Ironically, convictions have just knocked me over the head.

I mentioned it previously, but I'm currently reading the book "Growing up Christian". I haven't really been taking much of a genuine interest in it, as I discarded it as 'to-be-read-school-literature', but I will, because this point is valid, and it makes me wonder what I've missed so far.

This weeks' chapter is on convictions of faith, and if your beliefs are faith based and personally established. Nearing the end of the chapter I came upon a group of questions with which I will follow more comments.

1. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe God exists?

2. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe the Bible is true?

3. What would you say to someone who asked how to tell whether something is right or wrong or whether something is true of false?

4. What would you say to someone who asked why it is wrong to lie?

5. What would you say to someone who asked how you know heaven is real?

6. What would you say to someone who asked you how you know Satan is real?

7. What would you say to someone who asked why you believe Christianity is true and other faiths (such as Mormon, Jehovah's Witness, and Islamic faiths) are false?

8. What would you say to someone who asked why you attend church every Sunday?

9. What would you say to someone who asked how you know Jesus truly was God and wasn't just a great prophet?

10. What would you say to someone who asked why you are a Christian?

I know I would be at a significant loss of words. At least right now. I want to change that.

To leave you with a thought, how about you, how would you answer?

An old, stooped man of a shuffling gate advanced slowly down the shelf lined hall. A particularly bushy and greyed mustache took up a prominent stature, this was topped by tired, but clear blue eyes. The wrinkles on his face rolled over each other, but the look of the face was friendly and laughing. He sat in a cushioned chair, settling slowly. He sat, seemingly motionless, unyet, he was not, for his eyes followed the small children as they scurried about the shelves, his face creased by a smile of appreciation for their activity and his peace. He sat for about an hour until he unhurriedly made his exit. He carried no books, and no evident benefit, but for the far away look on his face as he traced back through the memories of his childhood, his siblings, then later his own family, and even after that, the grandchildren. And now the children at the library.


I saw this man at work, obviously, and though was unable to talk to him, observed him most of the time he remained there. That which I would not know from his looks is obviously a ficticious add-on from my imagination, but it is quite interesting to think of such, in such a way.

What's the point?

I pretty much always ask that question. Maybe its because I'm a lazy bum and I have to have a reason to do something. Maybe its that I'm wondering where it will take me. Either way I think that if I trusted than I'd be able to do something without asking 'what's the point of this?'

Its really makes you wonder.

What I found especially disheartening today was talking about something that I'll have to do in two years, something that seems impossible right now. Something I'd crazy to attempt at this point.

Sitting, Waiting, Watching (wishing).

Beware sarcasim and brutal honesty

Well I last blogged on the 21st of September. Makes me feel guilty for neglecting it. Arn't you supposed to use the Internet communications (MSN, blogs, facebook, etc) as an aid, not a crutch, or a necessity? I guess that's sort of a question that I already know that answer to. That's really why I'm off Facebook for October (Keith's idea). Still I feel the need to 'stay connected' over MSN.

I'm doing too much. But I'm not doing enough. And I've totally just like, right out, cut down my schedule by like 2 events a week. If I just didn't have to sleep, then I'd get everything done, oh yeah, plus my goal to look like a raccoon.
Last night I went to the Rockton Fair. I don't regret using the time that way. I met some pretty awesome new people, and hung out with some old (hah) people. Than why am I so resentful towards losing the time. Maybe I want a full day to work, plus of course, a few hours to socialize, and then a full nights sleep. It just doesn't work that way. The day is perfect in length the way God made it. That's another thing, I believe about God making everything, and being like this intensely loving guy (excuse the term, it was for lack of other), but, I don't really feel personally connected to him. In fact I don't really think I fit under the term "Christian". I seriously don't like that, because I'd rather, but really, has it come to splitting groups in labeled columns by evidence of their actions? ...I don't even like the term Christian, because though it does define a certain group, they're all amazing individuals, they shouldn't be stuck in a group. I don't know how to explain the whole labeled thing, but if you ever thought about it (which I didn't until one of my best friends made me) you can't be in the box (or or the term), unless you acknowledge it.

Brittni, you need to read 'Growing Up Christian' by Karl Graustein, so we can talk about.


Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy. And lonely.
I have to do Art, Math, and Science homework this evening.
No one is home.
My parents are a at Gaither's concert (ohh goodness, VERY abnormal).
And Kathleen is babysitting.
And I'm sitting here with this little ache in the pit of my stomach saying "come back!"
It used to

Art. Two point perspective, Tonal Rendering & the Proper way to make railroad ties (the most annoying exercise on the planet).


For love - we'll give it a shot.
Whooah, we're half way there.
Whooah livin' on a prayer.
Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear.
Whooah livin' on a prayer.
We've got to hold on to what we've got

I think I'm going to go talk to God. And listen to that song. I like it.

lonely

i double dipped my carrots, i blasted my music until my ears hurt, and there was nobody to tell me not to do it.

i'm tired of being lonely, of being alone.

i wish next week would hurry up and get here.

Picture me, a 5 year old. Its winter, I'm wrapped up in my winter clothes along with wool mitts and a pink wool hat. It's still winter cold, but recently the snow had a great melt down. The snow-turned-water washed the dirt into great puddles of mud. There are five of us children. Angela-8, Jay-7, Kath-7, Randy-5.5, Rach-5. We're at the other kids' family's farm. A simple affair of a dirty white farmhouse, a faded red barn, and a driveshed clustered around a grassyard containing a playground and yardshed. The buildings are bordered by a road at the front and two fields on the sides, but most importantly, backed by a narrow dirt lane, a curving path towards a looming wood of children's fantasies.
It was down this path that the five of us traipsed. All in winter attire that was much too baggy, but fit the purpose. The woods grew in the distance as we walked on. The trip down the lane seemed to be taking near to five times it should. And as I recall, the stride I now walk with swallows the distance in a quarter of the time. The bend in the lane appeared just below the dip in the rutted track, and the edge of the woods stood stiff to all lookers. The woods were boardered by tall weeds laced with frost and sprinkled with snow that settled deep at their base. A moment of hesitation and Jay stepped through the snow. He sank deep, and had to part the tall weeds that dwarfed his small frame. Angela followed, wading through and breaking a trail. I followed. There was mud beneath the layer of snow that came up to my waist. Breaking free of the weeds I was into the canopy of the trees. Leaves or no, the pines smiled a warm green scent as we picked our way through the forest towards the familiar 'pond'. Squeezing through a tiny gap in a ring of tall pines we gathered by the fort, that was suddenly exposed, as we stepped into the grove. The fort was primative. Wooden stakes pounded into the earth in a generous rectangle and more closely around the edges. Long tree branches lay on the wall frame, across the top, to form the rafters. Sheets of rusted and bent metal encircled the wood stakes to creat walls, and a great blue trap, spotted by many repairs, was cast over top. The small door faced the pond, a creek's dammed surface, glassy with ice. On the other side of the pond were an assortment of swings. Ropes cast over branches, looped holes in the bottom for feet, a wooden seat, a stout stick to swing on. A log see-saw sat to the side of the pond, dusted with powdery snow.
Inside the fort were a collaboration of amusments. In the back corner were a set of stone slabs, the oven. Above it and all along the back wall was a board shelf, nailed in place, and littered with chipped dishes and rusted pots. The rest of the fort was open, though a old dart board stood on the wall, darts waiting, and a an old milk barrel housed the handmade bows and arrows.
In the weather of the season we spent our hours of innocence living in the fort, traveling along the creek's length to the sack hill, where under a cleverly hidden cavern of tree's roots housed our feed sacks. Perfect for sitting on and coasting down the packed snow hill, and boot skating on the creek and pond. After a full morning of fantasies and snowy joys we would heed the call of the lunch bell to travel out of the woods. Being infinately careful to splash in the melted mud puddles, we raced each other in short bursts that took us faster towards the house that promised hot cocoa and cheese & tuna melts for lunch.

-a story of childhood memories as related to a friend

close your eyes and learn to see

Life dishes you things you don't like

Sometimes you know there's a better place you could be

You just can't let go, and reach out again

You close your eyes and learn to see

.

All it takes is a moment of silence

But it's in this turmoil I got lost before

Sometimes I want it, sometimes I don't

I'm lost in descision, do I want more?

.

Where does this path go?

Will I like where it leads?

Am I still looking for the best,

Or am I ignoring what my heart's needs?

.

Should I be silent, should I rise up

Why all these questions, am I too fickle?

All questions, no answers

Oh dear I know this is quite a pickle

.

The fallen tears dried long ago

While others still live without release

I don't want to remain, I want to move

Please let me self, please

.

A war within, a war not of two

Nor three, or four

I'd like to clean these confusions up

Without creating more

.

Brought in with the rising tide

Is the thought there's a better place for me to be

And though I reach, I don't let go

And though I close my eyes I still can't see