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.