The Room

For whoever wanted to see this: here it is

Why I don’t Blog: Christmas season tends to keep me busy

The most recent reason I don’t blog (or, haven’t been blogging) is because we’ve all been working on our Christmas show-- preparing for most of November & then perform here & there throughout December. It’s basically a re-take on last year’s show with mostly the same costumes, props & songs plus a couple additions-- most noticeable of which is Rachel who came from Spain & has been a big blessing. I’ve been giving her tips & ideas for choreography & stuff which I’m sure has really helped her a lot too. :D (I am SO gonna get hit for that.)

Since Celeste & Angelique have been super busy with school 10 hours a day it’s a very good thing that Rachel was here to work on stuff while they were away. They have to fit their word time, dinner time & dance practice into what’s left of their day & then go to bed early & then work all weekend. So God bless them, they’re going to be wiped out come Boxing Day. But that’s how we keep them out of trouble.

Of course we (Agnès & myself) had to make another set of costumes for Rachel, cane & swanky hat included. I get why she gets so much crap on her blog: she’s a very special person with qualities that would make people jealous AND, at the same time, she’s lots of fun to tease-- ESPECIALLY since we have officially decided that she’s Irish (for PR—the French love anything Irish).

As for me, I don’t do much on stage, I mainly stick to lighting & changing backdrops. But I’ve been working a good deal on the music tracks & helping Bénédicte re-arrange the outline of the show, adding fill music where needed etc. I’ve also had to get down to producing music without Peter, which I HAVE done before but I’ve always ran it past him to fix up & mix down. So that’s new & I’m not always sure with the same results.

Thankfully Oli is around to do all the technical stuff when it comes to show time—all the electronic stuff, sound engineering & setting up. Oh, yes: we figured out the most efficient way to pack all our equipment & props into the smallest vehicle space. Good times.

We stole the “Lord of the Dance” theme music & mixed it with the old French Christmas carol which was adapted into English as “Blow the Trumpet & Beat the Drum” & they do the whole Irish tap-dancing thing to it. The French just love that sort of thing.

The response has been overwhelmingly positive, praise the Lord, most likely due to our lineup of hot girls plus my witty use of lights & smoke… No, seriously I’m good. Oh well, it MIGHT have SOMETHING to do with all the collective work, prayer & sacrifices we’ve put in as a home to make it work & the Lords Spirit which makes everyday like Christmas.

Does Funny=Sexy?

Not to look stupid or give off the impression that I know absolutely NOTHING about women, but I’ve been sworn to that women find funny sexy. This is very disturbing for me & I’ll tell you why. I am now forced to face one of several choices:

1) It’s a lie. Maybe they just SAY that in case they start laughing when the guy drops his trousers “No! Funny is SEXY…” (If this is the right answer then this post is a waste of your time. Please leave a comment to inform me so & then surf off somewhere else)

2) And THIS is the one that keeps me up at night: I’m not even NEARLY as funny as I think I am.

3) Being ugly trumps being funny. (And THAT would hurt a LITTLE.)

4) My personal favourite: All the women I know have an IMPRESSIVE gift of self-control. Yes, the giggling is all they can do to keep from tearing my clothes off with their teeth.

And all along I thought humour was just a defense mechanism. Well, in light of this soul searching dilemma I will be of few words. If you’re a woman who knows how it works or a dude who knows how it doesn't work, please enlighten us with your feedback.

Dispising the Shame

Another thing you'd probably expect to find on my blog.
I've lived on a shelf just for myself & I've made merry
And I have tried to seize the coolest breeze that could me carry.
Compromise had shut my eyes when I thought I was bluffing,
Fool, instead of folding I was left there holding nothing.
Those that jeered & sneered is what I feared & most respected,
But now I've chosen God, & their applaud I've have rejected.

Chorus
Now I'm despising the shame,
That I receive in His name.
And aye, they call me profane,
I'm called by his name.
We're the same.

Verse 2
I will take this cross unto the lost & I will wear it,
The fire & the frost, I count the cost & I will bear it.
And I will bear the scorn that He has borne so undeserving,
As they call me the bastard of the Master that I'm serving.

Bridge
He is no fool who gives what he connot keep,
To gain what he cannot lose.
I dare to bear the wrath with they,
Who live to laugh another day.

Defining "Pervert"

Just when I was wondering if I’d blogged about everything I could blog about, it was brought to my attention that the definition of “pervert” could use some consideration. It is a word that you get slapped with at a moment when words are the LAST thing on your mind. It seems to be the downer that follows certain types of brief euphoric experiences.

Random example, just to make sure we’re all on the same page here: A woman wearing a low cut top bends over & reveals what kind of bra she is NOT wearing. For a few moments (at least, I THINK it’s just a few moments) time slows down to where it SEEMS like an HOUR & all sounds go muffled. We spend some time thanking God for semi-photographic memory & then maybe, I don’t know, we start wondering how, if gravity would glitch temporarily & start going on-off-on-off-on-off really fast, what kind of visual effect would incur. (The reader is begged to appreciate that this is as close to “getting the heavenly vision” as some people will ever GET. Thank you for your comprehension.) THEN the lovely creature stands up, looks you straight in the eyes with her own bewitchingly beautiful brown…BAM! All goes blank. You don’t REALLY mind the stinging on your left cheek SO much because you’re a little too busy being confused about the sound resonating in your still functional ear. “PERVERT!” (End of random example.)

As a man with a driving & powerful Internet connection I tend to revert to just looking words like this up. It’s usually pretty simple. There are plenty of good dictionaries out there, written by clever people who should know ALL ABOUT these sorts of things. This SHOULD be EDUCATIONAL! If THIS is how women see me, I--I definitely want to know what it MEANS!

Definition number one: A noun. How nice, I suppose that fits me so far. A person who practices sexual perversion YOU WISH…

Or…I wish? Or I wish that SHE’d wish that I…never mind.

Definition number two. Also a noun. A person who is perverted. WHAT? How did she KNOW? Granted, as Jeremiah said, the heart of man IS DESPERATELY wicked, sure. Who can know it? But hang on a sec. Perverted from what? (Jer.9:17) Put it this way: IF I WAS as pure as the birds of the air & the beast of the field, FRESH from the creative hand of our loving God, I would have found that wench grazing under a tree, taken her from behind &, quite probably, pumped her full of every ounce of masculinity which her naked form could inspire from me.

So, what EXACTLY is she saying? Was that an accusation for my unnatural practice of denial? Well then, she would have done well to slap me harder. Maybe I would have snapped out of it & given it to her. She SHOULD be on her knees with a praise on her lips that she’s not on her knees with something ELSE up her lips.

Definition number three. (Yes, still a noun.) ”A person who has a perversion.“ Ah, okaaay! Well, well, well. I’ll tell them what I told that impertinent bottle of beer that tried to call me an alcoholic just for LOOKING at it. I said (and don’t get me wrong, I normally NEVER talk to beer bottles) “If I’m a pervert for looking at YOU…then that makes…YOU a PERVERSION!” Yeah, suck one that one for a while whilst I go re-drape myself in the garments of my long lost dignity. After an entire post-pubescent life in demoralising condemnation, it was THIER fault all along.

Unless, of course, they meant it in the imperative form, according to definition number four, as a verb instead of a noun. But IF that IS what you were saying, then it behooves you to be more faithful to PUT THE STRESS ON THE SECOND SYLLABLE. Like this: per-VERT. Get it? Per-VERT. Not PER-vert. Ok? Ok. Were they trying to tell us “to pervert” or to “stray morally”? Perhaps they’re invoking this command in the hopes that…we’ll eventually take to gawking at porn…or sheep? Or other men? I’m grasping for other logics to explain this possible alternative use of the word—EVEN though I already KNOW that looking for logic is supposed to be one of “the big No-Nos” when trying to understand women.

Oh wait. There’s another option: Is it, I dunno, POSSIBLE that this reproachful outburst could be the women berating THEMSELVES for their own dirty little thoughts? Nah? I didn’t think so.

So that brings me to the part of the post where I invent some new definition that makes everything fit together. I was going to re-categorise it as an interjection, “denoting embarrassment at being caught inducing sexual intentions in members of the opposite sex” blah, blah, blah. But you know what? This word already HAS several, perfectly good, definitions. It’s not the fault of the English language that the woman whose skirt just flew up suddenly starts blurting out words she doesn’t know the definition of. Is it? Invent your OWN word.

OR just try to be HAPPY that guys still look.

Water. PTL!

When the Elerian were introduced & everyone was acquainting themselves with this new Elvish-named, horse embodied spirit help, I got down to the business of making sure that the guardianship of my revolutionary flame was all taken care of & properly initiated. The home I was visiting at the time was holding some personal prayer time during one of their devotions for this expressed purpose & everyone was doing that “pen & notebook thing” & it was promising to be very exciting.

You know how “the Lord works in mysterious ways” & all? Well I was having a really hard time getting anything &, although hearing the ten (or more) pens of the other fluent channels in the room scratching eagerly away WASN’T helping me focus any, the REAL problem was that I needed to use the facilities rather urgently. Mysterious, huh? So I took my pen & paper off to the appropriate chamber & started double tasking. And, as if Gods ways were not ALREADY past finding out enough, I was presented with THE NOISIEST plumbing condition I have ever had to concentrate under. (Of course, at this point I was, understandably, mistaking this for Obsticon’s handiwork.)

Yes, this story IS actually going somewhere. And no, desire for blog feedback has NOT driven me to toilet humour.

The water was trickling into the overhead cistern with all the enthusiasm of a rainstorm praising God on an empty oil drum. The piping piped its content as if fitted with whistles in every joint. Then some other apparatus, which I yet believe to have been located within one of the walls & whose domestic use I still cannot fathom, would sporadically sound off like some sort of fog horn on a ship full of Russians. Don’t ask, just imagine & sympathise.

“Jesus!” despairingly I cried over the torrent & din in my head, “Reveal the name of my Eleria to me.” But water is all I could hear. Water, water. “Water”? Everyone ELSE’s names were gonna be Greek or Latin sounding with Anglophonic similarities & interpretation. And I was there like “Water”? It’s 2004 & everyone wanted to live in Rivendale with pointy ears! Come on. I was in BIRMINGHAM for heaven’s sake! I was DEFINITLY expecting something more Tolkein-esque.

But look what I get:

“My name is Water Eleria. You may have been expecting a more fantastic name but this is a name you can understand.”

(Yeah, no offence taken.)

“Just like your body would stagnate without fresh water, cleaning & washing away the old poisons, so it is with your spirit. Imagine yourself as a toilet, a useful vessel I’m sure you’ll agree…”

Given the nature of the “secret closet” I occupied, I had to concede.

“Don’t try to go on without the water of God’s Spirit of change that I am here to bring otherwise your usefulness could be significantly compromised.”

Nasty "unflushed toilet" visual springs to mind from years of faithful JJT service.

“What was food yesterday must be replaced by what God has for you today. So keep up with the changes & be refreshed daily, hourly or WHENEVER the enemy comes in with self-contentment & complacency.

Complacency is worse than shit! Shit is a sign of change, at least: that your ‘B’ is ‘M’ing. Complacency is like CONSTIPATIONS! Drink in the water of the Word which I have volunteered to bring to you personally. Please.” (End of message)

I guess Jesus just knows what I need?

Defining "Slut"

Not actually as simple as it seems because, despite the dictionary definitions, in SPOKEN English it’s use is pretty subjective. One dictionary definition of “slut”: A dirty, slovenly woman. See what I mean? It’s almost like we’re talking about a different word here. I say the problem is that “slut” is a “Woman Word”; which is to say that, like MANY words women use, it doesn’t MEAN, it EXPRESSES—in this case, mainly a sour grape frustration.

For example, you happen to know, from experience & hours spent naked in front of a mirror, that your breasts are your strong point. They’re what give you a head start on most other girls. They are your plan A & maybe even D. Your favourite clothes are the ones that put this “best foot” forward & God has tilted the scales in your favour. All your male friends know that that is 100% woman & they are reminded of it every time you walk in the room.

In this scenario, we can only IMAGINE your disgust when Satan invents the padded push-up bra! Yes, the degrading, artificial apparatus for the desperate & insufficient. The cunning vixen already HAS nicer legs than you, for God’s sake WHY did she have to steal your breasts? How unfair is that? It’s not that YOU CAN’T wear one too. It’s just that YOU DON’T & people need to KNOW THAT! Don’t men deserve to be warned when they’re being cheated? How does one retaliate against such lying trickery?

Aarrgh! The hormones rush to your head & a strange sound begins to hiss in your mouth & then slips out. “Slut!”

It’s like cracking your knuckles. It does this funny noise, feels good at the moment & makes pointing the finger so much more refreshing.

Here’s a more interesting definition, definitely closer to how it’s usually used: “A person, especially a woman, considered sexually promiscuous”. So basically, “Slut” is the feminine form of “Stud”? Yup, someone who has an easy time getting members of the opposite sex into the sack. But, I’m sorry, you’ll INSTANTLY notice the absence of that almost ENVIOUS tone that accompanies “Stud” when you hear the snide pronunciation of “Slut”. Because of this OBVIOUS connotation difference, this is not a definition that reflects the true message of this poignant word.

Reportedly, it’s meaning is distinguished from “bitch” by the following subtle nuance: A “slut” is a girl who sleeps with everyone, a “bitch” is a girl who sleeps with everyone EXCEPT you…Now, while that’s insightful to human nature, it’s not at ALL helpful with defining the word in question ‘cuz the poor girl doesn’t EVEN HAVE TO GET THE GUY INTO BED in order to earn this title! Maybe it’s just because she wears short skirts…or make-up? Or discreetly uses her upper arms to squeeze her breasts together when she laughs…KIND OF UNPREDICTABLE, really.

Hey! You’ll notice that “slut” is ONLY EVER used BY WOMEN--with the exception of men who have recently discovered they aren’t as special as they thought they were. (Cough--women--cough!)

“Yeah, sure, when she was having sex with ME, she was hot. When I find out she’s doing EXACTLY the SAME thing with someone ELSE, suddenly she’s a slut!” A more textbook example of hypocrisy could not be conjured. Deflated male ego kills testosterone, apparently giving way to surges of estrogen or some other feminine hormone inspiring pouty accusations.

Others use it as a synonym for “whore”, apparently forgetting that, what MAKES a whore a whore, is that she gets PAID—not usually the case with “sluts”. The very reason “slut” is almost spoken with a spit is that she’s UNDERCHARGING, undermining the market: like…like giving away free tacos just across the street from a Mexican restaurant. The resentment in the competition is that they will need to LOWER their prices to stay in business. So THAT definition’s no good either.

But it almost points us in the right direction. The USE of this word almost says MORE about the person who UTTERED it than it does about the person it was aimed at. Let’s try this definition on for size:

Slut: A word used by one woman to describe other women who will do promiscuous things she --for reasons practical, social or imaginary--won’t do.

Nasty Blog Comments

Where are they? Ok, maybe I shouldn’t complain TOO loudly but after all the warnings & preparing my heart for the cruelty & dangers of the world-wide web, I’m finding this rather dull.

Maybe if I was a GIRL I’d manage to collect the deadbeat attention of some lowlife scum with nothing better to do than stalk unsuspecting bloggers? Are they REALLY so cowardly that it’s not only enough to hide behind their anonymity AND the safe distance of cyber space, but they ALSO have to stick just to picking on girls? Sure, I’d eventually delete them anyway, but it’s the THOUGHT THAT COUNTS.

Oooh! Maybe if I posted more pictures of myself...(I think I'll DO that.)

Odd: I almost feel an obligation to sympathy for the anonymous. It‘s got to be embarrassing enough that you even THINK the stuff up but that, on top of it, you can’t keep it in…it must be like pissing your pants in front of your class.

There's the smell...& the puddle...the wet patch on your trouser crotch, highlighting you incontinence.
I shudder.

It must be a demon oppression or something...We should probably pray for them.

Most of the things they say are not even true. I was on Flo’s blog the other day, she posted a pic of herself & some people were saying all sorts of HORRIBLE things that, EVEN IF they HAD been true, were just plain old ugly things to say. PLUS, they weren’t true. I can only HOPE that wasn’t supposed to be “wit”. I’d feel so sick of myself for having said that, it would probably be a few weeks before I could get an erection in my own presence again.

It would be the prelude to "giving account for every idle word".

For When Humour Gets Boring

So, what DO I do for fun? Well, I like hobbies that are not gonna be a waste of my time...which, I feel, rules out things like collecting stamps, playing solitaire & reading books. I REALLY like hobbies that will make my work easier! That's what I call time well spent. These profitable pass-times aren't ALWAYS easy to think up but about a year ago I invested a few days on this one...(see below)

Do me a favour & leave me your opinions & any other related feedback. Thanks. It folds in four so that the title & cartoon of the prophetic sage appear as the cover. The article text would be printed on the other side.

The 70 Sevens of Daniel

Please note: This article is excerpts & summarisations of more complete texts, to keep it as simple as possible due to the limited space provided here. If there appear to be blanks in the logic, write us & we'll be able to fill you in on the rest. Enjoy!

For those interested in apocalyptic biblical predictions, the 9th chapter of Daniel is a good place to start. Amongst other things, it predicts the exact timing for the first (& even second) coming of Christ & the “time of The End!”

Brief setting: The chapter opens with the prophet Daniel calling out to God to save his city (Jerusalem) & his people (Israel) who, at this time, were captive slaves of the Persian Empire (about 538 B.C.). Finally, by verse 20, Gabriel comes to him & says...

O Daniel, I am now come forth to give thee skill & understanding. Therefore, understand the matter, & consider the vision.

Then, at verse 24, the fascinating predictions begin & the time-line is drawn.

Seventy weeks are determined upon thy people & upon the holy city...& to make reconciliation for sins...to bring in everlasting righteousness and to seal up the vision & the prophecy...(Dan.9:24)

The word “weeks” is a translation from “shabua” which is Hebrew for “seven”. As we decrypt & compare these prophecies with their historic fulfillments, it becomes evident that these “sevens” are not periods of seven days, but seven “prophetic years”, (360 days or 12 months of 30-days) also called “times”. One must keep that in account when calculating biblical prophecies that are as precise as this passage!

Furthermore, we discover how, in 70 sets of 7years, the world's history will be concluded & fulfilled!

Know therefore & understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore & to build Jerusalem unto Messiah the Prince shall be [seven sevens] & [sixty-two sevens]. The street & the wall shall be built...And after 62 [sevens] shall Messiah be cut off, but not for Himself. (Dan.9:25-26a)

Let's break that down. The angel accounts for a total of 69 sevens (483). 453 prophetic years before Christ, Artaxerxes Longimanus (king of the Medes & Persians) gave the cocommandment allowing the Jews to rebuild Jerusalem.The city was completed 49 (7x7) years after the decree was given. Then 434 years later (62x7) brings us to 30 A.D…the exact date Jesus was crucified, or “cut off”!In 712 B.C. the Prophet Isaiah also uses this term in reference to Jesus' execution:

He was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people...when thou shalt make His soul an offering for sin...[He] shall justify many; for He shall bear their iniquities. (Isa.53:3-11)

In a manner also fulfilling numerous other prophecies, Jesus died, making His soul the ransom payable for our sins. Try this yourself: Simply say, “God (whatever & wherever you are) if You really wrote this book & You're somewhere listening to me, I accept Your free gift of eternal salvation that Jesus paid for with His death. I ask Jesus to come into my heart & fill me with Your spirit of love, making 'His soul an offering for my sins'.” (see John.3:16)The angel Gabriel continues:

...and the people of the prince that shall come shall destroy the city & the sanctuary;... & unto the end of the war desolations are determined.(Dan.9:26b)

This prophecy was not fulfilled until 70 A.D., forty years after Jesus' crucifixion, when the Roman legions destroyed Jerusalem & the Temple. This means that the last set of seven (see next verse) is separated from the 69 first sets by an undefined period of time. We know also that when this 70th seven ends, it will bring in God's kingdom on earth (see Dan.9:24 & illustration on the cover). So this last seven is still in the future!

He (the prince that shall come, aka. the “Anti-Christ”) shall confirm the covenant with many for one [seven]: & in the midst of the [seven] he shall cause the sacrifice & oblation to cease, & for the overspreading of abomination, he shall make it desolate, even until the consummation, & that determined shall be poured upon the desolate.(Dan.9:27)

This implies that the Anti-Christ will rise out of what was the Roman Empire (the EU?) & sign a seven year religious pact that enables the Jews to engage in the daily sacrifice, only to break it midway.

Along with what we know from other biblical texts, 3 & ½ years (42 months, 1260 days) before the end he declares himself as God & demands that all worship him & his economic system. At the end, when God's had enough, He steps in & pours out His judgments. Matthew quotes Jesus himself referring to this passage saying,

“When ye shall see the abomination of desolation spoken of by Daniel the Prophet standing in the holy place...then shall be great tribulation...Immediately after [that] tribulation the sun shall be darkened & the moon will not give her light (perhaps the aftermath of an atomic bomb?)...Then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven...& the tribes of the earth shall mourn for they shall see Him in heaven with power & great glory. Then He will send His angels with the sound of a trumpet to gather His chosen.(Mat.24:15-31)

The most fascinating thing in Bible prophecy is not just figuring out & dogmatising over the future of our planet, but rather getting to know your own future & getting that sorted out! Get to know Jesus now! He loves you. Contact us to find out more--or if you have questions. We love you.

Sucker For Love

A little something you'd probably EXPECT to find on my blog:



And THIS is so people can stop saying, "Cool song...what's it talking about exactly?" Which, for me, is sort of like when I'd draw a picture & my mother would say, "Excellent dear, it almost looks like a real...one. What's it supposed to be?"

Verse 1:
So you think you’re so big, you can just do it on your own
Like the prodigal son, when he ran away from home,
'was his very own man, held his life in his own hands,
But was brought to his knees when a famine hit the land.
A fool for the system eating with the swine,
Or a fool for his daddy back home drinking wine.
Now you’re heading for the pit & I congratulate you.
Take a look at yourself & see what your pride has made you.
Will you be a sucker for the world left for bleeding & dead,
Or will you come back home work for Daddy instead?

Chorus:
I’m a sucker for love, a fool for Christ’s sake,
A slave of the cross that I choose to take.
I’m all bought up & now I’m not my own
But it’s the greatest freedom I’ve ever known.

Verse 2:
You want to out-smart life, want to buy your freedom?
Well, so did Eve in the garden of Eden
But when her naked body was raped with shame
She knew down inside she had herself to blame.
Oh, she thought she'd bend a rule, she thought she'd be no fool,
But she's the sucker now because just look who's fool she was.
Now you’re standing in the garden and the serpent will taunt you
And dare you to go, go & do as you want to
But he knows the choice is what the choice has always been:
You’re a fool for God or you’re a fool for him,

Verse 3:
Yes, I’m a sucker for love, a fool for Christ’s sake,
A slave of the cross that I choose to take.
I’m all bought up &, no, I’m not my own
But it’s the greatest kind of freedom I’ve ever, ever known.
And you know it really doesn't matter whatever you are,
A business man, a worker or a superstar,
You think you’re living for yourself? Well, you’ve been deceived,
Believing what the serpent would want you to believe!
As far as I’m concerned the choice is down to two:
A fool for God or the devil, tell me whose fool are you?

Special thanks to the very talented David Ryley for the CGI animation; Nic, Marie-Claire, Celeste & Angelique for the charming back-ups; Peter for the mixing; Julia (of Eman) who, in '93, said something about Eve's naivety in her dilemma, which later inspired the concept of this song--that our only real freedom is to choose our master.

Another Pictureless Post

You know how they always call Abraham “the Father of Faith” or “of the faithful”? As a kid I always thought that was a LITTLE unfair just because he got there first & the position was still open, ‘cuz if I heard God telling me to get to a land which I will, after, receive for an inheritance, OF COURSE I’d obey too.

But then one day, in the shower, I thought about it.

Imagine you’re Abraham. You’re trying to hear from the Lord about…stuff & in the course of the conversation He asks you to sacrifice your GREATEST pride & joy, the VESSEL through which God would make him the Father of many nations, the DOOR to the promise seed! (Not to mention the time God asked him to sacrifice his son Isaac, but I’ll get to that when we’ve covered this circumcision thing) Yes, all you male readers out there should sympathise--CHOP! Not only HIM but ALL the men in his whole bleeding tribe!

This shower time epiphany was a purely theological experience, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.

So right, “Abram” comes home from his “alone with God” time & announces that he is changing his name (yay!) &, “Oh yeah, we’re all gonna slice off our foreskins!” Say, WHAT? …something to do with a “treaty with God…”? If my shepherd got that kind of prophesy for ME there’d be some SERIOUS WTFing going on (umm, which, in THIS case would stand for “Wittle Thine own Foreskin, thou perverted NUT-JOB!”) Even if I MYSELF got that during my OWN P&P time, I…I think I’d just rebuke that & then not tell ANYONE! Yeah, you see, I’m one of those “if-it-makes-you-feel-good-or-want-to-do-good-then-it’s-the-Lord-speaking” kind of channels &, well, playing cut-outs with my holy parts falleth NOT under that category.

OF COURSE SARAH LAUGHED! Like it wasn’t already enough that he was Semitic*.

Poor thing. When her mutilated husband takes her precious son off for a weekend trip with the guys, sure, she’s at home worrying a BIT, but it’s just little, typical motherly things like, “Oh, did I pack him enough fresh socks…I hope he doesn’t slip off Mt Moriah…I hope HE DOESN’T GET TOO CLOSE TO THE BARBEQUE!”

Not a CLUE.

Abraham MUST have known that when they DO get home all safe & sound, like any mother, she’ll want to hear how it went! And when little Isaac finishes his inspiring tale of exemplary faith, what’s to say she’s not gonna throw a hissy fit & file him a restraining order? Call social services? THAT’s a man with unshakable faith.

Since I’ve ALWAYS known how the Bible stories end, I’ve grown to under-appreciate some of these guys’ implicit faith. It never occurred to me that MAYBE Daniel WASN’T so excited about having sleep-over in the lion’s den &, uhuh, there’s a chance that Moses stood on a rock, lifted his rod & DIDN’T REALLY know how things were gonna play out with all that water. What if he DID have that sneaky feeling that MAYBE he’d just wind up being some guy standing on a rock swinging his stick around? “Hey, if this doesn’t work out I can always yawn & pretend to be stretching…”

I guess what I’m saying is that REAL great faith has to be willing to ignore the limits of sanity--or EVEN what I would personally consider decent INsanity--& believe that the small voice telling you to…whatever it is it’s telling you to do—is, in fact, the Lord.

*Yes, I’m made a stereotypical “small penis” joke on Semites. Not my finest quip ever but, please, just let it go.

'Cuz All is Vanity

I want to be a writer, taking tirades of thought & turning them into words.

I want to be an actor, taking words & bringing them to life.

I want to be a singer, taking life & dressing it with music.

I want to be a musician, taking music & unleashing tirades of thought.

I want to be a Witness, taking all the “abstract senses” which separate us from the animals & are the canvas of the ultimate artist, the soul who knows that the glorification of anything less than God Himself is vain. Yup, nothing more than commercial pop art for an ephemeral market.

The thing is: If I were the most wonderful & dreadful of angels, worthy to stand before God’s throne, the sole utterance fit to grace my lips would be a constant magnification of the only truly existing Life form, from which spawn the self-congratulating tangents we call our individuality.

In this realisation my life is too small & stupid to waste ANY talent or effort decorating it with vain glory.

Selfish & proud by nature, desiring the only honourable honour, I want to be a Witness, a brilliance that shines before men in such a way that they must glorify our Father which is in heaven.

Junkfood for Thought

Ok, I just went back & re-read my last post & what is most impressed upon me is the notion that, when I stand before God, I shall have to give account for every idle word I’ve uttered. Which REALLY sucks because I’ve recently been reminded that a picture is worth a THOUSAND words. A THOUSAND words! I wish that had worked for me with my English teacher who SPECIFICALLY did NOT count the inspirational artwork in the margins of my essay toward the 2000 word minimum.

So great, now I’ve got to be picky about the pics I post as well. Of course, I DID try to wrangle with God a LITTLE. I cunningly mentioned to Him that words uttered on the Internet shouldn’t really count, at least not as harshly, since they ARE just 1s & 0s in an artificial environment. Then He gets all, like “Fine, if you REALLY want to count it that way, take a one thousand-word .txt file & compare it with your average .jpg & come back & give me the file size ratio in ‘1s & 0s’ & we’ll see what kind of deal I can cut you.” Then He adds, as an afterthought, “And taking My name in vain counts triple…”

So much for that. Ah, pride; it is a tough pill to swallow but the GOOD news is that when dealing with the Lord, in his infinite mercy, He tenderly supplies it in suppository form. Yay! So if you don’t mind I’m just gonna go ahead & post something pretty, you know, make the Internet a nicer place.

Why I don't blog 2)

The Parable of the wallet. The kingdom of blogging is like unto a man who bought unto himself a wallet. The more money he SPENT on his wallet, the less money he had to put INSIDE the wallet once it was his, AND the more often he’d also want to pull it out & USE the dandy thing, thereby having even less wherewithal within it.

Then came his readers unto him privately saying, reveal unto us the parable of the wallet. He answered & said unto them, are ye also yet without understanding? Know ye not that he that hath interesting stuff to blog about, hath it only by virtue of the time he spendeth NOT blogging. For out of the abundance of a man’s life his blog speaketh.

Having a healthy life/blog seems to be about keeping the age old balance between “writing something worth reading” on the one hand & “doing something worth writing about” on the other. I feel it’s only fair to you to inform you that nothing in this blog post falls under either of these noble categories. Any further time you spend READING this will be wasted as time that YOU could have spent doing something worth writing about, if not reading about. It’s not that I didn’t DO anything worth DOING. I translated a witnessing tract into French. It’s a good tract, “It’s Free” about salvation, by my father (Anthony) and translating it into French is a worthy undertaking as the French probably need it more than anyone else in the world. But it’s just not something to blog about.

So, why don’t I blog? Well, the reason of the week would be that I’ve been busy doing things that could make my week the sum of something worth blogging about. However, when it’s time to sit down & write about it, I realize, “Who ACTUALLY cares?” Who wants to read about us spending a week filming a video clip? Was it a fun & challenging experience? Yes. Will people want to watch it? …I kinda hope so. Will people want to READ about the making of on a blog? By GOD, I wouldn’t.

Nor would I want to read about the “Memory verse in song musical drama” that I made with kids at our place to help them review their FLIP verses. Am I all nice & proud of myself about it? (Who am I trying to kid) I can’t wait to show it off! But am I gonna brag about on my blog? …Argh, modesty be damned, I shall (apparently). Now, is it worth READING?

I do feel like I just bought a 10 000 Euro wallet. Oh, yeah: He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.

Helpers AND Hinderers?

Has it ever happened to you that you’re praying for something & you ALMOST call on a hinderer to help you? It happened to me recently & I had to wonder.

Example: you have this hyperactive kid that doesn’t want to take a nap—now, would it be heretical to call on Lethargy to “do his thing”… I mean, since it works so well on MOST Christians? What, with the Lord revealing him to us BY NAME & us rebuking him so effectively, I can only imagine that he’s just LOOKING for stuff to do.

At school time, for another example, some kids could USE being a LITTLE more analytical & carnal minded. (At LEAST enough to not mistake “square roots” for “cubes of carrots & potatoes”. Argh!) Now, I’m not altogether stupid, it's not like I would call on the Selvegion to help them with their division exercises. But wouldn’t calling on Pan, who's obviously NOT the right choice for times of Word or witnessing, be kind of like “rendering to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s” when it comes to school time? Are the demons not subject unto us?

Or calling on Hitler to help them learn German? He was a GREAT speaker in his time…& what’s he so busy DOING in hell anyways? Besides, I can’t picture a hellfire more tormentous than trying to teach German to some of these kids, so why not?

Ok, now that that’s covered it brings me to the original reason I’m asking: I was looking in the mirror this morning, combing what’s left of my hair &, while praising the Lord for how perfectly special & unique He has made me, I ALMOST called on a little help from the Spirits of Seduction…

Hey, I wasn’t claiming FULL POSSESSION or anything…it’s just that, given my good looks & irresistible charm, I just KNOW I could find employment for some “seductory forces”.

I SWEAR I would use it for good only!
P.S. Before completely adopting this concept as part of my beliefs on spiritual warfare, the Lord showed me to pray against a spirit of just taking things by faith & instead calling on the keys of skepticism & a spirit of comparing so that I can measure this foolishness against the yardstick of what the Word has to say. (Mat.12:26 Luke.11:18)

Just 'cuz it's funny

You've probably already seen this but I'm posting it now out of respect for the fact that, back when I saw it, it made me laugh--so heartily I even...cried...a little.

Lost Luggage

Why I don't Blog 1)

Well, my girlfriend says that blogging is just for people with kids. MY argument is that blogging can also serve as an invaluable opportunity for my much needed “me time”. Imagine, a hallowed spot on the world wide web where I can believe that everyone is only thinking of me, & all the fans of my munduanity (don’t look that up, it’s a non-word inspired from “mundane”) can gather to bask in the depth & open honesty that comes from the squeezing of having nothing better to do.

And to think that some people believe the Internet is the Anti-Christ! Tsk.

She didn’t seem too impressed, you can tell by that disappointed look on her face, so I had to produce an example of all it is we childless non-bloggers are missing. We found people—serious, professional disciples mind you—blogging about their weight, what they did last weekend, what they drank last weekend (+pictures), what they’re gonna do NEXT weekend, what they WOULD be doing THIS weekend if they weren’t so busy blogging & fulfilling their responsibility to their faithful readers… “See darling? It’s almost like having PETS!” (I instinctively know that ANYTHING that might teach me responsibility will sit well with her)

Besides, don’t I need an outlet for all my spare brainwaves? I was going through my old, old files & I found this .txt file I must have done years ago. So priceless, I’ll share it here. Apparently, I was working on a play (a Shakespeare-type thing) which I named “Balaam”. Yeah, I know. The good news is that I only got halfway through ONE scene: Balaam had told the three messengers from the king to come back the next morning to see if he’d go with them & this scene takes place then as they come to fetch him:

(The three names you don’t recognize are the three messengers)

PARDISCH: Balaam! Balaam! 'Tis the time appointed, where art thou?

BALAAM: Hither, my lords, hither & much perplexed. Ye have not seen mine ass, perchance?

LEINPODD: I noted a cute ass skipping about in a string & had a right mind to lay hold & fix it to my well bred & hardy steed, which was, as yet awaiting the saddle. But ere I could get it up & get up on it, the ass was gone.

BALAAM: Ah, that would be m'nieghbours affair, good noble, for that was his she ass, if I know it rightly, & an envy-inspiring animal too. Nay, my mean ass has got a rope on, & it's one big, black, hairy hide.

FARZACH: Ok then, we didn't see it. But on so nasty a night as the one this morning chases, where doth thy humble ass usually pass the foul winds?

BALAAM: Hmm, yonder I usually find my ass, in a crack between two large boulders, & now he's but away. Afford me this favour & catch my ass. Oft times he is a slow & tedious plodder, but today i'faith he's got the runs.

PARDISCH: Lo, mounted on our steeds have we sat in waiting an hour, wanting of ten minutes. Now up your ass.

FARZACH: If it were thy cock that strayed in the night the king may accept it with strained humour, but it shall not be my pleasure to bear to our lord who sent us that we so tarried by reason of a prophet who could not find his ass in the morning. (End of File)

I’m not going to say that my girlfriend is ALWAYS right because that’s just NOT true, but I REALLY shouldn’t blog.