Another Life

If you think about it, it's like a conversation. You're just waiting for your turn to talk - or in my case, looking for the right words.

You ask her the question. Maybe then you'll notice the music. See, it's the music that really speaks to you...that tells you what to do. All you have to do is listen.

Maybe you won't remember which song was playing, or even what you were wearing. You'll only be left with the dance. One moment of passion that will last long after the music is over.

That's what swing dancing was to me. In a past life, I ran with the best. I would be found in jam circles with the likes of Don West, Jerry and Kathy Warwick, Elaine Hewlett. I was in the front line during the shim sham, back when the Frankie Manning version was all anyone knew. I was in a professional performance team called ACME, and we danced to live bands in front of 3,000 people. Once I even did a standing back flip in the middle of a Charelston solo, center stage.

...but it was never about any of that for me. It was about showing up to the swing clubs downtown unannounced and unnoticed, and dancing in the corner with my beautiful and amazing partner, who is now my wife. It was about being invisible while making her look the best of all the girls on the floor.

But that was another life. I find that I cherish memories more easily when they're written down. I guess it's just nice to open the window every now and then, even if just for that quick glance out into the 'remember when's.

-R.

Nothing like modern vintage art.

As a loyal follower of all things Nintendo (especially Mario), I feel morally obligated to share this drawing, entitled Mario's Closet:

Artist Glen Brogan's whimsical take on our favorite Italian plumber's morning ritual. "I wanted to include as many of his power-ups as possible, but the main rule I had to follow was that I couldn't include things that actually transform Mario himself rather that just changing his wardrobe, like the Boo mushroom from Mario Galaxy" -digg

Also, I want that underwear.

Pieces of my Brain. Nom Nom Nom.

If my brain were a website, this post would be the site map.

SLEEPING
Recently I've had a  tendency to wake up in the wee hours of the morning spouting random yet relatively profound statements, such as "Monopoly's biggest flaw is that it operates on an inadequate representation of the current cashflow system utilized in our modern economy, through the elimination of certain key elements such as debt and interest...ZZzzz."

WRITING
I've been trying to make reality out of an idea I've been chewing on lately...it's a novelette--a bite-sized piece of literary indulgence, if you will.  In short it's my re-imagining of a classic and well-known tale about an Italian plumber's adventures battling a giant angry turtle-esque creature.

READING
Now that I'm temporarily done with school and have earned some semblance of a degree, I intend to spend the following semester catching up on some non-mandatory reading.  I have a list of books, but I just need to put myself on a schedule to make sure they all actually get read in time.

DRAWING
I need to draw more to keep myself from getting too rusty before art school starts in August.  When I have an intention to draw something specific, I'm never satisfied with the result; however, when I'm just sketching whimsically while half paying attention to something else (usually someone talking at me), the stuff that comes out is decent.

PAINTING
I started painting something about a month ago, but I quit because it looked like butt.  Not a butt, just...butt-tastic.  Y'know what I mean?  Anyway, I've had some ideas of what to do to salvage it, but I just can't seem to make the time to get my butt out there and paint it.  But I am getting tired of looking at its butt-ness, so I need to just do it.

CHRISTIAN-ING
My faith has definitely gone through its share of challenges this year.  I've been very open to a lot of new ideas, and it has been a spiritual workout comparing everything to what I know about God and the bible.  Especially when it's comparing the bible to the bible, which is a lot more intellectually demanding than it sounds.  I've got some short- and long-term goals about what I'm going to do to cultivate my faith this coming year, rather than just maintain it.

MUSIC-ING
This "-ing" thing is going downhill fast.  I am still teaching guitar on Saturdays, and I'm still making 40 bucks an hour for it.  It's good to have a weekly refresher to remind myself that I'm actually a guitarist.  However, as of late, my time at the store has been spent either teaching guitar, or teaching myself how to play the songs from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on piano.  I can do all of the first episode, which is apparently only impressive to Whedonites.

BLOGGING
I'm always thinking of things to write, and over time I've developed quite a filter.  Most of the things I think of are not things I can imagine anyone else being interested in.  I write those too, I just don't publish them.  I try to blog often, to give my racing brain an outlet, and always write as if I'm some kind of columnist who gets paid for it.  But I always wonder if my posts are as interesting to others as they are to me.

WORKING
My work situation is fluid.  I say that because it's always changing.  And because it would look cool in a lava lamp.  For better or for worse, it will be changing again at the end of May, provided all goes as planned.  We're about to make a big life change, and I really hope and pray that my work situation will be solid throughout the process.

PLAYING
I know that I get addicted to video games very easily.  Instead of trying to exercise self control (psh), my wife and I have agreed that whenever I buy a game that I know will suck me in, I am allowed to be addicted to it for a month, and then it must be shelved, only to be played infrequently and casually.  But knowing that I will be cut off in a month makes the gameplay period that much more intense, because I have to beat the entire game in a month or else I will die.

TALKING
I've realized that I talk a lot.  And I have a lot of opinions on things that don't matter.  I find that those two facts converge and create the reality in which I live every single day: I speak my mind on every topic I have the least bit of knowledge about.  One of those things is grammar, which is why the previous sentence is killing me.  But I find that I learn so much more when I listen and let others speak.

LISTENING
My taste in music is changing rapidly.  Recently I created a Pandora station based on Regina Spektor, Imogen Heap, Kate Micucci, and the band She & Him.  Somehow the station miraculously changed its name to "Chick Songs for Dudes."  I'm okay with that.  I also have a mix based on Explosions in the Sky, The Postal Service, and Playradioplay.  I had no idea who any of those artists were a year ago, and I will probably be listening to something entirely different another year from now.

That's all for now.

And then there were three.

When faced with criticism, whether constructive or destructive, people of the blogging persuasion inevitably tend to incline themselves toward a post full of negative comments pointed at either themselves those those who offered the criticism. They ask rhetorical questions that generally revolve around the word "why," and feel the need to defend themselves.

I usually try to keep this blog up-beat, so I'm going to keep things positive. The purpose of this post is more along the lines of getting my thoughts down, so that I can later organize them into some kind of plan for improvement. Any insights from the outside world would be greatly appreciated.

A GOOD Work Ethic.

I used to define a good work ethic as the ability to always work hard and do your best. I have that ability, yet my work ethic needs improving. One of the things I learned about myself at my last job was that I work hardest and seek to produce the best work when I have an immediate goal or reward. In the case of RMCN, there were 3 people in my position, and only one promotion available. We all knew that in one month's time, one of us was getting a promotion and the raise that came with it. Well, I got the promotion. But the interesting thing is, looking back, that that was my best month the entire time I worked there. And it's because as soon as I was promoted, I was pretty much at the top of the ladder I was on. It was a 6-year-young company, so there wasn't really much room for "jumping ladders." I began to slack and my production went out the window.

All this to say, I have the ability to work really really hard and produce really really good results, but I only seem to do it when there's a carrot dangling in front of my face. Thus, I'm at the point where a good work ethic is not only the ability, but the desire to always work hard and produce great work. One who doesn't need a pat on the back or a reward around the corner. One who endeavors to put his best foot forward 110% of the time regardless of whether anyone even notices or not. This is pretty much the opposite of me. So if I don't have a good work ethic, but it's not terrible either, what kind of work ethic do I have?

A Natural Work Ethic.

I mean to say that my work ethic shares certain properties with nature. It follows some of the same rules, such as the laws of energy conservation and the path of least resistance. A windmill won't work unless there's wind to spin it. In the same way, I won't work (hard) unless there's something I want within my reach, that I might obtain through said work. It's not that I refuse; it's just that it stops occurring to me to go above and beyond. Once I get to a point where I'm not working toward something, I literally start forgetting steps in the process and generate a habitual apathy toward my duties.

This is not good.

I've begun to look at people who are notorious for their work ethic. Anywhere from Abe Lincoln to Charles Schwab to Will Smith (yes, seriously), even to a close friend of mine who always amazes me with how hard he works all the time, even when it's just mowing lawns. What they all have in common is that they had to learn it. They all were taught it by someone who had it.

I call my work ethic "natural" because it's what comes naturally to me. I am working actively to become a better painter, a better husband, a better friend. But it's never occurred to me to grow myself in the area of work ethic. They always say to surround yourself with people who are what you want to become. Maybe that's the answer. Or maybe it's just that I need to study up on how to be self-motivated, because all this rambling is really centered around just that: motivation.

I work hard when I'm motivated, and I don't when I'm not. Here are the main things that motivate me:

- Promotions (which ironically involve more work) and raises and pats on the back. These are all grouped into one point because they all pertain to work and usually come as a package deal.

- Learning. But this only applies to things I want to learn. For example, I'm willing to spend 9.99 on an iPhone app that teaches Japanese. I'm not willing to spend 5 minutes taking a quiz on the company I work for (except for when it's assigned). I'm motivated to do something if it involves learning something I'm interested in learning.

- Creative Outlet. I am motivated to do things if they provide an opportunity for me to create something. RMCN inadvertently did this for me, and it's one of the few things I liked about working there. All the pictures on that site are of my desk at that job.

- My Wife. I've saved the best for last. My wife can pretty much motivate me to do anything. 'Nuff said.

So what I ultimately need to do in order to grow a work ethic is just that: grow. My boss reminded me of three things today that I didn't do. It's not that I forgot that they needed to be done, I just forgot to do them...if that makes sense. I need to figure out A) how to stay motivated when there is no immediate monetary reward for hard work, and B) how to remember things I need to remember, rather than those which I just want to remember.

So now it's wisdom, humility, and work ethic.

-Ryan

Oh really now?

A young, naive fictional girl once said, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." With this in mind, I noticed a rose sitting on the desk of one of my co-workers the other day. I decided to test this theory by starting a conversation with "I see you're growing an intestinous stenchweed on your desk." Thereafter, she refused to sniff it - even when I stuck it in her face and asked nicely!! It only took one disturbed co-worker for me to ultimately deduce that names bear great meaning, and little Juliet had no idea what she was talking about. Who wrote her lines, anyway?

Therefore, after contemplating long and hard on the matter, I've decided to name my first son Garrison Keylor Bayron. Only a name like that would strike both terror and utter confusion into the hearts and souls of his peers, for his entire life. Oh, and by "son," I actually mean "imaginary pet rat." Mostly because an imaginary pet rat is most probably the highest form of life (imaginary or not) upon which my loving wife would actually let me bestow such a God-awful name. I mean, there are some names that when you hear them, the only thing that comes to your mind is a picture of this guy...

...and the smell of stale popcorn. I just realized that I've been aimlessly typing for the last 15 minutes for absolutely no reason. It's amazing, the things that come out when you just sit down word-vomit every now and again. I'm pretty sure I have work to do. Or something.

Like Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Man, life sure does have a way of kicking your butt sometimes.

I've been trying to learn to seek wisdom and understanding, and to be humble in my day-to-day life. I woke up one morning at 4:30 out of a dead sleep, and for some reason the only thing on my mind was this:

If knowledge is power and power corrupts, then one should seek wisdom in its stead.

The following day, all I could think about was how arrogant I become when I stumble upon knowledge. Once I have a reason to believe that I know something that someone else doesn't, I kick into this "I'm better than them" mode. It changes my world view and I hold it over people's heads that I think my perception of reality is more educated and developed than theirs.

That's really really stupid.

The funny thing is that the more I know, the more I talk. And the less I talk, the wiser I become. Proverbs 10:19 says "When words are many, sin is not absent; but he who holds his tongue is wise."

So there you have it. This is what's on my plate at the moment. Just had to write that down.

That Just Happened! Vol. #2

They almost always start out with this sentence: "I read this verse in the Bible..."

Then, they'll talk a little about their history of wavering faith or spiritual skepticism. After that, they tell you about that one time...

That one time.

That one time they took a chance and did what scared them the most. That one time they had no other choice but to dive in headfirst.

Well, that's not my story. At least, it doesn't start that way. I've always had faith that God would do what he said he'd do. Whether or not I hold up my end of the bargain, he's faithful. What I won't let go of is my sin. My bad habits. My reputation. What my wife has a hard time giving up? Money.

The verse was Malachi 3:10. Bring the whole tithe (tenth) into the storehouse, that there may be food in My house. "Test Me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of Heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have enough room for it."

What? The Lord of lords who killed people in the Old Testament for questioning him, inviting you to test his Word? Whaaaaat?

So we did.

Like I said, I never had a problem tithing. If someone told me "you give me $20 and next week I'll give you $200. Then you give me $200, and the following week I'll give you $2000," it wouldn't be very hard for me to toss him twenty bucks and wait a week. That's not exactly what God says here, but it's the same concept: you give me money (or as God puts it in verse 9, "stop robbing me"), and I'll bless you for it.

My wife is the one who would ask "how can I trust that you'll bless me? I need this $20 or I'll die..."

...which makes it all the more significant that she gives anyway.

I'll say that again: She's scared to tithe - it scares her to death - but she gives it up anyway.

Wow. I wish I had that kind of faith. I wish I could stare my fear in the face and actively and willingly give it to God. You wanna see a wife who follows her husband even when she's unsure of where he's leading her? Look no further than her.

But here's the fun part.

God always seems to do things in three's when he wants my attention. We've been tithing consistently for three weeks now. This past Monday, I was at work and wanted a Dr. Pepper from the vending machine to go with my Hot Pocket. I got there and realized that my wallet was empty. I turned around to leave, accepting the reality that there would be no DP for me that day, and lo and behold, a crisp, unfolded (I'm talkin' mint condition) 1-dollar bill sat there on the floor in front of me, lying in the path I walked when I entered the room, just looking at me like those bills in the Geico commercials. I got my drink.

Then today, I remembered to bring a dollar, so when I went to get my soda, the mechanism inside the machine rumbled and tumbled for about 20 seconds, then stopped. Nothing came out. I turned to leave once again, and this time I was by the door when I heard the "klunk." Then a pause, and another "klunk." Two bottles for a dollar. I know it's not uncommon for drink machines to spit out two at a time, but think about it:

In a 3-day period, I got 3 sodas for a dollar, after tithing faithfully for 3 weeks in a row.

Now Ryan, that's really neat and all, but if tithing is easy for you and hard for your wife, shouldn't she have been the one who was blessed through the tithing?

Well, if God operated on the basis of complete and total 100% mathematical fairness, I suppose that would be a safe assumption. But he doesn't. Besides, Glennda got a promotion.

Not just a "promotion" promotion, either. Our income bumped up by 16%.

In the end, after crunching the numbers, it turns out that when we (my wife and I) give God ten percent of our income, he'll give us sixteen back. And a couple sodas to top it off.

So that's our story. It all started with us reading a verse. We'd always taken it for granted in the past, but this time - this one time - we decided to bite the bullet and write the check. And God came through. Now, the verse says he'll bless us so much that we won't have room for it. If that's the case, then that just means he isn't finished yet. And you can bet we'll be tithing every week until he is. Or 'til we die. Whichever comes first.

Up next, Proverbs 21:20.

You won't read this in any other review.

9. Two stories, wrapped into one. They both compliment and contradict each other, showing both sides of a coin, yet having enough in common to tie them together into one cohesive picture. This movie does nothing special with the animation or the acting. The story is cookie-cutter and predictable. It's short and to the point, but what is that point? I can think of no reason to make such a mediocre movie other than to send a message or portray a world view.

Story 1: Mankind creates God. The Machine is their object of worship. It is their usher into the future, and they cannot control it. Everyone with power tries to fit it into their mold and make it what they want it to be, and it destroys them. Nothing but destruction results from their desire for power and control, and their "god" makes sure of it.

Story 2: God creates Mankind. The loving, benevolent scientist creates 9 life forms, and dies so that they might live. He breathes his own life into them, and charges them with the salvation of the world. Sound familiar? Here, mankind is searching for their creator. They are searching for the answers to the "Big Questions" that every philosopher is familiar with: "Who are we, Where did we come from, and Where are we going?" So in both stories, we have God and we have man.

In one case, God creates creatures in his own image, and everything it touches reeks with malice. The protagonists spend their lives trying to destroy it, reasoning that the world would be a better place without it. This is a picture of the relationship between God and the unsaved world. They acknowledge him, but they hate him.

In the second case, God creates creatures in his own image, and here's where another separation is revealed: One is fearful and cowardly. Two, Three and Four seek knowledge and understanding. Five knows to do good but isn't sure how. Six sees the full picture, but is disregarded as a lunatic. Seven is bold and willing to fight all that challenge her. Eight is big and dumb, following orders and hitting really really hard. Then you have Nine, who is the summary of all of these. He is the balance between the rest. This goes to show that even a good God will give his creation freedom to become what they will.

But all this is just to set the stage. At the end of the movie, there are two significant elements which we are left to ponder: Both Gods are dead. The Scientist died to preserve life, and the Machine died trying to take it away. But in the end, we are still faced with a world without God. The second point to note here is that only three human traits are represented in the survivors: courage, balance, and the pursuit of wisdom. All the other archetypes represent the exact same mentalities found in the people who created the Machine and destroyed the world.

So, in the last scene, we are left what appears to be the true model for humanity living in a world without God, and the quote "It's our world now; it is what we make of it."

And herein lies the purest form of true existentialism in its entirety.

5 Minutes

Today has been abnormally stressful. I'll start with that.

My head has decided to throb nonstop since I woke up this morning, due to an injury I suffered yesterday during an ordeal that I'd rather pretend never happened. On top of this, we've had a few projects mounting up over the past couple weeks at work, and we haven't been able to knock them out as quickly as they keep coming. This leaves me under what feels like a mountain of tasks to finish, the completion of which will require a constant fight to find pockets of time between customer service, daily routine tasks and almost-insignificant-yet-apparently-important problem resolutions. All that, and Outlook decided to change its password, so I no longer have access to e-mails, the to-to list, or the calendar, which are right now the essential tools to what I'm trying to accomplish. I found out that it will take at least an hour of doing nothing but sitting on the phone while I wait for some overpaid and undertrained IT "specialist" to fix it.

But I'm not writing to complain.

We all have our bad days, and everyone who's anyone has had it worse.

It took my attitude from 9:30 this morning to about 3:00 this evening to get from bad to worse. I wanted nothing but to just go home and sleep. I was almost to the point of snapping at customers who were bringing me problems and issues that were easily solvable if they just read what they were supposed to read. One co-worker in particular with whom I will usually banter back and forth noticed how foul my mood was, and deemed it best to stay out of my way.

So I left.

I told the staff in the office, "I'll be back in five minutes," and then I walked outside.

The only place I could find where I could sit was on a stone bench placed next to a sign that read "Smoking Area." It had to do. I sat with my legs crossed, my hands folded in my lap, and my eyes closed.

And I breathed.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, controlled. I cleared my head. I followed all the steps I've been learning about. I let my imagination take me away. I found myself atop Big Ben, looking down on London, about 1000 years ago, on a starry night with a full moon. I saw top hats and flame-lit street lamps and horse-drawn carriages. I felt peace. The hot Texas air transformed into a cool, clear breeze.

I sat on my bench for about 5 minutes, then opened my eyes and came back to reality. But something strange happened. I felt the A/C. I noticed three push-pins stuck in the ceiling. I had become more alert, more aware. And I was still peaceful.

I continued where I left off, the workload was the same. But I didn't care - I just did what I had to do. The situation hadn't changed a bit - but I had.

It only took 5 minutes of intensely focused attention on a peaceful scene to unravel over 5 hours of misery. Granted, not everyone has a place they can sit or 5 minutes they can spare. All I will say is this:

Whenever and wherever you get the chance, practice this, and practice it often. It will make your life a great deal easier to live.

That's why they call it the Living Word

Everyone has their hobbies. Or at least the things they always go back to when there's nothing else to do. Some play video games, some write stories, others sleep. I have discovered that I find myself seeking knowledge of the Bible. I look for the cracks and crevices that I have yet to explore. Last night, during a particularly boring stretch of free time, I found this.

I always knew the names of people in the Bible were important, and I knew that the human race is a living testament to not only the existence, but also the power and creativity of God. But this sealed it in stone for me.

ADAM

The first name, Adam, comes from the Hebrew adomah, and means "man." As the first man, that seems straightforward enough.

SETH

Adam's son was named Seth, which means "appointed." When he was born Eve said, "For God hath appointed me another seed instead of Abel, whom Cain slew." (Genesis 4:25)

ENOSH

Seth's son was called Enosh, which means "mortal," "frail," or "miserable." It is from the root anash: to be incurable; used of a wound, grief, woe, sickness, or wickedness.

KENAN

Enosh's son was named Kenan, which can mean "sorrow," dirge," or "elegy." Where Enosh's name represented a miserable state of being, Kenan's name would be the corresponding state of feeling.

MAHALALEL

Kenan's son was Mahalalel, from the Hebrew mahalal (meaning "blessed" or "praise"), and El, the name for God. Thus, Mahalalel means "the Blessed God." Often Hebrew names ending with -el pointed to God, such as Dani-el, "God is my Judge," Nathani-el, "Gift of God," etc.

JARED

Mahalalel's son was named Jared, from the verb yaradh, meaning "shall come down." Some authorities suggest that this might have been an allusion to the "Sons of God" who "came down" to procreate with the "daughters of men," resulting in the Nephilim of Genesis 6:4.

ENOCH

Jared's son was named Enoch, which means "teaching" or "commencement." He was the first of four generations of preachers. In fact, the earliest recorded prophecy was by Enoch, which amazingly enough deals with the Second Coming of Christ.

METHUSELAH

The Flood of Noah did not come as a surprise. It had been preached on for four generations. Jude 14-15 quotes Enoch recounting a message from God about an impending judgement for the sins of mankind - this turned out to be the flood.

Enoch named his son to reflect this prophecy. The name Methuselah comes from two roots: muth, a root that means "death", and from shalach, which means "to bring," or "to send forth." Thus, the name Methuselah translates into "his death shall bring."

And, indeed, in the year that Methuselah died, the flood came. Methuselah was 187 when he had Lamech, and lived 782 years more (Genesis 5:25-26). Lamech had Noah when he was 182 (Genesis 5:28-29). The Flood came in Noah's 600th year. 187 + 182 + 600 = 969, which was Methuselah's age when he died.

LAMECH

Methuselah's son was named Lamech, a root still evident today in our own English word, "lament" or "lamentation." Lamech suggests "despairing." (This name is also linked to the Lamech in Cain's line who inadvertently killed his son Tubal-Cain in a hunting incident.)

NOAH

Lamech, of course, is the father of Noah, which is derived from the Hebrew nacham , "to bring relief" or "comfort," as Lamech himself explains in Genesis 5:29.

Here's where it comes together...

Hebrew.....English.........

Adam.....Man.........
Seth.....Appointed
Enosh.....Mortal......
Kenan.....Sorrow.....
....Mahalalel.....The Blessed God
..........Jared.....Shall Come Down
Enoch.....Teaching.
........Methuselah.....His Death Shall Bring
.....Lamech.....The Despairing
..........Noah.....Rest or Comfort

Here is a summary of God's plan of redemption, hidden here within a genealogy in Genesis.

The implications of this discovery are far more deeply significant than may be evident at first glance. It demonstrates that in the earliest chapters of the Book of Genesis, God had already laid out His plan of redemption for the predicament of mankind. It is the beginning of a love story, ultimately written in blood on a wooden cross which was erected in Judea almost 2,000 years ago.

This is also one of many evidences that the Bible is an integrated message system, the product of supernatural engineering. This punctures the presumptions of many who view the Bible as a record of an evolving cultural tradition, noble though it may be. It claims to be authored by the One who alone knows the end from the beginning, despite the fact that it is composed of 66 separate books, penned by some 40 authors, spanning several thousand years.

Boo. Yah.

Bayron

My childhood best friend has hopped aboard the fame train by joining a local band called Hendrick, who is about to hit it big with the national release of their debut album, Exhale. Once he starts rakin' it in, I'll probably hit him up for the $100 he owes me. Maybe...we'll see.


Anyway, it must be awesome to be in a band that actually has a following. I was in a band called Temptive Season in college, but it just wasn't meant to be. Mostly because we sucked. But while sitting on the computer this morning arbitrarily surfing the internet for nothing in particular, I stumbled upon something better than a fan club.

Introducing:

There's nothing better than an Argentinian power-metal band from 1999 that just happens to be named after you. I don't know, maybe it's my Hawai'ian charm that somehow found its way into their soulless, tattooed hearts. Or perhaps they did a google search for "most attractive man alive" and clicked "I'm feeling lucky."
Whatever the case may be, I am extremely honored and deeply touched that a group of hardcore rock-faced stoner men would want to band together in the name of a young, 13-year-old homeschooled tube-sock-wearing white kid.

Ok, I'm done entertaining myself now. Time to work.

Why does God let...

...you finish the question yourself. We've all heard it a billion times.

No one wants to accept that there is no such thing as an innocent person. Know why? Because

"if I admit that everyone's corrupt, then I'm admitting that I'm corrupt. I mean I have my dark sides and I've done some questionable things, but who hasn't? I'm not a bad person. Nobody's perfect...but that doesn't mean we're all evil and going to hell. That's so harsh. I'm still a good person: I haven't killed anybody."

How many times have you heard that? People are completely lost without their precious self esteem, and to be called a sinner just isn't "good for their complexion" these days. God forbid you offend anyone. People who ask stupid questions about the nature of God just want to make a point. They don't really want to know. They are so apalled by the notion of someone pointing the finger that they reject the people as a whole.

Well, isn't that rather presumptuous, Ryan, making a claim like that about such a broad range of people? No. Y'know why? Because the people who are searching - the people who really want to know what's really out there - they actually look. They'll pick up the Bible and start reading. They'll ask real questions. They'll find a church and go. It's times like those that verses like Matthew 7:8 come into play.

I once saw a TV show called "What Would You Do," where they stage a scenario in public that is generally accepted as morally wrong, and secretly record the reactions of passers-by, in an effort to see how the average American would react to said scene. Some stand up for justice, others adopt the moronic idium "D-G-I, don't get involved." One episode involved a sandwich shop worker who refused to serve a group of Hispanic men (all staged with actors, of course). One observer tore into the worker, telling him that he should not discriminate on the basis of race. The worker replied, "Well I don't speak Mexican, how am I supposed to serve them?" And then the observer said this:

"Mexican isn't a language. Maybe you should educate yourself about these people before you discriminate against them."

Bingo. There are those who seek in earnest, and there are those who merely wish to bash conventional religion. But the people who ask the question rhetorically, how educated are they really about the belief system of Christianity? What do they know beyond the common household names like Adam and Eve and Noah and Jesus? If you're going to discriminate against us on acccount of our spiritual belief, you had better read up on exactly what those beliefs are, or you are no better than the shopkeeper and you know it.

So, why does God allow bad things to happen to "good" people? There is an answer to that question, and it is a simple one. But don't ask if you don't really want to know the answer. If you want to attack God, take it up with him, not his people. Because with the amount of faith it takes to even stand up for Christianity in this world, a simple question isn't going to begin to move us.

Don't talk about my God unless you know who you're dealing with.

No title, just read.

I've learned something recently: the minds of men and those of women are drastically different in every way. I was reading a book this morning, and man, this guy can draw relationships like a map. Check it out.

A man can focus like a laser on one thing and forget the rest of the world. While this can benefit him in that one arena, it can make him overlook other things that need his attention. A woman, on the other hand, is more multi-conscious, able to maintain an amazing awareness of many factors at once. She can talk on the phone, cook, know where the kids are in the house, and be planning for tomorrow...all simultaneously. Adding to this, a woman also thinks relationally. When she works on something, she is cognizant of all the people who are somehow connected to it.

Both of these tendencies are examples of how God designed women to complete their men. As God said at creation, "It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him" (Genesis 2:18). But these differences also create opportunities for misunderstanding.

Men, for example, tend to think in headlines and say exactly what they mean. Not much is needed to understand the message. His words are more literal and shouldn't be over-analyzed. But women think and speak between the lines. They tend to hint. A man often has to listen for what is implied if he wants to get the full meaning.

If a couple doesn't understand this about each other, the fallout can result in endless disagreements. He's frustrated wondering why she speaks in riddles and doesn't just come out and say things, or says "I told you so" when she never actually told him so. And she's frustrated wondering why he's so inconsiderate and doesn't add two and two together and just figure it out.

Here's the solution: the man needs to realize that his woman deeply longs for her husband to be thoughtful. It is a key to helping her feel loved. When she speaks, a wise man will listen like a detective to discover the unspoken needs and desires her words imply. If, however, she always has to put the pieces together for him, it steals the opportunity for him to demonstrate that he loves her. And that's what romance is all about.

Written At A Rest Stop

It's always somewhat endearing when someone tells you that you remind them of someone they look up to. Unless they mean it in a bad way. Like the other day, I was chatting the day away with one of our customers at work, when she said this:

"You remind me of my dad. He's an artist like you...yeah, he never finishes anything he starts."

Zing! That hit the spot. But only because it's true. I guess it's something we artists have in common. That, plus the insanely immense lack of organizational skills, abundant enthusiasm for life's little pleasures, and an overwhelming desire to be acknowledged.

But I digress. It made me think. A wise man once told me that I interface with the world through short bursts of intense passion. And I thought about the phases I've gone through in the past few months. Painting, writing, illustrating...sometimes it's not even art. Sometimes it's a video game I get myself wrapped up in, or an e-book on my iPhone. My newest 'thing' is construction. That's right, workin' with my hands in a manly, sweaty, grunty way.

I built shelves. For the wall.

Right now I have a few chunks of cut, sanded, painted wood sitting in my garage that, with the help of a few screws and L-brackets, will hopefully become a headboard.

But do you know what the difference is between this woodworking thing and everything else I've started? I'm going to finish it! Maybe it's because it's a short, simple project. Maybe it's because I have an elevated sense of motivation to get it done (e.g. the room being a constant mess and my wife's pillows falling off the bed every night until it's finished). Either way, it's going to get finished.

I started a paint studio...of sorts. It hasn't seen any action lately. I started illustrating a book I wrote...I'm 3 pages into it. I started reading a book that someone else wrote...I'm about 50 pages into it. I even have unfinished blog posts that I just never went back to.

So yes, I do interface with the world through short bursts of intense passion. And yes, I am not known for finishing what I start. But if I change that - if I finish every little project I undertake, and continue to apply that same passion from start to finish...maybe I will start to make ripples. Maybe the things I do and the stuff I create will become self-sustaining testaments to the artist in me, instead of half-complete artifacts of what I once dreamed, resigned to a life of collecting dust and wondering what they might have become.

That's the key - finish what you start.

It's not the imaginaion I struggle with. Using a little creativity, a mild knowledge of magnetism, and a few minutes of free time, I came up with an idea for the most awesome light source in a room. Leaving all scientific jargon aside, I've come up with a way to place floating light bulbs in various locations around a room - making physical contact with nothing but the air around them - which can turn on and off at the flip of a switch, but without having to be plugged into anything.

The problem isn't in dreaming stuff up. My problem is in making it happen. So if I practice finishing the little things I start, then maybe those little things will become less little. Then they might evolve into big things, then huge things, then a room lit by floating light bulbs!

So the first thing to do is make a list of all my unfinished projects and finish them. But that, my friend, is a task unto itself.

Here's to new perspectives on old ideas.

My Marley

My wife and I saw Marley and Me recently. It's not what I expected. After seeing the trailers, I got the impression that it was about a dog who got itself into a lot of trouble. After watching it, I realized that it's really about two people who love each other, trying to do life together through thick and thin, with a dog at their side all along the way...getting into trouble.

I was close.

We see them get married, we see him get a job, we see them buy a house.  We see them have a child.  We see him get promoted.  We see them have another child.  We see them turn 40.  We see them have a third child.  We see him get a new job.  We see them fight, we see them make up.  And the whole time, we see Marley slowly growing old.  And at the end, we see him die.  I say that not to spoil the movie, but rather to make this point: it's not until he's gone that you truly realize he was there all the time.  He was what kept them going at some times.  Other times, he was what almost tore them apart.  But he was always there, always part of the picture.

I've decided that our truck is my Marley.  So far, it's been there for the entire duration of our married lives.  Just as the movie is riddled with small antecdotes about the dog getting into this or that, so our lives are woven with stories of the truck.  Like the time we were stuck in the HOV lane and needed to exit, so we crossed the barrier at 50 miles an hour and busted the headlight.  Then, when I was working at the warehouse, while I was waiting for her to pick me up, I would always watch for the truck with one light.  Or the time the window fell into the door and we went for almost a year going through three rolls of duct tape, taping and re-taping it up until we finally had enough to get it fixed.  The countless times we've helped people move, or the loads upon loads of stuff we've brought to storage and back.  Sealing the gap in the windshield, the popped tire and the adventure that ensued thereafter.

Sometimes, that truck held us together, giving us something to laugh about.

Other times, it almost tore us apart.

But it's always been there, just like Marley.  She's the first vehicle in my family that doesn't have a name.  I've been considering Big Blue, but that just sounds...awkward.  So I think I'll go with Marley.

  The Buick was Buck because the "I" fell off the back.

  The Bonneville was Bonnie for short.

  The Mustang is Sally for reasons obvious to those familiar with the pop music of the mid 1960's.

  The Geo Metro was Perla...no one actually knows why.

  And now, the truck is Marley.  May she live long and prosper.

I had to, I'm a nerd.  Get over it.

Falling and Fighting.

As the son of a black belt, I grew up around martial arts. It wasn't a self defense class for the fat kid who got beat up at school. It wasn't a flashy-kick class for the cool kids to impress their friends at school. It was about discipline. It was about knowing when not to fight. It was about self control and humility.

The two most important things we learned in my father's dojo was how to walk away from a fight before it happened, and how to fall when we got hit.

...how to fall.

I'd never thought there was a technique to falling. I always assumed that once you were hit to the ground, it was over, nothing else mattered. But falling is everything. When you're hit to the ground, 80 percent of the damage your body takes is from hitting the floor - if you don't know how to fall.

Knowing how to fall is the difference between lying there defeated and getting back up with a few scratches. Knowing how to fall is knowing how to be able to get up at all. We learned how to punch. We learned how to kick. We learned how to block. We learned how to dodge. We learned how to feel and react, we learned how to analyze and calculate. But most of all, we learned how to fall, we learned how to think.

...and the funny thing is,

I've never been in a fight.

But the principles I learned in that dojo on the second floor of an underused church building, I have used my entire life. I've learned how to block and dodge the attacks that life throws my way. I have learned when to walk away and when to stand and fight.

I have learned how to fall.

And I've learned how to get up.

The road to success is paved with failure. You must know how to fall, to know how to rise. Martial arts for me was never a lesson in fighting. Fighting is a barbaric ritual reserved for the quick-tempered and un self-controlled. Martial arts for me was a catalyst through which my father taught me how to live.

Who taught you?

I don't log out of my plog so my work friends hijack it on my day off...

There is a valuable lesson to be learned here: log off your plog!

We love you "New Guy"!
:)

That Just Happened! Vol. #1

Taladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.  It's a stupid movie, but it has it's moments.  The main character and his partner have a saying that they think is the most amazing thing in the world.  They say it to their opponent, and Ricky Bobby gets so excited that he exclaims,

"Does that blow your mind!?  That just happened!"

God's been doing small things in and around my life lately, but just to know that it was God, I can't help but to get that excited.  I want to tell someone and then go "Does that blow your mind!?"  But I want these stories to last.  It's one thing when you hear of a miracle happening to other people, but it's a whole different experience when it happens to you.

So I'm starting a mini-series that I intend to weave in and out of my regular blog posts, for whenever God does something awesome.  It will be entitled "That Just Happened" and will just be small stories of things that God did that were cool.

I have two today.

Lucky Number Eleven?

My brother got married this weekend.  After the ceremony, a few of us were hanging out by our truck, talking in the rather large parking lot.  We were talking about swing dancing downtown that night, but we were 11 dollars short on cash.  I sat in the passenger's seat because I was ready to go.  I'm a watcher.  I'll sit there and watch a scene, even if nothing is happening.  I was staring across the street, out the windshield.  I glanced down at my phone, then looked up and saw an old man wearing a red shirt, kneeling down to pick something up off the ground.  He went over to everyone who was still standing around talking, and asked if it belonged to any of them.  My wife said it wasn't hers, but she'd take it.  The man began to walk away.  I got out of the truck and went around to meet them, and in her hand I saw a ten and a one.  The man was nowhere to be found.

God vs. Tape

About half a year ago, the driver's side window of our truck fell into the door, somehow having freed itself from the track it is supposed to slide on.  We haven't been able to afford getting it fixed, so we've been using duct tape to hold it closed.  Today I was taking a nap in the car during my lunch hour at work, and the heat from the sun had melted the tape and the window fell half-way down.  I took off the useless melted tape and pulled the window back up.  Holding it there, I asked God to please hold the window up until I could tape it again.  I let go, and it stayed.  Tapeless.  When I got off work, I went out to the car and the window was still completely up.  Here's the kicker: on the way home, I prayed the simple prayer, "thanks God, you can let go now," and instantly it began to fall until I braced it with my arm.  I held it up the rest of the way home and re-taped it when I got there.

This is what I'm talking about.  I plan on putting out more posts like this, as often as this kind of thing happens.

Ask, and you shall receive.

Today, I felt God.

I asked him to touch me with his Spirit.

I felt that my heart was hardened.

I asked him to soften my heart and touch me.

And He did.

When I started this blog, I had this clever "line theory" that I used to describe how we live our lives. A while ago, I realized how stupid that "theory" is, if that's what you want to call it. I have been collecting a set of principles to help me live the best life I can, but all it's turning out to be is a list of rules to follow when dealing with other people.

I once met a man who in the story of my life plays the oracle. He is always there if you know where to look, and he only tells you what you need to hear to get where you need to go. He has a saying, which I have adopted as my new life motto:

I will never quit.
I will never give up.
And when I fall, I will fall forward
And pause on my knees to pray
Before I get back up again.

This saying doesn't have a cool name like the 'line theory,' but it is a step in the right direction. I am looking for the answer to a huge question in my life, and now I know exactly what I need to do to find it. It starts with God.

Today, I asked God to touch me, and He did. And there is a pool of tears on my bedroom floor to prove it.

An Autobiographical Short

He sees it. Hanging in thin air just out of his reach. The Light. The hope of becoming new. He just can't reach it.

In his left hand he holds an anchor, and with his right he reaches for the light.

He won't let go, but he wants to more than anything.  He can't let go - not on his own.  He asks for help from those around him, and they do what they can.  But he's been holding on for over half his life.  It was with him when he ate, when he slept, when he went to shool, when he dated, when he worked, when he played, it was there.

But In his left hand he holds the anchor, and with this right he reaches for the light.

He can't have both.  He knows he can't.  He won't let go because it's all he knows.  He won't let go because he hasn't tasted the hope and purity of the light in so long, he has forgotten what it even means - what it's all about.  He knows the light...he knew the light.  He doesn't even know himself anymore.  All he knows is the anchor.

And in his left hand he holds that anchor, and with his right he reaches for the light.

It's time to let go.  Let go of your past, so that you may embrace your future.  Let go of your baggage so that you may jump and be free.  Let go of your burden so that you may help others with theirs.  Let go of your desire so that you can focus on His.  Let go of the anchor.  Let it go.

So with his left hand, he drops the anchor, and with his right he reaches the light.

Oh, that my story may have such an ending.

Oh, that I may drop my anchor and salvage what's left

of the destruction that it has wreaked while in my hand.

-R.

Me Make Company.

Yes, I've gone into business with myself. And I made a website to promote my business.

Empty Canvas Studios, Inc.

It's not much, but it's not bad for about an hour of development. Check it out, but don't place any orders. I need to buy paint stuff first.

Peaces.

Funny Kids

David After the Dentist – A seven-year-old experiencing the residual effects of a recent morphine trip.

Chubby Cuppy Cake Boy – Jimmy Kimmel wants to squeeze this kid’s cheeks.  That’s kinda creepy to me but you should still show the video to your girlfriend.

 

That’s all for now

-R.

When the Unqualified are Qualified

Walking by a pet shop on his way to school, a young boy stopped and stared through the window.  Inside were four black puppies playing together.  After school he ran home and pleaded with his mother to let him have one of the puppies.  "I'll take care of it, Mom, I will.  If you can just give me an advance on my allowance, I'll have enough money to buy one with my own money.  Please, Mom, please."

The mother, knowing full well the complications having a new puppy would bring to a busy household, could not resist her son.  "Okay, you can get the puppy, but I will expect you to take care of it."

"Yes, Mom, I will."  Filled with excitement, the little boy ran to the pet shop to buy his new puppy.

After determining that the boy had enough money, the pet shop owner brought him to the window to choose his puppy.  After a few minutes, the young boy said, "Um...I'll take the little one in the corner."

"Oh no," said the shop owner, "not that one; he's crippled.  Notice how he just sits there; something is wrong with one of his legs, so he can't run and play like the rest of the puppies.  Choose another one."

Without saying a word, the boy reached down and lifted his pant leg to expose a chrome leg brace to the owner.

"No," he said firmly, "I want the puppy in the corner."*

It turns out that  what disqualified the puppy from being chosen by others is what most qualified him to be chosen by the little boy.  It's amazing how few of us believe in the unqualified grace of God.  Oh, yes, God loves us, as long as we're clean and whole and fixed and perfect.  But it turns out that what disqualifies you and me from "churchianity" - the mess of our lives and our crippledness - is what most qualifies us to be chosen by Jesus.

"When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they asked his disciples: 'Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?'  On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.  I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.' "

Mark 2:16-17

 

Selah.

*Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts On Faith (New York: Pantheon, 1999), 49-50.