A series of scattered thoughts.
We all need a soundtrack to step to. One to guide us, one foot in front of the other. Tunes that demonstrate what we are going through, as if all the world can see you and understand. Other times we need the songs that slow us down and help us see what is going on around us. Then again, there are the beats, the lyrics, melodies that speed us up or keep us going when we so badly want to stop.
Every idea, every image that shows up in my mind or heart is only the very tip of what there is to see and to understanding. I see everything in my periphery, not enough to see in full and yet just enough to mystify me and keep me searching. Like a dog fascinated when it sees its tail in the side of its eye and is willing to chase it to no end, I feel like I have been running in circles trying to catch whatever it is in full view. This is life, this is why we keep living and moving forward (or maybe more accurately—off to the side?). We can’t settle for what we see now, there is always more. I will search desperately to just see a little more than I saw before, just to know more, for it was beautiful and it continues to haunt me. Although I look a fool for chasing my tail I know that what I saw out of the corner of my eye is a peek into what life really is and what is to come. It is ever elusive, no matter how quickly I turn to the left or the right, I am always a step behind, left with just enough of a morsel to fuel my curiosity.
We choose to ignore our peripheral vision, it is easy. So much easier to focus on what is straight ahead of us. It is more comfortable and we are used to it. Our peripheral vision isn’t great and you can’t exactly trust what you see, especially since it is the place of our blindspot. What if the truth was that hard to see? What if that is why we all have different ideas of it?
The way I see life is that we have only tasted a crumb of what is to come. The crumb was just big enough to ignite an insatiable hunger, so we continue through life searching for the place that the crumb came from. Some of us grow content in searching for more of those crumbs, as if Hansel and Gretel are going to lead us along, forgetting that a crumb is a smaller piece of something much bigger. The crumbs are hard to come by, but those that search are rewarded by what they find. For some of us the hunger grows so intense that we become as infants, putting any and everything in our mouth, showing no discretion and hoping that we will get lucky. We can grow blind in our search, not considering the evidence around the crumbs we find, unaware that they could lead us to more.
Is it more important to discover the source of the crumbs or to uncover the identity of the baker? Once we actually find where X marks the spot how long will our prized possession last? This is where we get confused, for the baker is fully capable of making much more of what we have tasted. Our senses will be overwhelmed with what is available once we realize that the crumb is actually a key that unlocks an unfathomable spectrum of secrets that will forever keep us in ecstasy.
The sad part is that we grow cynical in our search for the great cake, we come to think that there is none in existence. We think that the crumbs are all that there is, so we prize them and abuse them and they become subjects of our adulation. We forget that if there were crumbs that they have to have come from somewhere and that they are the result of someone’s work. Soon the different flavored crumbs become talismans that a select few horde, claiming understanding and knowledge beyond this realm. They deprive those who hunger for the truth and feed them their own fabrications of the crumbs, themselves long forgetting what the crumbs tasted like, creating inferior flakes that fade.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Priesthood
Prayer isn’t meant to be on our own behalf. We are “like living stones…being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” it says in 1 Peter 2:5. This is again repeated four verses later, saying that we are a chosen people.
What is this whole priesthood thing about anyway? I had always read this in reference to what the author of Hebrews talks about. He says that Christ’s death on our behalf, his expiating blood, is the ultimate sacrifice—perfect, so that no more blood need be shed for our sin (ch.8-10). Thus, Christ is the mediator between us and God, allowing us to enter the “Most Holy Place” (10:19). What a privilege, for only the high priest was allowed to under the old covenant, and at that once a year. This means that we are able to draw near to God in ways that were off limits before. I had always thought that this emphasized the individuality of our faith, that we can truly be in close relationship to the Father because of what Christ, the Highest Priest, has done for us.
Then I read “My Utmost for His Highest” by Oswald Chambers that changed my thinking. The entry for June 21 suggests something completely opposite about being a part of the priesthood. He said it is not about looking inward and working out our salvation. That is self-centered with the wrong perspective. Instead, we are to look outward.
I was pretty surprised when I read this, but then I started thinking about the priestly duties. They were a select group, chosen to serve the people by making sacrifices and atonement for them. Said differently, their life was dedicated not to themselves but to others. Their life was no small sacrifice, it is quite a duty to be responsible for so many people.
When Peter wrote about us being a priesthood, I think it was with this mindset (he was after all, living in the time of the temple). I think it is difficult to grasp as we don’t have that context or familiarity with all that a priest does. Chambers says that our focus needs to be on praying for the saints. This is the ministry of the priesthood, that we intercede on behalf of others, not ourselves.
Are we, as royal priests, working on behalf of others? Or are we ministering to ourselves, concerned about our own issues, thus denying our priestly duties? We are to be praying for one another. Christ has got your back, so quit focusing on yourself. Pray for the saints.
Let’s face it, we all need prayer. But if we spend too much time praying for ourselves, that is one man’s gain. If we pray for others then how much greater is the covering of our prayer? If we are all praying for our brothers and sisters then that means instead of you only praying for yourself you got your whole family lifting you up.
Pray for the saints.
What is this whole priesthood thing about anyway? I had always read this in reference to what the author of Hebrews talks about. He says that Christ’s death on our behalf, his expiating blood, is the ultimate sacrifice—perfect, so that no more blood need be shed for our sin (ch.8-10). Thus, Christ is the mediator between us and God, allowing us to enter the “Most Holy Place” (10:19). What a privilege, for only the high priest was allowed to under the old covenant, and at that once a year. This means that we are able to draw near to God in ways that were off limits before. I had always thought that this emphasized the individuality of our faith, that we can truly be in close relationship to the Father because of what Christ, the Highest Priest, has done for us.
Then I read “My Utmost for His Highest” by Oswald Chambers that changed my thinking. The entry for June 21 suggests something completely opposite about being a part of the priesthood. He said it is not about looking inward and working out our salvation. That is self-centered with the wrong perspective. Instead, we are to look outward.
I was pretty surprised when I read this, but then I started thinking about the priestly duties. They were a select group, chosen to serve the people by making sacrifices and atonement for them. Said differently, their life was dedicated not to themselves but to others. Their life was no small sacrifice, it is quite a duty to be responsible for so many people.
When Peter wrote about us being a priesthood, I think it was with this mindset (he was after all, living in the time of the temple). I think it is difficult to grasp as we don’t have that context or familiarity with all that a priest does. Chambers says that our focus needs to be on praying for the saints. This is the ministry of the priesthood, that we intercede on behalf of others, not ourselves.
Are we, as royal priests, working on behalf of others? Or are we ministering to ourselves, concerned about our own issues, thus denying our priestly duties? We are to be praying for one another. Christ has got your back, so quit focusing on yourself. Pray for the saints.
Let’s face it, we all need prayer. But if we spend too much time praying for ourselves, that is one man’s gain. If we pray for others then how much greater is the covering of our prayer? If we are all praying for our brothers and sisters then that means instead of you only praying for yourself you got your whole family lifting you up.
Pray for the saints.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
"If you can?!"
17…“Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24
When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24
When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
A Return - A response to "Flotsam"
I returned to the vessel I once abandoned—
leaving it a ghost ship—
after drifting as flotsam for quite some time.
My hands, now unfamiliar with the ropes.
Docked, lost in the expanse, fearful--
hoping to find my place in the celestial sea
before I take to the winds.
Instead the sextant lay untouched, collecting dust.
Sever the anchor!
Although reticent, no longer content
to float in familiar waters.
Pull the halyard, hoist the sails!
Let the breath of Poseidon carry us;
may the currents pull us in their invisible paths
clenching the helm, unseen destination
Knowing naught in the nautical vast
My map, along with my fears, is swept off deck
The sky reflects what fills my veins.
Alone I will sail through the night
with only the moon to haunt me
and the stars to keep watch
until the sun steals their scattered glory.
I will find you.
Though the squalls suggest a different course,
though my soul may threaten mutiny,
and though the waves toss and tangle
in their nets of doubt and destruction,
I will find you.
leaving it a ghost ship—
after drifting as flotsam for quite some time.
My hands, now unfamiliar with the ropes.
Docked, lost in the expanse, fearful--
hoping to find my place in the celestial sea
before I take to the winds.
Instead the sextant lay untouched, collecting dust.
Sever the anchor!
Although reticent, no longer content
to float in familiar waters.
Pull the halyard, hoist the sails!
Let the breath of Poseidon carry us;
may the currents pull us in their invisible paths
clenching the helm, unseen destination
Knowing naught in the nautical vast
My map, along with my fears, is swept off deck
The sky reflects what fills my veins.
Alone I will sail through the night
with only the moon to haunt me
and the stars to keep watch
until the sun steals their scattered glory.
I will find you.
Though the squalls suggest a different course,
though my soul may threaten mutiny,
and though the waves toss and tangle
in their nets of doubt and destruction,
I will find you.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Forgotten
This ironically came out of me while walking through the concrete jungle (Bangkok). Weird.
Leaves fall from above
Taking with them shards of shade
Allowing the sun to poke through.
They pattern the ground
in their own scheme, their own design
Shaping, shifting in the slightest wind
A breathing mosaic,
Alive in these brittle castaways.
their each move is a dance
in all of time
never performed twice
to only live on in their own memory.
Frail sails without vessels
travel the winds, trading secrets.
they land ashore, leaving imprints
etching lightly into the sand
tales of wonder and wander,
treasure maps to coves undiscovered.
only to be erased by the wind,
each new day a canvas
leaving yesterday forgotten.
Leaves fall from above
Taking with them shards of shade
Allowing the sun to poke through.
They pattern the ground
in their own scheme, their own design
Shaping, shifting in the slightest wind
A breathing mosaic,
Alive in these brittle castaways.
their each move is a dance
in all of time
never performed twice
to only live on in their own memory.
Frail sails without vessels
travel the winds, trading secrets.
they land ashore, leaving imprints
etching lightly into the sand
tales of wonder and wander,
treasure maps to coves undiscovered.
only to be erased by the wind,
each new day a canvas
leaving yesterday forgotten.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
barren
I am convinced that we can learn from nature which we constantly overlook this time of year as we stay inside as much as we can to shield ourselves from the chill. A theme that developed in my mind last fall finally emerged...
Less than two weeks my friends, less than two weeks. I am not sure what to do with myself.
Well, here goes:
the trees catch flame
as soon as the heat fades.
they burn bright, consumed
until they go out in a blaze of glory.
only to be left bare,
left naked in the cold
to remind us of their gaunt limbs
that are covered year-round.
forgotten beneath their lush, verdant beauty
exposed without a place to hide
yet all the more beautiful--
strong, in their weakest season
to endure the harshest conditions.
with hope, with hope--
after the white desert melts away,
after the treacherous winter,
must come spring.
winter takes its toll
many wither and fade
the pangs of cold overpower
desolate; life is distant
rooted in memory
bereft of breath
yet life thrives in the deathly quiet
forced to vacate the safety of the umbrage
the last leaves hold fast
they cling to the limbs
as a young child to a mother
yet they are released into the wind
not as tears, but to remind us all
to shed our cover, our shame
Less than two weeks my friends, less than two weeks. I am not sure what to do with myself.
Well, here goes:
the trees catch flame
as soon as the heat fades.
they burn bright, consumed
until they go out in a blaze of glory.
only to be left bare,
left naked in the cold
to remind us of their gaunt limbs
that are covered year-round.
forgotten beneath their lush, verdant beauty
exposed without a place to hide
yet all the more beautiful--
strong, in their weakest season
to endure the harshest conditions.
with hope, with hope--
after the white desert melts away,
after the treacherous winter,
must come spring.
winter takes its toll
many wither and fade
the pangs of cold overpower
desolate; life is distant
rooted in memory
bereft of breath
yet life thrives in the deathly quiet
forced to vacate the safety of the umbrage
the last leaves hold fast
they cling to the limbs
as a young child to a mother
yet they are released into the wind
not as tears, but to remind us all
to shed our cover, our shame
in your periphery
who could have foretold
the friendship we have made
the paths we trod are so different
at times we walk in the same shadows
i don't know if you saw me there,
next to you--you thought you were alone
i saw you fall--you wouldn't take my hand
as you shook of the dust and pressed on
i confess to you, but i think you know
the streaks on my face were not from the rain
i saw you run when you had nothing left
i saw you laugh in the light for them
don't think i didn't see the sadness in your eyes
your strength is your only weakness
let your weakness be your strength
i saw you heal their wounds
with the beauty of your soul
as you gave all your love
then shuddered, shivered in the cold
hoping to one day be loved
you poured yourself out
and took nothing in
let me fill your shoes for awhile
and carry the burden you think i can't see
my heart is heavy from bearing it with you
i'd do anything to steal your pain
don't wither away
don't let the ghosts of your past haunt you
don't forget who you are
don't give up on love
stop
let yourself be filled
so that you can dance again
upon hope without pain
the friendship we have made
the paths we trod are so different
at times we walk in the same shadows
i don't know if you saw me there,
next to you--you thought you were alone
i saw you fall--you wouldn't take my hand
as you shook of the dust and pressed on
i confess to you, but i think you know
the streaks on my face were not from the rain
i saw you run when you had nothing left
i saw you laugh in the light for them
don't think i didn't see the sadness in your eyes
your strength is your only weakness
let your weakness be your strength
i saw you heal their wounds
with the beauty of your soul
as you gave all your love
then shuddered, shivered in the cold
hoping to one day be loved
you poured yourself out
and took nothing in
let me fill your shoes for awhile
and carry the burden you think i can't see
my heart is heavy from bearing it with you
i'd do anything to steal your pain
don't wither away
don't let the ghosts of your past haunt you
don't forget who you are
don't give up on love
stop
let yourself be filled
so that you can dance again
upon hope without pain
untitled
I don't know why I'm posting this. I don't know why I've written it. I don't know why there's bad rhyme in it when I don't like to rhyme. I don't know why I'm being open. I don't know why I can't come to terms with leaving. Well here goes. It's not well written it just spilled out of me.
Tell me there's something wrong with me
That I'm blowing things out of proportion
Right now I can't think or see clearly
Flooded by tears and emotion
Tell me it's going to be all right
That really I'm just confused
I long to hide in the night
And in its peace find refuge
Tell me that later I'll laugh
That I shouldn't worry
As I move across the map
Will you remember me?
Tell me I shouldn't feel this way
That I needn't cling
You're a rainbow in a day of gray
Please please won't you sing?
I can't shake the thought of losing you
Whether it's just for now or forever
Its all the same
And I can't, I won't, forget
Tell me we'll meet again
Tell me that it will be the same
Tell me that time doesn't change
Tell me you'll be all right
I can't shake the thought of losing you
Whether it's just for now or forever
Its all the same
And I can't, I won't, forget
Tell me there's something wrong with me
That I'm blowing things out of proportion
Right now I can't think or see clearly
Flooded by tears and emotion
Tell me it's going to be all right
That really I'm just confused
I long to hide in the night
And in its peace find refuge
Tell me that later I'll laugh
That I shouldn't worry
As I move across the map
Will you remember me?
Tell me I shouldn't feel this way
That I needn't cling
You're a rainbow in a day of gray
Please please won't you sing?
I can't shake the thought of losing you
Whether it's just for now or forever
Its all the same
And I can't, I won't, forget
Tell me we'll meet again
Tell me that it will be the same
Tell me that time doesn't change
Tell me you'll be all right
I can't shake the thought of losing you
Whether it's just for now or forever
Its all the same
And I can't, I won't, forget
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Dan in Real Life
When I saw the preview for “Dan in Real Life” it looked like a decent family movie, easy to watch as it seemed to exude warmth and laughs. I thought I might go watch it but it did not strike me as a movie I would go out of the way to see but I was curious about Steve Carell. I thought of him as a funny actor after seeing him in Anchorman as the hilariously stupid “Brick” and yet was surprised when I watched “Little Miss Sunshine.” He did very well at playing the depressed-and-suicidal-because-of-unrequited-love professor, he was human and sensitive.
Personally, I hate those kinds of movies where you spend the whole movie worrying, grimacing, and flinching for the protagonist because they do dumb stuff and of course everything possible goes wrong. Perfect example? –“Meet the Parents.” True it has its funny moments but for me it is not an enjoyable film. Yet, watching the main character in “Dan in Real Life” is bearable because he is so human and you can identify with his struggles and frustrations. He finds himself in incredibly awkward situations and everyone in his family seems to be frustrated with him, including his kids. Yet this takes place in a family reunion vacation so he cannot escape the glares, sighs, and comments.
He does it to himself. What do you do about love when your brother is dating the one you cannot quit thinking about? Yet it is this that helps him understand and identify with his daughter as they go through similar feelings that he may have forgotten. It is about love and family and how the first almost causes him to destroy his relationships with the latter. But it is the family that truly loves and picks you up and continues to support you even though you have neglected them. It is the beautiful irony that he is an advice columnist that seems to flow with wisdom about family life that sets the foundation for the frustrations and questions. Why is it that he can so easily say the right things to anyone outside his family, but when it comes to his daughters he is constantly messing up?
Steve Carell plays a believable, likeable, vulnerable character. At one point at the family’s talent show he is playing a song with his brother, Dane Cook who’s trying to impress his newfound love, and adds a verse at the end—his voice is trembling and weak and it wrenches your heart. I almost cried, but I fought it. Something about the real sadness at that moment, he seems to let on for the first time about the pain of losing his wife.
Dane Cook surprised me too. He plays the typical shallow brother that always has it going with the ladies but he is down to earth and likeable as well. What I could not figure out was him with Juliette Binoche, she seemed to look way older than him. Also, sometimes I felt like some of the scenes she was laughing at Steve Carell the actor and not the character if that makes any sense. My other objection is the way the movie ended as it seemed to avoid the conflict of the awkwardness of Steve Carell successfully stealing his brother’s girlfriend. It seems that through the movie Dane is trying hard and moving away from his playboy ways and then reluctantly settles for returning to his old ways. Steve approaches him to apologize and he says, “hold that thought” and goes for the convertible driving chica that had been Steve’s date previously. I know that they had to end the story somehow but somehow I think this could have been dealt with differently.
I recommend this fun, family oriented movie. It is clean without any profanities that I can remember and minor sexual references that are tame compared to most any movie out there.
Personally, I hate those kinds of movies where you spend the whole movie worrying, grimacing, and flinching for the protagonist because they do dumb stuff and of course everything possible goes wrong. Perfect example? –“Meet the Parents.” True it has its funny moments but for me it is not an enjoyable film. Yet, watching the main character in “Dan in Real Life” is bearable because he is so human and you can identify with his struggles and frustrations. He finds himself in incredibly awkward situations and everyone in his family seems to be frustrated with him, including his kids. Yet this takes place in a family reunion vacation so he cannot escape the glares, sighs, and comments.
He does it to himself. What do you do about love when your brother is dating the one you cannot quit thinking about? Yet it is this that helps him understand and identify with his daughter as they go through similar feelings that he may have forgotten. It is about love and family and how the first almost causes him to destroy his relationships with the latter. But it is the family that truly loves and picks you up and continues to support you even though you have neglected them. It is the beautiful irony that he is an advice columnist that seems to flow with wisdom about family life that sets the foundation for the frustrations and questions. Why is it that he can so easily say the right things to anyone outside his family, but when it comes to his daughters he is constantly messing up?
Steve Carell plays a believable, likeable, vulnerable character. At one point at the family’s talent show he is playing a song with his brother, Dane Cook who’s trying to impress his newfound love, and adds a verse at the end—his voice is trembling and weak and it wrenches your heart. I almost cried, but I fought it. Something about the real sadness at that moment, he seems to let on for the first time about the pain of losing his wife.
Dane Cook surprised me too. He plays the typical shallow brother that always has it going with the ladies but he is down to earth and likeable as well. What I could not figure out was him with Juliette Binoche, she seemed to look way older than him. Also, sometimes I felt like some of the scenes she was laughing at Steve Carell the actor and not the character if that makes any sense. My other objection is the way the movie ended as it seemed to avoid the conflict of the awkwardness of Steve Carell successfully stealing his brother’s girlfriend. It seems that through the movie Dane is trying hard and moving away from his playboy ways and then reluctantly settles for returning to his old ways. Steve approaches him to apologize and he says, “hold that thought” and goes for the convertible driving chica that had been Steve’s date previously. I know that they had to end the story somehow but somehow I think this could have been dealt with differently.
I recommend this fun, family oriented movie. It is clean without any profanities that I can remember and minor sexual references that are tame compared to most any movie out there.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Catch
Sometimes I feel like we are playing a game of catch. Catch requires a minimum of two people working together to create a flow of catch and release. We throw the ball differently each time—although the people that do it for a living have a machine-like precision—which usually requires the other person to adjust. (Now, bear with me as I try explain this silly little metaphor which is actually more of a picture in my head that popped in there a few years ago and some reason had lay dormant until now.)
Suppose we are playing this game with our dad for the first time. He is ever patient with us, encouraging us so that we do not despair and give up. We look stupid as we fumble the ball and drop it the first million times he throws it to us. He says, “Don’t worry about it son, have your hands ready and keep your eye on the ball” as he throws it so that it requires little of us to actually catch it. When kids first learn they have to develop their reflexes—how many of us have seen kids grab at the ball in the air after it’s already landed? Then we learn what to do with our hands, you cannot have them stiff otherwise either your fingers get jammed and hurt for weeks or it just bounces off. They have to be relaxed and yet ready to snap, grab, and cradle at the right moment.
Once we get the hang of it—you know, when we get really good and there is not much that can wipe that huge grin off of our face—he changes it up a little. He starts throwing it at different distances with more or less power and speed. We go, “what am I supposed to do now?” as the ball no longer lands in our hands but five feet in front of us. Soon we begin to figure it out, “oh, I actually have to move to the ball now.” This makes it all the more complex, having to figure out how to factor in all of these things—you know, wind chill factor, not running into trees, not tripping on roots or sprinklers, and so on and so forth. Then to make things worse—or better?—he throws it harder and it comes at you faster than you can say ouch and it hurts more than a dozen bee stings. As your hands swell and throb he then throws so high up that you cannot help but wince as you squint into the sun and can only hope it does not hit you in the face.
Then he says, “Go long!” And off we run.
Why am I so rigid?
Why are my legs so stiff?
Why is it like my feet have buried themselves underneath the grass and have taken root?
Why am I so reticent?
Why can’t you throw the ball right to me where I want it?
You mean I have to run? But I’m tired, my hands sting, my lungs burn, my legs feel like they are going to give out—or rather, they will if I choose to go for it. What do you mean I can do it? How do you know? What? You’ve done it? You’ve been in my place and know how it is? Is that how you are so patient and good at coaching me along in this?
He knows what we are capable of and thus pushes us beyond what we though we could do. It is hard for me to believe that he knows these things, but I have to. I have to just believe that my little legs will take me the distance, the only thing spurring me on is his voice. In the end, I want to know that I ran as hard as I could to try and make the catch to make him happy. He knows how much I can handle and if I do not make it, maybe I did not push hard enough. I do know that when I trip on my own feet or get clothes-lined by a branch or just plain screw it up that he loves me all the same. Then when I am sweaty and thirsty, “hey, good job out there, lets get some lemonade.”
Suppose we are playing this game with our dad for the first time. He is ever patient with us, encouraging us so that we do not despair and give up. We look stupid as we fumble the ball and drop it the first million times he throws it to us. He says, “Don’t worry about it son, have your hands ready and keep your eye on the ball” as he throws it so that it requires little of us to actually catch it. When kids first learn they have to develop their reflexes—how many of us have seen kids grab at the ball in the air after it’s already landed? Then we learn what to do with our hands, you cannot have them stiff otherwise either your fingers get jammed and hurt for weeks or it just bounces off. They have to be relaxed and yet ready to snap, grab, and cradle at the right moment.
Once we get the hang of it—you know, when we get really good and there is not much that can wipe that huge grin off of our face—he changes it up a little. He starts throwing it at different distances with more or less power and speed. We go, “what am I supposed to do now?” as the ball no longer lands in our hands but five feet in front of us. Soon we begin to figure it out, “oh, I actually have to move to the ball now.” This makes it all the more complex, having to figure out how to factor in all of these things—you know, wind chill factor, not running into trees, not tripping on roots or sprinklers, and so on and so forth. Then to make things worse—or better?—he throws it harder and it comes at you faster than you can say ouch and it hurts more than a dozen bee stings. As your hands swell and throb he then throws so high up that you cannot help but wince as you squint into the sun and can only hope it does not hit you in the face.
Then he says, “Go long!” And off we run.
Why am I so rigid?
Why are my legs so stiff?
Why is it like my feet have buried themselves underneath the grass and have taken root?
Why am I so reticent?
Why can’t you throw the ball right to me where I want it?
You mean I have to run? But I’m tired, my hands sting, my lungs burn, my legs feel like they are going to give out—or rather, they will if I choose to go for it. What do you mean I can do it? How do you know? What? You’ve done it? You’ve been in my place and know how it is? Is that how you are so patient and good at coaching me along in this?
He knows what we are capable of and thus pushes us beyond what we though we could do. It is hard for me to believe that he knows these things, but I have to. I have to just believe that my little legs will take me the distance, the only thing spurring me on is his voice. In the end, I want to know that I ran as hard as I could to try and make the catch to make him happy. He knows how much I can handle and if I do not make it, maybe I did not push hard enough. I do know that when I trip on my own feet or get clothes-lined by a branch or just plain screw it up that he loves me all the same. Then when I am sweaty and thirsty, “hey, good job out there, lets get some lemonade.”
#23
I watched the Number 23 the other day because when I saw the previews for it in the theater it seemed intriguing. I have also always been interested in Jim Carrey's abilities to play different kinds of roles outside of Ace Ventura and other slapstick stuff.
This is a movie of obsession and paranoia that drives the person crazy. Carrey plays a pet control guy who goes after a dog that gets away from him. This makes him late for picking up his wife who while waiting wanders into a bookstore called something like "the book of fate" which of course is kind of foreshadowing. Her eye is caught by a red book on the shelf in the back with the same name as the movie. The author? Toppsy Kretts. She reads the book and when Carrey gets there she tells him to buy it and read it. He laughs it off but does so anyway. This begins the tale.
From then on he can't seem to get it out of his mind. He wants to keep on reading, and the obsession begins as he seems to identify with the narrator. So many parallels make him wonder and begin to dig through his past. He also notices that the number 23 really does show up everywhere like in the book. His birthday, SSN, the house #, all of them either have the number in it or add up to it.
I could keep going but it would take too long to recap the movie. The obsession drives him crazy and makes him paranoid as he dreams of himself killing his wife or that he is being taken advantage of. It is an entertaining movie as it shifts between Fingerling--the character in the book--and the real Jim Carrey. It is a little surprising at how many things contain the number twenty-three but when you think about it really is inconsistent. They sometimes add numbers up, sometimes you reverse them, sometimes you are dividing or multiplying. Basically, if you look hard enough you can find a way to make almost anything add up to 23.
Also, the movie ends with Jim Carrey saying that it is just a number as if to explain it all away and that he is over his obsession. Yet the whole movie is tied together on fate. He was destined for what happened to him. The reason his wife finds the book is that he was late. The reason he was late was because the dog delayed him. The dog was witness to his murder. So, what really is the point of the movie? It seems as if it is clarified at the end when the scripture verse Numbers 32:23 is shown which reads: "...and you may be sure that your sin will find you out." Yet that contradicts with how the narrator concludes. Only leaving us with questions.
I liked the way the movie is shot. Its very cool and artsy and dark. In the least it was entertaining, but I don't know if I would recommend it.
I felt dumb when I realized what "Topsy Kretts" really meant. Sounds a lot like Top Secret(s). Duh.
This is a movie of obsession and paranoia that drives the person crazy. Carrey plays a pet control guy who goes after a dog that gets away from him. This makes him late for picking up his wife who while waiting wanders into a bookstore called something like "the book of fate" which of course is kind of foreshadowing. Her eye is caught by a red book on the shelf in the back with the same name as the movie. The author? Toppsy Kretts. She reads the book and when Carrey gets there she tells him to buy it and read it. He laughs it off but does so anyway. This begins the tale.
From then on he can't seem to get it out of his mind. He wants to keep on reading, and the obsession begins as he seems to identify with the narrator. So many parallels make him wonder and begin to dig through his past. He also notices that the number 23 really does show up everywhere like in the book. His birthday, SSN, the house #, all of them either have the number in it or add up to it.
I could keep going but it would take too long to recap the movie. The obsession drives him crazy and makes him paranoid as he dreams of himself killing his wife or that he is being taken advantage of. It is an entertaining movie as it shifts between Fingerling--the character in the book--and the real Jim Carrey. It is a little surprising at how many things contain the number twenty-three but when you think about it really is inconsistent. They sometimes add numbers up, sometimes you reverse them, sometimes you are dividing or multiplying. Basically, if you look hard enough you can find a way to make almost anything add up to 23.
Also, the movie ends with Jim Carrey saying that it is just a number as if to explain it all away and that he is over his obsession. Yet the whole movie is tied together on fate. He was destined for what happened to him. The reason his wife finds the book is that he was late. The reason he was late was because the dog delayed him. The dog was witness to his murder. So, what really is the point of the movie? It seems as if it is clarified at the end when the scripture verse Numbers 32:23 is shown which reads: "...and you may be sure that your sin will find you out." Yet that contradicts with how the narrator concludes. Only leaving us with questions.
I liked the way the movie is shot. Its very cool and artsy and dark. In the least it was entertaining, but I don't know if I would recommend it.
I felt dumb when I realized what "Topsy Kretts" really meant. Sounds a lot like Top Secret(s). Duh.
bluelikejazz
I picked up the book Blue Like Jazz at the beginning of last week simply because I had heard so much about it. It seemed like everyone was reading it so I decided to see what the big deal was. Honestly, I did not want to like this book but I did. The author's candid honesty and humor just make the book flow very well and make it so that you never want to put it down. Sounds like a cheap action novel doesn't it?
I would call it autobiographical in a sense, which I was really not expecting when I picked it up. He is very willing to admit his mistakes and sometimes surprises you with the comments he makes about people and the thoughts he was having. I wonder if the people that he knew when they read the book were offended or surprised at all. Who knows?
I like that he is willing to grapple with questions of our faith that so many of us have and is real about it. It appeals to our postmodern generation that is no longer satisfied with facts but we want to feel what we believe. I think that many of us can easily identify with his writing. It got me when he said that we all love ourselves too much and are not good at loving others. At the same time he says we have to love ourselves in the right way and be willing to accept love if we are to truly be able to love. I thought, man, how true!
His struggles are real. A lot of us have trouble knowing how to share our faith or are scared of what people will say or ask us.
I like how he does not have it all together and how he's always learning, learning from the people you would least expect it. I like how he talks about getting a beer and smoking a pipe--yes Christians do this! Christians think they cannot do it or people think that Christians judge them for doing that. This guy Don Miller is real, he has been through the fundamentalist stage and made it out alive. He understands that our faith is something we share and live out. He has a sense of humor and is artistic. He is willing to listen but does not stray from Jesus being the only truth.
I would call it autobiographical in a sense, which I was really not expecting when I picked it up. He is very willing to admit his mistakes and sometimes surprises you with the comments he makes about people and the thoughts he was having. I wonder if the people that he knew when they read the book were offended or surprised at all. Who knows?
I like that he is willing to grapple with questions of our faith that so many of us have and is real about it. It appeals to our postmodern generation that is no longer satisfied with facts but we want to feel what we believe. I think that many of us can easily identify with his writing. It got me when he said that we all love ourselves too much and are not good at loving others. At the same time he says we have to love ourselves in the right way and be willing to accept love if we are to truly be able to love. I thought, man, how true!
His struggles are real. A lot of us have trouble knowing how to share our faith or are scared of what people will say or ask us.
I like how he does not have it all together and how he's always learning, learning from the people you would least expect it. I like how he talks about getting a beer and smoking a pipe--yes Christians do this! Christians think they cannot do it or people think that Christians judge them for doing that. This guy Don Miller is real, he has been through the fundamentalist stage and made it out alive. He understands that our faith is something we share and live out. He has a sense of humor and is artistic. He is willing to listen but does not stray from Jesus being the only truth.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
July 7, 2006 - No Longer
No Longer
*Kind of an ironic time to post this, considering I'm far away. But it was time to post something (that I wrote awhile ago when it would have made more sense) since it has been awhile.* (Pardon the overusage of the phrase "no longer")
Wave to the tide
It no longer conceals your eyes--
they say more than I ever hoped for
a glance takes us to a place where dream and reality collide
no longer faceless silhouettes searching in the night
wave to the tide
I no longer wait for it to bring word from your shore
in bottled messages I no longer confide
wave to the tide
with it goes the doubts we couldn't hide
your eyes
your eyes
your eyes mend the most tattered soul
*Kind of an ironic time to post this, considering I'm far away. But it was time to post something (that I wrote awhile ago when it would have made more sense) since it has been awhile.* (Pardon the overusage of the phrase "no longer")
Wave to the tide
It no longer conceals your eyes--
they say more than I ever hoped for
a glance takes us to a place where dream and reality collide
no longer faceless silhouettes searching in the night
wave to the tide
I no longer wait for it to bring word from your shore
in bottled messages I no longer confide
wave to the tide
with it goes the doubts we couldn't hide
your eyes
your eyes
your eyes mend the most tattered soul
May 21, 2006 - Michelle
Michelle
for my sister Michelle...written...perhaps a year ago, just found it again.
I wish you knew
How much I respect you
For your happiness through the struggle
That reduces so many to rubble
We get lost in eloquence
Arranging words in perfect sequence
So much more difficult for you
Placed by God in conditions you can’t undo
and blessed with a double portion
of the greatest beyond emotion –
amazing patience and love
that you continually show us.
Even when we don’t understand
Or give your words second chance
What saddens me is that you may never know
The depth of admiration I could never show
Sorry I haven’t tried harder to listen and identify
Through you God has elected to testify
To teach so much more than the most erudite
I wonder what other truth you hide;
any other answers for you to illumine
in this darkness where we forget what it is to be human?
for my sister Michelle...written...perhaps a year ago, just found it again.
I wish you knew
How much I respect you
For your happiness through the struggle
That reduces so many to rubble
We get lost in eloquence
Arranging words in perfect sequence
So much more difficult for you
Placed by God in conditions you can’t undo
and blessed with a double portion
of the greatest beyond emotion –
amazing patience and love
that you continually show us.
Even when we don’t understand
Or give your words second chance
What saddens me is that you may never know
The depth of admiration I could never show
Sorry I haven’t tried harder to listen and identify
Through you God has elected to testify
To teach so much more than the most erudite
I wonder what other truth you hide;
any other answers for you to illumine
in this darkness where we forget what it is to be human?
May 15, 2006
Please pardon the lack of paragraphs.
For sometime now I have been reflecting on what it means to be a Christ-ian. Actually, no, I have been thinking about that title. I think that it is in fact, powerful but we do not think about it, hardly ever--at least I do not until recently. I would say that it has been corrupted because of lack of attention. An Evangelical Christian tends to refer to someone "born again", rescued from damnation by Christ's expiation of sins by grace granted to us. Once born again, one enters into "shar[ing] in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light" (Colossians 1:12). It seems that today what is important to people is entering into this community of believers, as if you have a new identity because you are now a part of this group. This brotherhood is powerful, it is a place where can learn from each other because we find our identity in Christ. To me, Christian means identifying myself with and in Christ which supersedes all other forms of identity, I am made new. Now, at this point you are nodding your head and saying “yes you are stating the obvious so get on with it.” Yes this is obvious and this is the way it should be, but is it really? Too much of what we do is associated with other followers of Christ and what they do and have done and rather than with the Word, Logos. Too often for one to be a Christian it is almost as if they have to live by the standards set by other Christians because they have established their identity. This seems skewed. It is as if we are forced to have to find our identity within the group of believers before we can find who we really are in Christ. I am not on a mission to bash anyone. I am just realizing how wonderful and powerful this concept is when we call ourselves Christians because I had been thinking about the suffix that comes after Christ. It just reminded me of how we say we are for example Italian and the –ian suffix means that we identify and associate ourselves with Italy. Yet I see a problem with using this as an example, because when you think of an Italian you will think of the other Italians you have met and the general stereotyped understanding of them rather than something deeper. I also want to make clear that I am not fighting against community, I just think it is sad that the identity of Christ has been tainted by human standards.
Return to your roots
Recall your identity--
Revealed by His Image
Replaced by the Son of Man
Rescued from frail humanity
Redeemed.
For sometime now I have been reflecting on what it means to be a Christ-ian. Actually, no, I have been thinking about that title. I think that it is in fact, powerful but we do not think about it, hardly ever--at least I do not until recently. I would say that it has been corrupted because of lack of attention. An Evangelical Christian tends to refer to someone "born again", rescued from damnation by Christ's expiation of sins by grace granted to us. Once born again, one enters into "shar[ing] in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light" (Colossians 1:12). It seems that today what is important to people is entering into this community of believers, as if you have a new identity because you are now a part of this group. This brotherhood is powerful, it is a place where can learn from each other because we find our identity in Christ. To me, Christian means identifying myself with and in Christ which supersedes all other forms of identity, I am made new. Now, at this point you are nodding your head and saying “yes you are stating the obvious so get on with it.” Yes this is obvious and this is the way it should be, but is it really? Too much of what we do is associated with other followers of Christ and what they do and have done and rather than with the Word, Logos. Too often for one to be a Christian it is almost as if they have to live by the standards set by other Christians because they have established their identity. This seems skewed. It is as if we are forced to have to find our identity within the group of believers before we can find who we really are in Christ. I am not on a mission to bash anyone. I am just realizing how wonderful and powerful this concept is when we call ourselves Christians because I had been thinking about the suffix that comes after Christ. It just reminded me of how we say we are for example Italian and the –ian suffix means that we identify and associate ourselves with Italy. Yet I see a problem with using this as an example, because when you think of an Italian you will think of the other Italians you have met and the general stereotyped understanding of them rather than something deeper. I also want to make clear that I am not fighting against community, I just think it is sad that the identity of Christ has been tainted by human standards.
Return to your roots
Recall your identity--
Revealed by His Image
Replaced by the Son of Man
Rescued from frail humanity
Redeemed.
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