This is for you, Hope. You're just, like, the most amazing person ever, no matter what certain other people say about each other in a manner surprisingly reminiscent of "you scratch my back, I scratch yours." But they can't help it, because they don't know how great you are.
Just don't get too cocky or I'll start a series entitled "What you've always wanted to know about Hope but were too terrified to ask."
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Food for Thought
Most people take themselves much too seriously, but take their lives not nearly seriously enough.
The difference between dogs and humans is subtle. Humans spend about half their lives in retirement. About half of all dogs spend their entire lives in retirement.
The difference between dogs and humans is subtle. Humans spend about half their lives in retirement. About half of all dogs spend their entire lives in retirement.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
To Write or Not to Write
This morning I was thinking about writing. I love to write stories, and I believe there is a place for writing creatively -- fiction included -- in God's Creation. However, I try my best not to be deluded about my skills. I may well be able to think up a story, however, there are several problems (in addition to the logistical ones) in publishing a book.
First, I'm not that amazing of an author. My style isn't anything to rave about. There are thousands of published authors who have better styles than mine, and innumerable people out there who would be better than me if they actually wrote. So...why would I write something if the books already out there are written better than mine are?
In response to my own question, there is much to be learned about writing by writing. I would hold that reading is more important to learning to write, but writing is still essential, and, as they say "practice makes perfect." My style has changed since I first started writing, and I am developing more tones I can write in. But what about publishing it? Why publish "inferior" work?
Well, there is more to writing than quality of style (see "Content Matters"). What one says makes or breaks a book. Certainly, a book can be ruined by atrocious style, but can only be made worthwhile by subject, content, judgements made, moral, or whatever else you care to call content. I hope my style does not ruin my content, and therefore, if I have worthwhile content, I may justify writing.
My second question arises from this last point. Do I have anything to say? Hmmm. This is a frightening question. I know that the truth of the Bible is very much worth saying. It applies to all of life, and so a book about nigh-on anything can be "worthwhile", or, in honest language "edifying and God-glorifying." (Please note I said "nigh-on").
But do I have a better view on truth, no, even a view that comes anywhere close to being as clear, than Bunyan, Lewis, Milton, and, literally, the thousands upon thousands of Christian authors who wrote before me? I live in a corrosive, fallen, falling country. We are slipping as a nation, and have been ever since we began. We are fallen down the page of Romans 2, getting closer and closer to the final, utter pitch-black bottom of the pit of sin and corruption. The church, the very pillar and butress of truth, is shattered into a hundred "opinions", pulverized into dust particles, each a "lone ranger Christian", tipping slowly over to the ground, lowering the truth to the mud. There is no truth. There is no God. There is no right. There is no wrong. The church is beginning to buy these lies, abhorrent to God and damning to the soul. I live in this world, in this country. How can I think to open my mouth to offer my fiction that shows truth, even to quote the Bible, when so many in better, more godly times, with better teaching and meeker hearts have offered their creativity?
Hmmm. I need to go think about it some more.
But I know this. To discount the truth, validity, clarity, and power of God's Truth as revealed in His Word, on account of my insufficience and surroundings, would be utter foolishness and pride. Those in the past did not understand better because everyone else did. They understood better because they had the Word of God, their churches, and the Holy Spirit working righteousness in them. These I have. So I won't burn my manuscripts quite yet. Sorry to get ya'lls hopes up.
And while I wait and think, I will pray for the church.
First, I'm not that amazing of an author. My style isn't anything to rave about. There are thousands of published authors who have better styles than mine, and innumerable people out there who would be better than me if they actually wrote. So...why would I write something if the books already out there are written better than mine are?
In response to my own question, there is much to be learned about writing by writing. I would hold that reading is more important to learning to write, but writing is still essential, and, as they say "practice makes perfect." My style has changed since I first started writing, and I am developing more tones I can write in. But what about publishing it? Why publish "inferior" work?
Well, there is more to writing than quality of style (see "Content Matters"). What one says makes or breaks a book. Certainly, a book can be ruined by atrocious style, but can only be made worthwhile by subject, content, judgements made, moral, or whatever else you care to call content. I hope my style does not ruin my content, and therefore, if I have worthwhile content, I may justify writing.
My second question arises from this last point. Do I have anything to say? Hmmm. This is a frightening question. I know that the truth of the Bible is very much worth saying. It applies to all of life, and so a book about nigh-on anything can be "worthwhile", or, in honest language "edifying and God-glorifying." (Please note I said "nigh-on").
But do I have a better view on truth, no, even a view that comes anywhere close to being as clear, than Bunyan, Lewis, Milton, and, literally, the thousands upon thousands of Christian authors who wrote before me? I live in a corrosive, fallen, falling country. We are slipping as a nation, and have been ever since we began. We are fallen down the page of Romans 2, getting closer and closer to the final, utter pitch-black bottom of the pit of sin and corruption. The church, the very pillar and butress of truth, is shattered into a hundred "opinions", pulverized into dust particles, each a "lone ranger Christian", tipping slowly over to the ground, lowering the truth to the mud. There is no truth. There is no God. There is no right. There is no wrong. The church is beginning to buy these lies, abhorrent to God and damning to the soul. I live in this world, in this country. How can I think to open my mouth to offer my fiction that shows truth, even to quote the Bible, when so many in better, more godly times, with better teaching and meeker hearts have offered their creativity?
Hmmm. I need to go think about it some more.
But I know this. To discount the truth, validity, clarity, and power of God's Truth as revealed in His Word, on account of my insufficience and surroundings, would be utter foolishness and pride. Those in the past did not understand better because everyone else did. They understood better because they had the Word of God, their churches, and the Holy Spirit working righteousness in them. These I have. So I won't burn my manuscripts quite yet. Sorry to get ya'lls hopes up.
And while I wait and think, I will pray for the church.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
The Girl and the Ghostly Knight
(Her Salvation, Fortress, and Shield)
"Now we see in a mirror dimly,
Then we shall see face to face."
~I Corinthians 13:12~
~1~
Salvation
"He was wounded for our transgressions;
He was crushed for our iniquities;
Upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace.
And by His stripes we were healed."~Isaiah 53:5~
From the castle rang the trumpets;
Watchmen hailed the Prince.
Calling-birds away did flit
From the opening fence.
No hooves well shod ranked through the gate,
No valiant crowd of men,
But a single Son, over-late,
His visage worn and thin.
From deep within the castle keep
Peered out a mighty host,
Awake in what some might call sleep,
To see what was not a ghost.
Their hearts were cheered, they gave a shout!
Peasants in the fields
Looked up to see what was about
To them, be revealed.
The wakeful sleepers saw the Prince.
The peasants looked in vain,
To see who carried through the fence
A bundle, with His pain.
For not pale by nature was He.
Lo, He bears five wounds!
Behind His feet, footprints of blood.
Again the trumpet sounds.
What wonder this? His people cheer,
Though half see not His form.
They know the bundle held so near
Was plucked from raging storm.
He brings His prize, held tenderly,
Clasped to armored chest.
Gaze at the scene familiarly
Those within, at rest.
For each of them rode in those arms
Held close with wounded hands.
For another saved sound forth alarms,
The living dead will dance!
Engauntleted arms hold close one
Who never'd seen the light.
For this child He'd battled and won,
Though wounded in the fight.
Oh little girl, awake, and see
The Knight who gave His life for thee!
Brotherly arms then held her close.
Fear within her died.
She rested on the Loving Ghost,
And to see Him, sighed.
Saw she not who held her to His chest,
Who told her not to fear.
On the arm that held, a shield did rest,
And in His hand, a spear.
~2~
Fortress
"The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed,
A stronghold in times of trouble."
~Psalm 9:9~
"He has bent and readied His bow."
~Psalm 7:12~
The Prince released her from His arms
To the old man Grentz.
"Safe you shall keep her on your farm,
From all without the fence."
She lived within the outer fence
In the castle's shade.
She laughed and played and helped dear Grentz
Plant seeds with her spade.
She grew in joy, was loved by all,
Worked hard in happiness,
But never passed the castle wall,
Thought its turrets useless.
She longed her Savior to embrace
For what He did for her.
Feared, for she could not see His face,
Through castle gate to stir.
One dawning morn, once years had passed
The little girl worked on,
Little knowing that foes amassed
Outside the bright new dawn.
They came with stealth to breach the fence
But the watchmen spied them.
At the alarm the old man Grentz
Left for the battle grim.
Alone in the farmhouse she crouched.
Clash and thunder! Battle's wonder
Drew her out to see the men march,
The Prince's banner under.
Came bolts of flame with ghastly fume
Crashing upon the field,
From whence she fled, and not too soon!
To flame the wheat did yield.
Terror like a hunter drove her
To the castle wall.
She fled beneath its turrets sure,
Up upon the wall
Gaze'd she out upon the good men
Standing 'gainst the foe.
Saw fell, fleet shafts flying towards her,
Sent to bring her low.
Turning to flee she saw His bow bent,
From highest turret His shafts He sent.
Familiar arms then held her close,
Fear within her died.
She rested on the Knightly Ghost,
And to see Him, sighed.
Her hair fell tangled o'er His chest,
He spoke, peace to her flowed.
On arm that held, a shield did rest,
And on His back, a bow.
~3~
Shield
"You, O Lord, are a shield about me,
My glory, and the lifter of my head."
~Psalm 3:3~
"Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God."
~Matthew 5:8~
For years she lived with joyous face,
Servant of the King.
She grew in stature, beauty, grace,
Skilled in every thing.
She rested in the castle's wall,
Worked gladly in the fields,
Watched each day for the Prince to call,
Bringing another healed.
For each day He strode forth armed
From the fence's door,
Returned to bring another unharmed,
Safe forevermore.
Just as these, she in Him rested,
Loved His loving grace,
Praised Him, clung to Him when tested,
Ever sought His face.
One night when all was darkest gloom,
Evil slithered in
Through the window of her room,
Its face a sickly grin.
She woke as its presence spread out
Into the darkness.
She sat up with a stifled shout.
It whispered, "Highness,
"You are beauteous, regal, fair,
Venture out with me
Into a land of open air.
Live as ruler, free."
"Fly away from Him who saved me
From your kingdom empty?
Much rather would I die, and see,
His face in its glory!"
It reached for her to take her hence,
But she fled its grasp,
Leaped it after her, loosing lance,
Poisoned as an asp.
Outside her door she glimpsed His face,
Dim yet full of glory!
Flew to her Knight, winning the race
With the lance so gory.
He embraced her with His shielded arm.
The lance struck it, shattered, caused no harm!
The Enemy fled as He held her close.
Fear within her died.
She leaned on Him who loved her most
And to see Him, sighed.
Her hair fell light upon His chest.
He spoke a soothing word.
On arm that held, a shield did rest,
And in its sheath, a sword.
"But let all who take refuge in You rejoice;
Let them ever sing for joy,
And spread Your protection over them,
That those who love You Name may exult in You."
~Psalm 5:11~
"To the King of ages, immortal, invisible,
The only God, be honor and glory forever and ever,
Amen."
~I Timothy 1:17~
"Now we see in a mirror dimly,
Then we shall see face to face."
~I Corinthians 13:12~
~1~
Salvation
"He was wounded for our transgressions;
He was crushed for our iniquities;
Upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace.
And by His stripes we were healed."~Isaiah 53:5~
From the castle rang the trumpets;
Watchmen hailed the Prince.
Calling-birds away did flit
From the opening fence.
No hooves well shod ranked through the gate,
No valiant crowd of men,
But a single Son, over-late,
His visage worn and thin.
From deep within the castle keep
Peered out a mighty host,
Awake in what some might call sleep,
To see what was not a ghost.
Their hearts were cheered, they gave a shout!
Peasants in the fields
Looked up to see what was about
To them, be revealed.
The wakeful sleepers saw the Prince.
The peasants looked in vain,
To see who carried through the fence
A bundle, with His pain.
For not pale by nature was He.
Lo, He bears five wounds!
Behind His feet, footprints of blood.
Again the trumpet sounds.
What wonder this? His people cheer,
Though half see not His form.
They know the bundle held so near
Was plucked from raging storm.
He brings His prize, held tenderly,
Clasped to armored chest.
Gaze at the scene familiarly
Those within, at rest.
For each of them rode in those arms
Held close with wounded hands.
For another saved sound forth alarms,
The living dead will dance!
Engauntleted arms hold close one
Who never'd seen the light.
For this child He'd battled and won,
Though wounded in the fight.
Oh little girl, awake, and see
The Knight who gave His life for thee!
Brotherly arms then held her close.
Fear within her died.
She rested on the Loving Ghost,
And to see Him, sighed.
Saw she not who held her to His chest,
Who told her not to fear.
On the arm that held, a shield did rest,
And in His hand, a spear.
~2~
Fortress
"The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed,
A stronghold in times of trouble."
~Psalm 9:9~
"He has bent and readied His bow."
~Psalm 7:12~
The Prince released her from His arms
To the old man Grentz.
"Safe you shall keep her on your farm,
From all without the fence."
She lived within the outer fence
In the castle's shade.
She laughed and played and helped dear Grentz
Plant seeds with her spade.
She grew in joy, was loved by all,
Worked hard in happiness,
But never passed the castle wall,
Thought its turrets useless.
She longed her Savior to embrace
For what He did for her.
Feared, for she could not see His face,
Through castle gate to stir.
One dawning morn, once years had passed
The little girl worked on,
Little knowing that foes amassed
Outside the bright new dawn.
They came with stealth to breach the fence
But the watchmen spied them.
At the alarm the old man Grentz
Left for the battle grim.
Alone in the farmhouse she crouched.
Clash and thunder! Battle's wonder
Drew her out to see the men march,
The Prince's banner under.
Came bolts of flame with ghastly fume
Crashing upon the field,
From whence she fled, and not too soon!
To flame the wheat did yield.
Terror like a hunter drove her
To the castle wall.
She fled beneath its turrets sure,
Up upon the wall
Gaze'd she out upon the good men
Standing 'gainst the foe.
Saw fell, fleet shafts flying towards her,
Sent to bring her low.
Turning to flee she saw His bow bent,
From highest turret His shafts He sent.
Familiar arms then held her close,
Fear within her died.
She rested on the Knightly Ghost,
And to see Him, sighed.
Her hair fell tangled o'er His chest,
He spoke, peace to her flowed.
On arm that held, a shield did rest,
And on His back, a bow.
~3~
Shield
"You, O Lord, are a shield about me,
My glory, and the lifter of my head."
~Psalm 3:3~
"Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God."
~Matthew 5:8~
For years she lived with joyous face,
Servant of the King.
She grew in stature, beauty, grace,
Skilled in every thing.
She rested in the castle's wall,
Worked gladly in the fields,
Watched each day for the Prince to call,
Bringing another healed.
For each day He strode forth armed
From the fence's door,
Returned to bring another unharmed,
Safe forevermore.
Just as these, she in Him rested,
Loved His loving grace,
Praised Him, clung to Him when tested,
Ever sought His face.
One night when all was darkest gloom,
Evil slithered in
Through the window of her room,
Its face a sickly grin.
She woke as its presence spread out
Into the darkness.
She sat up with a stifled shout.
It whispered, "Highness,
"You are beauteous, regal, fair,
Venture out with me
Into a land of open air.
Live as ruler, free."
"Fly away from Him who saved me
From your kingdom empty?
Much rather would I die, and see,
His face in its glory!"
It reached for her to take her hence,
But she fled its grasp,
Leaped it after her, loosing lance,
Poisoned as an asp.
Outside her door she glimpsed His face,
Dim yet full of glory!
Flew to her Knight, winning the race
With the lance so gory.
He embraced her with His shielded arm.
The lance struck it, shattered, caused no harm!
The Enemy fled as He held her close.
Fear within her died.
She leaned on Him who loved her most
And to see Him, sighed.
Her hair fell light upon His chest.
He spoke a soothing word.
On arm that held, a shield did rest,
And in its sheath, a sword.
"But let all who take refuge in You rejoice;
Let them ever sing for joy,
And spread Your protection over them,
That those who love You Name may exult in You."
~Psalm 5:11~
"To the King of ages, immortal, invisible,
The only God, be honor and glory forever and ever,
Amen."
~I Timothy 1:17~
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Shoes News: Why Wear Shoes?
The purpose of this post is not to give any useful information, but to use information to make an interesting point.
First, the information: There are two basic ideas about how things came to be. One is that they just did, the other is that someone made them. In the first theory, the diversification of species is explained through macroevolution -- that "natural selection" or, rather, the weaker dying and the stronger living on to reproduce, brought about species progressively better suited to their enviroments. Man is the latest new and improved version. In the other way of looking at things, man was made to be the master of all the animals, blessed with a perfect body in a world that was good. Either way, the question may well be posed:
"Why could we possibly think it is better to put pieces of manufactured leather, plastic, and synthetics on our feet instead of just using them as they evolved/were created?
Man is the best thing so far produced, says the evolutionist. His feet must therefore be the product of all those billions upon billions of years added to our world's age to give more throws of the dice for mutation and random occurances that defy entropy.
Man is made to be the master, says the Creationist. God made man perfect and good, with perfect, masterly feet.
So, why wear shoes?
From the evolutionist's viewpoint, there is not a satisfactory answer. Perhaps we are in the midst of evolving, so that our feet aren't quite the best, like they should be. It is surprising, though, that there are so many animals that walk in bare feet without too many problems, while man needs shoes.
From the Creationist's viewpoint, there is one glaring reason that our feet need shoes: We fell from goodness and perfection, became messed up, and were cursed to fight against the thorns to get our living from the land. Thorns can sure hurt a foot. Shoes are a great idea, and make sense.
So that's why we should wear shoes. But don't be too quick to assume that man knows better than God -- we should be very careful when we hear about new, revolutionary shoe technology, that we don't jump into the shoes without looking first, to make sure they actually work better than our well-designed feet.
First, the information: There are two basic ideas about how things came to be. One is that they just did, the other is that someone made them. In the first theory, the diversification of species is explained through macroevolution -- that "natural selection" or, rather, the weaker dying and the stronger living on to reproduce, brought about species progressively better suited to their enviroments. Man is the latest new and improved version. In the other way of looking at things, man was made to be the master of all the animals, blessed with a perfect body in a world that was good. Either way, the question may well be posed:
"Why could we possibly think it is better to put pieces of manufactured leather, plastic, and synthetics on our feet instead of just using them as they evolved/were created?
Man is the best thing so far produced, says the evolutionist. His feet must therefore be the product of all those billions upon billions of years added to our world's age to give more throws of the dice for mutation and random occurances that defy entropy.
Man is made to be the master, says the Creationist. God made man perfect and good, with perfect, masterly feet.
So, why wear shoes?
From the evolutionist's viewpoint, there is not a satisfactory answer. Perhaps we are in the midst of evolving, so that our feet aren't quite the best, like they should be. It is surprising, though, that there are so many animals that walk in bare feet without too many problems, while man needs shoes.
From the Creationist's viewpoint, there is one glaring reason that our feet need shoes: We fell from goodness and perfection, became messed up, and were cursed to fight against the thorns to get our living from the land. Thorns can sure hurt a foot. Shoes are a great idea, and make sense.
So that's why we should wear shoes. But don't be too quick to assume that man knows better than God -- we should be very careful when we hear about new, revolutionary shoe technology, that we don't jump into the shoes without looking first, to make sure they actually work better than our well-designed feet.
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