Well, good news and bad news.
Bad news first: My Bible is packed, so no verses for us today.
Good news second: I will have access to a computer while on vacation. However, I'm not quite sure how much time I'll have to blog with little cousins (and big cousins) to attend to. Last time I went to a wedding--nope, change that--last last time I went to a wedding I was mortally wounded. My pride, you see, was trampled to a pulp. Let me tell you a little story.
"Once there was a beautiful girl who journeyed far to be present at her cousin's wedding. The grand rehersal dinner ball was held outside in the garden of her cousin's betrothed. As the fetching girl carried her plate of chicken and noodles she stepped into a seemingly nonexistant hole and fell, smashing her plate on a nearby railroad-tie (sp?), and causing the poultry and wiggly grains to become airborne. The plate was in quite a state, as was the unfortunate girl's hand. For deep within her palm a shard of porcelain plate was lodged. There was blood and there was an awful lot of mudd and most of it got on the poor girl's white jeans (theses were new jeans, never before worn). Once the blood was washed away and the shard removed--with much agony and many tears (haha, actually not, she was too embarrassed to cry)-- her hand was bandaged by the friendly witch-doctor. Alas, nothing could be done about her jeans. Therefore, for the rest of the evening, everyone at the great ball knew of her unseemly disaster and stared at her pityingly."
THE END
There is a moral to this story.
Don't wear white jeans. It just isn't worth it.
Alright, well, I'm off to board the plane. I love airports--except the NM airport. Hmm. They have a sense of adventure and the unknown--the sents are good too. Frozen yogurt and au bon pain--which is French for all you Frenchly-challenged folks. I hope you hall have a fantastic evening!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Vikings and A Lack of Regret
Hello, friends! Didn't Mr. Rodgers used to say that? No (duh). Mr. Rodgers from 'Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood' used to say 'hello, neighbor.' Goodness it's been a long time since childhood. I feel positively ancient. Did any of you know that Mr. Rodgers used to be a sniper? He always wore long-sleeved shirts to cover his tattoos? And you used to think the sweaters were quaint. Anyways. Here's a little story I found.
The Viking’s Hat
By Fervent Writer
"As I sat in front of my hut fixing a falcon’s feather onto the band of a soft green hat, an oared boat slid noisily onto the beach, its serpent-shaped prow crunching on the gravel. Looking up, I watched as a giant of a man jumped from the beached boat, his long blond braids bouncing off his leather armor. He did not look like the usual customer. After marching purposefully towards me, he stopped, folded his muscled arms and said, 'I need a hat.'
I stood up and wiped my hands on my apron, craning my neck back to see his face, 'Well you’ve come to the right place, sir. I’ve got small hats, big hats, hats with wide brims, hats with big feathers.' I held up the falcon’s feather to prove my point.
The man shook his head, causing his sandy mustache to sway back and forth on either side of his mouth. 'Not just any hat,' he growled. 'I want a hat that people will take notice of. I want a hat that will instill fear into the hearts of men. I want a hat that will preserve the memory of the prowess of the Vikings!' His face was flushed with enthusiasm. This guy had vision.
'It will be a pleasure to serve you, sir,' I told him. And it would be too. This new hat sounded like a challenging project. I enjoyed challenging projects. The Viking stared me down, his eyes popping slightly as he contemplated if I was up to the test. 'I’ll make you a hat that will cause knees to tremble and hearts to quail. A hat that will be the symbol of the blight of nations,' I assured him.
He held my gaze for a moment longer before barking, 'I’ll hold you to it.'
After the Viking left, I quickly decided that this fearsome hat needed some sort of formidable adornment, something attention-getting, something exotic. So, I left my hut and wandered into the forest in search of redoubtable embellishment. I was having very little luck finding anything.
Bunny ears? Insects? Mushrooms?
I needed something new, something bold, something striking.
That is when I got hit by the sheep.
Actually, it was a ram. I noticed this just before I was nearly impaled by one of its curved horns as it came flying, head down, out of the trees. I lay back on the dirt, squashed under the animal. Groaning, I rolled it off of me. Like a dying beetle, its hooves waggled in the air for a moment before it righted itself. Then it stood shakily, its funny-shaped eyes darting back and forth. I have never been attacked by a sheep before. Goats yes, sheep no. Maybe his unusual attitude sprung from those giant horns he wore so pompously.
“Who do you think you are?” I asked him angrily, brushing the leaves off my shirt. “You could have killed me.” He snorted unapologetically. “Look,” I jabbed a finger at him, “I’m not liking your attitude. Why don’t you go away and come back when you’ve had time to think about your actions.” Bleating mockingly, he turned and trotted off in the direction from which he came.
I was lifting my pack off the ground when he came charging back. This time I was ready. When those wicked-looking horns were a foot away, I jumped to the side and out of the fanatical sheep’s reach. He skidded to a stop and looked at me reproachfully. I put my hands on my hips and ordered, “Leave. March. Shoo.” I stomped my foot. “You’ll regret it if you play that trick again.” He smacked his lips and wiggled his stub of a tail before prancing off once more. I listened carefully until his footsteps faded away. There was a moment of silence before I could hear him crashing back through the bracket. This sheep had some sort of a problem. I stood on my toes, ready for anything.
There he was, barreling towards me, his funny-shaped eyes filled with a malicious joy. He was running at me…He was running at me…He was running past me…Blam! He was slamming into a tree. I heard an ominous crack and watched as the ram’s neck slumped to the side and his body crumpled to the ground. The sheep had it coming.
I observed the ram for a moment, but there was no sign of life. I poked his stomach and grimaced as his tongue flopped out of his mouth. Cheeky even in death. My eyes moved from his tongue to his horns; they were menacing looking things. I felt their tips and then moved my fingers down the glassy surface. They were also very stylish.
Suddenly my designer’s eyes were opened. What would the Viking think about a hat made with horns? Horns were a symbol of power, a symbol of goring and fighting. He would love it. He had to love it. Besides, they would go great with his hair. I imagined the hat in my mind: a leather skull cap, with a bridge over the nose, studded iron around the brim, and these two magnificent horns protruding from the sides. My eyes flashed open. These things would be all the rage. There would be more orders. I would be in business for years. What was I doing still standing here? There were things to do, hats to make, Vikings to please. The only unfortunate thing was, the Viking would go down in history for his headpiece, but who would remember me?"
"As I sat in front of my hut fixing a falcon’s feather onto the band of a soft green hat, an oared boat slid noisily onto the beach, its serpent-shaped prow crunching on the gravel. Looking up, I watched as a giant of a man jumped from the beached boat, his long blond braids bouncing off his leather armor. He did not look like the usual customer. After marching purposefully towards me, he stopped, folded his muscled arms and said, 'I need a hat.'
I stood up and wiped my hands on my apron, craning my neck back to see his face, 'Well you’ve come to the right place, sir. I’ve got small hats, big hats, hats with wide brims, hats with big feathers.' I held up the falcon’s feather to prove my point.
The man shook his head, causing his sandy mustache to sway back and forth on either side of his mouth. 'Not just any hat,' he growled. 'I want a hat that people will take notice of. I want a hat that will instill fear into the hearts of men. I want a hat that will preserve the memory of the prowess of the Vikings!' His face was flushed with enthusiasm. This guy had vision.
'It will be a pleasure to serve you, sir,' I told him. And it would be too. This new hat sounded like a challenging project. I enjoyed challenging projects. The Viking stared me down, his eyes popping slightly as he contemplated if I was up to the test. 'I’ll make you a hat that will cause knees to tremble and hearts to quail. A hat that will be the symbol of the blight of nations,' I assured him.
He held my gaze for a moment longer before barking, 'I’ll hold you to it.'
After the Viking left, I quickly decided that this fearsome hat needed some sort of formidable adornment, something attention-getting, something exotic. So, I left my hut and wandered into the forest in search of redoubtable embellishment. I was having very little luck finding anything.
Bunny ears? Insects? Mushrooms?
I needed something new, something bold, something striking.
That is when I got hit by the sheep.
Actually, it was a ram. I noticed this just before I was nearly impaled by one of its curved horns as it came flying, head down, out of the trees. I lay back on the dirt, squashed under the animal. Groaning, I rolled it off of me. Like a dying beetle, its hooves waggled in the air for a moment before it righted itself. Then it stood shakily, its funny-shaped eyes darting back and forth. I have never been attacked by a sheep before. Goats yes, sheep no. Maybe his unusual attitude sprung from those giant horns he wore so pompously.
“Who do you think you are?” I asked him angrily, brushing the leaves off my shirt. “You could have killed me.” He snorted unapologetically. “Look,” I jabbed a finger at him, “I’m not liking your attitude. Why don’t you go away and come back when you’ve had time to think about your actions.” Bleating mockingly, he turned and trotted off in the direction from which he came.
I was lifting my pack off the ground when he came charging back. This time I was ready. When those wicked-looking horns were a foot away, I jumped to the side and out of the fanatical sheep’s reach. He skidded to a stop and looked at me reproachfully. I put my hands on my hips and ordered, “Leave. March. Shoo.” I stomped my foot. “You’ll regret it if you play that trick again.” He smacked his lips and wiggled his stub of a tail before prancing off once more. I listened carefully until his footsteps faded away. There was a moment of silence before I could hear him crashing back through the bracket. This sheep had some sort of a problem. I stood on my toes, ready for anything.
There he was, barreling towards me, his funny-shaped eyes filled with a malicious joy. He was running at me…He was running at me…He was running past me…Blam! He was slamming into a tree. I heard an ominous crack and watched as the ram’s neck slumped to the side and his body crumpled to the ground. The sheep had it coming.
I observed the ram for a moment, but there was no sign of life. I poked his stomach and grimaced as his tongue flopped out of his mouth. Cheeky even in death. My eyes moved from his tongue to his horns; they were menacing looking things. I felt their tips and then moved my fingers down the glassy surface. They were also very stylish.
Suddenly my designer’s eyes were opened. What would the Viking think about a hat made with horns? Horns were a symbol of power, a symbol of goring and fighting. He would love it. He had to love it. Besides, they would go great with his hair. I imagined the hat in my mind: a leather skull cap, with a bridge over the nose, studded iron around the brim, and these two magnificent horns protruding from the sides. My eyes flashed open. These things would be all the rage. There would be more orders. I would be in business for years. What was I doing still standing here? There were things to do, hats to make, Vikings to please. The only unfortunate thing was, the Viking would go down in history for his headpiece, but who would remember me?"
Ha, I think it's cute.
Well, on the argument front, I'm not doing super good, but I'm not doing totally bad, either. The hard part is remembering not to get in a fight. It just comes so easily. What if doing nice things came just as easily? Isn't it odd (sickeningly odd) how easily it is to forget the things of God when God is really all that matters? We can forget Him, but we can't escape Him. Anyone who isn't trying (with all their pathetic human might) to convince themselves otherwise, can plainly see that God is part of everything.
Take a look at your foot. Go ahead.
Do you need any more proof to believe in God?
(If you do there's plenty to be found. Let your eyes travel up your foot to your leg. Read ancient writings. Study archeology. Listen to the story of anyone who has ever lived.)
God is real. God is here. Live like God is here. Every moment of every day. I don't want to have regrets about my life when I stand before the Lord. That's my prayer today.
Alright, I'm done now. Wow, this is my longest blog ever!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Augh! I Almost Forgot A Title!
I've got a challenge for you all. (Whoopee!) So I was reading in 2 Timothy today and Paul was getting very fatherly sprewing out good advice left and right. One theme kept surfacing. Take a look.
"Warn them before God against quarreling about words; it is of no value, and only ruins those who listen." 2:14
"Avoid godless chatter, because those who indulge in it will become more and more ungodly." 2:16
" Dont have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels. And the Lord's servant must not quarrel." 2:23-24.
Now, I was thinking that we all might try to keep our shirts on and keep our underwear from knotting and try not to have cows for the next couple of days and see how things go. Paul seems to think this would be a good idea and Paul's assumptions are usually correct (I don't know why, maybe because his words are divinely inspired or something.). I am going to try to keep track of all the arguments I get in in the next couple of days and I'll record them here. I dearly hope that the numbers get shorter each day. It's pretty late in the afternoon, but I think I will begin counting today. If anyone else wants to attempt this with me--great! Winner gets the satisfaction of knowing that they're a winner (oh boy, oh boy) and that they're better, more pleasing servants of God. Let's fight that little gremlin of discord. Stick him with whatever you find. Such as:
The dagger of 'swallow your pride'.
The shovel (which are often used as last-minute weapons in movies) of 'grin and bear it'.
The baseball bat of 'turn the other cheek'.
The big stick of 'maybe there's a possibility I'm not right every single time'.
The sharp object of 'your sister's annoying habit really isn't that annoying (really)'.
Anyways... My last fifteen minutes or so have been argument-free. I'm doing well. Hannah was even in here for a minute and we didn't but heads once.
Well, just as a heads up, I'll be going out of town on Thursday and won't have acess to a computer (I don't think) for a little over a week. I just wanted to give you all time to mentally prepare yourselves for the day when no new posts will appear and you feel your very soul will wither and die. How very sad. I'll miss blogging.
Have a fantastic evening everyone!
"Warn them before God against quarreling about words; it is of no value, and only ruins those who listen." 2:14
"Avoid godless chatter, because those who indulge in it will become more and more ungodly." 2:16
" Dont have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels. And the Lord's servant must not quarrel." 2:23-24.
Now, I was thinking that we all might try to keep our shirts on and keep our underwear from knotting and try not to have cows for the next couple of days and see how things go. Paul seems to think this would be a good idea and Paul's assumptions are usually correct (I don't know why, maybe because his words are divinely inspired or something.). I am going to try to keep track of all the arguments I get in in the next couple of days and I'll record them here. I dearly hope that the numbers get shorter each day. It's pretty late in the afternoon, but I think I will begin counting today. If anyone else wants to attempt this with me--great! Winner gets the satisfaction of knowing that they're a winner (oh boy, oh boy) and that they're better, more pleasing servants of God. Let's fight that little gremlin of discord. Stick him with whatever you find. Such as:
The dagger of 'swallow your pride'.
The shovel (which are often used as last-minute weapons in movies) of 'grin and bear it'.
The baseball bat of 'turn the other cheek'.
The big stick of 'maybe there's a possibility I'm not right every single time'.
The sharp object of 'your sister's annoying habit really isn't that annoying (really)'.
Anyways... My last fifteen minutes or so have been argument-free. I'm doing well. Hannah was even in here for a minute and we didn't but heads once.
Well, just as a heads up, I'll be going out of town on Thursday and won't have acess to a computer (I don't think) for a little over a week. I just wanted to give you all time to mentally prepare yourselves for the day when no new posts will appear and you feel your very soul will wither and die. How very sad. I'll miss blogging.
Have a fantastic evening everyone!
Monday, July 28, 2008
A Shot Glass and Some Chances
Hullo! Top o' the mornin' to ya.
Take a look at the article I found in this morning's paper.
Take a look at the article I found in this morning's paper.
"Undersized Drinking"
BY ELYYAH BEUHR
of the Irish Times
'0THURLES, IRELAND—Mary O’Higgins, part time manager of Mac’s Pub and Grille, was the single witness to an unusual situation last Friday. Arriving at work by ten, O’Higgins unlocked the pub and began her usual preparations for the lunch crowd. As she was wiping off the tap, O’Higgins caught a glimpse of something in the back corner of the pub. “There was a little shimmer, like light reflecting,” the manager related, “so I went over to see what it was.” Leaving the security of the bar, O’Higgins made her way to the back booth. But before she was ten feet away, this stable, hearty woman dropped unconsciously to the floor. This was where twenty-two year old Mandy Cork, the day waitress, found her after arriving at the pub at ten forty-five.
“She was sprawled out on the floor, face down…she came awake when I put the bottle of horseradish under her nose,” Cork said. After awakening her boss, the young server led O’Higgins to a bar stool and brought her a drink. O’Higgins needed only a moment before she began to relate what she had seen. “There were fifteen, no, twenty silvery, little people on the table,” O’Higgins claimed later, “They were sitting in a circle around a bowl of peanuts and a shot glass full of Guinness.” Apparently O’Higgins stumbled upon a batch of merrymaking faeries. Cork saw neither wing nor petal of these tiny pub-goers, but she asserts that the shot glass and peanut shells were on the table.
Before opening the pub at eleven, Cork and O’Higgins called the Thurles police, who took the shot glass away for study. As of now the police have no evidence either confirming or denying the existence of O’Higgins faeries.'
“She was sprawled out on the floor, face down…she came awake when I put the bottle of horseradish under her nose,” Cork said. After awakening her boss, the young server led O’Higgins to a bar stool and brought her a drink. O’Higgins needed only a moment before she began to relate what she had seen. “There were fifteen, no, twenty silvery, little people on the table,” O’Higgins claimed later, “They were sitting in a circle around a bowl of peanuts and a shot glass full of Guinness.” Apparently O’Higgins stumbled upon a batch of merrymaking faeries. Cork saw neither wing nor petal of these tiny pub-goers, but she asserts that the shot glass and peanut shells were on the table.
Before opening the pub at eleven, Cork and O’Higgins called the Thurles police, who took the shot glass away for study. As of now the police have no evidence either confirming or denying the existence of O’Higgins faeries.'
Crazy, huh? Don't quite know if I believe it... Whoever wrote this knows the sort of news I'm interested in. I'd like to meet that oddly-named reporter someday. She obviously understands the value of a good meaty peice of news totally void of gore and politics. Anyways, I found an interesting verse in Acts the other day. Let me share with you all.
"From one man he made every nation of men that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us." Acts 17:26-27
I know God is completely in control of my life, but I just like the wording of this verse. Each one of us has been situated in a time and location where God can reveal Himself to us. I live in New Mexico in the 21st century because God wanted it to be this way (it's not just the terrible fluke I've always assumed it to be. I wanted to live in Scotland in the 19th century...) This is true for everyone in the world who lives and who has lived and who will live. No one can be excused on judgement day because everything was set up perfectly for us and it's our fault if we miss our chance. This verse would be a good argument to tell those who don't believe a merciful God would send people to Hell. God has given everyone a chance (usually much more than one). His desire is that we would reach out for Him. It's our fault if we don't. I just love how God has the whole world so orchestrated. It's not as chaotic as most people think. Does anyone else have anything to comment on this?
Man alive, I must have some of the longest posts on the web. I'll leave you good people in peace now.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Gigantic Thighs and Repentance
Hello my avid readers (I'm giving myself too much credit--this I realize),
Well, as I have just run 11.57 miles (yes, yes, again I'm puffing myself up. I'll pop myself in a minute.) I just feel like sitting here and not moving for maybe, I don't know, a couple months or so. What this means for you, my dear friends, is that this post may be exceedingly long. You're welcome to get up and walk away any time you feel like it. Back to me--oh, I didn't mean that--not what I meant to say, harrumph--back to my running. This is the first time in my young life that I have ever gone so far, and even though I may be permenantly damaged I feel good. I feel like a Greek athlete or someone from way back when who traveled thirty miles a day on foot for some amazing cause (like saving their realm from invaders or something). While I was running, some guy--some serious runner guy, some serious attractive runner guy--sped past me and made me feel kind of slow and pathetic and nerdy (I run with my glasses on.) His thighs were as big as, I don't know, something big. Now I have purposed in my heart to become an amazing runner and get gigantic thighs, so that he will never speed past me again. Maybe next time we're out running at the same time, he'll see me and say,
"Hey, you're a fast runner."
And I'll say, "Hey, thanks, so are you. I have big thighs now. Now I can run fast like you."
And he'll say, "Yeah, well, so long."
Anyways... I told you this would be a long post. A long pointless post. I've got diherea of the mouth today. Gross. Let me talk about something worthwhile. Something that has anything to do with the point of my blog. Namely God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Christians... Something along those lines. Let me tell you what I have been learning recently...
I have been learning about sin.
Yes, I've been messing around in things I shouldn't (nothing illegal or totally depraved--I heard the gasps and thought I'd better clear things up.). I've been totally selfish. My sin (which shall remain nameless for the time being) separated me from God for the past couple of weeks. There is just such an obvious connection between doing what I shouldn't and then suddenly feeling far away from God. Embarrassed to talk to him, I put Him off because it is the easiest thing to do. This is why God hates sin and why He warns against it. He loves to be with His children, but our sins manage to shove themselves right up between God and us (we, ourselves?), separating us. I've been feeling alone lately but I know I can't blame this on God. This is totally my fault.
So what can I do? Well, in the words of Paul,
"Yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended. . . Godly sorrow bring repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret." 2 Corinthians 7:9-10
I must repent. Saying I'm sorry won't cut it. I've got to feel sorry (terrible, guilty, dirty, worthless) and turn from my sin. This feeling of repentence doesn't always come when we want it. It's a gift. Weird, but true. So I (and anyone else who finds themselves in the same boat--which would be just about everybody) must pray for the gift of repentance which is something God obviously desires to give us.
Well, I pray that my little revelation helped somebody. Gosh, I hope I didn't sound preachy. I don't ever want to sound 'better than thou'. Somebody warn me if that happens. I just like letting people know what God has been attempting to pound into my thick little cranium.
Goodness, blogging takes up too much time. I've got things to do today. Farewell, all (all three of you.). Until next time.
Well, as I have just run 11.57 miles (yes, yes, again I'm puffing myself up. I'll pop myself in a minute.) I just feel like sitting here and not moving for maybe, I don't know, a couple months or so. What this means for you, my dear friends, is that this post may be exceedingly long. You're welcome to get up and walk away any time you feel like it. Back to me--oh, I didn't mean that--not what I meant to say, harrumph--back to my running. This is the first time in my young life that I have ever gone so far, and even though I may be permenantly damaged I feel good. I feel like a Greek athlete or someone from way back when who traveled thirty miles a day on foot for some amazing cause (like saving their realm from invaders or something). While I was running, some guy--some serious runner guy, some serious attractive runner guy--sped past me and made me feel kind of slow and pathetic and nerdy (I run with my glasses on.) His thighs were as big as, I don't know, something big. Now I have purposed in my heart to become an amazing runner and get gigantic thighs, so that he will never speed past me again. Maybe next time we're out running at the same time, he'll see me and say,
"Hey, you're a fast runner."
And I'll say, "Hey, thanks, so are you. I have big thighs now. Now I can run fast like you."
And he'll say, "Yeah, well, so long."
Anyways... I told you this would be a long post. A long pointless post. I've got diherea of the mouth today. Gross. Let me talk about something worthwhile. Something that has anything to do with the point of my blog. Namely God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Christians... Something along those lines. Let me tell you what I have been learning recently...
I have been learning about sin.
Yes, I've been messing around in things I shouldn't (nothing illegal or totally depraved--I heard the gasps and thought I'd better clear things up.). I've been totally selfish. My sin (which shall remain nameless for the time being) separated me from God for the past couple of weeks. There is just such an obvious connection between doing what I shouldn't and then suddenly feeling far away from God. Embarrassed to talk to him, I put Him off because it is the easiest thing to do. This is why God hates sin and why He warns against it. He loves to be with His children, but our sins manage to shove themselves right up between God and us (we, ourselves?), separating us. I've been feeling alone lately but I know I can't blame this on God. This is totally my fault.
So what can I do? Well, in the words of Paul,
"Yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended. . . Godly sorrow bring repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret." 2 Corinthians 7:9-10
I must repent. Saying I'm sorry won't cut it. I've got to feel sorry (terrible, guilty, dirty, worthless) and turn from my sin. This feeling of repentence doesn't always come when we want it. It's a gift. Weird, but true. So I (and anyone else who finds themselves in the same boat--which would be just about everybody) must pray for the gift of repentance which is something God obviously desires to give us.
Well, I pray that my little revelation helped somebody. Gosh, I hope I didn't sound preachy. I don't ever want to sound 'better than thou'. Somebody warn me if that happens. I just like letting people know what God has been attempting to pound into my thick little cranium.
Goodness, blogging takes up too much time. I've got things to do today. Farewell, all (all three of you.). Until next time.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
My First Official Blog
Boy, oh boy, golly-wally, gee-whiz, hot diggety-dog (bang the cymbols, blow the trumpets!) I, Hayley Bop (not real last name) have finally joined the masses of technelogical people and started my very own blog. What should I tell the world first? What wisdom can I impart? What sagely advice can I post for posterity?
Okay, now that I've introduced myself (and ran out of things to say--setting up the blog took it all out me. I'm not cut out for this tech stuff.) I will explain the title of my blog. I will use points. I like points. They simplify things for everybody. When I use points I don't have to write a beautifully organized, cohesive paragraph. Here we go.
Why I Titled My Blog What I Titled My Blog
Okay, now that I've introduced myself (and ran out of things to say--setting up the blog took it all out me. I'm not cut out for this tech stuff.) I will explain the title of my blog. I will use points. I like points. They simplify things for everybody. When I use points I don't have to write a beautifully organized, cohesive paragraph. Here we go.
Why I Titled My Blog What I Titled My Blog
- I am a Christian. However, I am not the sort of Christian who claims to be a Christian and leaves it at that. I really want to know God. I desire to love Jesus with all my heart, strength, and mind. However, I realize that following Christ is the hardest thing a person can do (and yet, it's the easiet thing as well. More on this later.). Every day is a battle.
"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers,
against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the
spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."
Ephesians 6:12 I don't fight this battle alone. I have Jesus, the armor of God, and fellow Christians to fight with me. This blog is meant to be a rallying cry from one Christian to another. From one soldier to another. I pray that God may use this site to connect his children. I pray that we will use it to encourage and support one another.
I thought the name was cool. It's tough, kind of haunting, maybe? Is this a misconception of mine?
It came to me pretty quickly, and as it was better than the other titles I was coming up with (such as: Little Tiny Mushrooms and Can't Think of A Name for My Blog) I chose it instead.
Well, I dearly hope that I have covered all ground and not left a single one of you confused on the subject of my title. I'm really kind of excited to push the Publish Post button and see it pop up on my very own, not-so-private, blog. So, without any further ado, I bid you farewell and good afternoon.
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