Yes, Jesus Loves Me

So on Friday night I had the great honor of losing my 2nd wallet in a month thanks to it falling out of my van due to the paper route. Though there was not much money in it I still lost my liscense and some dignity shoot, I mean thats like two friggin wallets. So tonight, liscencseless I had to go to my buddy Matt Johnson's house in order to drop off a paper needed for the route we share. So I totally space oun and gun thru the stop sign at Grandview and Truman. All of a sudden sirens blare and lights flash. I got pulled over. I freak and well start praying like a madman. There were three infractions I had going for them and one is fairly monumental. After about ten minutes of very flustering and tense conversation I get let off. Jesus loves me. His mercy endures forever and He is good. Yay, Jesus.

A Very Bloggable Day

The proceeding blog is being brought to you to with a life changing opportunity. In light of the very appropriate song “Today” by the Smashing Pumpkins I invite you to take a few moments and pray for their salvation before continuing in your reading. Thank you!


…Amen.

Today was the greatest day I’ve ever known. Well not really, but it has been exceptionally amazing and if only you could see the exuberance bursting forth out of my drowsy greenish-somethingish (*whatever color my eyes) eyes then you might be compelled to sing the afore mentioned song if not mildly hum the tune.

I woke up this morning to the lament of my little brother. Our house is currently getting painted and he has deep reaching emotions about the current outlook of the house. Instead of being a faded brownish eye sore we decided to spice it up a bit. In the see of fading pastel homes in our neighborhood we are taking the leap to transition into bright white with a sky blue trim. Okay, maybe “spice” was a wrong term since those colors are far more soothing than spicy, more of a reggae if you will but not a salsa. All that said my brother’s complaint stands as this, “It looks like a Long John Silvers©!” The funny thing is that now it kind of done, I chuckled heartily and then journeyed on.

The thankfulness that your house does not smell like old shrimp and old grease is enough it seems to brighten anyone’s day, but the day was far from over. I picked up the first payment from my paper route and was slightly ruffled at the fact that I was mildly short changed. Yet I decided not to let me down so I voyaged over the poorly paved Kansas City roads to Higher Grounds in which I got myself a drink and then moseyed back to the road. As I was driving a flock of geese walked out into the middle of the road. All of them fled except for one. He just stood in the middle of Red Bridge road as happy as can be. For a good minute and a half we were at a stand still, luckily no one was behind us or his honking may have been accompanied by others. He finally moved and clapped his feathers good bye, what a silly goose!

Ten O’clock came around and I decided to make my way to the prayer room. This was the first night I worked my paper route alone so I decided to get some dearly needed Jesus time in. On my way inside I was met by a fully loaded Justin Fry. Justin is a guy who I did the internship with and a stellar man of God. Hands down, he is one of the most chill people I know. We made plans to reconnect tomorrow night and I plunged right into the praising of my Lord. Corey Asbury was leading tonight and I was surprised. I had not actually heard him in a good solid year or two but was never a fan. It could have been his once slightly to very emo hair and it could be my subtle disdain for Jack Johnson. (Before you write me off as a friend mind you I must say that at times Jack Johnson’s music is the perfect groove but not at all times for all things, as when my friend Paul played during my internship.) Commentary aside, it was the greatest set I had been to in the longest time. His bassist is phenomenal and the team hit a solid groove and worshiped and prophesied it through the singing and dancing of the saints. It had been a while since I freely bounced around in the presence of God and let me tell you, I was hurtin’ mighty bad for some. I made my way up front where the One Thing interns had congregated along with Ben Tolston. On a side note, Ben Tolston is an amazing guy. I mean with one quick glance in his direction the air just parts and all you can do is just nod in affirmation knowing all is well with the universe. I would gladly take a bullet anywhere for that guy; to the grocers, the circus, or even maybe the moon. To sum up everything in this paragraph I will end it with this: God is good and it is amazing and so great to worship him.

1:30 rolled around and I needed to saddle up for work. It was a dark night as most nights are and the sun was far from shining its happy face. I arrived at the warehouse and picked up my papers and then made my way to the roll and bag my precious cargo at my usual spot Jackson County Water. The bags I used tonight were incredibly small which made it a hassle to fit the papers in, but duty called. I listened to the books of 1-2 Timothy, Titus, Philemon, and Hebrews on a cassette tape tonight as I rolled. Up until Hebrews the one who read the Word was like an announcer entirely detached it seemed from what he was reading. I got to Hebrews and the reader switched to an almost pastoral sounding voice which made it a lot easier to receive. Hebrews is a good book, and I thank God that we have such a great high priest in heaven. Oh, the mercy of God and the passion of the Trinity. It truly surpasses anything of feasible comprehension.
Between the frustration of the bags and the reading of the Word the night was fairly evened out at that point. Rolling papers leaves you with two things. First there is the ridiculous amount of newsprint which get on your hands and is terrible for your skin. Secondly your forearms get a mad workout, the intensity grows with the amount of frustration. I mean that spinach thing with Popeye is most likely a hoax. I have been eating it a ton recently and so far no bulging forearms. Then again I haven’t been eating the canned stuff just the leafy kind found in large plastic bins which apparently everyone and their mom has. And by that I mean at least two of my friends who most likely will be moms one day.

Four hit and I had finally finished. My CDs had become buried in the vast ocean of Kansas City Stars so I was left with whatever was left in my CD player. Within ten minutes I began to laugh at the music playing knowing that I would not be able to or want to change the music at all. It was Paper Religion by Derek Loux. The irony clowns were smiling upon me tonight. Today was the first day I had actually listened to the entire CD, let alone more than three songs. I was thoroughly impressed with it. I remember during my orientation for FSM a very commanding mustachioed kiwi announced Derek Loux as IHOP’s answer to Rod Stewart. In response Derek came up covering his hair in shame. After tonight I feel that accusation was wrong. Though his hair may be reminiscent of the man who’s career was based on him desperately asking people if they thought he was sexy his music isn’t. Derek Loux is not the answer to Rod Stewart but to Phil Collins. Listening to his music took me back to the summer when Tarzan the animated movie came out. This also was the summer of Eiffel 65 and their album Europop which I sadly confess to enjoy. Guilty pleasures aside, the night went well. I finished an hour ahead of my guestimate, briefly chatted with Kristine, handed out leftover papers at IHOP, and then paid off dollar twenty debt at Holtz’s donuts.

Before coming home I swung by Wendy’s to try for once their breakfast items. I purchased some chicken biscuits only to have my socks blown off. The chicken used is pretty much a huge one of their nuggets which are phenomenal which amply make up for their slightly wanting buttery counterparts. I left the drive through content and satisfied. As I waiting to get onto 58 to head home I looked to my left and at the farm next to me a llama was staring very intently at me. The sun was rising above the Raymore water tower behind him and the llama, whose name must have been Julian, just stood there majestically chewing his meal letting the sun shine off of his sleek brown coat. It’s times like that which nothing needs to be done except for a mild sigh of contentment. Today was a marvelous day.

An Apologetic + A Rebuttal = A Blog Entry

Due to the title and content of the previous post I am pretty sure anyone who read it was left with shock, offense, and possibly speechless. I feel that in light of the gnawing of my own conscience that I need to revisit the words typed and explain myself and add upon what was said and just blog like a fiend. So here goes nothing:
We all come to a place in which we are overwhelmed with our own pain. It seems that more often than not our journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death is to make an appointment with an old friend. As most encounters with this person you begin with a cringe in your stomach and then a swift blow to your face leaving you disoriented. A battle ensues until for the first time in which seems an eternity there is a slight pause. Though it is brief you can make out the one you have been entangled with and it turns out to be none other than yourself.
Well as fine and dandy as that is, there is a funny thing about suffering. It’s not “haha” funny but more so “this milk shouldn’t be green” funny. At this place most of us good ol’ westerners see that and only that. One can hear stories about pain, see tragedy face to face and at the end of the day all that remains on the top of your mind is that dull or stinging throb. Entropy is a natural thing. The world is falling apart and society regardless of what argument you will take is going to get worse.
The most common answer to said problems is that of escape. Often found in sarcasm, comparison, and addictions we may take escape wherever we please. Yet time and time again we yearn to hit that sweet spot and dwell there and scurry around looking for hope. We are built with an innate sense that what we live in is by know means the pinnacle of what we were made for. So in the meantime throngs of people lie in wait for that sense of hope, misery loves company and remedies grope into the realm of fantasy.
When it comes to suffering there are two ways to go about it. One is taking up your cross and following Christ and the other is picking up a noose. Apart from Christ suffering ever increases into the screaming void of oblivion. Christ did not die for the sake of dying. Nor does He beckon anyone into it for the sheer sake of feeling pain. He is the resurrection and the life. He tears so that He may heal. It ios what His very word declares. I know for my self that this all to often comes as rhetoric and things that apply in every situation except for the one I am in.
Allow me to regress. Into what I am not completely sure, I just really felt compelled to start out a new paragraph like that. In all honesty I have had a rough couple of days, week, season if you will. Honestly in the wake of tragedy, loss, and the sometimes baffling leadership of God one can get completely off. I mean what is often set out to bring some sort of progress becomes nothing more than a flaking sage misquoting the strains of his ever palpitating heart. I admit I hit a new low today. I found a CD that was left in my car and enjoyed the snot out of it. I’m not gonna mention the band name but for the most part it was northing more than a angry and heartbroken proletariat espousing on the futility of his existence. The most many people come, not generally Christians, to addressing God with a situation is to either ask Him to curse it or just blame Him. Of all the prayers most people know, next to the blessing after a sneeze, is that of profanity.
Life happens. I honestly sit here enjoying the roller coaster of what seems spiritual bi-polarity, today joy. I mean things do actually look up but allow me to give a brief synopsis of where I am at. For a good while I had been investing in something which honestly will in no means end from what I see in that which my heart has been set. Thru the course of this I have encountered for the most part my most lingering demons. As many know there is a standstill where the sting is felt and the outcome is nothing more than that of an obscure blur, I concur. It is the human condition. Jesus doesn’t change us with a snazzy transmogrifying device but He is a surgeon, patient and gentle and often without heavy anesthetics. The funny thing with our problems is that we can receive no correction from anyone but Him. Contrary to everything within, He satisfies the desires of all things. I don’t get it at all, but its what the Word says and even that great Shane and Shane song..
Life moves one and the end is yet to come. Variables are the only things that ever seem certain but He is the resurrection. I honestly don’t know what this assimilation of various conjecture adds to, but He did not stay in the grave. He did not stay in the grave. Neither will His people.

"God, Damn It!" and Other Misconstrued Prayers

Her eyes never failed. She didn’t need corrective surgery nor did she need glasses or contacts. There was no color blindness involved or any confusion to the matter. Just six years old and she could identify the blood on the wall along with the weeping in the other room. Both belonged to her mother. She would say that there was something different about the night but the routine was still the same. Her father came home piss drunk and beat the crap out of her mother. The cycle continues until she is punching bag material and her hat gets thrown into the ring.
Here comes the question, why, why in any good, decent, or even reasonable world would this happen. I mean anyone who tries to methodically give an explanation might as well come off as a world class prick at the sight of her scars and two aborted children. I mean what a douche, who would over look the great pain that was afflicted and nonchalantly write it off. I mean she should get whatever she wants just to make up for the travesty. She lives her life bitter and sullen and then dies. As a tear filled eulogy is given she is being tormented in the bowels of hell.
I mean I should cut right there and sell this scene to Hallmark. Or at least CBS could make a made for TV movie staring Judy Dench as the mother. I cringe at writing this but honestly none of this should be taken lightly at all. Yet the scenario happens time and time again that after a hint of another occurrence the halls of decency cry out, “How can this happen?” and “Where is God?” As a white middle class American male who was raised in a fairly healthy home I honestly have no say whatsoever in this matter. I have no place to relate or even imagine the pain which was inflicted. Nor do I know how I would even react to such a situation.
Days pass and the question continues to thrive. God is good right? I know my own pain and am currently blocking out everything I feel that is screaming torment within me right now. I mean hell, it sucks. But it by no means is a comparison to the mass tragedy that takes place mere blocks away.
In the last days we will se visions more vivid than sunsets, brighter than stars and we will recognize each other and see ourselves for who we truly are. When all is said and done we are wicked in nature and violence begets violence. Innocence is all too often raped away and the cycle continues as most cycles do.
He sees and He judges. There is a day appointed for wrath. I speak of this as if I understand it with any clarity. I mean honestly in my own time I tragically stare at happiness which seems constantly held at arms length from me. I mean it’s how most often feel. Nothing ever makes up for that which is incomplete. I mean shoot, I just compared my problems to someone who was abused, beaten, and raped. I might as well be playing the Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil at full volume now.
Logic in the end will fall short. All remains in faith. This is the substance of things hoped for. Substance being something that actually exists and is to a degree tangible and hope is that which is known for certain. I mean I write this with scrutiny firing off in my own head. I honestly demand inside a grasp on every situation in its entirety. My current mood is torn between singing praises and screaming profanity. Its how the cookie crumbles I guess.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will make your paths straight. I could make arguments up and down. I could expound on how suffering correlates between our capacity to feel love and through it we enter into a deeper communion with the Almighty. I believe that, I mean it is the flicker that shoots off in my head when the ache blows into a migraine but what precedent do I have in saying any of it. We gaze now at a mirror that is dim and more so contorts what is seen instead of bringing total clarity. As we move on clarity begins to unfold brighter than a meadow full of sunflowers. I would have lost hope unless I had not believed I would see the goodness of God in the land of the living.
The sun right now is coming up and the couple in front of me is enjoying a hearty breakfast with a side of menthols. The green car directly in front of this restaurant is missing a window and has been replaced by several layers or poorly translucent tape. The waitress continues her days as more fleeting conversations come in and out of the now brother franchise of Applebees. Well amidst the contorted babble and useless jargon preceding this almost pointless and obligatory sentence I have this to say, the movement of the earth and the progression of time is more often ignored than perceived and truth is more often forgotten than sought or even retained. The sun is coming up on the sub-ghetto Truman Corners and the fading paint on the once prominent establishments will fade to yet another shade lighter. In liturgy, litigiousness, jargon, rhetoric, and all around BS we have lost security in everything. One word stands true in the heavens; that is the Word of God. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everything were meaningless. But everything is so meaningful, and everything turns to crap. Rejoice. Entropy is inherent and there is life only in one man, Jesus Christ.

One of My Current Favorite Songs

This is a song by Lenny Smith. He wrote several hymns and worship songs way back in the seventies including "Our God Reigns." Other than that he is the father of Daniel Smith who is the frontman of the Danielson Famile a band consisting of himself, his siblings and some close friends. Daniel is also responsible for introducing the world to the magnificent Sufjan Stevens. Here it is, God bless.

Quito

As goes on there seems to be a heavy dividing line in the arena of sophomoric humor. I mean who ever thought the day would come that I would cringe at the word, “Schwing!” Truly a new era has dawned. I bow my head in confusion, nostalgia, and almost disbelief. Thus is the way it goes with being renewed and growing up.
Today was an odd day. Often I have only a few options and today I had even more. Something hit me and I decided to slink away into retrospection, never a good place for me. A Mountain Goats mix and a black and mild cream (huge mistake) later I made my way towards the Justice Prayer Room. There were three others in the crowd, a sound tech and the team. It was stripped down and raw. No flashy lights, no cameras, just a few people doing there thing contending for the kingdom and loving God. I enjoyed it. About half way thru the set Dave Sliker kicked Josh Forrey off of the drums and totally mellowed out the solid groove that was going on. It wasn’t bad but I mean, you have got to love a drummer whose main influences are that of the prestigious hardcore bands of the day.
I have done a lot of searching, thinking, smarting off, jamming to tunes, and questioning without getting answers to wind up at the same place…. the place of prayer. True this is the guy who could not even make it thru half of Fire Within or even feels entirely gung ho with the current movement in which I am a part of, but I know that the place of prayer and intercession is the only place I can really find solace these days. People come and go, some linger and others merely drift. The same goes with ideas. But God will never change, He is the same yesterday today and forevermore.
In regards to prayer, it is ridiculous to know that God actually hears every prayer and does in fact have deep compassion for the seemingly weak words thrown up into what sometimes seems to be mere oblivion. I mean if you could only imagine the things I have asked for, concerns and other such whatnot I mean I would seem either crazy, mental or devoted. If you continue to hit your head against a wall long enough you will begin to ignore the deepening wound and become more intrigued about the rhythm and get lost in wondering how your head can make a sound like a coconut.
I honestly type this hoping for something profound to protrude from these dashing metacarpals of mine but will most likely meander for a wee bit before coming into rest. Being familiar with the works of Pablo Neruda my soul seems to be doing decent, I mean but laughter has never been a biblical standard for anything. I use it in terms of Guffaws, Chuckles, Chortles, and even on occasion Snickers but the higher ups have yet to set a precedent. I appreciate the family that is coming around me, I mean the prayer room team has a definite chunk of real estate in my heart, some more than others but we’ll see how things go as time progresses. It’s like they all have a manifest destiny for my love, I dig it.
As I listen to Lenny Smith right now I wonder if good music will ever be implemented into worship. I mean real creative and innovative music, maybe something with an edge or something just gritty. Mind you Lenny Smith was an ex-hippie and this music predates even Keith Green, but I long to encounter God in ways my heart has been moved so many other times.
Well this wraps up tonight’s post. It was brought to you by the letter “H” and the number (one, two, three, four, five) (six, seven, eight, nine, ten) (eleven) “12.” God bless!

20 Miles From Jackson

The air was thick like molasses and only half as sweet. Sweat trickled down every brow in the near vicinity and all were lost in the limbo of dampness. Anticipation ran high. Some waited for days, others hours, some minutes, and there were even a handful who had just stumbled into the gathering and had deep affection for sweaty masses. To some it was the second best thing to yelling, anger, and torches and pitchforks. Often this type of commotion was frowned upon by the local authorities. Today might have been a repeat of the past but the mayor and the sheriff seemed to be the center pieces of the mob.
Many things had been said about the south. Far more have been said about the Deep South. Clichés came into one full blown reality in this little burg. Opossums littered the thoroughfares and silence could never be found under the dulcet tones of banjo music and chirping crickets. Everyone even had their “Sunday Best.” Pastels littered the town square as the light shades of color began to become darker and darker. By noon the entire town will have seemed to be wearing completely different outfits. It was hot. Mosquitoes were frisky. All that fueled the anxious mob were the glasses of sweet tea that had been made the night before.
Hotter than baby gator in a skillet it was and the sizzle of the sweat hitting the ground ran as a mere after thought. Santa came months ago and this event seemed to trump them all. Each person had cleaned up. Each person had all of their accounts in order. Criminals were pardoned. The church in the center of the town even got a new steeple. Quaint would have been an understatement for the hushed and awe inspiring festivities. This was Americana at its finest.
The mayor’s daughter kept the town entertained up near the front. Golden locks and a smile that could slay a wildebeest, she belted out tunes like “It’s a Grand Old Flag,” “The Star Spangled Banner,” “Amazing Grace,” and “Be Thou My Vision.” Some sang under their breath, others just quietly wept. Most of the men held their hats to their chest and stoically took back all they saw as they rested in their austere dignity. Hallmark could not even recreate the moment. After each song a round of applause rang through the air. She would smile and then sing another ditty, her name was Pollyanna.
Two week before the crops had been gathered. They had been stored and preserved. The work of every farmer’s hand had been proudly put on display as the town rejoiced in the accomplishment of their “golden boys.” School was long out and the children played and got into their usual mischief. Girls were teased, rocks were skipped, young lovers looked for hideaways, and countless mason jars were filled with flickering lightning bugs. Life was as it should be as every man, woman, and child greeted each other by name as they strolled down the street.
The time was drawing near. The center of the town bore every soul it laid claim to that day. A light breeze was the only comfort that was allotted to the fortitude of expectancy that dwindled beneath the clock tower. 2:59 PM was struck and all fell indubitably silent. Mother’s tightly grabbed their children. Men embraced their wives. The moment finally came with half of the crowd’s eyes closed shut. Bong! Bong! Bong! The bell shattered the silence with its loud announcement. Profanity and sighs of relief filled the air as the crowd began to disperse. As soon as it came was as soon as it ended. Each left for their own house to carry on with their own lives waiting at least one more year for the world to end.

Yule Brenner was a Skinhead and Led Zepplin didn't Write Tunes Everyone Loved They Left that to the BeeGees

It has been while since I have given an honest blog and at 7:22 am I think it is about darn time to pound one out. Today has been a day to remember, or might be remembered, that is if I ever come back to this entry. I woke up this morning in not the greatest of moods. After slunking around the house for awhile I went out and did what every red blooded American male does to lift his spirits and fuel the unquenchable inferno of testosterone, I went shoe shopping. You see, what I had been sporting were a sick pair of black Vans (so high school kids can think I can skate) which not only were on the brink of sheer annihilation but had a pungency that would frequently waft all the way up to my nose, yeah, bad news. I traded them in for some cheap Hawk (as in the Tony) shoes and left the stored with a newfangled sense of the meaning of life and better hopes of not looking like to much of a square when I pick my little brother up from the skate park.

There being time to kill before Luke Wood's endearing set, I nestled up in my car and listened to a sermon on the Cross by one of the people from up in Toronto. It was very good. Much of life's problems pale when one takes time to look at the great passion that was displayed at the cross, both by the Father and the Son. Incarnation was not good enough, He had to bleed, be beaten and then die. Granted the eradic palpitations of the twittering heart I carry have become far from ceasing, His sacrifice and love is enough to still even the most hopeless of causes. One point that was made struck me pretty heavily. I had never taken time to think what the name Barabbas meant. I always assumed he was some schmuck whose existence was to be lightly loathed. His name means "Son of the Father" or "Bar Abba(s)." Out of every prisoner held for exchange this was the one who was chosen. Christ's sacrifice was so that we could all truly be sons (daughters) of Abba. If God did not spare His own son how much more will He give us all things. The very act of the sacrifice was to allow his enemies to enter into His divine love. What a good Go we serve.

The prayer room was good as was prayer team. I love talking to Jesus and prophesying, those are always good times. Then I scooted off to my job. I am a part time paper boy. My hands are still lightly stained with newsprint as I tap my black, now maybe blacker keys. I run the route with my buddy Matt Johnson, a chum from the old Fire in the Night days. Gunniong through neighborhoods in the pitchest of dark has rebirthed an old passion of mine, a love and fondness for punk rock. I had seemed to come out of it a while back, yet holding dearly to my rude boy roots. The unfolding began with Charity letting me borrow her "Play it Loud" mix with all sorts of rude goodness and has thusly culminated into an entwining of my heartstrings and the songs of the Toy Dolls. A week ago I was lost in existential bliss whilst being drowned in the euphoria that is Five Iron Frenzy's final performance and the trend seems to rise higher and higher.

In summation, God is good. Heartbreak and disappointment are bound to come, but God is faithful. Punk music is grand. Matt Johnson is a wonderful guy. The body of Christ is in desperate need of spiritual mothers and fathers. Sometimes if your passenger side window won't move be sure to chekc the window lock button before worrying about the vast ammount of empty funds it will take to fix is. God works all things out for the good of those who love Him and have been called according to His purpose, its absurd but then again so is the electoral process but we still vote. I finally found a home, it is the nightwatch and the prayer room. The Lord is good and His mercy endures forever.

Alabama Nova

Once again cars sped down the highway. The morning air left nothing more than the remants of laughter and old photographs in my memory. Having taken too many friendships for granted all that embodys what seems to be an epiphanal moment is the humming of cars and the crooning of mountain goats. Too little has gone into the thinking and planning of such great exploits whilst a somber mass gets entangled in there own narcissism. To think one day there will be an end to speculation hopes and dreams returning into pastel symphonies delight and wonder. Until now all that has ever seemed to hinge on sincerity is that of an unseen promise. Undone merely by emotional chemistry and pseudo-Shakespearean thoughts, embracing the uncreated becomes a daunting task overwhelming even the slightest of inquiries. To stand at one moment a drooling mess humbled by brilliant sovreignty then to indulge the inner crave into the depths od distraction is a battle that is often lost more times than won. To speak of futures, smiles, hopes, dreams, blood, redemption, laughter, love, trauma, conquest, romance, eyes, smiles, family, friendship, and above all God seem weighed down by the gnawing remnants of what some may even ascribe to be some sort of attention deficit. Long gone seem the days of running through fields and chasing fireflies, trips to Nostalgia land are the best with dear friends though, but in comes the final stare into the world of growing up. Surrounded by maturity and adults the threshold of accomplishment and almost meaning seems like something that has in some places been assumed where as the status quo remains in the subtle monotony of the nuances of anything but. Letting go of many things hails flickering promises yet love feels to command towards the obliteration of all the destroys. Don't get me wrong, I hate sin, I hate my sin passionately. I long for the kingdom to come, I long for the day expression is not only limited to the same old set redone and reworked except even now there may be a techno beat thrown in. I look forward with expectation the day all things are made new. Running with a pack who at one time held vigilantism in their veins, the days draws near in which lines are drawn and bravery, heroism, love, and humility pour forth like perfume and pieces of glass towards a throne. Until then, may we behold and bless, transformation beckons stronger than the steel that binds Optimus Prime's machismo together. Dawn came a couple of hours ago, yet another painting I'm sure God must have put in His scrapbook. In retrospect this entry is nothing more than sporadic conjecture, time moves on and God is good. The times they are a changin' my friend.