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UnlistedDog

2007-02-06T20:11:00.000-05:00

I know several people whom I've never met. The internet can do that. It's an interesting thing, really. I had some friends up in Manchester, NH, only a few minutes away, whom I got to know very well without ever meeting them. When I was planning on my trip to Dallas, I realized that I was going to be near one of my friends that I know through an online gaming group that I was in. So with a few pm's and exchange of contact info, we were all set to meet up with each other. "UnlistedDog" was the name I knew him as. He knew me as "Stevorso". With my camera in hand, I went to meet up with this person who I knew, but had not laid eyes on. A kid, really; the internet tends to take away that bias, though. You take people as they act, not how they look or how you expect them to act. He was 15, though; and it's not uncommon for me to hang out with that group of people. "Peter" (as he was called in RL) was a short guy. I wasn't expecting that, lol. But what we found out was that meeting each other physically was really not much different than how we related online. We were the same people, except that we could see each other, pretty much. Yes, a few things different obviously, but it was in no way like meeting someone new. We talked, played N64, and just chilled for the afternoon with his little brother "TinyTank". It was a pretty interesting meeting looking back. It was important to me to help me remember that the people I know online live real lives just as I do; but also that we have no less of a friendship because it is online.

Hannah & Blaine

2007-01-20T10:10:00.000-05:00

this is one of a series of posts. they are posted in chronological order, so if you missed any, please go down to the earliest one that you missed. feel free to comment on any of these posts, as I am checking them all and not just the latest for comments. the first in this series is entitled "vacation stories." thank you.

On Sunday after morning church, Dad, Benjamin, Anna, Micah, Grace'm, and Abel started homeward bound. That left Mom, Grace, and I to have some fun! So that evening we decided to take a visit to the Six Flags over Dallas. Grace, having been an employee six flags for a time, got herself and Mom in for free, leaving me with a $40 option to join them. I don't remember if I ever paid her back actually, but I did join them. Six Flags is pretty cool on a Sunday afternoon in the fall in less than perfect weather: short lines. We were having a good time and decided to chill at a fifties diner style food place for burgers and chili fries. That's where we met Blaine: a skinny, brown haired kid with a slight confused/perplexed look on his face. Probably 12 or so, he appeared fidgity by nature, never really standing still, and rapidly looking around at the menu, counting his money, looking outside. Standing next to Grace in line, he mentioned a dilemma he had, only having a couple dollars which could buy him pretty much nothing there. So he left and sat on a bench outside with a girl approximately his age. Grace, being the caring and observant person that I am not, decided to buy some chili and cheese fries for him (and the girl if they were together). The girl was Hannah, his cousin. They were very excited at the gesture; almost because it was because we cared and not so much because they were hungry. They were actually alone together at the park, being dropped off by someone. They seemed like they just wanted someone else's attention and company besides each others. So we spent the rest of the night hanging out with them. They were both extremely funny: Blaine was witty, and with a slightly slowed speech made it hilarious; and Hannah had a sensible, level headed character, which would contradict itself by randomly throwing out straight faced teasing to Blaine (and us eventually). What was cool is the mix of the group: we were there being older wanted to act like kids; they were there alone, needing to act more like adults. We were pretty much on the same level of each other, just from different directions. It was a good time, and we left that day glad that we had met.

Grace'm

2006-08-23T22:58:00.000-05:00

Next year I will be getting a new sister, and another Grace at that! My little brother Micah and Grace'm (a rather lame nickname I've used to distiguish my sister, Grace Elizabeth, from my future sister-in-law, Grace Marie) are engaged, and she was with us on our vacation. Grace'm is a wonderful girl, yet pretty much different from any girl I've met. It's hard to describe, but she is very "Moxie" but remains very feminine. I'm sure that's not the best way to put it, but it's better than she could say with a straight face. Of course, she can't keep a straight face.... ever. And I think that's funny.
So on Saturday Micah, Grace'm, and Grace went skydiving for their "Senior Trip", so to speak. And this is the kind of people that they all are. To me, paying to jump out of a plane with a guy strapped to my back for no practical purpose doesn't appeal to me. I'm sure it's a rush, but I'll find a rollercoaster and be happy with my seatbuckle around me. But extreme sports are made for people like Micah and Grace'm with an occasional Grace alongside. It was to Micah and Grace'm that I gave mini snowboards to, when I gave matchbox cars as gifts to all my other classmates. It was Micah and Grace'm that were doing backwards dives and backflips with 180 degree twists off the diving rock at the pool. Even the first time that Micah drove Grace'm around was on his motorcycle.
To put it shortly, I think they are going to be a great couple. They will the people to go to when we need to have a little fun. Not to minimize the fact that they are both people who I greatly respect. Both of them are mature beyond their years in how they look at life, friends, relationships, hard situations, and controversial issues. They don't have all the answers, but they understand that, and are not afraid to ask for advice when it is needed. I love you both!

Leigh (pronounced "lee")

2006-08-20T21:43:00.000-05:00

To celebrate the occasions of the day (my sister's graduation and my mom's birthday) our family decided to get a little Texas culture by visiting the Texas Roadhouse. What an experience. I know that these resaurants exist across the country, but there was just something about going to one that was actually in Texas. For those of you who have not been so privileged to dine at such a fine establishment as this, you are greeted first by the sound of some good ol' country music shaking the walls even before you enter the building. As you enter the door, the next thing to note is a diamond shaped yellow sign warning you that there are peanut shells on the floor. Next thing you find is peanut shells on the floor with a big barrel of peanuts in the corner of the waiting area far from any trash recepticle. To greet you is a black girl named BobbyJoe who asks you if y'all would like to sit down for a spell till a table is clear. After cracking a few goober peas, and discarding the shells on the floor between your feet, you will be seated by another polite girl in jeans who asks you where y'all are from and if there's anything at all she can do for you. Your waitress, whose name is Leigh (pronounced "lee") then comes by and makes similar small talk till she pulls a pad of paper from her denim pocket to jot down all your drinks. After all the sweet teas, lemonades, and cokes are recorded she heads off and you get a chance to really look around. First off, you notice that you have a new supply of peanuts in a tin bucket on your table. You have an extra empty bucket as well, but I don't know what that was for.

If you have not guessed yet, this is exactly what happened to us. So from here on out, I'll describe it in the first person retrospective viewpoint, rather than the second person play-by-play viewpoint.

The pounding country music was as loud as ever, and really immersed us in the atmosphere. All across the wall are caricatures of country singers, NASCAR racing hoods sponsering several beer labels, as well as the neon signs for the various beers supported. Were it not for the undesirable taste and smell, intoxicating nature, and poor associations with beer, I just might have gotten one. Leigh came back quite promptly, along with a couple of unnamed guys to help pass around the drinks. She then took our orders, chatted for a bit and headed off again. (random comment: Just as I'm writing this, I burped and it tasted like the peanuts that we had there) We chatted, took a picture of a stuffed armadillo, tossed some peanut shells on the floor. Leigh returned with our soups and salads, while looking out for any refills she could give on drinks. "Could I have a Sprite instead of a Coke?" I asked her. "Sure thing, honey... was there something wrong with your Coke?" She returned with our drinks, including my Sprite. "Hope that tastes a bit better!" she remarked. After waiting a bit longer, anticipating our meals, I commented how I find it frustrating that whenever I go out to eat, I will have just about finished my drink when the meals come. They will forget to ask about refills right then, and won't come back for a while, because we are busy eating: so I get stuck being thirsty for fifteen minutes or so. No sooner had I finished saying that, Leigh comes up from behind me with a refill for my Sprite, with our meals following shortly after. What a wonderful place! Not to mention the food was incredible. And plenty of it too. For the first time in a while, I actually had enough food on my plate to pack it up for later. We were almost finished when darling Leigh came around with some friends to sing something that resembled a "Happy Birthday" to my mom and some congratulations to my sister. All in all it was an awesome experience. It was a great way to taste Texas!

Grace

2006-08-18T20:19:00.000-05:00

So the primary reason I was in Texas in the first place was for my darling sister's graduation. She graduated August 4, incidentally my Mom's birthday as well. It was a big graduation for what I am used to. In my highschool graduation there was only one other graduate. Basically, and not to belittle the occasion in any way, I was there to hear a name, and that was about it. "Graduating Magna Cum Laude, Grace Elizabeth Blake!" It was good. She is officially the only one in our family to receive her Bachelor's degree (though Caleb and Benjamin received degrees in Bible School). So in congratulations to you, Grace, here is a really bad picture that I took of the event.

Abel

2006-08-15T21:56:00.000-05:00

Darling Dork of a brother you are! Thursday was my first full day in Texas... ever. It was nice, hot but nice. If there was one thing that I had purposed to do before this summer was over, was to swim more often than I did last summer, which was only once. So when I heard that there was going to be a swimming pool there, I was very pleased. On Thursday morning, several persons has determined to go to Wal*Mart for some reason, leaving behind Mom, Grace, Abel, and me. We decided that it would be a good time to go swimming in the pool. I got the impression (not having looked around the place much yet) that the pool was not terribly close: I figured it was a little ways behind one of the houses we were staying at. Grace was busy, so Abel told me to get ready and we'd go ahead of them; they could catch up later. So I put on my swim trunks that I bought last year for my one swim, grabbed a t-shirt and towel, and followed Abel outside. (It was somewhat ironic, I thought, that my last and only swim of last summer and my first swim of this summer were both with Abel.) I realized that this was the first time in a while that I'd walked around outside barefooted. But I figured that I wouldn't have any trouble, Abel was barefoot as well, "No worries!" My bad. I followed Abel to the road and realized that the pool must be at the house of our other second cousins down the road. "It's only about a quarter mile down the road," Abel says. But it was more like a half a mile down a black paved road who's surface temperature must have soared over 100 degrees; or we could walk beside the road in the stones and terrible coarse grass and thorns. I don't remember my feet being in such agony before, or ever feeling such relief in a pool before. The bottoms of my feet had burned slightly, making the next day or so uncomfortable to walk. I also discovered after I got back that I had cut the bottom of one of my toes, but didn't realize it at first because of the overall agony of my feet at the time. I did feel it somewhat later through the week, but blamed it on my new shoes.

To end this on a more positive note, that was the first of something great: and I'm speaking of the pool. I swam most every day of my vacation, twice a day on a couple occasions. It was a beautiful pool with an interesting diving platform (You can check out pictures of it using the link to the right). Growing up I was not nearly as home in the water as many of my brothers and sisters. It was at a family camp that I really started having loads of fun in the water. I guess you could say that I re-found that joy in that pool over vacation.

Long live buoyancy!

Micah, Dad, and a Bike gone bad

2006-08-12T21:28:00.000-05:00

These events occured before my flight. However, since I did not hear of them till after I arrived in Texas, and since I wanted to start this series with me (haahaa), I am posting it with a retrospect view of a retrospect view.
My dad, Micah, and Benjamin had been planning months ago to drive their bikes down to Texas for Grace's graduation. When they were first planning, neither Benjamin nor Micah had their motorcycle licenses, and only Benjamin had a motorcycle. As circumstances (or providence) would have it, only Micah rode down on his own bike with my dad. Micah told me that they were planning on leaving a couple days before the rest of the group would head out in a car. To my knowledge, this happened as planned. I don't recall hearing any important events between Maine and Memphis, Tennessee. Dad described going through a lot of traffic, and after emerging from the bulk of it in one section, he did not see Micah in his mirrors. Finding a place to exit, he got a call from Micah, who said that he was in the median of the highway with a broken chain. Turning around, and getting back to him, Dad discovered that the chain hadn't broken, but rather had fallen off. However, it was still irreperable, and Dad set off to buy a new one. A good deal of time and seventy-five dollars later, Dad returned with the chain. With the help of another friendly biker, they got the bike back together. Friendly Biker and Dad, seeing the traffic open for a ways, merged right back onto the highway. Micah followed. Again, as Dad looked into his mirror, Micah was not seen. Having not gotten too far, Dad turned around and drove back to find Micah's bike dumped in the middle of the road, holding up both lanes of traffic. "It won't move" Micah said, and Dad felt bad... assuming that the chain had seized up or something of the sort. The truth was that when Micah pulled out into the lane, following Friendly Biker and Dad, that a car was coming up on him faster than he expected. Being in the left lane, Micah proceeded to merge right. The speeding car did the same, and rear-ended him as they both were changing lanes. To add color and drama to the story, I'll say that the one who hit him was an off-duty police officer. Micah was fine with minor scrapes and scratches. In fact he got a road rash wound on his right elbo that looks almost just like mine! As they waited for an on-duty officer to come, and for other stuff that takes a long time during accidents, Dad was talking with someone (it was either a truck driver or Friendly Biker, I don't remember) and made the comment "Two bikers from Maine.... Tennessee cop.... Who's fault do you think this accident is?" And it was pretty much true, for Micah was given a ticket for not yielding. So getting the bike in somewhat running order, they were escorted by the on-duty police officer to the nearest exit where Dad and Micah considered their options. One was to fix the bike enough to make the rest of the trip. Two was to transport the bike back to Maine somehow and fix it there. Three was to get rid of it right where they were. The first two options were just too impractical and expensive to worry about. Conveniently they saw very nearby a pawn shop. So they decided to give it a try and sell it to them. They walked in, and I'll add a bit more fun to the story by saying that the person who attended them was a big black woman named "Chiquita." Sadly, she said that they could take it because it was considered machinery, which they could not buy and sell, I guess. Dad told her that all they wanted to do was get rid of it. To this she said that her husband would love a motorcycle, so Micah wrote her a bill of sale, and sold the bike for $0 even, the exact amount he paid for it in the first place. From there they continued on to Texas, uncomfortably at that for they had to where a lot of their luggage now including their leather jackets in 90 degree heat. So Grace decided that she didn't have much to do, so she would drive out to meet them. Benjamin and the rest of the gang were already on the road, and were in fact catching up with them. So somewhere in Arkansas, they all met up pretty much the same time, and finished their journey in a boring and uneventful manner.

Bad Start

2006-08-10T21:42:00.000-05:00

I had only flown six times in my life: three trips to Mexico and back. I had never before flown by myself. Neither had I ever switched airlines during a layover before. These few things made me moderately nervous on August 2nd when I stepped into Manchester Airport. Things seemed to go smoothly as I got my boarding pass and got through security hassle free. I was quite early, so I wandered around, getting something to eat at McDonald's and getting some gum for too much money. The plane left slightly late, due to someone's baggage mixup. "No worries" I thought. I had only an hour layover in Chicago, but there shouldn't be an issue being a few minutes late. That flight went fine, with an only slightly annoying kid and his polite mother beside me. Oh yes, and an angry woman near me swearing at the flight attendants for not giving her a beer. We landed to a wet Chicago, and the lightning caused the ground crews to stay indoors, leaving our plane one hundred feet from our gate. Knowing that the entire airport was in the same situation as our plane, I wasn't too concerned with making my next flight, even though we sat there for an hour... as long as my layover was supposed to be. When we finally got off, to my dismay and concern there was no display for my next flight, or any flight from that airline. I didn't know if I had missed it or what, but I wasn't sure what to do about it. Without information of the flight, I had no idea where there gate was either. So I wasn't sure who to talk to. I decided to go to the front desk area, knowing that would be an easy place to find who I wanted. Oops. Now I was outside of the security, and being late at night there was no one at the desk. After talking around, I found that there should be someone from the airline at the baggage claim. Finding it and talking to the woman there, she informed me that the flight had not left yet, but she couldn't get me a boarding pass because her printer was down. So she left to the front desk and came back with a handwritten boarding pass. I finally got back in and found out where the gate was that I needed to get to. However, it showed that the flight was now boarding, and that the gate was a good distance away. I ran... then my shoes started to fall off.... then I ran in my socks. Then I got to the gate and eventually boarded the plane. I seated myself next to a fellow who was complaining and swearing over his cell phone about the late flight and the weather and such. Then after taking off, drinking some awful smelling beverage. Then jamming to some music, thus jostling my seat. He general made the trip much more miserable than it should have been. But it was over soon enough with my sister Grace and my Dad to meet me in Dallas, only two hours late. It'd be nice to end the story happier like saying that I found five dollars on my way out, but my week improved so much after that night that I don't really need to lie to cheer you up.

Vacation Stories

2006-08-09T15:34:00.000-05:00

There is just too much to talk about concerning my last vacation that I could not practically fit it into one post. So I will update with a new story every couple of days for a while covering the highlights of my trip. To sum it up right now though, it was incredible... possible one of the best vacations I've ever had. Some of it might be because I'm working a full time job, so vacations are much more precious than they used to be. Despite doing a lot of fun stuff, it was a very relaxing time for me. Most of the stories and events will be titled by a person's name, as most of the fun centered around people, more than just events. Hope you enjoy them as they come out!

New Cell Phone

2006-06-27T21:31:00.000-05:00

I figured this would be a good place to let a few people know of the change. Call my old cell phone by the end of the month to get the number, or shoot me an email and I'll send it to you.

Portrait of a Hero

2006-05-25T20:06:00.000-05:00

Night begins to fall. The shadows in the city lengthen as the natural light begins to fade. With the coming of shadows comes also the true terror from them. The darkness brings out the evil workers throughout the city. But they are not the only ones to come out at night. In one shadow we find another figure. He is the protector of the night; he is found where protection is needed most. In this shadow he is crouching: calm, but alert. He is suited in a dark outfit; hiding him well in the shadows, and completely covering him from head to foot. A mask shields his face and a cape rests on his shoulders. This concealment of his person serves a two-fold purpose. In part it protects his identity from being used against him who would want to hurt him, especially by hurting those whom he loves. But more importantly it is to hide from himself when duty is calling. In this outfit he is no longer concerned with self interests, but solely at attending the need at hand. Duty is to be his mind's one focus. There are, however, three other things on his mind that are a constant reminder of who he is, and often a distraction of what he is to do. One of these things is a fear; two of these things are pains, and all of these are of love.

By now it is a dark time, yet he remains still: constantly watching with concern, though his masked face is always stern and calm. His right hand rests for a while on his belt, which holds several tools of his. These tools, though sophisticated and useful, and only tools, and are practically useless in less able hands. And though he possesses talents that could only have been given by God Himself, these talents also are only tools. He is what he is now because he has set his mind to become effective. Hours have been sacrificed, slaved, and committed to exercise, practice, and concentration to accomplish his goal. The time to use all this is near at hand as his ears begin to hear the cries of the innocent. He can hear them, but he cannot see them. At this point, he can only imagine the horrors that are connected with the screams and shrieks that he hears. His imagination is usually not far from the truth. This is his first pain. It is the pain of evil and perversity of mankind that results in these horrendous acts. Aside from duty, this pain is a reason for him being a protector. His love of good in a crooked world drives him to be so.

He is almost ready to go, but there is one thing he must do before he sets off. From his vantage he looks to a lighted window in a small apartment building. In it a fair woman is tucking in you little boy to bed. She then kneels by the bed as they pray for their father and husband to be safe; who, as he looks on, prays the same for them. This is his great fear. It is the fear that his family is in a world where evil lives. These are his chosen loved ones, without whom, life itself would be a death. He fights on the front line knowing that anything that gets past him is one step closer to his family.

He stands and prepares himself. The cries for help have been made and he will answer. He pauses once more and he places his hand on his heart, where also rests the symbol by which he is often known. That symbol was made to show terror to the evil workers who oppress the innocent. To the innocent it was to represent the protection and freedom from the terror of evil. But to our hero, it represents the city which he loves so much, second only to God and family. It represents a people and a way of life that is free to them. Yet that symbol alone does not strike enough terror to stop evil. Sadder still, it is not so cherished by the innocent as it deserves. Too often has it been despised and scorned by those who disapprove of the violence done in its name; only for those same people to turn around and blame it for evils that it did not stop. This is his second pain. It is a pain that a people he loves so much, and risks life daily for, should mock him and protest him for what he is doing. It is for these people he now heads out into the night.

Watch some dumb ants, you lazy bum!

2006-04-19T22:19:00.000-05:00

A paraphrase of Proverbs 6:6-11 providing an easy reading, modern language that captures the heart of the obscure message by linking key words with personal experiences.

"Hey you, Couch Potato! Get off your patooka and get outside. You too, nerds and gamers! Go find some ant houses in the dirt. There's no commercials or expenses. Just sit and watch for a while. See how fast they're moving? that's why their not fat. Notice that they always want food? well notice that they store it in the ground for later, and not as fat molecules. Try tossing them a piece of bread or something. In seconds they go after it. Of course there are five ants trying to move it in five different directions, making it a completely counter-productive effort, but at least they try. And if nothing squishes them and their hill, they may survive the winter. So get off the couch, turn off the Playstation, or log off the computer. Get a job and stop making American taxpayers feed you."

Powerless

2006-04-16T00:39:00.000-05:00

It's hard to see people hurt. For certain, I don't see it as much as some do; and I tip my hat to those firemen, nurses, counselors, and pastors who see hurt so often. Yet, as little as I see it, I find myself in a state in which I have no idea what to do. Recently my good friend Dave hurt his back and could not do too much; on top of that his wife is 7 months pregnant, and their two-year-old is very active. There was little I could do to make things better, though I so desperately wanted to because I love them. I ended up just being around them more and just telling them to let me know if they needed anything. When my friend Karen was going to be going through some struggles, I did not understand the situation completely, so I just tried to be cheerful around her, and be with her if I could. The same thing just recently with my other home away from home, the Anganes's. Al's mother in serious condition and Cassie away, I feel powerless. I know I can do more; I just don't know what. Here's a prayer from a song I was listening to on the way home from the Anganes's tonight.

Oh Lord, how I long to be filled with your love!
I lift up my dry thirsty soul.
Overcome this love that I have for myself
As I yeild to the Spirit's control.
May the love of Christ increase in my heart,
And my knowledge of him ever grow;
So the service I give to my King above
Will reflect the love that He's shown.

How to deal with managers.

2006-03-31T18:46:00.000-05:00

Generally speaking, people at work like me. I get along well with them, and they seem to not mind when I hang around at times. The manager of my department is "Roly", who young guy and often acts like he's still 20 (though he's a bit older than that, but I'm not specifying). His boss Cathy, the manager of the manufacturing division of the company is a hard-nosed woman, known to enjoy the afflictions of others: especially those who deserve it. It was Roly who first called me "Choir Boy", apparently an insult of affection, so to speak: ridiculing my innocency. He and Cathy have both continued to use this name for me for quite some time. Today was one of those days when nobody wanted to be at work. It was Friday, the last one of the month, and the weather demanded to be occupied by carefree people who longed for the summer. Roly told Cathy that he was going to take some time in the afternoon to shoot some hoops at a nearby park with some guys from work. He mentioned also that he was going to take "Choir Boy" along. She gave the ok, but knew that Roly and the guys played a rough game of basketball, and wanted to give me a warning. "Don't let them push you around. Go out there and kick their butts" she told me. Roly's a nice guy, but I like Cathy: mostly because she wants me to get an engineering position at the company. So when we got back from hoop, I was fine; but Roly had a black eye from Choir Boy's elbo. She was impressed and thanked me.

Wake up

2006-03-03T17:37:00.000-05:00

I live in an apartment, but that doesn't mean that my life is perfect: there are some downsides. This morning after hitting "snooze" twice and finding my pillow once again, a car alarm went off right outside my window. I didn't snooze any longer.

2006-02-15T16:27:00.000-05:00

My good friend Joel has weblog as well. Check it out here. He just posted a poem he'd found that I really enjoyed. Both he and I did much with poetry together when we were in HighSchool, whether it was reading it, writing it, or memorizing it. We have a similar taste when it comes to such things. Enjoy.

Svenmobile

2006-02-04T11:00:00.000-05:00

So here it is! My new wheels are ready to go. I just got to get used to the manual shifting bit:)

The Songs of Wind and Steel

2006-01-24T21:32:00.000-05:00

With skill and form my fingers ran
Across a board of bronzwound strings
Of steel, whose notes would resonate
Whenever my right hand would strike
Their sides. The music flows.

These tones of heart I love to play!
I'll play guitar some more today!

And so I race along with notes
Of clear and racing music, while
The sounds about me fade away
Beneath the tone of joy and fun
That I adore so much.

May such a vigor ever stay,
And may not years take it away!

Continuing my jolly tune
A faint, yet happy tone I heard.
The brilliant music of the wind
Perhaps, or better yet, the great
And wonderful woodwind!

Dear flute! thy notes cease not to lay
Upon my ears. Please, come this way!

To my delight, its tone arose
And louder did I hear its song.
Its voice, not clear and sharp as strings
Of steel, yet beautiful was there
Inside my every thought.

My strings continued still to play,
Yet stuggled for some songs to say.

Though past all lovliness they were,
The songs of wind were not the same
As all my fervant songs of steel.
I hoped perchance the songs would meld
If I should harder try.

Whose rhythm always runs astray?
Shall steel or wind prevail today?

The flute continues calm and pure.
I stuggle with the thoughts of it,
Not wanting now to learn again
A song anew. The wind replies,
Observing my estate,

"I did not state that you must stray
From that relentless song you play.
Remember that you asked that day
For me to come to you this way.
Continue on, but let me say
That I show you a better way."

My Darling Mother

2006-01-14T11:00:00.000-05:00

For those who have been praying and asking about my mother and her recent surgery, she has recently posted an update on her weblog concerning it. She does a much better job at explaining the nature of the surgery as well as her recovery than I can. Give her your best.

"It's a Wonderful Life"

2006-01-04T23:14:00.000-05:00

For those who don't know, It's a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies. It's been on my mind lately. I just wanted to share the joy of the movie to those who may not have seen it.

Exuberant on December 21st

2005-12-22T00:22:00.000-05:00

I'd like to run in circles,
And shout for all to hear.
I love this chilly weather!
I love this time of year!

My summer was confusing,
And busy as could be.
Now things are getting better.
It's a great time to be me!

So take my song of gratitude.
You've made me have to say
That it's been an awesome year
Because of this fantastic day!!

In the Name of Religion

2005-12-13T22:39:00.000-05:00

Political debate is something that I don't get into often, I would say. Neither do I prefer to join in with heated religious discussions either, though I enjoy a deep Theological or Doctrinal discussion. However, a thought and debate has entered my mind which is political and religious. I decided to take a stab at it.

A common area of ridicule from the lost world toward Christianity is concerning its violence. A look at the history of the one's who claim Jesus as their leader shows a people who have killed, tortured, and made war; despite their claims of "God is love" and "Love your enemies." Even today there are accounts of Christians who lash out in violence against those who are "Pro-Choice", "Anti-Creationism", or such like. It is this type of thing that makes many in the world ridicule the Christian religion for its hypocrisy.

Perhaps rightly. When I hear of such accounts I too feel the same way. Yet there is something that is not considered too often in such an accusation. Compare the incentives for violence between that in the name of religion and the majority of others. What is driving such individuals to such violence? For the Christian, it is something close to his heart that has been attacked. A deep belief and love has been challenged, or ridiculed, or wounded. He has reacted in a wrongful, but very human way: retaliation. As for other types of violence, some may be born from some similar, though often less noble reasons. But most of the incentives, one would consider very weak for such a great effect that it leaves behind. To mention a few: money, lust, drunkenness, and even immature mischief. I consider these things ill reason for the violence they too often produce.

Consider this example. Think of someone you love. It may be your mother or father, brother or sister, friend, lover, or child. This person means the world to you. There is someone who does not like him or her. This someone lives in such a way to demonstrate his dislike of the one you love. He gives little or no reason as to why he can't stand them, but is not shy in letting you know that he is against that one. Perhaps he even takes opportunity to ridicule this person with embarrassing words that are grossly untrue. And now he is standing in your presence, and you have the means to show him what you are thinking of him. I'm not saying it's right to lash back and act in vengeance because it is not in your hands to be doing that, but what I'm saying is that sometimes it is for a cause that is greater than most.

I did it

2005-11-30T21:33:00.000-05:00

I went shopping... grocery shopping. I tried to do it for real, and not just get meals from a can. I actually needed a cart. I bought things that require more than a microwave can handle including rice, flour, and potatoes. I plan on cooking these things myself. I couldn't resist buying ten frozen pizzas that were on sale, just in case. I am done.

Selection or Choice

2005-11-16T21:08:00.000-05:00

"Hello, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like baked beans with corn bread, and a coffee."
"Uh... sir, we don't serve that here. You may select from our wide variety of cheap and easy to make sandwiches with fries and a soda, if you would like."
"But I feel like having what I asked for."
"I'm sorry, sir. We cannot give you that. You will either have to go to a specialty resaurant to get what you want, or just make it yourself"

Obviously, this is not something that has happened or would happen to me, as I tend to eat pretty much anything. I don't consider myself a picky eater, but others may say differently. Mom may not say so, but I think that's because there are those in the family (*cough.. cough... CALEBough*) who eat everything. But I wasn't planning on talking about food. The example seems to work well, though.
Mainstream products. Whether it be fast food or clothing or music. It's been bugging me lately. I'd like to have what I want to have. If I don't like something that's mainstream, or prefer something else over it, I'm forced to either subject myself to the trend, locate where it is specially produced, or create it on my own. Each has its downfalls. To subject one's self to the mainstream is demeaning and pathetic. Places who make these products special tend to cost more, and still may not be exactly what you want. Making things on your own requires skill and work and time (if you have plenty of all three, you're fortunate).
My more specific "beef" has been with music. I'm one of those persons who needs some kind of sound going on when I'm driving (besides the rattles, squeaks, and rumbles of the truck). Alas, my truck did not come with a cd player. The tape deck worked sporadically, and usually refused to return tapes that you put into it. So I would turn to the mainstream... radio. There were about eight stations that I would switch between, and would be spending more time switching stations to find something that I could tolerate (let alone "like) than listening to music. I would sometimes "make my own music" by singing to myself, but that is very limiting and at times hard while in the truck. Not knowing words to songs and stuff get frustrating. I finally turned, to my delight, to getting what I want. I bought myself a rad cd player, which I successfully installed myself. Now I can find those who create the music that I like, purchase their cd's (thus, the higher cost, but good results) and enjoy at last the music that I love.

Happy Birthday, Elab!

2005-11-08T00:01:00.000-05:00

Just to let you all know that today marks Abel's 16th birthay. It's almost unbelievable that my baby brother is this old. I had hoped that you could have participated more here, little brother. You had lately requested that I take your name off of this blog, as you were too busy to write now. I would hope that you would add one final post of your original writings before you leave. After that I plan on doing some more changes here. It's been fun. Huzzaah!

Sounds from the Pad

2005-10-24T16:08:00.000-05:00

As the mellow glow the screen lights my face
In the loneness of my room,
I hear only the low sounds of movement
From the next room as the human there
Likewise sits, and is illumined
By similar light, though I cannot see it.
But I hear the sporadic, purposed taps and clicks
Of that one, in competition.
The taps of keys and clicks of buttons,
Though irregular, are purposefully created.
I sense the competition rising
As those sounds increase in number and volume.
Though thus, they still remain
Unique and distiguishible as being purposeful.
No more...
The taps and clicks flood into my ears:
A roar of panic and desperation.
Now they stop....
And all is silent...
Save for a deep and heavy breathing
Of frustration.

Surprise Letters

2005-10-20T17:22:00.000-05:00

I used to write a lot of letters when I was younger. I was one of the few boys that had pen-pals and such (I learned later that it was more of a girl thing). I understood the value of a handwritten letter, though I often preferred to type mine on my appleII computer, printed on my dot matrix printer. I began writing because I liked to receive letters. In fact I loved to receive mail. I would think of how nice it would be if someone just out of the blue randomly decided to write to me. In fact, I thought about a lot of things like that: things like "Wouldn't it be cool if someone left a secret coded message in this book just for someone like me to find out?", or "Maybe someone will perchance just feel like being nice as they see me in this toy store and tell me to buy any one thing that I want!". I knew that it would probably never happen. The reason I thought that was because I wouldn't do something like that. My next question to myself was "Why don't I do something like that?" So I started thinking of some things like that to do. As a child, nothing much came more of just thinking of some things, and usually those things I wouldn't be able to do until I was older. But I did try writing people at times to surprise them. I like to think that I made a few people happy that way in my childhood.

However, I have been thinking that way again lately. I would say that I have more of the means to do some of the things that I may have planned as a child, and I should be able to think up some better ones. And I still love receiving real mail, so I can still assume others do too. Maybe I can go to a restaraunt and anonymously pay for someone's meal. Maybe I can invite someone over for dinner (instead of inviting myself to their place). Or maybe I can write a letter to someone who I've lost contact with.

Options. Choices. Opportunities.

Ode to my Favorite Poets

2005-10-14T22:20:00.000-05:00

These are some selected stanzas of poems that have stuck with me over the years. I share them now in hopes that they will mean something to you, as they have meant much to me. Enjoy!

From Henry Wadsorth Longfellow's My Lost Youth

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
__

From Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
__

From Sir Walter Scott's The Lay of the Last Minstrel

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land?
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell.
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.
__

From J.R.R Tolkien's Journey's End

Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars forever dwell,
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
__

From James Russell Lowell's The Present Crisis

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

Drew's Farm

2005-10-03T16:47:00.000-05:00

Driving home from work today I noticed a sign that said "Drew's Farm" on it. I found the mental picture of Drewey with a farm amusing. The remaining words on the sign were "Apple picking". I thought over the mental picture again of Drew surrounded by cows, corn, and a random apple orchard: probably on his sister's cell-phone calling Markie for some advice or something. Anyway, I knew it all made no sense, so I tried a different interpretation of the sign. "Drew" could mean no other than my best friend: that interpretation couldn't change. "Farm" however could have some different references. Obviously, the only farm Drew would have (other than an ant farm, perhaps) would be his Llama farm. Wow! that made things clearer. So that was the first part of the sign. "Apple picking" was a bit more difficult. For some reason I just can't picture Drew with an orchard of any type, even if it was to feed the llamas (though if "Ham orchards" existed he might have one). Thus "Apples" could refer to nothing other than the un-American computer brand. Why would Drewey have it on his sign? Obviously he was hosting some "Pick on Apple Computers" day or something.....

well, I thought it was kinda funny.

Midnight Pancakes

2005-09-23T22:58:00.000-05:00

I would like to start be aplogizing to both of my readers for this post. It seems that I've been doing a lot of "lonely" writing lately. This is yet another one. I would like to say that I am not always feeling this way. It just has been happening some lately, and that's what has been my biggest incentive to write.

So I was winding down after a fun-filled afternoon at the W's b-ball court. My roommate left for work doing his graveyard shift. Not having eaten much and realizing my hunger from the activities, I remembered some pancake batter that I had made up yesterday and put in the fridge. So I made them up and at them... this was at 11 o'clock at night. It made me think of a song that SJ introduced to me called "Table for Two." It starts with the phrase "Danny and I spent another late night over pancakes," which is why I thought of it. It is a song of a couple of young men just chatting: they have their fears of the future, and who may or may not be in that future. (For complete lyrics, see here;) The problem I had was that there was no one here to be chatting with over these things. I thought of my friends: those who have gone, those whom I left. I thought of home... now is the longest stretch of time that I've ever been away from there (nearly two months, and not sure when I'm getting back). I don't like feeling lonely. I thank the friends who have been around for me. You know who you are, (hint: if you're reading this blog, you're probably one of them). You all are great.

That is all.

Samuel and Tom

2005-09-19T21:36:00.000-05:00

I was enjoying a pleasant ride home from work. The sky was bright, the afternoon full of potential. I then saw him. He was standing on the side of the onramp to the highway in front of his car. The hood was open, and he stood there with a look that seemed totally perplexed: as if he had never encountered such a dilema before. I had sympathy on him, and decided to offer him any help I could. His serpentine belt had broken. Being in a bad place to work on a car, as it was just around a bend on the ramp, my suggestion was to get it towed. I offered to go get a phone number for him to call. I did. When I came back, he was not in the same place, but further up the way and in a safer spot in a breakdown lane. Apparently a trooper had pushed him there. When I arrived, he was talking with some emergency service person for the highway. This man said it would be fine just to fix the car here as long as it was pushed off the highway, rather than pay for the tow service. This seemed like a good idea, so I gave the car a nudge, the car was parked in the grass, and the car owner and I took a drive to the autoparts store. We talked. His name was Samuel. His english was poor, but understandable. He was from the Dominican Repeblic. I gave him some of my testimony. He claimed that he went to a christian church. We got the belt and came back to the car. I hadn't ever put on a serpentine belt before, and didn't know how difficult it was. My hopes were that it would be pretty much open, without removing any bolts. That seemed to be the case as I looked it over. As I was planning my course of action, the man from the emergency service returned. He started to talk to Samuel as I began putting on the belt. Apparently, the state troopers had come by and run a background on the license plate. Come to find out, there was a warrant from Florida out for the owner of the registration of the car. Samuel denied having anything against him in Florida. It didn't matter though, really. The troopers could be back any minute and arrest him if he was still around. I, for one, didn't want to be around; but I was still putting on this belt! Samuel continued to deny any charges that could be brought against him, and refused to make the calls to clear himself. I decided that once that belt was on, I would be out of there. It was on with little problem, and I said my goodbyes: saying I didn't need Samuel's money or phone number, and telling him that I'd be praying for him. I am praying for him, but it looks as though this one who looked so innocent and helpless may have had it coming to him...

...unlike Tom. I've been playing basketball on Monday nights in Merrimack Valley with a group of Christian guys. One of these guys is Tom: a short Vietnamese guy who plays like a wolf on the court. I found out a couple months ago that he is living in the same apartment complex as I am. He is attending the church in Merrimack, and seemed to be doing great. He had talked about getting together sometime for a movie or something, seeing as we're living so close. So I talked to him tonight, hoping to get something together with him. After talking with him, though, I no longer felt that it would just be fun to get together with him, but my moral obligation to. It seems that he's been moving around quite a bit: either having bad roommates, or even being cheated. Now he is living with two roommates, both of which are unsaved. His work is irregular, and he is taking classes in two colleges. He kept saying that he would really enjoy getting together with me, even though he only knows me through basketball, and about all we've said to eachother before now was "Good game", "Great shot", and such. His entire family is in Vietnam still as well. I thought that this was someone who could really use my help and company. It is certain that he is going to be invited to the next palooza hosted, and I would not be surprized if he became a regular to them. Hope to see you soon, Tom!

The Rain and A Song

2005-09-08T21:52:00.000-05:00

I walk away, not certain why.
My heart is there; why shouldn't I
Abide where I find happiness
And stay there for all time?
No doubt I will return some day,
But fearing life will call away
My soul to lands of loneliness,
My eyes turn to the sky.

And the midnight sky returns my song,
And the heaven's waters come along
On my lonely walk of troubled thoughts:
Just me and the rain and a song...

I listen to the deafening sound
Of falling rain and thoughts unwound.
An answer lost, a question found
In riddles of my mind.
Why does the darkness run from light?
Am I one who could challenge might?
And am I wrong, or is she right?
Will questions never die?

And the midnight sky returns my song,
And the heaven's waters come along
On my lonely walk of troubled thoughts:
Just me and the rain and a song...

And as I walk amidst that shade
I think of all the friends I've made,
The thoughts they shared, the words they said,
The things we did and loved.
Though I'd been feeling quite lonely
I felt as though friends walked with me.
Enjoying now their company
A different night I saw.

And so I rebuked the midnight's song;
I defied the rain, for it was wrong;
And I walked no more with troubled thoughts,
Just the love of my friends and their song.

A Wonderful Moment

2005-08-24T19:58:00.000-05:00

So my work day was less than perfect. Having stayed up late with the Greeks bidding our friend SJ goodbye at her pad, I knew that spelled trouble for me at work. I was already behind on some jobs due to some maintenance on my machine. I planned on making an early start this morning in order to get a head start on the work. I managed to get there a mere ten minutes early. I started working as soon as I could, and found that the maintenance on my machine needed one more tweak to finish half of the most urgent jobs that I had (I apologize for the ambiguity of my descriptions... the specifics would be boring and irrelevant, except to perhaps Mistah A.) So having accomplished two half jobs, with a net result of zero effective accomplishment, my computer's machine begins to go fluky. At this time I am already getting annoyed at my day so far. The computer freezes, meaning that I have to reboot it and resetting a bunch of annoying stuff on the machine. Done with that I am feeling rushed, knowing that still I had done pretty much nothing for the day. That's when I crashed the machine. Somehow I managed to shatter the glass plate I was working on. It was loud, somewhat scary, and stupid! I nearly had it at that point, giving some crude exclamation and throwing my glasses in some uninhabited direction. The day got "less bad" from then on out. I jabbed my left index finger with a razor, cracked another plate of glass, and was told by a coworker that it would have been a good idea for me to stay in bed all day. So there I was: early afternoon, drinking some coffee, wanting mom to give me a hug, feeling sorry for myself. I thought of one of Mistah A.'s blog posts about a wonderful day that he had a month or so ago. At that point, I didn't need a perfect day, just a "wonderful" moment. I started thinking, hoping, and praying for some wonderful moment to happen to me. I tried to think of such moments in my life already, and differentiating them with just "fun times" (e.g. the night before). It was now the normal time for me to leave, but I stayed longer to catch up on my work. I wanted to get out. I really wanted to drive as that often settles me down and gets my mind where it should be. But I was working late. I left a couple hours later, not looking for anything wonderful, but hoping intensely for it. It was raining as I left. The rain is good, but not wonderful. I got in my truck. It made me feel a bit better. I drove to the end of the street and I saw it. A rainbow right in the sky in front of me. I never cared for rainbows, but this time it was different. I gazed at it for a while and continued on. I took a longish route homeward (perhaps hoping to repeat Mistah A.'s experience doing so) where I saw it again, perhaps the most perfect rainbow I had ever seen. It was to my right brightening up some darker clouds. To my left the sky was blue with picturesque clouds floating. My mind went back over the day, but this time it skipped all the annoying junk that I had been focusing on. It remembered the carefree drive to work. It remembered the compliments I received over lunch from the company's CEO, or CFO, or whoever the guy is. It remembered the fried cheese sticks and pizza that was given to me by a coworker too full to finish it. It remembered an informative conversation with another friendly worker. And that wonderful moment made the day alright.

The Maple and his Boy

2005-07-24T08:11:00.000-05:00

I am often visited by people. I love people. They have such expression and animation. Young ones come to play with the winged seeds I cast to them. They love to gather them and toss them in the air to view their spiral descent. Older people come to use the shade that my leaves provide. Whether it is to dine in the out of doors, or perhaps read one of their books. I've even had people come right up to meet me, climbing my limbs! People are lovely! But it was my observation of people that led me to concern about one certain person. It was a boy. He seemed to be at an age in which many changes were coming into his life. He was nearing adulthood. He came to me one day in the mid afternoon to sit at my roots. I looked down on him, not being able to ignore his great emotion he was expressing. It was not the joy of the children playing, or the satisfaction of the ones dining or reading. It was a deep and dark emotion. His thoughts were extremely focused on one thing in his mind; yet that one thing was enormous. It grew and moved, and whenever he thought he had it figured out, it would turn on him or change its face. This left him bewildered. I am not sure on how human emotions work, but I can see how this bewilderment could lead to two dangerous ends: sorrow or anger. His eyes fixed themselves on some unknown object in the distance. I looked and saw nothing. It was if he was trying to force his mind to focus on this monster in his mind, which made his body entirely focused on nothing in this world. He was still and motionless. I could think of no way to help him. I watched his motionless face in bewilderment, wondering whether it would turn to sorrow or anger. Slowly it looked like it would be the former. I find sorrow no less dangerous than anger, and I still could find no way to help him. It was in this moment of my helplessness and his turning to sorrow that I heard it, a rumble in the distance. A storm was coming. He did not move. A rumble again, and still it did not phase him. I knew that he must wake from this trance he had put himself in soon, or the storm would be on him. I shook my leaves to warn him of his coming, but it did not help. The sky grew darker and darker as the minutes passed, but he did not see it. All his body was focus and fixed in the direction of the storm, and all his sensed knew of its coming, but he was blind to all of that. The rain began to fall. I clumsily tried to catch it with my leaves, but when each leaf had held all it could, it would drop all the rain at once, making the matter worse. I looked down at him, nearly in panic, the thunder and lightning from the heavens showed itself in full force right in front of us. I was amazed and thrown back at the sight, and looked down at my young friend. He had not jumped or stirred at the crash of the thunder or spectacle of the lightning, yet something started to turn in his face. The monster that was in his mind seemed to be getting smaller. He turned his eyes from his mind to the storm and finally figured it out. There were much larger things in life than what was on his mind. It was only his focus on it that made it grow so. His sorrow and bewilderment began to vanish, as he got up to walk home. He did not have all of his answers yet, but he did not need them immediately anymore. I watched him as he walked away, with one thought on my mind....
"Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal"

Update

2005-07-19T20:19:00.000-05:00

So yeah, I know I haven't posted in about... a long time. I usually don't like to use this weblog as a place to find news about me, but I think that I probably owe an update to more than a few people, and this is the best place to do it. There have been dozens of events that I've gone through that I could have and should of written about, but neglected to. Instead of writing a paragraph on each, I'll pull a "Cass" and give a glorified list. If I feel like it, I may write on some of them, but here they are in a nutshell:

Got a job at Barr Associates (I now am considering myself a "scribe")
Finished up classes at NSTM for the year (not sure if I will take any more classes)
Took a six hour trip to Maine for a graduation (I hate traffic)
Moved into Roger Colby's apartment
Tricked out my computer with a zillion lights, cables, and fans
Helped out Collinsville with their VBS (My first year in a while not doing skits)
Lost the water pump in my truck
Replaced the water pump in my truck
Attended a baby shower for a father at work
Had my first taste of beer in chile at that baby shower (oops!)
Attended a LAN party at Todd Denno's
Attended a LAN party at Roger Colby's
Attended a LAN party at RayRay Anganes's
[edit] Met Heidi, pretty much the coolest person I've met from the west coast
Played guitar with John Colby
Ate free meals at whichever house would offer one
Got a more permanent apartment with Tim Boutchia (aka "Eddie", we can move in on Aug. 6)

Well, that's about it. Nothing terribly interesting, but the summer's been fun so far!

Summer

2005-06-15T09:40:00.000-05:00

Summer vacation, there are two kinds of people regarding summer: those who think of it as a vacation from school and those who think of it as their real life and school is more of an interruption. I try to be in the latter group as much as possible. Summer usually means summer jobs, lots of time in the sun, and maybe some reading if that's your type. Summer means staying up as late as you want because there's no school the next day, unless you are unfortunate enough to have an early job. Enjoy this time because before you know it September will be coming around again and life will be interrupted.
An Elab post.

Graduations

2005-05-26T18:52:00.000-05:00

I can sympathize with all of those who are taking big steps toward adulthood: I am still taking them. I looked toward my graduations (high school and first year of Bible school) with certain fears. These came mostly because I didn't know what was next, and people were going to ask what I had planned. I would make my indefinite thoughts absolute to appease their questions, but it did not help too much. Finally, in my high school year, I wrote a poem that expressed my thoughts and concerns, as well as some advice to myself. The poem appeared in the yearbook anonymously, so that it would be read without bias. I now dedicate it to those who, though not necessarily are graduating, but are this year taking steps of faith into the world of "more growing up." Some people in my mind specifically are Aaron Donato, SaraJo Mangum, Karen Wakim, Amanda Johnston, and Andrew Anganes. Here is:

"The Schoolboy's Time"

I remember the day that I stood in the door
Of the school that had mine always been.
I briefly glanced down for one look of the floor,
Then looked up, facing outside not in.

I paused for a moment to reflect on the day
Of my youth and its security.
The pause seemed forever as my breath died away,
Till my thoughts met my eyes on the lea.

The school day is o'er and there's plenty of light
To fulfill all my fanciful joys,
But the fear that I'd lose one small weight of delight
Made me stop and consider my ploys.

My school mates are running about in the lea,
Caring naught as they foolishly play.
Their silly endeavors will soon make them see
The quite futile and unfruitful day.

My heart yearned intensely for joy that would last
Till my head I lay down on my cot.
My choices were great, and time soon would be passed,
And whose help I could use I knew not.

A strong hand then fell on my messy, brown hair,
And the School Master looked on my face.
He asked me if reasons I wanted to share
For just standing alone in that place.

I gave Him my reasons. He gave me a smile,
And He told me that He was quite glad
That I wanted to do something that was worthwhile
And redeem all the time that I had.

I asked that wise man what to do with the day
So that I would content be tonight.
He told me to run home and do not delay
So as not to lose much of the light.

He told me to finish my duties and chores,
But I said that I wanted to be
The hero and legend of battles and wars
And that chores were not great things to see.

He smiled then so kindly it cut like a sword
And He kindly said to me again
That the duties to family, friends, and the Lord
Reward more than the praises of men.

The Elab Speaks

2005-05-18T19:42:00.000-05:00

Here he is...the Elab. Yeah I decided to finally post something because my big bro said it would be helpful. I didn't know what to write about until I tried logging in to the homepage. I just couldn't get it to recognize me. I was racking my brain to figure out my username until I looked at my user profile and remembered that it was Elab not Ebal. So I wasted five minutes trying to enter my username. Anywho I'm going to put in a poem I wrote on the back of my bookmark.

When we see power,
As under one sun,
We see the power
Of the only Son.

He is great.
We are small.
To create,
He is all.

God, give me breath
So that might I
Sing till I rest
Under the sky
In final death.
God show me thy breadth.

The sight of the sun can blind. But the sight of God slays.

Cassie

2005-05-10T20:29:00.000-05:00

I cannot remember the first time I met Cassie. The first memories that I draw right now are at her first year graduation from NSTM, which was my brother Caleb's four-year graduation. I think that must have been the first time I had seen her. However, that meeting was less significant than an earlier event and a later event. The earlier event that I am speaking of is hearing testimony of her through Benjamin. He talked of her often, and I learned certain things of her. The thing that stood out was that she was mature for her age. Now I had always seen Benjamin as one who was mature for his age, and wondered what kind of humble, stoic person this "Cassie" could be. Of course my young mind pictured maturity in this way, and it took me for a loop when I did finally meet this girl. It was not until about two years later that I got to know Cassie a lot more, which was when I stayed with the Anganes family for a month or two of weekends while I was in a choir with her. I then saw, through her, that maturity is not so much behavioral. It involves deep awareness of the world around you, and the people in it. Cassie was not ignorant of who she was, who we were, where she was in this world, and what she had to do. Now I know her much more, and appreciate her greatly. She given me my needed advise, undeserved praise, and simple friendship. I don't think that she and I have nearly as much in common as some of my other friends, but that doesn't bother her or affect much of how she interacts with me. She's a great sister in Christ, and I just love her for it!

So I did something for her on the guitar. It's all for you, Cass; hope you like it!

Contest Results

2005-05-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

The time has come to end the quiz contest and declare a winner. The winner that I, the quiz administrator, declare is....

CASSIE!

There were two scores higher than hers, but I have declared them as phonies, or invalid as I don't know "Unknown" who got a 100, or any "Mike" who would be taking this quiz and know me better than I know him. Cassie's prize, of course, is a blog entry dedicated to her, which will be posted tomorrow (Tuesday, the tenth).

Concerning some "questionible" questions:
Q#2. Many people thought that my favorite classes in High School were Computer and Creative Writing, however I never took a Creative writing class, and computer class consisted of navigating Windows and making the school yearbook.
Q#6. Don't ask me why I looked so fondly back on when I got my dog, it was just an awsome event for me.
Q#9. Ok, most people have seen the scar on my elbow that I got from playing football on the pavement, however that is on the right elbow. I got the scar on my knee from a bike accident almost 15 years ago (that's what makes it significant).
Q#10. The most controversial question. What is the difference between "Unknown" and "Not sure". Here are some simple answers to that. First, "Unknown" means that it cannot be found out, or has not been found out. It also implies that it was not "Paul". For me to say "Not sure" is to say that I'm undecided in the debate of the issue, i.e. it could be Paul, or unknown, or Barnabus, or otherwise; I'm still undecided. My belief is that the epistle is "Unknown" however, it is somewhat unfair to say that I'm 100% sure of that. Thus, if you chose "Not sure" you may give yourself 5 more points with my sympathies for a confusing question.

Thank you all for participating.

New Member

2005-05-02T07:21:00.000-05:00

I hope that you all will give a big welcome to my good friend and youngest brother, Abel. I have invited him to share his thoughts on this blog, and he has thankfully accepted. Posting beneath his "Elab" alias, he will bring more deep and thought provoking thoughts and writings that are similar in subject, style, and purpose to my own. So I will start to make some transitions to make room for him.

Please use the comment function to welcome him...

Quiz

2005-04-25T14:40:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine sent me a personality quiz, and suggested that I should make one of my own. Not one to do this much, I decided to do it in somewhat of a unique way. I shall share the quiz with my faithful readers of my weblog. For an added bonus, I will make a competition out of it (I love competition). The person who scores the highest on this quiz will win my prize. The prize is that I will devote an entire weblog entry to that individual on my post after the winner is declared. The contest will end on May 9th.

Have fun!

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com! *Contest Ended*

A Night's Peril

2005-04-12T19:50:00.000-05:00

I dreamed. I was walking. My demeanor was stern and resolute, and it continued in this fashion until nearly the end of the night. I was outside, walking towards a large bridge, but continued past it. My knowledge of the year or era was obscured, but it did not matter... I knew what was about me, and what I felt. I felt defiant. I don't know why.

Marching across the large bridge was two characters who were equally as stern and resolute as I. The one was a man in red who had not a word to say, but one thought on his mind. What that one thought was, I could not perceive until the end of my dream. It would be this that would change my own demeanor. The other individual was a woman who had an evil message. Her face was fierce and ghostly. Her gown in its grays shades and tattered condition blew in the wind from the great river which the bridge crossed.

The two led a band of about fifteen, consisting of men and women. Fear was on their face and despair in their shoulders. I joined the couple without a word once they had crossed the bridge, at which point the group walked abreast, and I could look back and see them all. I perceived that they were slaves of some type to be condemned to some work camp or prison, perhaps; though they were not bound. I also perceived that neither the man or the woman had any regard for the wellbeing of any of them. The woman spoke to them, and I heard her voice. Yet it was not like any voice that is heard but rather imagined. It was in my head, and thus its power was great and evil. "Your lives are less valuable than the work you will do this day" she spoke, showing her disdain of the kind that she led, as well as convincing themselves of their own insignificance.

I continued with them till we came to a tall wall with a small military band in guard of a gate. Their weapons were crude, primarily bow and arrow with some small swords and axes. The slave band stopped shy of the force by perhaps forty yards. The man in red who still had not a word to say walked off to the left under cover of some trees while I did the same on the right. I saw the woman no more. Whether she vanished or she ran off into the woods, I know not. Still unsure of the circumstances, I watched the military band from their direct left. Suddenly, the call was given to fire, and a flight of arrows began to pierce the band of slaves. I then saw the man in red and immediately knew the thought and mission that was on his mind, and my demeanor turned to an icy fear. These slaves, or whoever they were (probably innocent beings), were to be sacrificed as a distraction. The man was a champion, desiring to take the city that was beyond the wall, and needing only access to the gate. His attack on the military band came hard and effectively, while the slaughter of the slaves continued. I then felt impelled to join the man against the military men to save the innocent slaves, yet I did not now want to help him in his greedy conquest. I woke perplexed and afraid.

Sea Monkeys

2005-03-26T16:15:00.000-05:00

For those of you who don't know about the amazing world of Sea-Monkeys, my sympathies. To those of you who are all too familiar with them, my apologies.

Sea Monkeys have been my passion for many years. I can still remember my first kit of the little critters when I was maybe seven years old. I never had great success with actually having them survive any amount of time, but I still think that they were great. Most people who don't absolutely love them, don't understand them at all. "Why not get fish or something?" they may ask, but they're missing the essence of Sea Monkeys. First off, Sea Monkeys are cool, not just a tool to learn responsibility or be ornamental or relaxing like fish or other pets. It's like having lights and plexiglass on your computer case... "Because I can, and I like it!" Next, they're iconic. That is, what they represent is something that describes a little more of who you are. Like t-shirts that have green mushrooms from Super Mario that say "1up"... you know what kind of person that is. "I have Sea Monkeys"... you know what kind of person I am. And finally, there are a million gadgets that you can get to help you in your Sea Monkey experience that are beyond belief. You can get yourself a Sea Monkey drag strip race track to race your Sea Monkeys, using their natural inclination to swim upstream. How cool is that!

Anyhow, whether you like me or hate me because of or despite the fact that I like Sea Monkeys, the fact remains that I do. Unfortunately I didn't get any last year for my birthday or Christmas.... I'll have to resort to asking for them this year. But in the meantime, I can go to this very cool online Sea-Monkey Simulator and make Sea-Monkey Easter Eggs.

Survival

2005-03-17T19:18:00.000-05:00

I sometimes feel that I am robbing my readers of the joy of commenting as they would, as my entries have been somewhat "uncommentable". Several have made efforts, and I thank you for them. Yet I have decided to give a post that should be easy to comment on, if anyone so desires...

To let those who are wondering concerning my condition, I am alive. Though Lydia has left, my morale has made desperate efforts to remain sure. In fact, my integrity was so great Wednesday night, that I decided that I was going to really cook for myself. Yes, that is right, go beyond the microwave meals and cold cereal and Anganes visits... "StoveTop Steve" was my goal, and I daresay that I achieved it with flying colors.
Not being the kind of person who has his strength in decision making, I took the obvious route: spaghetti, the all-purpose dinner. Well, the pasta that I found in the cupboard was not exactly spaghetti, but rather "fettuccine," which I assume to be a fancy name for "fetacheenie." Regardless, I found a pot and started boiling some water. Wanting some meat in my meal, I grabbed a portioned slab of hamburg from the freezer. I then put the frozen flesh, placed it in a "Pyrex" bowl, and proceeded to cook it in the microwave, having seen Lydia do this. (I don't know if that's how you're supposed to cook hamburger, as I had only seen it done once, but it worked much better than I expected. I don't know why it's not done more. If any of you know, please inform me:) The water was still coming to a boil, so I took advantage of the radically cool second burner of the radically cool hot plate. Using a frying pan, I decided to start warming the sauce. I decided on using Hannaford’s "Pasta Sauce!" for the sauce and used up half of a can. I found some Hannaford’s "Salsa with Corn and Beans!" in the fridge and added the rest of it to my awesome mix, topping it off with some Hannaford’s "Taco Seasoning!". And finally, I found a bowl of some leftover rice, that looked inedible in its present form, so I tossed that in too. I don't know where or when it was from, but I hope it wasn't too far or too long ago.
By now, the water was boiling, so I grabbed some fetacheenie and tried to put it in. It was then that I realized that I had grabbed the pot that was to small for fetacheenie. But instead of breaking the rigid pasta in half like a brute would, I carefully added pressure to it until the end softened enough to bend it into the mini pot. Once it was nearly in completely, I covered it with a lid and left it for a minute. The hamburg was now completely cooked, so I dumped it (along with all of its grease, because I can) into the saucy mix. I then noticed that the amount of sauce was about double the amount of noodles. oops. That meant more fetacheenie. I gave up on the mini bowl, and got the big'un pot, filled it with a little water, and dumped the contents of the first into the latter. I then put more noodles in the now under-212degreesFarenheit-water; knowing that it would take longer and half of the noodles might be fat and the others crunchy. Oh well.
As I waited for them to boil, I decided to do some dishes, and maybe whistle! Amazing myself on my efficiency of time, I decided to push it further and be efficient on water and energy by not draining the water until I had done the after-dinner dishes. However, when the noodles were done, I had no where to drain them except where the wash water was, so I guess I'll have to think that one through again.
It was then time to mix the sauce into the pasta and enjoy, which I did. I put about half of it on my plate and planned on saving the rest for a later meal. It was quite good, I should say; and very filling. However, as I was finishing the plate and feeling myself getting full, some thoughts came by: "microwaved hamburg," "crunchy fetacheenie," and "mystery rice." I then began to interpret the full feeling in my stomach as other stomach feelings. uh oh... what happens if the first meal that I make gets me sick!?! So as a precaution, I ate some Santitas "Holy Tortilla Chips", and was fine the rest of the evening.

Recycled School Projects

2005-03-08T09:56:00.000-05:00

Now that I've completed 2/3 of this year's classes, I have a fresh set of materials to share with the world. Unfortunately, this one that I'm giving has been heard by a third of those who read my blog. So, sj, this is mainly for the other two readers to enjoy. Sorry.

Anyway, the story on this is that it was a project from Pastor Rathbun's class. Going through the poetical books of the Bible, he gave us a choice of five different projects to work on, each being from a different poetical book. I chose to write a Christian hymn based on statements from the Song of Solomon. It turned out to be a harder project than I had anticipated, but through an evening's night of reading, and phrase manipulation, this is what I got...

“Jesus, I Gladly Come”
to be sung to the tune of “More Love to Thee”
inspired by the Song of Solomon
written by Stephen Blake

Verse 1 (from 1:4)

Jesus I gladly come
When you call me.
Memories of Thy great love
Daily comfort me.

Chorus:

I my Beloved’s be
And He belongs to me.
Jesus loves me!
Jesus loves me!

Verse 2 (from 8:6-7)

Set me upon Thy heart
Sealed by Thy love,
Whose strength cannot be quenched
By great floods above.

Chorus:

Verse 3 (from 2:3)

Jesus, You know Thou art
Fruit in my sight!
Sweet are your gifts to me,
And my delight!

Chorus:

Verse 4 (from 3:1-2,4)

When in the night I feel
Lonely for Thee,
I rise to seek Thee, Lord
Till you I see.

Chorus:

Verse 5 (from 2:10-11, 14)

I long to hear Your words,
“Rise, come away!
Rain ceases, Winter’s past,
See My face today!”

Chorus:

My Two "Me"s

2005-03-01T19:23:00.000-05:00

I don't think that I'm bipolar or schizophrenic, but I've been being two people lately. As some or many of you know, I've been staying with my sister while we are both taking Bible classes. Well, she is not going to be continuing her classes at the end of this trimester. Her reasons are much financial, but other considerations have been made. However, I was the key proponent of her not finishing this year, being the man of reason that I am. After talking with several people, she decided that it was the right decision, and next week will be her last here. I've succeeded, right? I said the right thing for her to do, considering the situations, was to go home early; should I not be happy to see that she has agreed? Well, that's didn't happen to be the case. I started wishing that she would stay. Suddenly, the reasons for her to stay began to have more weight in my sight. I started feeling like I did at the beginning of the school year when I found out that I wouldn't be staying with a family, but rather a more secluded apartment. It took me a little while when I realized the answer to my abnormal thinkings. I want to be home. My steps toward independence are something that I truly want, in my reasonings. Yet my emotions drive me to the comforts of being taken care of, being secure, and being loved. And sometimes "independence" makes you think that your losing those things. I've still got a long way to go yet towards living on my own, and a lot more to learn; I'm just experiencing some growing pains right now.

My Favorite Valentine's Day

2005-02-14T19:58:00.000-05:00

As many people were making real posts for the Valentine holiday, I decided that I had better do something. I myself am pretty much indifferent to Valentine's day. It has not been a day of dread for me, nor has it been a day of excitement and joy. Never really having any type of girlfriend, and not desiring one much, Valentine's day becomes just another day. Yes, I've written my cards in the past, and have received them at times, but if they meant anything to me then, that meaning has lost itself to me now completely... well, all except one, which stands out from all others. Interested? Thought not.... but here's the story anyway.

It was two years ago to the day. It was my senior year of high school and I was in Mexico, visiting a place where I had gone to five years earlier on a youth group mission trip. It was Rancho Sordo Mudo, or in English "Ranch for the Deaf/Mute." It was a type of boarding school for Mexican children with no hearing. I was there during February vacation, which incidentally fell over Valentine's day. In fact, the day that we traveled and arrived there was Valentine's day (I remember opening my carry-on and finding a Valentine from my loving Mom:). So I was to stay with my good old friend, Evan. Evan was not a good old friend because we had known each other for a long time, it was that he was just old... in his eighties, actually. He was a quiet man who did almost all of the gardening on the ranch (which, if you saw it, you would know a reason why I visited the Ranch three times in my life and hope to again). He also was one of the teachers. On this day, the kids there (from all grade levels) enjoyed giving and receiving Valentines. Most of the exchanges were only between students, and only sometimes the teachers. At the end of the day, I was talking with Evan, as he picked up a card that he had received. I think it was from his class. With it were some conversation hearts. Reminiscently, it seemed, he commented that this was the only Valentine that he had received this year. I (either forgetting the one I had received from my mother, or not having found it yet) commented humorously ,"Well, then you got one more than me." He looked at me and smiled saying, "Not anymore!" as he tossed me the bag of candies. This was by far my favorite Valentine's day.

About Guys

2005-02-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

Not that I enjoy talking about guys: but I am one... so therefore, I am a good source of knowledge for what goes on in a guy's mind. I'm sure someone somewhere may be thinking about this; especially after the 14th when many girls will be looking at some cheap gift that some guy gave them and be asking "What in the name of cheesecake was he thinking?!?". However, since I am not an expert as to how guys should relate to girls, or what they should give them for Valentine's day (ask my brother for that information) I will avoid speaking of girls as much as I can and talk mostly about us... MEN.

What I've been pondering in my own questionings about what goes on in my mind and why do I act the way I do has to do with my allegiances or loves. Why is it that I my truck, though it has constantly failed me and continues to do so, remains special in a way to me that I forgive it and banish thoughts of me someday parting with it? Why is it that I always want to stay where I am, and not go? How is it that I can love school so much, though most of my words concerning it are negative? I can't give you an answer dogmatically, but I can give you one of my guesses (or "theories" if you will).

To approach this philosophically, men (not saying that all men are like this) like truth. What I mean by this is that men like things to happen consistently as they should. You may be saying now "Well, that doesn't make sense.... if he like things acting as they should, he would have drove that truck in the river the moment he got it, if it could have run at the time!" I will explain. Though men like things to go as they should, he is aware of the world and the fact that things don't often go that way. Because he is in the world, he has to find a way to cope. Therefore he puts his trust in himself. However, to say that men act consistently as they should may be a dangerous statement as well. Yet the trust is a moment by moment trust, that is: "I think (hopefully), then act accordingly, all is well." Why then does his affections dwell on such things as trucks, locations, etc? It goes back to the dilemma of coping. Based on what has been said, men should be in a constant search for that which is as truthful as possible, but men are usually too practical for that. He realizes that the search is futile and must remain where he is. Thus his affections must remain nearby. He learns to love certain things without much regard as to the wrongs that they commit to him. Thus, he learns to love such things as his truck or home though they may not deserve it. (note: my meaning of "love" intended is that of a chosen preference of something, though it includes some emotional ties). A good example of this type of thing is found in a movie that I personally enjoy. It is called "Skylark". It is the sequel to the movie "Sarah, Plain and Tall" which is about Jacob and Sarah, now married, are living in their farm out west, while a drought comes. Many people around are forced to leave to area to find someplace with water. Jacob refuses to leave. It eventually becomes so bad that they can't stay, but he still doesn't want to. He forces Sarah and his two children to go back to her home in the east until the drought is over. The movie is around a man's dilemma when that which he loves is cursing him (that is, the land), but it not only hurts him, but another one that he loves (that is, his wife and children). It does have a good ending though that shows his growth through it all, but I won't give it away to those who have not seen it.

So that is my incite. I don't know if it will help explain away any Valentine gifts you girls may have received, but I hope it helps in some way.

Conversation

2005-02-07T13:36:00.000-05:00

I've had much thought of the topic of Communication, or more specifically, Conversation. The difference between the two is sometimes confused, however. Communication is simply any sharing of messages from one party to another. The term usually implies something one-way, instead of messages going back and forth. Conversation, on the other hand, is using the tool of language between or amongst parties, messages going back and forth.

Anyway, the type of thinking that I've put into this is not so much the definitions of the two, but rather the categories of the latter. Basically, a conversation grows from the knowledge of one party in some subject combined with the ignorance of the other party on the same topic. These topics could be of facts (historic, scientific, etc.), or opinions (beliefs, feelings). So because conversation is birthed from knowledge and ignorance, I've tried to categorize the different levels of it in the form of questions. These start at the "Shallow" levels of conversation to "Deep" levels. You will notice that the first and the last are ironically the same question as far as the wording goes, yet by the time you get to the last question, its meaning has changed dramatically.

Who are you?
This question refers to the historical background of the recipient. Though there may be some types of conversation before this (e.g. "How 'bout that low pressure system!") it is hardly to be considered real conversation. This level of conversation brings one to the introduction of different levels that are hard to reach otherwise.
What do you know?
This may sound funny, as you would never ask that question as it is, but it shows the next level of conversation. This is about facts as was the first level, but it does not deal with the person's personal experience necessarily.
What do you think?
Not referring to what is going on in someone's mind, but rather, what is their opinion on topics of judgment. This is about presenting facts and asking a person how they interpret them.
What do you feel?
This gets more into non-factual and emotional topics. (not to say that the topics are false, but they are not about facts). It deals with how the persons emotionally responds to facts.
What do you believe?
This gets back to facts, but they are personal facts. It concerns the person philosophy of life, which is factual to him.
Who are you?
This deals with the inner being of the person. Not a question of "where have you been" as was the first question, but rather "Where have you come to". It is a level that few people ever get to.

What is this all about? Well, I'm not sure, but I'll throw in some application. In our life, as we seek to know God, how deep do our conversations get to Him? Do we only see His historical background in the Bible and no further? Do we only tell Him what is going on in our life, when we pray? Think on this.

My "Moxie" Dog

2005-02-05T19:54:00.000-05:00

So Corky doesn't exaclty have what you would call "Moxie". Her idea of taking on an enemy is barking at her hotdog because it's steaming at her. However, she has been striving to change her reputation lately because of her new companion, Buddy. For those of you who do not know much of Buddy, you can see a picture of him with Benjamin, his owner, on the Journals of the Wanderer. Anyway, she knows, as do I and most in my family, that the best way to prove that your "Moxie" is to simply drink Moxie.

Moxie, of course is a carbonated drink that vaguely resembles a cola, yet its unique bitter flavor put it in a league of its own. (For more information on Moxie, go here) So it was that as I was home and finishing up the last bit of Moxie in the groovy orange aluminum can, that Corky the quirky Cocker asks me for a taste or two. Finding her water dish empty, I pour the remaining contents in, to which she consumes proudly in front of Buddy. Buddy, on the other hand, would not go near the stuff. Corkey had won, and doing so, she did not ask for any more.

Sven innovations

2005-01-30T20:44:00.000-05:00

What I'm giving you here is the process that's heading to the patent office as soon as all of the paperwork is complete. This highly innovative process will change your world completely, giving you greater efficiency in your daily living. Interested yet? Read on...

Every great invention begins with a great need. What is the need here? Well, it's one of the greatest problems that I run into several times a week. Why do those flippin' popcorn kernels never pop all the way, and Why do they ruin my entire popcorn eating experience!?!?!?! I'm sure you all can relate to my distress: biting into unpopped kernels; unpopped kernals sitting in the bottom of an empty bag, calling you to chew on them, though you know you'll break a tooth on them; etc. Anyway, I've developed a system that greatly reduces and nearly eliminates this problem. Unfortunately, this process only works with microwave popcorn (sorry sj). However, the great usefulness of this process highly outweighs the problems of going out of your way to make yourself available to microwave popcorn. The process is simple and takes a minimal amount of steps. Here is my life's great discovery in its entirety:

Step 1: Pop your popcorn as instructed on the microwave popcorn bag
Step 2: Using caution (gloves may be used for safety) grab diagonal corners of the opening side of the bag and tug gently to open a small slit in the top.
note: many popcorn bags do not require this tugging motion as a small slit is already present at the top
Step 3: Over some type of waste disposal receptacle, turn the bag upside-down and shake up and down rapidly. This will allow the kernels to exit the bag while retaining the popped kernels.
note: the kernels will be hot and may melt thin plastic, use caution when shaking into garbage bags
Step 4: Open the bag completely and enjoy your dekernaled popcorn!!

I'll be selling the patent to the highest bidder in the popcorn business. Once that happens you'll want to buy your stocks in that business, because big things will be happening!

Complements

2005-01-27T19:18:00.000-05:00

I had a couple of "feel good" moments on Wednesday as two completely unrelated men gave me words which I took as great complements. The first man was at my job in Dunkin' Donuts. He, being regular customer, and I were chatting as I mentioned something concerning the depth of the snow. At this he questioned how newscasters said that there was over two feet of snowfall last weekend, when he only measured just over one foot. Several possible answers ran through my head, but I gave only one, saying that because in heavy snow-falls, much of the snow is compressed under its own weight. Because of this, they perhaps calculate the inches of snowfall by multiplying the rate of snowfall with the time of snowfall, resulting numbers being the total inches (or feet) of snowfall. He was very impressed with this answer. After he asked where I heard that, and finding that it only came from my brain, he said that it would be his answer to others when the matter came up. I find that quite flattering.
Eric Smith, our new Pastor at Collinsville Bible Church, also approached me on Wednesday. Some Wednesday evenings during our prayer meeting, he likes to read a hymn story before singing that hymn. That night after the service, he asked me if I was interested in doing it some night. He said that he was asking me because he had noticed that I was fond of hymns and experienced in music. Wanting to get other people to minister in various ways, he thought that I would enjoy this. What I find amazing and encouraging is that I don't believe that I've ever talked to him about music before. It seems that he has gathered this opinion from only two sources: congregational singing and choir singing. Thank you very much!
I can even think of two other things that happened on Wednesday that could be thought of complements as well. It was definitely a day that my feet didn't touch the ground all that much.

Some Poetry

2005-01-24T14:54:00.000-05:00

So this is something that I wrote about two months ago that seemed related to the theme of this blog... that being "Muddled Thoughts." I had written it in the middle of the night. I had an awful cold, my head was conjested, and I was perhaps a bit feverish. Not being able to sleep, these words started to go through my mind. Not wanting to wake up my brother Abel, and not wanting to lose these words, for whatever they were worth to me... I started to write this poem with no lights. Talk about Muddled! After getting through about one and a half stanza's I finally resorted to finishing it with my keychain LED. It's not a very good poem in itself, but I thought it would do alright as an introductory post. And because it has had no title since I wrote it... I named it after this blog. So here it is... enjoy.

Muddled Thoughts of a Feverish Mind

Alas! And why this cold so hot,
And when will forehead kelvins drop.
How will this head's deep rumblings stop
To let me take my rest.

My consciousness is cursing now
The pillow opposite my brow
Which hindereth my sleep somehow!
How wearying this test!

Why do I long for mother's love?
What are those dots of light above
As dismal as a mourning dove?
My eyes are clos-ed fast.

Is God a man that He can't see
The dismal plight expressed by me?
Did He not promise to e'er be
Provider for my best?

Kainon Archomai

2005-01-22T13:19:00.000-05:00

"A New Thing I Begin"
What is this? My thoughts and burstings which are unique to me. The random ideas and mental collaborations which yearn to be expressed through literary means.
Who am I? Check the profile (If I've gotten around to writing it yet).
Who are you? Well, to me, your the empty comsic expance that I write to, not really intending an answer. However, you may reply and comment to my postings at your leisure.
Why? Don't ask, I don't know either.
Hope to not be a bore to all those who stumble by!