm usually fairly tuned into to when the other cars begin their trek across the intersection, but I keep on thinking that I should stop. Not just stop at the red light (I do that, trust me), but stop reading while I am stopped.
But it feels useless to do nothing at a light, is my thing. I like to listen to music in the car, but I don't like to just sit and do nothing while listening. I always joke that I'm better at listening to music than I am at watching movies. Thing is, with radio, you can make dinner, and do dishes, and drive, and do other things that require eyes. With a video, you're looking, and that's about it. Unless you knit while you watch. That would be clever.
But back to the book thing. I just find it so aimless to waste quality quiet time just sitting. Hence my stoplight habit. When my brother couldn't yet drive, but really wished he could, I would put him to good use and read without a thought for the road, because my brother would alert me to the green when it came.
For a while I took my sheet of Bible memorization in the car and would work on that during stoplights, but then I kept on trying to read it while I was driving, which ended up being a little frightening.
So if you ever see little ol' me stopped at a stoplight long after the red changed to green, make sure to honk a little. Chances are I'm engrossed in the pages of my current book.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Lent
So, I think Lent is crazy. If you wanted to give something up to one-up your flesh or whatever (still not sure I understand Lent, truth be told) then you should do it at any time. Like I decided caffeine was bad for me, and stopped taking it. Done and done. My sister gave up gluten for Lent last year, my best friend went off Chipotle, and last year I gave up nothing. This year, for some reason, I got sucked into the whole Lenten celebration (oops, Lent is supposed to be sad), and have given up... cheese.
Why cheese? Well, as I was explaining to someone the other day, I don't have a lot of vices to speak of. I don't spend a lot of money using a bank card of any sort (someone suggested that I use only cash during Lent). I don't drink or smoke, I don't drink coffee or any such habitual drink (no caffeine, remember?). I can't give up "worldly music" because they play it at work, and I don't think I could convince them to not turn on the radio for the next month and a half. If I didn't hold a job, it would make sense for me to not read fiction during Lent, but truth be told, I rarely get time to read these days, so it wouldn't feel like I was actually giving something up. Ditto movies, I don't even have time to watch them, nor the inclination, nor the ability. So that left me with... cheese.
But again, why cheese? Well, in my family, cheese is a big deal. Not that we gather round and give thanks to the brilliant men who first figured out how to make cheese delicious, but rather that we eat it a lot. Eggs, casseroles, spaghetti, macaroni, quesadillas, pretty much everything we make in a jiffy has cheese involved. Meals without cheese take more time, because they require actual planning involving flavour not derived from cheese.
So fare thee well, cheese, I shall devour thee once again come Easter.
Oh, the best part of Lent this year? My two best friends are giving up pop and going out to eat, respectively. I think we'll all be a little worse for the wear by the time it's all over. Huzzah to strength in numbers!
Why cheese? Well, as I was explaining to someone the other day, I don't have a lot of vices to speak of. I don't spend a lot of money using a bank card of any sort (someone suggested that I use only cash during Lent). I don't drink or smoke, I don't drink coffee or any such habitual drink (no caffeine, remember?). I can't give up "worldly music" because they play it at work, and I don't think I could convince them to not turn on the radio for the next month and a half. If I didn't hold a job, it would make sense for me to not read fiction during Lent, but truth be told, I rarely get time to read these days, so it wouldn't feel like I was actually giving something up. Ditto movies, I don't even have time to watch them, nor the inclination, nor the ability. So that left me with... cheese.
But again, why cheese? Well, in my family, cheese is a big deal. Not that we gather round and give thanks to the brilliant men who first figured out how to make cheese delicious, but rather that we eat it a lot. Eggs, casseroles, spaghetti, macaroni, quesadillas, pretty much everything we make in a jiffy has cheese involved. Meals without cheese take more time, because they require actual planning involving flavour not derived from cheese.
So fare thee well, cheese, I shall devour thee once again come Easter.
Oh, the best part of Lent this year? My two best friends are giving up pop and going out to eat, respectively. I think we'll all be a little worse for the wear by the time it's all over. Huzzah to strength in numbers!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas!
This is the first year I've even paid attention to the fact that it's Christmas, and that's only because I fly out soon, and am looking forward to maybe some less-crowded flights today! But I had a cozy Christmas Eve last night (never paid attention to that, either), and I read Luke 2 for fun (they do it in books a lot, I thought I'd see what the fuss was all about) and cozied up and went to bed at about 9:00. Which is good, because, in case nobody has noticed, it's a little early right now. Huzzah for early flights...
Anyhow, this whole Christmas cheer thing? So not all it's cracked up to be. Yesterday I went to Borders (ahhh, what good times) and was about to pull in a parking space when I realized that some crazy car was driving on the wrong side of the road towards me. I had no idea what was going on, but just pulled into the space to be done with it, and then got out of the car to walk into the store. At which point I realized that the car had stopped in the midst of the parking lot for the express purpose of calling me some rather nasty names and to tell me what they thought of my driving. Um, I was the one driving in the right direction, Mr. Foul Mouth.
But I'm a Christian, it's cool.
So good-bye, Christmas lights. Good-bye, songs about all manner of animals--from reindeer to donkeys (Dominic, anyone?) to squirrels--I think I'll be happier without you. Good-bye, Santa Baby. Remember your vows, old dude, and smack those cheeky girls who call you baby. Good-bye Christmas "cheer." Though I think the cheer looses some of it's cheeriness each year. Good-bye frantic shoppers, we'll see you come Valentine's Day when you want chocolates and flowers. Good-bye, jingle bells.
Good-night, moon.
What's not leaving? The peace on earth, good will to man. Because guess what? That's sort of part of the package that came with redemption. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is something we get to keep with us all year round.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Funeral Planner
In days gone by, I used to go to school. "Go to" being the operative words in the statement, but we'll worry about that another day. Anyhow, I had three delightful friends, all of whom I've almost entirely lost touch with since those days. Life comes at you fast.
Anyhow, one late evening we young ladies were discussing the ins and outs of our future lives. One young lady, named Chrissy, was supposedly looking for "James from British" on a map, and could never find him. I'm pretty sure, in this highly preposterous story we were making up, that she died from lack of food and water, so intense was her search for this place named "British" on the globe. For those who are confused, I actually have a slide show explaining the story in all its glory, should you care for a gander.
The point of this little tale is that I decided (uh, "decided" being the operative word) that my lot in life was to become... The Funeral Planner. Actually, I'm not going to lie, I'd still like to have that job--go visit terminally ill children, chat with them about their likes and dislikes, get a feel for their parents, figure out a funeral fitting for a child (you know, balloons, candy, Bible verses read by best friends instead of pastors, that sort of thing) and then be responsible for organizing it once their sickness has gotten the best of them. It may sound morbid, but it actually sounds like a job I'd like.
Moving on, however, to the fact that I tend to think about funerals a bit much. I don't entirely have the details for mine down yet (I'm getting there) but I actually do ponder it sometimes. Well, not a lot, since I figure the rapture will have long since happened by the time a regular person would have needed a funeral, so it's more like a little thing I sometimes wonder about.
For instance, my funeral can't be boring. Nobody likes a boring funeral. If that ol' speaker rambles on for even one moment about the funeral of their own dearly departed mother (who is known to none in the audience), then he has failed, and someone should tackle him. My funeral should be about, I don't know, the Lord? That's what I'm thinking. If they're talking about me, it should be in a sort of off-handed "isn't it great that Joanne loved the Lord and was saved?" type of way. If they want to tell precious little stories about how one time I picked up someone's hankie with a smile on my face, fine. But really? It's not about me, people, it's about the One who made me. And happened to graciously welcome me into His Home, even though I really wanted to be raptured instead.
Stipulation number two. No congregational singing. I mean, seriously, none. I've been to only one funeral where that worked out well, and they had instruments, so it hardly counted. But if it has to be done, sing at the graveside, but not in the funeral home, please. I'd like for random friends to sing, if songs are needed. If there has to be a congregational singing of "Praise Him for all that is past, and trust Him for all that's to come" for the sake of my mother, that's fine, but only because I love my mom a lot. Otherwise, friends of mine who are good singers may sing. Oh, and a friend who's not such a good singer, because I promised her. But only if she really wants to, otherwise I'll spare the excessive singing.
I want an open casket. Unless I've died a vicious death that included animal paws or very large vehicles, I figure my face can handle it. I don't like closed-casket funerals. Weird, I know.
At the visiting hours, I want background music playing. Not boring type, but nothing crazy. Like... that Chris Rice CD with piano hymns? That's a good one. No classical music, though.
I want my friends to have a say in who my pall-bearers should be. My brother is an obvious shoo-in, but my parents and friends should confer and decide who the others should be. I think a lot of times random people are selected. So not cool, people, we're talking about a dead body in a wooden box--only special people should get to carry that!
I liked the open-mic format they had at my brother's, however, if anybody were to do that at mine, we'd need a larger funeral home. I'm just saying.
There are more things, but I just realized that in light of all the funerals that have been going on recently, this most likely isn't the appropriate time to be sharing this with the world. Guess the rest of my funeral plans will have to stay hidden away in my stash of papers. I didn't even get to whom or what I wanted my in-lieu-of money to be donated. So many things that the rapture will preserve us from having to figure out. Isn't that a joy?
Anyhow, one late evening we young ladies were discussing the ins and outs of our future lives. One young lady, named Chrissy, was supposedly looking for "James from British" on a map, and could never find him. I'm pretty sure, in this highly preposterous story we were making up, that she died from lack of food and water, so intense was her search for this place named "British" on the globe. For those who are confused, I actually have a slide show explaining the story in all its glory, should you care for a gander.
The point of this little tale is that I decided (uh, "decided" being the operative word) that my lot in life was to become... The Funeral Planner. Actually, I'm not going to lie, I'd still like to have that job--go visit terminally ill children, chat with them about their likes and dislikes, get a feel for their parents, figure out a funeral fitting for a child (you know, balloons, candy, Bible verses read by best friends instead of pastors, that sort of thing) and then be responsible for organizing it once their sickness has gotten the best of them. It may sound morbid, but it actually sounds like a job I'd like.
Moving on, however, to the fact that I tend to think about funerals a bit much. I don't entirely have the details for mine down yet (I'm getting there) but I actually do ponder it sometimes. Well, not a lot, since I figure the rapture will have long since happened by the time a regular person would have needed a funeral, so it's more like a little thing I sometimes wonder about.
For instance, my funeral can't be boring. Nobody likes a boring funeral. If that ol' speaker rambles on for even one moment about the funeral of their own dearly departed mother (who is known to none in the audience), then he has failed, and someone should tackle him. My funeral should be about, I don't know, the Lord? That's what I'm thinking. If they're talking about me, it should be in a sort of off-handed "isn't it great that Joanne loved the Lord and was saved?" type of way. If they want to tell precious little stories about how one time I picked up someone's hankie with a smile on my face, fine. But really? It's not about me, people, it's about the One who made me. And happened to graciously welcome me into His Home, even though I really wanted to be raptured instead.
Stipulation number two. No congregational singing. I mean, seriously, none. I've been to only one funeral where that worked out well, and they had instruments, so it hardly counted. But if it has to be done, sing at the graveside, but not in the funeral home, please. I'd like for random friends to sing, if songs are needed. If there has to be a congregational singing of "Praise Him for all that is past, and trust Him for all that's to come" for the sake of my mother, that's fine, but only because I love my mom a lot. Otherwise, friends of mine who are good singers may sing. Oh, and a friend who's not such a good singer, because I promised her. But only if she really wants to, otherwise I'll spare the excessive singing.
I want an open casket. Unless I've died a vicious death that included animal paws or very large vehicles, I figure my face can handle it. I don't like closed-casket funerals. Weird, I know.
At the visiting hours, I want background music playing. Not boring type, but nothing crazy. Like... that Chris Rice CD with piano hymns? That's a good one. No classical music, though.
I want my friends to have a say in who my pall-bearers should be. My brother is an obvious shoo-in, but my parents and friends should confer and decide who the others should be. I think a lot of times random people are selected. So not cool, people, we're talking about a dead body in a wooden box--only special people should get to carry that!
I liked the open-mic format they had at my brother's, however, if anybody were to do that at mine, we'd need a larger funeral home. I'm just saying.
There are more things, but I just realized that in light of all the funerals that have been going on recently, this most likely isn't the appropriate time to be sharing this with the world. Guess the rest of my funeral plans will have to stay hidden away in my stash of papers. I didn't even get to whom or what I wanted my in-lieu-of money to be donated. So many things that the rapture will preserve us from having to figure out. Isn't that a joy?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Deck the halls
Ah, Christmas. I don't really like Christmas. Mostly, people are busy and frazzled and in a hurry. Plus, shopping (which I already dislike) is a mess. Everyone, it seems, wants to be shopping. Long lines, impatient people, sales that aren't that good... Not so exciting.
I've been feeling at least mildly jolly, I guess. There's been a lot of stuff going on recently (two of my friends died this weekend, if that's any indication), so I haven't been crazily excited about everything, but I have a lot to be thankful for.
Christmas music at work has been a little difficult to get used to. Usually I like to get in the car on a snowy day and hear Christmas music. This year? I hear Christmas music for 8 1/2 hours a day (yeah, they play it in the lunch room, too) and when I get in the car I'm not that inclined to listen to more. So I've been hearing some less seasonal sounds in the car, which is fine, but odd.
Dude, working has benefits--besides the money and connections. =) I can't even tell you how many people have brought us Christmas treats here at the office. We just got our third one today! My boss got a ham, but I don't count that as a treat, since it is neither sweet nor will I be partaking of it.
Anyhow, I have no idea what I was really here to say. And I'm not trying to be super down on the season but OH MY GOODNESS IF I HEAR THIS SONG ONE MORE TIME I WILL IMPLODE! OK, I don't know about anybody else, but the song "Last Christmas I gave you my heart, the very next day you gave it away, etc" was fine maybe once or twice. Six times a day is NOT cool, since it is pointless and lame.
I see a wooden rocking horse in the camera here at work. What tomfoolery is this? I must go investigate.
Over and out.
I've been feeling at least mildly jolly, I guess. There's been a lot of stuff going on recently (two of my friends died this weekend, if that's any indication), so I haven't been crazily excited about everything, but I have a lot to be thankful for.
Christmas music at work has been a little difficult to get used to. Usually I like to get in the car on a snowy day and hear Christmas music. This year? I hear Christmas music for 8 1/2 hours a day (yeah, they play it in the lunch room, too) and when I get in the car I'm not that inclined to listen to more. So I've been hearing some less seasonal sounds in the car, which is fine, but odd.
Dude, working has benefits--besides the money and connections. =) I can't even tell you how many people have brought us Christmas treats here at the office. We just got our third one today! My boss got a ham, but I don't count that as a treat, since it is neither sweet nor will I be partaking of it.
Anyhow, I have no idea what I was really here to say. And I'm not trying to be super down on the season but OH MY GOODNESS IF I HEAR THIS SONG ONE MORE TIME I WILL IMPLODE! OK, I don't know about anybody else, but the song "Last Christmas I gave you my heart, the very next day you gave it away, etc" was fine maybe once or twice. Six times a day is NOT cool, since it is pointless and lame.
I see a wooden rocking horse in the camera here at work. What tomfoolery is this? I must go investigate.
Over and out.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Prayers and things like that
Sometimes I just need some time with the Lord. Not because I feel like I'm losing my grip on Him and need to reconnect, but because I feel like I just can't have anybody around me as I fellowship with Him. Right now there's some crazy stuff going on around my place, and I've been pretty much bawling my eyes out for the past day. Less than that, actually, even though it feels like much longer.
But anyhow, I got MikesChair out of the library on Monday, which was crazy and of the Lord, because I've been listening to their song, Let the Waters Rise, even before stuff went a little crazy. This is short, I know, but sometimes there's nothing to say but that I love being able to pray. I love knowing that underneath are the everlasting arms. I love casting all my cares upon Him. This morning in Bible reading with my family I happened to read 1 Samuel 25:29, the verse about being "bound up in the bundle of life with the Lord my God," and I just started crying. I love knowing that I'm bound up in the bundle of life with my Lord, and... I trust that everyone I know and love is being bound up in that bundle of life.
Here are the lyrics to that amazing song, for those who aren't familiar with the song. Look it up, if you don't know it. And when you listen, pray for the brokenhearted.
Don't know where to begin
It's like my world's caving in
And I tried but i can't control my fear
Where do I go from here
Sometimes it's so hard to pray
You feel so far away
I am willing to go where You want me to
God I trust You
[Chorus]
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If you want them to
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will swim in the deep
'Cause You'll be next to me
You're in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea
You're never out of reach
God You know where I've been
You were there with me then
You were faithful before
You'll be faithful again
I'm holding Your hand
[Chorus]
God Your love is enough
You will pull me through
I'm holding on to You
God your love is enough
I will follow You
I will follow You
[Chorus]"
But anyhow, I got MikesChair out of the library on Monday, which was crazy and of the Lord, because I've been listening to their song, Let the Waters Rise, even before stuff went a little crazy. This is short, I know, but sometimes there's nothing to say but that I love being able to pray. I love knowing that underneath are the everlasting arms. I love casting all my cares upon Him. This morning in Bible reading with my family I happened to read 1 Samuel 25:29, the verse about being "bound up in the bundle of life with the Lord my God," and I just started crying. I love knowing that I'm bound up in the bundle of life with my Lord, and... I trust that everyone I know and love is being bound up in that bundle of life.
Here are the lyrics to that amazing song, for those who aren't familiar with the song. Look it up, if you don't know it. And when you listen, pray for the brokenhearted.
Don't know where to begin
It's like my world's caving in
And I tried but i can't control my fear
Where do I go from here
Sometimes it's so hard to pray
You feel so far away
I am willing to go where You want me to
God I trust You
[Chorus]
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If you want them to
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will follow You
I will swim in the deep
'Cause You'll be next to me
You're in the eye of the storm and the calm of the sea
You're never out of reach
God You know where I've been
You were there with me then
You were faithful before
You'll be faithful again
I'm holding Your hand
[Chorus]
God Your love is enough
You will pull me through
I'm holding on to You
God your love is enough
I will follow You
I will follow You
[Chorus]"
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
'Tis the Season!
They've started playing Christmas music full-time at work. Oh, joy.
But you know what? I'm still really thankful, and Thanksgiving/being a Christian still seems to me lingering. Which is good. So I've been trying to be duly thankful for as many things as possible. Like... not sleeping=lots of time to pray! Woohoo!
I'm on my lunch break at work. I just don't have time to keep up with anything meaningful... Sigh.
But you know what? I'm still really thankful, and Thanksgiving/being a Christian still seems to me lingering. Which is good. So I've been trying to be duly thankful for as many things as possible. Like... not sleeping=lots of time to pray! Woohoo!
I'm on my lunch break at work. I just don't have time to keep up with anything meaningful... Sigh.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
All about unity
So, you know how I was rambling on about the song City on Our Knees, and how I hoped it was about evangelism and the such? Well, I just found a quick youtube clip of Toby explaining what the song was about. Great, I thought, now I'll know. So I watched it, and, though I know now what it's about, I don't think it's as great as I once did.
The song, says Toby, is about Unity. The moment when we lay aside our differences and we all come together, blah blah blah. What? Why are saints and sinners coming together, and what's their common ground? I'm not trying to be too critical here, but the whole point of sinners is that they're not saved yet. I, Toby, am saved. I, Toby, don't exactly have the ability to lay aside my differences--I'm saved and that's that. I, Toby, should be coming and sharing the gospel with them. We, Toby, are not going to a city with One King with said sinners if those sinners didn't get saved. We, Toby, are the light of the world, and if we can't differentiate between sinners and saints, than we need brighter lightbulbs.
And honestly, I'm not trying to sound like a grouch here, but the difference between me and my lost neighbour is that I have Jesus Christ living in my heart, and he doesn't (yet). That difference shouldn't prevent us from talking (and it certainly shouldn't prevent me from evangelizing, especially since my flesh seems to get in the way of that on its own enough as it is), but it certainly does prevent my neighbour and I from coming together in a unified, fellowshippy way. Sorry, Toby, you tried, and you missed.
The song, says Toby, is about Unity. The moment when we lay aside our differences and we all come together, blah blah blah. What? Why are saints and sinners coming together, and what's their common ground? I'm not trying to be too critical here, but the whole point of sinners is that they're not saved yet. I, Toby, am saved. I, Toby, don't exactly have the ability to lay aside my differences--I'm saved and that's that. I, Toby, should be coming and sharing the gospel with them. We, Toby, are not going to a city with One King with said sinners if those sinners didn't get saved. We, Toby, are the light of the world, and if we can't differentiate between sinners and saints, than we need brighter lightbulbs.
And honestly, I'm not trying to sound like a grouch here, but the difference between me and my lost neighbour is that I have Jesus Christ living in my heart, and he doesn't (yet). That difference shouldn't prevent us from talking (and it certainly shouldn't prevent me from evangelizing, especially since my flesh seems to get in the way of that on its own enough as it is), but it certainly does prevent my neighbour and I from coming together in a unified, fellowshippy way. Sorry, Toby, you tried, and you missed.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Lose my soul
I was watching the music video for TobyMac's song, Lose My Soul, the other day. And, while I like the song, I think it's only fair to share that I didn't really understand the music video. Yes, yes, I got the part about the guy NOT killing himself (deciding he didn't want to lose his soul, I can only assume), but everything else? No clue.
For instance, I was sorry that the lady had to sell her wedding band, but was that showing that she was losing her soul? gaining the world? I couldn't figure it out. And the guys who stole the computer? What was that? Gaining the world? Because it didn't really fit in with the story. For a second I thought maybe the pawn shop guy was the one who was gaining the world/losing his soul. But I think he was a good guy. He admired the wedding band, and seemed to pay a good price, plus he smiled when the guy returned the gun without killing himself. That was... nice.
This is why I sometimes thing I should stick with hymns. They, at least make sense. Modern music, or whatever we call it, rarely does. For instance, I really like the new TobyMac song City On Our Knees, but I don't really understand it. Why are the sinners and saints meeting, and what are they doing? and if those sinners are truly sinners, then I'm sorry, but they're not coming to the city with One King without some serious Salvation. But I agreed with his general point of starting now and here. I mean, I agree, providing he's talking about evangelizing or something. Like I said, I'm really not sure what he's getting at in that song.
But I think it's about evangelism, since he talks about third-world missions and stepping across the line. I've been thinking a lot recently about how little I evangelize, and it's been driving me crazy, my lack of evangelism-motivation.
So, here's hoping that when Toby is singing "we are one choice from together," what's he's saying is that if I get you saved, we'll be together forever. And then we can be family. That's cool with me, my friend. Getting saved is about the most glorious display we can find on earth. So maybe Toby knows what he's singing about, after all.
For instance, I was sorry that the lady had to sell her wedding band, but was that showing that she was losing her soul? gaining the world? I couldn't figure it out. And the guys who stole the computer? What was that? Gaining the world? Because it didn't really fit in with the story. For a second I thought maybe the pawn shop guy was the one who was gaining the world/losing his soul. But I think he was a good guy. He admired the wedding band, and seemed to pay a good price, plus he smiled when the guy returned the gun without killing himself. That was... nice.
This is why I sometimes thing I should stick with hymns. They, at least make sense. Modern music, or whatever we call it, rarely does. For instance, I really like the new TobyMac song City On Our Knees, but I don't really understand it. Why are the sinners and saints meeting, and what are they doing? and if those sinners are truly sinners, then I'm sorry, but they're not coming to the city with One King without some serious Salvation. But I agreed with his general point of starting now and here. I mean, I agree, providing he's talking about evangelizing or something. Like I said, I'm really not sure what he's getting at in that song.
But I think it's about evangelism, since he talks about third-world missions and stepping across the line. I've been thinking a lot recently about how little I evangelize, and it's been driving me crazy, my lack of evangelism-motivation.
So, here's hoping that when Toby is singing "we are one choice from together," what's he's saying is that if I get you saved, we'll be together forever. And then we can be family. That's cool with me, my friend. Getting saved is about the most glorious display we can find on earth. So maybe Toby knows what he's singing about, after all.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Rhymes with "wholly unfortunate"
I used to write poem-ly things when I was young. Once, I even took a poetry class. Unfortunately my poems were, in a word, terrible, and the poetry class didn't help even one iota. The whole "tree/Calvary/died for me" rhyming scheme worked well for the first 12 or so years of my life, and after that, I sort of latched onto the simple "rewind/mind/God is kind" type stuff that seemed like such brilliance.
But I just have no talent for poetry. Every time I look back on poems I considered to be so incredible or deep, I sort of want to burn them (which isn't unusual, I pretty much want to burn everything I've ever written). But sometimes I make myself try to write poetry, just to see if I've inadvertently gotten hit in the head with a poetry-laden 2x4. So far, just so you know, it hasn't happened. When I try to write poetry these days I just feel like being lazy and doing what every other modern poet does, which is to say, write completely random words.
Let me try a poem that would get a modern poet published in a magazine.
Tortilla Chips dreams
Frozen Vegetables drama
Wrinkled Paper fear
Antique Watch far from youth
Pretty much, that's what I see when I read poetry written in the past hundred years or so. What is wrong with at least attempting to put in cool-sounding lines, like things about "time yet for a hundred indecisions, and time for a hundred visions and revisions," sort of Thomas Stearns style? Not that T. S. Eliot bothered to rhyme much, but at least he had a natural cadence to his work, and at least some of his stuff rhymed, and at least he didn't write abstractly about plutonium and proms and sowing seeds of anger. When I look at modern poetry I realize that there's usually something to decipher (unlike my beautiful poem above, so seriously, don't bother trying to find a deep meaning between my tortilla chips and fear), but if I wanted to decipher something, I'd work on Hebrew, or do a logic puzzle, or try to read my dad's handwriting or something. There is no good reason for having to spend forever trying to figure out poetry.
Poetry is supposed to touch a chord inside of you. Reach something you didn't know you had. It's supposed to make you itch to say words or your own, jumbled masses of thoughts, strung together like music. But these days? You're counting blessings if the words are even masses of jumbledness, and finding things strung together is somewhat hopeless.
The tablecloth,
Sinks in the washer,
Under the weight of water,
and soap, and dirty socks.
Seriously, people get paid for that?
But I just have no talent for poetry. Every time I look back on poems I considered to be so incredible or deep, I sort of want to burn them (which isn't unusual, I pretty much want to burn everything I've ever written). But sometimes I make myself try to write poetry, just to see if I've inadvertently gotten hit in the head with a poetry-laden 2x4. So far, just so you know, it hasn't happened. When I try to write poetry these days I just feel like being lazy and doing what every other modern poet does, which is to say, write completely random words.
Let me try a poem that would get a modern poet published in a magazine.
Tortilla Chips dreams
Frozen Vegetables drama
Wrinkled Paper fear
Antique Watch far from youth
Pretty much, that's what I see when I read poetry written in the past hundred years or so. What is wrong with at least attempting to put in cool-sounding lines, like things about "time yet for a hundred indecisions, and time for a hundred visions and revisions," sort of Thomas Stearns style? Not that T. S. Eliot bothered to rhyme much, but at least he had a natural cadence to his work, and at least some of his stuff rhymed, and at least he didn't write abstractly about plutonium and proms and sowing seeds of anger. When I look at modern poetry I realize that there's usually something to decipher (unlike my beautiful poem above, so seriously, don't bother trying to find a deep meaning between my tortilla chips and fear), but if I wanted to decipher something, I'd work on Hebrew, or do a logic puzzle, or try to read my dad's handwriting or something. There is no good reason for having to spend forever trying to figure out poetry.
Poetry is supposed to touch a chord inside of you. Reach something you didn't know you had. It's supposed to make you itch to say words or your own, jumbled masses of thoughts, strung together like music. But these days? You're counting blessings if the words are even masses of jumbledness, and finding things strung together is somewhat hopeless.
The tablecloth,
Sinks in the washer,
Under the weight of water,
and soap, and dirty socks.
Seriously, people get paid for that?
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