tomorrow's history

If You're Bored Here, Then You Should Go There...

2010-08-18T13:34:00.003-05:00

Hey all, I've been absent...for a long time. But there is some action going on at hermeneuticaldan.blogspot.com! Now, I'm not going to say that I'm the author of said blog, but the writing style and general messages are creepily similar (just slightly different format). And who knows, maybe someday I'll admit it--but not right now.

Oh, and give the guy a follow--and make a comment or two. It's good stuff really.

Update:Found, Breathing, Lucid

2010-01-23T01:39:00.002-06:00

I do believe that I am the World's Most Inconsistent Blogger, but THAT'S WHAT MAKES ME SPECIAL!!! I have accepted the fact that no one reads this blog and that the only reason I'm writing on here is because it's just as easy to open as Word and if my computer crashes then at least these rants will be safe in cyberspace.

I really don't have much to say right now. Event though it's been a year and a half since my last blog...wow.

I am still alive.

The Choleric Christian

2008-09-07T05:37:00.006-05:00

I'm choleric. Horrible, I know. But nevertheless, this is the plight with which God hast endowed me and somehow, I must manage (I plan on managing it by making everyone else do everything that I tell them--or something like that).

But seriously, I'm a choleric, and as such, being a Christian is sometimes difficult. I'm not sure how much more difficult it is from being a human being (I have never ceased to be one or the other at any given time, therefore, I cannot give a balanced opinion, but I digress). But cholerics are controllers, they like to be in the forefront, they love attention.

Jesus wants us to be servants, he wants us to point others towards him, he desires that we decrease and let him increase.

How does a choleric do that?

I'm not sure.

It is an interesting thing when a choleric decides that he/she will enter into ministry. The entire basis of ministry is doing exactly what God wants you to do--for the choleric, that's not so easy...

I love control, but in order to minister effectively I must relinquish all of it.

My willingness to do so dictates my use in the Kingdom. Cholerics have no place in the Kingdom, but not to worry--neither do melancholies or phlegmatics or sanguines...no flesh will glory in His presence.

Check your personality at the door, we all are nothing anyway...

Without Further Ado...

2008-09-05T00:57:00.002-05:00

I am back. So two posts ago, I said I was going to be more consistent. I wasn't. But somehow, I have a renewed drive to blog again...will you journey with me once more?

Cupcake Conversations

2008-02-08T00:35:00.001-06:00

I have a friend. Actually, I have a couple of friends who just happened to like each other. They were talking--nothing too serious when things started to go downhill. Communication lines were broken, things were assumed and the relationship was a bit stressed all around.

Well, She decided that something needed to be done. He was acting distant, She didn't like that and wanted to fix it. So She made him cupcakes--his favorite. She put them in his room without telling him and never said a word about them. Well, He wasn't too observant that night and didn't find them until hours later when a friend told him that they were on his bed. He read the short note attached to them and while he was very appreciative, didn't really know what to do.

The cupcakes hadn't said much except, "Do you like my baking abilities?" (which the answer to that was an emphatic, "YES!") But they were meant to say so much more. They were meant to fix a multitude of problems, they were meant to patch broken communication lines, they were meant to alleviate the stress of the relationship...they didn't. The relationship ended soon thereafter. Sad story.

Too bad it happens everyday in a much more serious manner. A lot of times in my life, my communication with God will become stressed/hindered. Something will come between me and Him and our relationship will get a little rocky. I, in my stupid humanity, often come up with these wonderful solutions to fix the communication problem. I'll think, "Ooh Jesus likes it when I give money in the offering!" or, "I KNOW, Jesus wants me to work at a soup kitchen!" So I'll give a little bit more, hoping that my contribution will fix the communication problem. I offer things without any explanation. I bring my gift to Him and then turn and walk away without any words spoken.

Well, that's not going to fix anything. Profound, I know, but lack of communication is fixed by communicating. Bringing my cupcakes to God and expecting them to fix my problems is ridiculous. Instead, I need to offer me--all of me. I know that one action or one conversation isn't going to fix everything...but I'm willing to work through it.

God, I'm here to talk it out...and I brought cupcakes...

pure excitement, really.

2008-01-08T20:36:00.001-06:00

so the time has come, and a new semester is upon us all, here at Gateway College of Evangelism...

And I'll admit: I am excited!

I'm sure you've already read that I only have 13 credits (thank you Jesus!) And it looks like those 13 credits are going to be pretty interesting...

My classes are Daniel, Corinthians, Godhead, and Mission of the Church (and of course, Choir and Chorale).

Did I say that I was pretty excited?

in other news...

Sorry that it has been a while since I last blogged--as I have promised before, I will promise again to do better and to become more consistant. At least I'll try...

Christmas was great at the Lindsey Residence. Everything I got fit me...probably because I bought it all and then gave it to my mom to wrap up for me. yay.

and other news...

This past break I was able to work at the Tomato Farm. What Tomato Farm, you ask? Well, for the past 5 or so summers, I have been an employee of a tomato farm. The owners are friends of the family and also attend my church. They grow massive amounts of tomatoes, and I help them do so. This break we were planting the little baby tomato plants--they are so cute when they are only 2 inches tall...especially when they will grow to become about 40 feet long/tall! Wowzers!

Okay, okay, I've rambled enough...and I haven't accomplished anything...

Good night, all.

Christianity's Columbine

2007-12-12T22:42:00.000-06:00

I'm sure you've seen the news or read the papers--I'm sure you heard about the recent shooting at Colorado Springs' New Life Church. A young man, Matthew Murray, walked into the church with multiple guns and 1,000 rounds of ammunition and took the lives of four church members before being injured by a church security guard. Moments after his injury, he then took his own life.

Only hours before his moment in the spotlight, it was posted online, "I'm going out to make a stand for the weak and the defenseless this is for all those young people still caught in the Nightmare of Christianity for all those people who've been abused and mistreated and taken advantage of by this evil sick religion. Christian America, this is YOUR Columbine."

Murray had been raised in a good home. His dad was a doctor, his mother home schooled him. But Murray was different. He didn't fill the molds that were placed before him. He tried a form of Christianity--but it just wasn't for him. So he ventured to the "darker" side of spirituality, he associated with occults but only found rejection. He was searching for a place to fit, searching for an answer to his questions. He was merely seeking a solution to his problem.

This problem, my friends, is not a new problem.

I recall, written somewhere, a story much the same. There was a religious group who, basically, was the authority of the area in which they lived. They had rule upon rule and statute upon statute. They lived pious lives, quickly shunning those who did not measure up to their standards.

Then this random man came along who claimed to be religious as well--the problem was that he didn't fit into any of the molds that the authority had set as standards. He didn't fast, he "worked" on the Sabbath, he totally shifted every religious thought that was in place up until that time. The authorities despised him, they hated him, they plotted to kill him--and they did.

But his revolution didn't die--his form of Christianity (the original form) caught on. He brought a new type of religion to sinners and the publicans. He brought religion to those who didn't fit into the religious mold. It went beyond rules and regulations--it was based on love and relationship, relationship with God.

He was asking his followers to do away with traditional religion. He was asking them to die to their flesh and to live in the Spirit. To not worry about the religious laws that bound the church of the past, but to embrace a daily relationship--a walk with God. He wasn't handing out molds for sinners to contort themselves into, he was asking them to create their own relationship.

Soon after he left, one of his followers (who used to be a murderer and a Christian killer) wrote some profound words. In his letter to the church in Rome, he said, "Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation—but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it. For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God." (Romans 8:12-14)

For too long Christianity has been ruled by statutes and laws. For too long Christianity has been a mold that, quite frankly, many have a hard time fitting. What was once a relationship with the Almighty has been subtly and slowly replaced with an association with a religious group.

I agree with Murray's words (not his tactic--or even his message, just his words): "I'm going out to make a stand for the weak and the defenseless, this is for all those young people still caught in the Nightmare of Christianity. Christian America, this is YOUR Columbine."

Too many times, for too many people, Christianity becomes a nightmare. It becomes an experience full of rules that are easily broken, condemnation that is hard to shake and failures that are difficult to overcome.

I propose a solution--one that will require sacrifice (not nearly as drastic, inhumane or wrong as Murray's, but sacrifice nonetheless). This sacrifice is double-sided.

First, I propose a personal Columbine to traditional Religiosity. We should make it our purpose to shed the chains that bind us to failing rules and human regulations. We should turn our focus to developing and cultivating an intimate relationship with God.

Secondly, I propose a personal Columbine to our fleshly desires. If we do not place our flesh under subjection to the Spirit, we will never experience the satisfaction that a REAL relationship with God can bring. We, instead, will continually deal with personal failures and feelings of inadequacy.

Murray saw a problem--he saw young people trapped in a religion that they just couldn't succeed in; he saw young people failing and losing hope. He solved that problem by killing himself and four others.

Jesus saw a problem--he saw young people trapped in a religion that they just couldn't succeed in; he saw young people failing and losing hope. He solved that problem by bringing life to everyone that accepts it.

Go ahead, have a personal Columbine, Christian America. Die to yourself, and die to Religiosity staunched in tradition. Get a real relationship with God.

Go ahead, try it.

The End of the Tunnel

2007-12-10T18:30:00.000-06:00

I Saw the Light!

So today was a HUGE day for me, I took my only two finals--I'm done with this semester! Well, almost (I have a 3 page and a 2 page paper still, but I see the light!)...

I don't think you can even remotely understand that extent of the burden that has been lifted off of me...I can actually enjoy Christmas music now...I can sleep without figuring out how I'm going to get everything done...I can relax!

This Christmas...

So following are some things that I am really looking forward to doing this Christmas Break:

1) Movie Time! (It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, Ratatouille, Numbers: Season 3, Hairspray, any "old" movie)

2) Sleep Time! I'll be sleeping the days away...YES!

3) Party Time! Christmas Parties, New Year's Parties, Just Because Parties...

4) Skiing Time! Christmas Eve I'm hitting the slopes!

5) Family Time! Board games, sitting around the tree, baking cookies...

6) Fun Time! This category includes anything not listed on any above list...

I can't wait.

Merry Christmas to all of my readers. May this season find you in good health, good graces, and good times!

Yay.

A Semester's End/Glass Walls

2007-12-01T23:40:00.000-06:00

Ahem...

Honestly, I don't think that I have ever been more excited for a semester to end...

Two Reasons:
1) This has been the most difficult semester to date. I have had more pages of writing required, more pages of reading required, more hours of homework required than ever before...and I'm ready for a break...
2) Next semester I have only 13 credits...THANK YOU JESUS! My entire college career has been centered around 17-19 credit semesters--this will be a well-needed break...

Not only do I have a past that I'm longing to get away from, but I also have a future that I'm looking forward to...see how that works?

Funny story:

So today, I was walking through the St. Louis Mills mall with some friends. We were making our way to the exit when one of the funniest things happened (funny in a morbid, twisted way, but funny nonetheless). Coming towards us was a family--mother, father, 2 year old(ish) child. The mom and dad were slightly in front of the child, who was in his own little world. The parents had just passed the corner of a store that slightly protruded from the line of the rest of the stores (maybe 3 feet). Well the child, being in his own little world, didn't really acknowledge that particular corner...that is until he ran right into it.
I promise you, I didn't know a head banging on glass could make that loud of a noise. As the parents collected the disheveled boy from the crumpled heap where he lay screaming, we continued walking by while stifling our laughter.
It was a moment, it was quite a moment.

Sometimes I have had those types of moments.

I can be walking along, minding my own business, living life in a dandy sort of way when...BAM! I hit a wall. My previous course of action was working just fine--that is until the wall intersected my path. Life is full of adjustments, and I am convinced that God places walls in our lives so that, while we may experience the random bruise or goose-egg, we escape the greater danger (broken or missing limbs, etc).

Isn't it funny how an unexpected dead end will change the direction you're traveling. I have been trying to get places before (I am horrible with directions) and turned down the "correct street" only to realize that it ends before my intended destination. I must turn around and find an alternate route. The destination remains the same, but the route slightly changes.

I hate it when I can see my destination through the glass wall, or through the trees lining the dead-end, but there is no apparent route to that destination...

God, you got any maps?

I'm Satisfied

2007-11-15T01:01:00.000-06:00

Life, right now, is sort of "out-of-whack"...at least for me. It's nearly the end of the semester in my junior year at Gateway College of Evangelism and yet I still haven't fallen into a pattern, it seems. I am living each day, just going about--experiencing stress, anxiety, loneliness, etc. And it's as though nothing is changing.

But as of late, me and God have been having a little bit of a continuing dialogue. It goes something like this:

Me: God, I'm really stressed out right now...I'm getting kinda angry about it...
God: (Nothing)

Me: God, I'm really anxious right now, and I think it's affecting my breathing--can you help me?
God: (Nothing)

Me: God, I'm really lonely right now. Can you send someone to help me get over it?
God: (Nothing)

It didn't really take that long for me to figure out that, since God wasn't talking back, I was probably going about it all the wrong way. So I examined just what I was asking. I was asking "me" questions quite frequently. I was stressing the things that I wanted...and that wasn't exactly what God was looking for.

So I began to change the way I prayed. The following conversations are a sample of that changed prayer:

Me: God, you know I'm stressed out right now. I have tests and papers due, I have meetings to attend, and I must sleep sometime...but I know that you are in control and you'll never give me more than I can bear. Whatever your will is, that is what I want.
God: Just be satisfied with where I have you, it won't last forever.
Me: *gasp* God? Was that really you?
God: Yes (okay, okay, maybe the last part didn't really happen, but whatever)

Me: God, you understand the anxiety that I am feeling right now. You see the stressors that are in my life. I want release from them, but even more than that I want your will to be done.
God: Just be satisfied with where I have you, it won't last forever.

Me: God, you see how lonely I am right now. Please send someone to be my close friend. But if it's not in your will, that's okay. I just want your will to be accomplished. I know that you will be the friend that I need.
God: Just be satisfied with where I have you, it won't last forever.

So, that's it. I have resolved within myself to be satisfied with where God has currently placed me. I realize that where I am at right now is not the culmination of my life, but it is where I need to be right now. It is merely preparing me for my future.

I'm satisfied with where I'm at because I know it won't last forever.

I'm satisfied.

The Rebound

2007-11-08T00:49:00.000-06:00

It's been a long time a'coming...and I apologize. I haven't written in quite the fortnight; my schoolwork has consumed much of my time, my social life has consumed much of the remaining portion and there is a plethora of miscellaneous items that have consumed the little left.

(Note to my faithful readers...all one of you...I am currently blogging in a group blog called "Walk With Me" on ninetyandnine.com--it is a blog tracking our intentional spiritual growth)

But, I'm back. I promise. I must say that I have partaken of plenty of morsels of thought (about which I must write) during my hiatus.

Please join me--I know, I know, I have a lot of catching up to do. But I will do it to the best of my ability...promise.

A Conversation with God

2007-07-18T15:13:00.000-05:00

The lights in the sanctuary were dim; the silence dwarfed the lone individual sitting on the front pew. His head was bowed and his arms were resting on his knees. A mere couple of minutes into his prayer, he had run out of words to say—every cliché had been used, and every term of endearment had been repeated repeatedly. He sat staring silently, blankly at the floor.

No one would have guessed how fast my mind was spinning. My thoughts were racing in circles, hopping from one thing to another. Finally, exhausted, my thoughts focused on my present situation. What was I going to do about prayer? I knew that, so far, I had not accomplished a thing. The thought had never occurred to me to just talk to God—to actually have a conversation with Him. But there in my silence, I realized for the first time that God wanted to talk to me as much as I wanted to talk to Him. I decided to give the idea of a conversation with God a try, I was determined to have a tête-à-tête with God. “God, it’s me, Dustin. I haven’t really talked to You in a while, so here goes. Things have been a bit hectic lately, life’s been a bit stressful, and I’m not really looking forward to the next week.”

That is how it started. Soon, I was praying, not to a distant God but to a close friend. I was not presenting a wish list to an impersonal deity—I was really getting to know Jesus better. The coolest thing about it was that as I got real with God, He became real to me. James said, “Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you” (James 4:8). That day those words became a part of my life.

Since then I have lived with James 4:8 continually in the back of my mind. When I feel that God has deserted me, I ask myself, “Have I left God? Have I sat down recently and just had a good chat with Him?” I cannot say that I have practiced that scripture every time I have prayed, but when I take the time to stop and converse with God and draw closer to him, God always has the time to draw nearer to me. I have found that God always has the time to be my best friend.

When I look at each prayer as a conversation with God, I realize the shallowness of my relationship with Him. When I measure my “me” time or my “friends” time against my “God” time, conviction engulfs me and I draw closer to God. In turn, God draws closer to me.
Looking back on that lonely night in a dark church, I realize that at the time when I felt the most alone, I experienced companionship with God. When I felt at a loss for words, I enjoyed a conversation with God.

Authors Note: This article of mine was featured in the July 2007 issue of The Pentecostal Herald...yay for me!

Of Blue Wheelchairs and God

2007-07-01T11:57:00.000-05:00

I remember it so well...ah...that time of year. Plans were being made, airline tickets bought, bags packed. We were all getting ready--getting ready, that is, for spring break. Some of my friends had made plans to for hitting the Florida beaches, some were looking forward to spending days on end sleeping in their own beds, some were counting down the days until they could drive north for an end-of-the-season skiing excursion. But nonetheless we were all making plans. Mine were special, yes, they were special. You see, I had the honor above all honors...I was making a trip to the oral surgeons, I was having all of my wisdom teeth extracted (and you ask how I have any wisdom left over--I have no idea...), yay for Dustin.
So I went home, and then I went to the surgeons, and then I had my teeth pulled, and then I found God. No, not really, I actually didn't see the correlation between wisdom teeth and God until months afterward, but la de dah.
I went home. I went to the surgeons. The surgeon, with whom I had to train my ears to understand his harsh accent, explained to me all of the risks and potential problems involved with the surgery and the medication (anesthesia and such), the nurse reiterated everything the doctor said--just much much more understandably. And then the anesthesiologist came in and administer my little serum to happy land. I was gone. Gone. Before I could count to ten backwards, I was floating among cotton candy clouds and glittering diamond stars. And then I rudely woke myself up. Yet my happy world continued...I sang (i even have video to prove it--ugh, did I say that out loud?), I bothered the nurse with endless questions, I asked if I could keep my extracted teeth (no, I couldn't--it was against OSHA or PETA or something like that) and then a pretty little receptionist-nurse person came in with a pretty (possibly prettier than the receptionist-nurse person) little blue wheelchair. This was my wheelchair, I was getting to ride in a blue wheelchair. So I happily obliged her commands to sit in the seat, and off we went--into the wild unknowns of the hospital halls. And yet somehow (really, I'm not sure how) I ended up in the passenger seat of my car, and I was on my way home.
Needless to say, I immediately fell asleep on the drive home and a funny thing happened. When I woke up, I couldn't remember anything that had just happened. I wouldn't have remembered the singing except I had video of it. I wouldn't have remembered the questions except the nice nurse let me take a picture of my teeth instead of keeping them. And it took weeks for me to piece together that I had actually rode in a blue wheelchair. Literally weeks. The whole process, the whole day, in fact, is a blur to me. I have these foggy faded memories, these unconscious acknowledgments of what happened that day, but I don't think I will ever know or even understand everything that happened that day. Nah, probably not.
So the other day I was driving and I realized that God was like my blue wheelchair. Please, don't stop reading, just listen, listen. Okay, okay, here goes. God has affected each and every person on this planet. He has altered the lives of every human that has ever lived. He has been an integral part of humanity since he created humanity itself. And yet we are so quick to forget God. As we wake up from the stupor of society we have no recollection of the impact that God has had on us. And so we go on living life, benefiting from what God has done, yet forgetting (or not remembering) what, in fact, He has done.
There are those, the few, who are able to piece together bits of God's influence on their lives. They become keenly aware that there is a power guiding them. They begin to understand His impact and acknowledge it a little bit more. As they progress in life, more and more of the God/humanity saga becomes clear to them and they realize a little more of what God has done. But they will never understand it all. Still they see God through their foggy memories and their bleak awareness. I think we will spend eternity learning just exactly what God has done. I don't think I will ever be able to grasp it all. And yet God has done it.
God has helped us go just a little bit farther. We slowly begin to see God more clearly--and a blue wheelchair.

Loveless: my epic journey towards God

2007-06-26T17:29:00.000-05:00

I don't think that I've ever been in love. You know, I've always expected love to be this enveloping feeling--one that sweeps you off of your feet and floats you away to some distant "love cloud." But I've never experienced that, in fact, I've never even caught a glimpse of a love cloud.
I can say that, truthfully, I dreamed about love...I've dreamed hard about love. Almost to the point of living an alter-reality of "love-living." Wondering and postulating about what living in love would be like. I guess I thought I was in love once. Actually, for years, I was engrossed with this feeling of "love." There was this girl. Yeah--it always starts like that, but seriously, there was this girl. She was perfect...beautiful, smart, talented, sure-of-herself, independent, I really could make the list go on and on--really. But I digress. As you can tell, I thought a lot about this love-of-my-life. It was to the point where I honestly couldn't imagine me "ending up" with anyone else. When I tried to talk to "other" girls, I felt like I was cheating on my love. Her name filled the pages of my class notes, you get the picture? And yet my love didn't even know how I felt. Except maybe she could read it in my eyes--on the rare occasions that I actually looked at her.
Things were like this: I was at school, four hours away from her, and while I was away, she was all that I could think about. She was everything I dreamed of. But when I was home visiting, I could barely hold a conversation with her. When we were in groups together, all was well, but stick us in a room together, alone, and my tongue would immediately find itself lodged in the back of my throat. I'm sure my choking sounds ruined any chance I ever had with her (jokes). But you see, I finally realized where my true dilemma was. When I was with her, I couldn't love her and when I was away from her, I couldn't live without her. I tried to love her when I was around her. I would create situations to put us together, I called her, I went to her house, I would glance at her in church...I tried to love her...I tried to like her. I even rationalized within myself that love isn't a feeling--it's a decision, I had to decide to love this girl. But I couldn't make that decision when I was within fifteen miles of her. And as soon as I crossed that mile marker, I was crazy about her.
Then the epiphany just slapped me upside the head. I was in love with the "idea" of her--I wasn't in love with her. I was in complete head-over-heels love with the idea of being head-over-heels in love with someone. In actuality I wasn't in love with anyone but the figment of my imagination. It didn't matter how perfect we were for each other--it just wouldn't work. Unless of course, we lived 270 miles from each other and talked via emails and text messages (I don't do well over the phone). I guess you could say that my love has passed.
But the remedy of my situation has yet to present itself. When will I find a love of any sort? I mean-- I love my family, but that's an obligatory love--one that I can't help but exude. I guess that I could say that I love to write--it relaxes me. I love to sleep--it relaxes me. I love hot days--they relax me. I love head massages--they relax me (do I detect a patter?). Problem: these "loves" are non-entities, so they don't count and I could question the validity of the use of the word "love" in each of the respective instances. I think that I just don't understand what love is.
I don't get it, every time I think that I might have a bit of a grasp on love it easily escapes my snare and continues on its merry, frolicking way to blissful happiness. I think that one day I will understand love. I have formulated the condition precisely in my mind. When my wife, which I'm not sure how I'll be married without realizing love, but that's besides the point (and once again, I digress). Moving on...when my wife delivers our first child, I think that at that moment I will understand love. I think that the moment I see my child, I will love him or her so much that in that moment I will be willing to give my very life for my child. I think that that is true love. But this scenario does not solve my present absence of love. And I think everyone needs to love someone--something.
Everyone needs to truly love with their whole heart. Take loving God, for example. So many claim to love Him. They cry in church and testify about their undying love for him, they make their claims on Sunday but provide little evidence to support their claims from Monday to Saturday. But I think I understand this dilemma, and sadly, sometimes I must include myself in this group of people. I think society, humanity, "we,"...we are in love with the idea of God. We love the idea of a "higher" (not necessarily supreme) being. We love the mystery surrounding God. We love the cloudiness of our understanding towards him. The fact that we can't grasp him makes us love it more. But we are not in love with God. Nah--that's too much...what?...too much commitment, too wacky, too conservative, too something. We are content with being in love with the idea of God. Okay so maybe I use the term "we" liberally because I am not content with loving this idea. I've got to love something tangible. Many (if not most) would argue that God is not tangible, and to an extent, I concur, but one must admit that God is much more tangible than the "idea" of God. After all, the affects of God can be seen...the idea of God seldom effects anything.
I seek to love God. I really, really really (the third "really" is quite necessary for emphasis) want to and need to love God. But this ultimate desire presents with itself a plethora of other problems. I mean, since I can't recall truly loving anything, then how will I know when I'm in love? And what if the God that I pursue doesn't fall head-over-heels in love with me? What if I don't fall for Him? Will I be content loving God alone, or will I still long to love other things as well? I suppose I am embarking on a quest.
Like a knight off to seek out and rescue his fair lady (who has been rendered unconscious by any number of villainous dragons or step-mothers--choose your fairy tale), I set off searching for the love of my life. I am looking to rescue God from the insanely evil and equally lethargic "idea of God." I hereby render my life useless to any other endeavor until my love is realized, promised and accepted. Will I return? This is to be determined--but I can guarantee you that the man who comes back will be unrecognizable. I've heard that love--especially this kind of love, changes people. It really changes people...lunatics, they say.

hearing the silence

2007-04-11T19:10:00.000-05:00

I was laying in bed today tossing and turning trying to sleep. I realized quite quickly that it wouldn't work out because my room was so hot. So I rolled out from under the covers and turned on the fan. Well, this is no ordinary fan--it has a rebel yell all to its own. I mean, when you turn it on, everything seems okay for a couple of seconds and then the noise starts. It sounds something like a pig giving birth (I don't really know what a pig giving birth sounds like, but I'm sure that this was pretty close). It would have been fine if it constantly made the same noise, but this fan runs laps. It makes the noise for a couple of seconds and then quiets down for a couple of seconds and then makes the noise and then doesn't make the noise and so on and on and on. Interesting enough, you can hear the fan picking up momentum because the noise and quiet increments will be closer together as the fan progresses. So I'm laying there all all that I can concentrate on is the atrocious noise.
Then I had an epiphany. What if I only listened to the silence? What if I only paid attention to the quiet in between the noise? I decided to give it a shot. I was really difficult. I realized that I am so used to listening to noise that when I wanted to concentrate on silence I didn't know how. It took me about 5 minutes before I heard just a blip of silence. And then it was like a flood of nothing. Silence, silence, silence! I could hear the silence! And I felt like I had finally accomplished something. Then, out of the blue, the fan decided to only make noise and like that the silence had vanished. So I got up again and turned the fan off and tossed and turned in my bed until I dozed off wishing for the room temperature to be slightly cooler.
But that's not the end of my story. While I was having my battle of the minds with the fan I realized a truth that was applicable to my everyday life. Sometimes I must stop listening to the noise and concentrate on listening to the silence. Just like I had to train my ear to hear the silence of the fan, in life, I also need to train my ear to hear the silence in between the noise. Everywhere around me is noise. People are yelling, arguing, stomping. Cars are driving, honking, wrecking. Children are crying, and whining, and laughing. But every person is also living a silent story. They are walking through life composing a story that will never be heard unless one can listen to the silence. They are crying for help--but their cries are lost in the noise.
I didn't know how to hear the silence, but once I did, the silence was overwhelmingly loud. There was so much going on in the silence. Without saying anything, people were asking questions and begging answers. And as I learn to listen to the silence, I learn to step past the noise and minister to the silence.

the success of a wasted life

2007-04-10T18:24:00.000-05:00

Success. I'm not sure if any other one word is able to evoke so many different meanings and definitions. The measurement of success is unique to each and every individual who seeks after it. Take me for instance:
Growing up, I guess you could say that I was a very successful child. I was consistantly at the top of my class--regardless of the subject studied. I graduated high school in the top 7% of my class of 675. I earned a 31 on my ACT, landing me in the 99th percentile of America and as a result I was offered a $50,000 scholarship to a private university. I was successful. But I decided one day to throw all of my successes away.
After months of agonizing thought processes, I quit college. I applied for a long-term mission trip to Uganda, Africa. I went to be a minister of the gospel to people longing for hope. I was asked by people why I was throwing my life away. But I knew in my mind that I was finding my life. I was seeking out my success--I was learning what I would excel in.
In Africa, I found my success. I found that I had been given more talents than I had learned in school. I found that I could minister to people, I could teach Bible studies, I could pray effectively for people. I could be successful for God.
Now, four years later, I reflect. I'm back in school--but I'm studying to go into ministry. Once again I have my life planned out, so I'm expecting God to change my plans. But I know this: what I truly want to do is be successful for God's Kingdom.
If at the end of my life I am forgotten, if my name has not been recorded in history, if people do not know who I am...that's okay. My life will not have been wasted if I have wasted it for the Kingdom. My success will be in my demise because as I decrease then God has the chance to increase and that's all that I desire. My successes are in Him.

The Divine Metaphor

2007-04-02T15:52:00.000-05:00

The potter slowly, meticulously picked up each piece--every shard and broken remain of the now useless and obliterated vessel. A tear slipped past his eye and tumbled down his cheek only to drop on just one more piece of the shatttered remains. He looked up, past his wheel, past his kneading table, past the window and out toward the streets beyond. His assistant was now gone, and would never return. "FIRED!" The words had echoed off the cement walls and bounced back to echo in the potter's head. "Fired, fired, fired..." It never should have come to this, but it had, and now he was minus one assistant and more importantly minus one priceless vessel.
He had hired the assistant for a number of reasons: making the clay, mixing the glazes, cleaning the studio, maintaining the shop, but above all else to praise his work. The potter wanted to know that he was good--that he was making pots that were worth more than the casual glance of an artistically unlearned passerby. And the assistant was superb at making each pot seem greater than its predecessor. Until it happened; it was just a thought, a twinge of pride. It was an "I can do better than he can" moment. Had it been just a moment, nothing more would have resulted. But that moment was cultivated, and as it grew, it began to completely control all of the assistant's thoughts. When the fruit of the envy finally took shape, it produced the disgusting and gut-wrenching decision to stage a coup. But the potter had not ignored the grumbling and absent-minded comments the assistant made, so the potter took the only step that he could; he had to let the assistant go. And while the walls were still recounting the potter's words, the assistant picked up the potter's newest vessel and with a furious indignation slammed it to the concrete floor. The potter sat, unmoving and watched as the assistant stormed out of the studio.
When each piece had been placed with the others into a dustpan, the potter carried them toward the garbage can. But as he neared t, he stopped and carefully poured the broken contents onto his kneading table. Then he rummaged in his nearest tool drawer until his found the perfect tool for his next job. It was a rock--a large, hard rock and with it, he began to break the already broken pieces. He did not refrain from his seemingly ridiculous task until there was nothing left but a pile of dust. The pot that used to be was unrecognizable; it was simply taken back to the dirt as it had started. The potter swept the dust back into the pan and then he emptied it into a bucket of water. Having done that he turned out the lights, locked the front door, and went home to end one of the most strenuous days he had ever endured. The next morning he returned to his studio with anticipation--he had a full day of work ahead of him. He walked, expectant, to the bucket of water and peered inside. He was pleased with what he saw, for during the night the water had mingled with the dust and now there was no longer just dirty water but there was a clump of clay sitting at the bottom of the bucket.
He reached his hand into the depths of the water and scooped up the clay. Then he took the lump back to his kneading table. There he worked the clay, cutting and slamming it until it was the perfect consistency. He took the clay to his wheel and threw the clump onto the surface. Then he began to work with the clay while spinning the wheel. First he centered it, and if you watched the potter, you knew that his experience reached far back--further than his memories and training, it had become a part of him. He was in control of the clay. With his muscles bulging he held his hands fast and the clay quickly conformed to them. When it was centered, he made a hole in it and began to bring the walls up. They became taller and taller, with each fluid movement from the potter's hands. He worked on it until all the walls were an even height and thickness. Until it was perfect in his eyes. Then he took it off the wheel and carefully carried to the windowsill to dry. When the water was evaporated and the pot was dry, he placed it in the kiln. Once loaded into the kiln, the pot was ready for the heat. The potter began to turn up the fire. Slowly, building up the temperature. Finally he reached the point where he could go no further. If he turned the heat up any higher, the pot would warp or explode. He took the pot to its breaking point and left it there to bake. Soon, when he was sure the pot was seasoned, he turned the heat off and let the pot cool down. Then he reached into the kiln and carefully brought the pot out--it had endured the flame. The potter carried the vessel to a bucket filled with glaze and dipped the pot deep into it. He brought it out and made sure that the glaze had evenly covered the surface of the piece. Then he took it again and put it back into the kiln. Since the pot had already endured the fire, and because it now had a glaze on it, the vessel was able to withstand more heat, and a greater fire. So the potter turne the heat up until the pot was once again at its breaking point. There he left it, he let it stay in the fire until the glaze bound with the clay and they became inseperable. Then the potter turned off the fire. When the pot was cooled, the potter lifted the vessel out, and he was pleased. He saw a perfect vessel, one with no flaws and one that could be used for his perfect anointing.
"The word which came to Jeremiah from the Lord, saying, Arise and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words. Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying, O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? Saith the Lord, behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel." (Jeremiah 18:1-6)

Trading Up.

2007-03-24T00:56:00.000-05:00

So I've had this thought festering in my brain for quite some time...I guess since I read about the man and the giant red paper clip. You know the story, he kept trading and trading until his paper clip materialized a house. Sure it took a while, but it happened and now he's the proud owner of a two bedroom--one and half bath in a quiet neighborhood.

I want to trade up. Yep. I've decided. I'm going to see what I can make out of one dollar. This summer, my goal is to see just what potential lies in a mere dollar. You know, a dollar is so insignificant to today's society. We rarely go shopping at the "dollar stores" just because we know that what we will be receiving in return for our $1.09 is a little piece of worthless junk or a stale no-name snack. But I think there is much more to the dollar than first meets the eye. I mean, what can I do with a dollar?

Well, I could buy a tablet of paper and a pencil and sell sketches. I could buy some bookmarks and sell them for profit (thanks Justin for that one). I could do any number of things. Even if I only end up with $1.25 after I'm done, I've made a 25% increase on my dollar--that's really good in the realm of profits.

So we'll see where the dollar gets me. We'll see just what potential that little dollar has...

You know, I could never end this blog without at least delving into the spiritual realm just a little bit. Humanity is made of little dollar bills. We are all walking currencies. I'm a dollar, you're a dollar--we're all dollars. Essentially each of us have been given the same potential. The varying places we were raised, how we were treated and such play a part on what we will become. Whether we will be spent on penney candy or as part of the down payment for a house depends on whose hands we place ourselves in. But we can make that decision.

I choose to place my value in the hands of an all-knowing God. He knows exactly what my dollar was meant for--and it's just enough to cover the cost.

i wear pants.

2007-03-14T01:37:00.000-05:00

It happened with the turning from every winter to spring. The jackets were abandoned, the sweaters boxed away and the jeans traded for lighter, cooler shorts. Everyone wore shorts to school the first day the temperature was forecasted to be higher than 50 degrees. Everyone except me.

I was raised in a very conservative Christian home. We had no television, wore very conservative clothing and ate dinner together every night. We had family game nights, and sat in the living room and talked and read together. I grew up thinking that was normal...I only wish it were. So you can understand my confusion when everyone else was wearing shorts and I wasn't. And then questions were asked. "Why don't you wear shorts?" My only answer was: "Because it's against my religion."

That was my answer for grade school, middle school, and (I'm ashamed to say) high school. I didn't do things because they were against my religion. I wore pants.

Over time I developed a new answer, this one was a bit more acceptable to those who asked me questions. I wanted to please God and so I did the "odd" things that I did because of that. I guess that was good enough because the people left me alone...maybe they had their reasons. I felt like I was answering a good question while they most likely left questioning my "good" answer.

I still remember the night. In fact it was February 14, 2007. Valentines Day. I was at Wednesday night Bible Study. I'm not exactly sure what my pastor spoke on--it doesn't matter. I only remember that I found my true love. I think for the first time I felt utterly convicted. God's love came and wrapped itself around me so tightly that I felt entirely dirty. When compared to the perfection of God, I realized how much of a failure I really was. In the midst of my feelings of imperfection, I felt something else. It was absolute unadulterated love for God. I loved Him and I wanted to do everything I could to please Him. I wanted so badly at that point in time to be modest on the inside. I wanted my thoughts to be crystal clean, I wanted my heart to be completely spotless, I wanted my soul to be white as snow.

I wanted to be modest because I loved God.

His love compelled me to change. It completely drove me to alter who I was. I don't need a pastor to tell me what I can and can't do. I only need my lover, God. It is my deep love for Him that urges me to conform to His will.

No don't get me wrong, I've got style and plenty of it to go around. I take pride in my clothes. But my modesty goes much further than clothes. It's a heart issue. And it shows itself in every aspect of my life. My talk, my friends, my wardrobe--everything.

I don't think my answer is much easier to explain, now that I have a real reason. So I guess I'm kind of back to square one. I love God. I wear pants.

Secret Things

2007-03-09T15:17:00.000-06:00

I remember wanting to be the President of the United States. As the President, I would make sure that each student in school would have a personal drinking fountain and mini refrigerator on the top of their desk. Also, I would build a mote around the White House and I would go canoing in that mote during my "spare" time. My mind was literally filled with dreams, inventions and aspirations--all thoughts that I would surely turn into realities some day.

I am convinced that each person in life is born with a little seed tucked away deep inside of them. This seed contains the dreams and aspirations that said person will develop as a child. Ballerinas, firemen, artists, and doctors fill the crystal-clear dreams of children and dominate the wish-lists of their hearts. Children are overflowing with ideas that they are bound and determined to make happen as soon as possible. They want to be hair stylists so they use their brother or sister for experimental purposes. They feel like they are called to be a doctor so they rip the arm off of their teddy bear and then tape it on with band-aids. The artist in them is ready to come out so they make their masterpiece on the dining room walls. They find an injured bird on the sidewalk and either their veterinarian instincts help nurse it back to health or their mortician genes dig it a pretty grave. The creativity seed inside of children is constantly producing results of some sort, but sadly society seems quick to smash and crush the seed shortly after children reach the double-digits.

I've grown far past the days of whimsical thinking, and to some extent the dreams that now occupy my mind are attainable. But there are a few childhood dreams that I have kept tucked away. I've worked hard keeping my little seed alive.

It's interesting that the dreams that I always thought were so big, so far away, and so awesome are now the dreams that I consider realities. I remember dreaming about an adventure to Africa. I wrote about it on a wish list in grade school. It's funny, but one day shortly after I returned from a three-month excursion to Uganda, East Africa, I found a folder of papers from grade school. Inside that folder I found the list, and I realized that I had made one of my secret dreams come true.

Now, I have another wish list. It's filled with the same starry-eyed hope that filled the last wish list--but this time it's from something different than the little seed inside of me. You see, I took care of that seed and now deep inside the very dirt of my being I have a garden. It is my garden of dreams. My seed of hope, of faith that I had as a child has grown to bear fruit of passion and of drive.

The dreams that I have set before me, those secret things that are tucked away--I know I will attain. I know because I saw one list of dreams become a list of realities.

I have another list of dreams--but I call them "my tomorrows."

intro: tomorrow's history

2007-03-08T15:22:00.000-06:00

So here goes...
I'm new to this whole "blogspot" thing--actually I was just introduced to it yesterday by my lovely and beautiful friend Christina, but I think I can do it.

Welcome to my blogspot blog: tomorrow's history. I chose that name partly because different names that I wanted were taken, and I also like the name a little bit.

When we stop and think about it, we are all writing our own history. There is a story to be told from each of our lives--some are worthy of being housed next to the classics while others barely make it behind the scandalous magazines of truck stops. I want mine, of course, to be closer to the classic section but that puts quite a burden on me. What am I doing right now to make this piece of my history exciting and worth remembering? What am I doing that breaks my story away from the norm enough to be noted but not far enough to be reprimanded? How visible are my actions to society? And the list goes on.

I'm thinking about it. And that is what this blog is for: to think about things...life, God, friends, whatever...

So until next...