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.