Caramel Mochiatto. I didn't even know how to say it, much less spell it.
Nevertheless I forged ahead to order this -- this . . . thing with unknown properties listed on the Starbucks menu. The first thing I did was try pronouncing it to the girl standing next to me. "Moshiotta" was how it came out. I was quickly corrected. Thus I narrowly avoided making a complete fool of myself in front of a perfect stranger, the cashier. Not that she was necessarily perfect, although I had no way of knowing since she was a stranger, of course. She didn't look like a perfect stranger. But I digress.
Three dollars and twenty-five cents, plus tax! For twelve ounces of liquid refreshment.
"My money-saving device." I had said as I held up my world famous "life is good" Nalgene bottle for all to behold. My audience gazed in wonder at this phenomenom. The gall of some people, to bring a water bottle to Starbucks! What cheapskates!
It was time for a diversion. "Behold, my table-saving device," I announced in an effort to avoid ridicule.
Time to go order. Hopefully no one would be attracted to the table we had been sitting at -- the one with the Nalgene water bottle prominently displayed.
Well, the ordering was uneventful, if you consider narrowly avoiding making a fool of yourself by mispronouncing something as representative of high culture as "caramel mochiatto". Three dollars and fifty-four cents with tax. Wow, I might have to take out a small loan from my local lending institution if this continues. It's debateable whether they would give me the money since mochiattos seem to be a highly depreciable asset. Like down to zero dollars in fifteen minutes.
I dug deep and paid for the frothy, but expensive, twelve ounce drink as I tried not to think of the cost per ounce factor. In fact, I must have tried so hard that I never thought about it . . . until the next day. Twenty-nine and a half cents! What if everything I drank cost me this much, I wondered? Twenty-nine and a half cents an ounce for water? Ouch. If I averaged one hundred ounces per day, that would come out to Twenty-nine dollars and fifty cents.
And I thought my taxes were high.
In conclusion, I am thankful that Starbucks does not own the water running to my tap. Otherwise, you know those people that sleep under bridges and take showers once a month? Yeah? Well, that's why no one would be able to afford showers . . .
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
PALM Mission Statement
I. We believe that coming to no conclusion is superior to coming to a false conclusion.
II. Therefore, all members shall refrain from drawing any conclusions simply on circumstantial evidence. (If drawing conclusions is absolutely necessary, it should be done on a piece of paper instead.)
III. These principles should apply to all areas of life, but these are outside of the scope of PALM. Therefore, these principles shall apply specifically to others' romantic/nonromantic relationships.
IV. All allegations of suspected romantic advances of others will be met with skepticism by the members of PALM.
V. Those spreading the allegations (allegators) must be educated by PALM members on the importance of coming to conclusions via proof.
For People Against Lousy Matchmaking,
Lou Sdeassuming
II. Therefore, all members shall refrain from drawing any conclusions simply on circumstantial evidence. (If drawing conclusions is absolutely necessary, it should be done on a piece of paper instead.)
III. These principles should apply to all areas of life, but these are outside of the scope of PALM. Therefore, these principles shall apply specifically to others' romantic/nonromantic relationships.
IV. All allegations of suspected romantic advances of others will be met with skepticism by the members of PALM.
V. Those spreading the allegations (allegators) must be educated by PALM members on the importance of coming to conclusions via proof.
For People Against Lousy Matchmaking,
Lou Sdeassuming
Things Mom Would Never Say
From Lloyd Kelly
1. "How on earth can you see the TV sitting so far back?"
2. "Yeah, I used to skip school a lot, too."
3. "Just leave all the lights on ... it makes the house look more cheery."
4. "Let me smell that shirt -- yeah, it's good for another week."
5. "Go ahead and keep that stray dog, honey. I'll be glad to feed and walk him every day."
6. "Well, if Timmy's mom says it's OK, that's good enough for me."
7. "The curfew is just a general time to shoot for. It's not like I'm running a prison around here."
8. "I don't have a tissue with me ... just use your sleeve."
9. "Don't bother wearing a jacket - the wind-chill is bound to improve."
From Lloyd Kelly
1. "How on earth can you see the TV sitting so far back?"
2. "Yeah, I used to skip school a lot, too."
3. "Just leave all the lights on ... it makes the house look more cheery."
4. "Let me smell that shirt -- yeah, it's good for another week."
5. "Go ahead and keep that stray dog, honey. I'll be glad to feed and walk him every day."
6. "Well, if Timmy's mom says it's OK, that's good enough for me."
7. "The curfew is just a general time to shoot for. It's not like I'm running a prison around here."
8. "I don't have a tissue with me ... just use your sleeve."
9. "Don't bother wearing a jacket - the wind-chill is bound to improve."
Saturday, April 17, 2010
What does she know about Mennonites?
I was listening to the podcast at boundless.org (116), and they were talking about how awful they looked in the Eighties. I think Candace said something about it being the missing decade (in her personal history). You have all these pictures from her life during the other decades, but mysteriously nothing from the Eighties. What a coincidence. Anyway, Lisa said that yeah, she looked like she just stepped out of a "Mennonite garage sale". I was too amused to be offended.
Monday, March 22, 2010
My introduction to the two new livewires at kids' club started on the playground. I wandered out there in hopes of, you know, hanging out and stuff. Well, it wasn't long before I met Klara and Chloe. Sisters, 15 months apart. And Chloe promptly informed me that whatever she does, it's because she's already seen Klara do it.
"You're a monkey," I told Klara as she tried to emulate me climbing up the playset.
"Oh no I'm not. I'm an elephant!" she replied without obvious embarrassment.
She didn't look much like an elephant to me, I told her. She was blonde, thin, and with the normal stature of a seven year-old. Not large, cumbersome, gray, or with large ears and long trunk. (Kinda' like the old joke: What do a grape and an elephant have in common? They're both purple except for the elephant.)
Towards the end of the evening we generally have food, and this time was no different. Pizza, chips, whoopie pies, and pop. Yes I know this is a coronary waiting to happen, but they're still young. ;-)
Well these girls must have gotten a hold of something that "wired" them, because next thing we knew they were chasing Mr. Tim all over the basement. Unfortunately, Klara laid hands on his cell phone and made off with it. She was busily engaged with her new toy when . . . it rang. So she immediately returned with the ringing phone while saying something about "Ron Miller calling". That would have been Mr. Ron's method for the return of the phone.
Later Chloe would somehow find Mr. Tim's wallet and be running around the basement clutching $59 in cash. Kids' clubs and valuables: How well do they mix?
Probably about as well as "wired" kids and sugar.
"You're a monkey," I told Klara as she tried to emulate me climbing up the playset.
"Oh no I'm not. I'm an elephant!" she replied without obvious embarrassment.
She didn't look much like an elephant to me, I told her. She was blonde, thin, and with the normal stature of a seven year-old. Not large, cumbersome, gray, or with large ears and long trunk. (Kinda' like the old joke: What do a grape and an elephant have in common? They're both purple except for the elephant.)
Towards the end of the evening we generally have food, and this time was no different. Pizza, chips, whoopie pies, and pop. Yes I know this is a coronary waiting to happen, but they're still young. ;-)
Well these girls must have gotten a hold of something that "wired" them, because next thing we knew they were chasing Mr. Tim all over the basement. Unfortunately, Klara laid hands on his cell phone and made off with it. She was busily engaged with her new toy when . . . it rang. So she immediately returned with the ringing phone while saying something about "Ron Miller calling". That would have been Mr. Ron's method for the return of the phone.
Later Chloe would somehow find Mr. Tim's wallet and be running around the basement clutching $59 in cash. Kids' clubs and valuables: How well do they mix?
Probably about as well as "wired" kids and sugar.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Pouring His Own
I love concrete, but it does not love me.
The other day I had the audacity to schedule 12 yards of concrete to be poured out at various spots at the place of my abode. My storage building; my sidewalk; my footer for a retaining wall. My ducks were in a row and life was good. I did, however have a couple of fleeting thoughts questioning the wisdom of not bracing the one form, but not being one to let common sense hold me back, I forged optimistically ahead.
Ten yards showed up at 8:45 a.m. Fortunately, Lavern, a guy I had suckered into helping, was there by then. And we began to pour.
Now every time I pour, enough time has elapsed between any past concrete experiences (enough with the pun) and the current one, that all memories related to these borderline traumatic experiences have faded into oblivion. And I start anew, blissfully ignorant yet again. I forget how heavy concrete is. Or how much work is entailed. I don't work it; it works me. Or I forget the constant feeling of being on the verge of losing control of the situation at any moment. If anything can go wrong with pouring concrete, it probably will. Concrete seems to be a magnet for catastrophic results.
Well, the storage building slab went fine, and I began to wonder if this would be the day when everything goes well for a change. Then we moved to the sidewalk.
Yes, the sidewalk.
We had a pad to pour on the porch, but the chute wouldn't reach that far, so we had to run a wheelbarrow loads up a 10' ramp. The first load went up uneventfully. On the second load, when I lost forward motion on my wheelbarrow, Lavern hooked the comalong on the axle to pull it up. But it threw me off balance, and well, let's just say the concrete did not quite make it to its intended destiny. Also, because of the low angle of the chute, the concrete was not flowing into the wheelbarrow. Instead, it was going whithersoever it desired, not wheresoever I desired.
At least we managed to pour the rest of the walk without further premature wheelbarrow inversions, and things were looking up. We moved to the footer part and got it all poured in a short amount of time. And we were DONE? Less than 10 yards? How much was left, I wondered? He didn't know, so I instructed the driver to dump it out on a pile, and I would find a place for it. So he poured and he poured. Was I sure I wanted him to continue, he wondered? Yeah, I figured I'd move it around with my skid loader. He looked at me like I was from Jupiter or something, but he dumped the rest of it out anyway.
Whoa! I was now the owner of a small concrete mountain. I could have made snow and sold lift tickets. And to think I figured this would not be anywhere close to enough concrete. I must be short on some math skills, I guess.
While Lavern floated the sidewalk, I floated the storage building slab. Hmmm, it was setting up about right. This was contrary to the nature of concrete. Usually, it sets up too fast or not fast enough, not just right. Something was wrong. It was probably lulling me into a false sense of security before suddenly hardening, and thus effectively throwing me into a state of panic. This wouldn't be all negative because as far as I know, this state does not levy an income tax.
It was time to move the "Mound Saint Helens" over to an area I had graded for parking. Seeing that I was desiring its assistance in moving about 2+ yards of concrete, my loader took this opportunity to not start. However, perserverance paid off, and it finally ran half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it spread nicely enough, considering the whole "afterthought idea".
Yes, things were going strangely well. The sidewalk finished out okay. The storage building slab finished out even better. Maybe my idealistic expectations weren't so far off after all. Then I noticed this one form bowing out about an inch . . .
The other day I had the audacity to schedule 12 yards of concrete to be poured out at various spots at the place of my abode. My storage building; my sidewalk; my footer for a retaining wall. My ducks were in a row and life was good. I did, however have a couple of fleeting thoughts questioning the wisdom of not bracing the one form, but not being one to let common sense hold me back, I forged optimistically ahead.
Ten yards showed up at 8:45 a.m. Fortunately, Lavern, a guy I had suckered into helping, was there by then. And we began to pour.
Now every time I pour, enough time has elapsed between any past concrete experiences (enough with the pun) and the current one, that all memories related to these borderline traumatic experiences have faded into oblivion. And I start anew, blissfully ignorant yet again. I forget how heavy concrete is. Or how much work is entailed. I don't work it; it works me. Or I forget the constant feeling of being on the verge of losing control of the situation at any moment. If anything can go wrong with pouring concrete, it probably will. Concrete seems to be a magnet for catastrophic results.
Well, the storage building slab went fine, and I began to wonder if this would be the day when everything goes well for a change. Then we moved to the sidewalk.
Yes, the sidewalk.
We had a pad to pour on the porch, but the chute wouldn't reach that far, so we had to run a wheelbarrow loads up a 10' ramp. The first load went up uneventfully. On the second load, when I lost forward motion on my wheelbarrow, Lavern hooked the comalong on the axle to pull it up. But it threw me off balance, and well, let's just say the concrete did not quite make it to its intended destiny. Also, because of the low angle of the chute, the concrete was not flowing into the wheelbarrow. Instead, it was going whithersoever it desired, not wheresoever I desired.
At least we managed to pour the rest of the walk without further premature wheelbarrow inversions, and things were looking up. We moved to the footer part and got it all poured in a short amount of time. And we were DONE? Less than 10 yards? How much was left, I wondered? He didn't know, so I instructed the driver to dump it out on a pile, and I would find a place for it. So he poured and he poured. Was I sure I wanted him to continue, he wondered? Yeah, I figured I'd move it around with my skid loader. He looked at me like I was from Jupiter or something, but he dumped the rest of it out anyway.
Whoa! I was now the owner of a small concrete mountain. I could have made snow and sold lift tickets. And to think I figured this would not be anywhere close to enough concrete. I must be short on some math skills, I guess.
While Lavern floated the sidewalk, I floated the storage building slab. Hmmm, it was setting up about right. This was contrary to the nature of concrete. Usually, it sets up too fast or not fast enough, not just right. Something was wrong. It was probably lulling me into a false sense of security before suddenly hardening, and thus effectively throwing me into a state of panic. This wouldn't be all negative because as far as I know, this state does not levy an income tax.
It was time to move the "Mound Saint Helens" over to an area I had graded for parking. Seeing that I was desiring its assistance in moving about 2+ yards of concrete, my loader took this opportunity to not start. However, perserverance paid off, and it finally ran half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it spread nicely enough, considering the whole "afterthought idea".
Yes, things were going strangely well. The sidewalk finished out okay. The storage building slab finished out even better. Maybe my idealistic expectations weren't so far off after all. Then I noticed this one form bowing out about an inch . . .
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Which Gospel?
This is a pretty incisive parable by a blogger on some of the modern Christianity we see in our culture.
----------
Brian McLaren decided to open his own Whole Foods store. He started small, and the business grew. After a struggle through the early years, he had his own storefront with the sign in the parking lot and everything: Whole Foods.
More and more, though, people complained about the high prices, and they were a little disappointed that while the food was supposed to be healthy, it just didn’t taste as good as what they were used to eating. McLaren wrestled with the problems of price, access, taste, and image, and after much turmoil he began to move toward a solution that he was sure would address the issues.
The change didn’t happen all at once, and McLaren didn’t announce what he had decided to do. In fact, there are some indications that this was, we might say, an organic development, a slow transformation. Once it had happened, though, the results are clear for all to see.
Though the sign out front still says Whole Foods, things are very different within. Instead of all that expensive, healthy, tasteless food, inside you can buy what looks and tastes just like fast food burgers and fries. In fact, Brian’s stuff is just like McDonald’s! And now the shelves of the store are stocked with things that people really want to eat, things that people can afford, things that are easier for McLaren to acquire and market, and things that taste just like what we used to eat when we didn’t bother about health food at all. Perfect! Affordable prices and food that tastes great—healthy to boot.
---------
To read the rest go to:
http://jimhamilton.wordpress.com/2010/03/10/brian-mclarens-new-kind-of-whole-foods-store-a-parable/
----------
Brian McLaren decided to open his own Whole Foods store. He started small, and the business grew. After a struggle through the early years, he had his own storefront with the sign in the parking lot and everything: Whole Foods.
More and more, though, people complained about the high prices, and they were a little disappointed that while the food was supposed to be healthy, it just didn’t taste as good as what they were used to eating. McLaren wrestled with the problems of price, access, taste, and image, and after much turmoil he began to move toward a solution that he was sure would address the issues.
The change didn’t happen all at once, and McLaren didn’t announce what he had decided to do. In fact, there are some indications that this was, we might say, an organic development, a slow transformation. Once it had happened, though, the results are clear for all to see.
Though the sign out front still says Whole Foods, things are very different within. Instead of all that expensive, healthy, tasteless food, inside you can buy what looks and tastes just like fast food burgers and fries. In fact, Brian’s stuff is just like McDonald’s! And now the shelves of the store are stocked with things that people really want to eat, things that people can afford, things that are easier for McLaren to acquire and market, and things that taste just like what we used to eat when we didn’t bother about health food at all. Perfect! Affordable prices and food that tastes great—healthy to boot.
---------
To read the rest go to:
http://jimhamilton.wordpress.com/2010/03/10/brian-mclarens-new-kind-of-whole-foods-store-a-parable/
Monday, February 22, 2010
Close Ice
The ice looks good close up, by the way, I think as I try to recollect what had just transpired.
Oh yes. I was part of a stampede that poured through the ridiculously small opening and onto the ice rink. After only 5 seconds on this smooth but hard ice, I was getting awfully friendly with it. I get up, hoping that I won't get run over by the line of skaters advancing behind me.
Skaters with skates. Skates with really sharp edges.
I stagger to my feet and manage to grip the wall beside me in much the same way a starving man would grip his last morsel of food. I go slow, but at least I am unsteady. I know that doesn't make sense, but when it comes to being in close proximity with the ice, nothing makes much sense. I am going at such a low rate of speed that small children with walker-like contraptions are passing me right and left.
Meanwhile my friends are greatly amused by the dexterity with which I move on the ice. I have all the dexterity of an elephant on the dance floor. I should be good at this, but I am not. After all was I not in Canada for 2 years? Where hockey is a sport that reigns supreme? Alas, I realize one cannot be good at everything because that would be boring to everyone else.
After 2 laps my shin muscles become fatigued. I didn't even know I had shin muscles. This is not really true, but they are not muscles I spend much time thinking about. (Wanna' see me flex my shin muscles? Ooooh!)
As he goes by, Dervin grabs my arm in an effort to speed up my ponderous skating experience. I respond by flailing my arms wildly and crash to the ice. My kneecap smarts.
Am I alright, he wonders? Of course, I am. I can tell he feels bad for being the cause of my demise, in much the same way I felt bad for the guy I tripped up earlier. As usual, I, being in a constant state of losing control within 5 seconds at any given time, found myself laying upon the ice again. A cell phone lay nearby in a couple different pieces. Fortunately the skater was able to put it back together with minimal difficulty. (No cell phones were permanently harmed in the making of this accident.)
However, I do get better with time and my shin muscles no longer bother me, for which I am thankful. Once when we are taking a break, Dervin tells me that earlier a lady, that was part of our group came up behind him and lovingly put her arm around him. She was horrified when she discovered that he was not her dearly beloved husband. Instead, her dearly beloved husband was standing next to Dervin and practically rolling on the floor laughing at her. Dervin was also highly amused. This story gets repeated several times, much to the consternation and embarrassment of its subject.
Things could always be worse . . . it could've happened to me.
Oh yes. I was part of a stampede that poured through the ridiculously small opening and onto the ice rink. After only 5 seconds on this smooth but hard ice, I was getting awfully friendly with it. I get up, hoping that I won't get run over by the line of skaters advancing behind me.
Skaters with skates. Skates with really sharp edges.
I stagger to my feet and manage to grip the wall beside me in much the same way a starving man would grip his last morsel of food. I go slow, but at least I am unsteady. I know that doesn't make sense, but when it comes to being in close proximity with the ice, nothing makes much sense. I am going at such a low rate of speed that small children with walker-like contraptions are passing me right and left.
Meanwhile my friends are greatly amused by the dexterity with which I move on the ice. I have all the dexterity of an elephant on the dance floor. I should be good at this, but I am not. After all was I not in Canada for 2 years? Where hockey is a sport that reigns supreme? Alas, I realize one cannot be good at everything because that would be boring to everyone else.
After 2 laps my shin muscles become fatigued. I didn't even know I had shin muscles. This is not really true, but they are not muscles I spend much time thinking about. (Wanna' see me flex my shin muscles? Ooooh!)
As he goes by, Dervin grabs my arm in an effort to speed up my ponderous skating experience. I respond by flailing my arms wildly and crash to the ice. My kneecap smarts.
Am I alright, he wonders? Of course, I am. I can tell he feels bad for being the cause of my demise, in much the same way I felt bad for the guy I tripped up earlier. As usual, I, being in a constant state of losing control within 5 seconds at any given time, found myself laying upon the ice again. A cell phone lay nearby in a couple different pieces. Fortunately the skater was able to put it back together with minimal difficulty. (No cell phones were permanently harmed in the making of this accident.)
However, I do get better with time and my shin muscles no longer bother me, for which I am thankful. Once when we are taking a break, Dervin tells me that earlier a lady, that was part of our group came up behind him and lovingly put her arm around him. She was horrified when she discovered that he was not her dearly beloved husband. Instead, her dearly beloved husband was standing next to Dervin and practically rolling on the floor laughing at her. Dervin was also highly amused. This story gets repeated several times, much to the consternation and embarrassment of its subject.
Things could always be worse . . . it could've happened to me.
Friday, February 12, 2010
PALM
Has this ever happened to you? Someone who's been taking note approaches you and asks if you have "the hots" for so and so. If only because they spotted you in a conversation with said person 47 times in the past 2 weeks. It's the bane of singleness.
In an effort to bring about reform, a friend of mine recently started the PALM club. No, he wasn't looking for people to accompany him to the Bahamas, or even get his way paid for that matter. Instead, he was simply attempting to assemble a group consisting of: (and I quote) "People Against Lousy Matchmaking". No, I am not making this up. But I digress.
We all know how easy it is to come to erronious conclusions that are based solely upon circumstantial evidence. I know, I'm a repentant perpetrator of this myself. Let me outline the problem a bit more by describing a hypothetical scenario.
Guy A is discovered conversing with Girl B yet AGAIN, by Person C. Alone. Person C assumes that since this is the 47th consecutive converstion Guy A and Girl B have had in the last 2 weeks that must certainly mean that he is "putting the moves" on her. Option #1. It's either that, or they're on the same committee and were just having another meeting (or closing a real estate deal). Option #2. It could be that, but that's not NEARLY as exciting as Option #1.
So Person C lays awake at night considering the possibilities.
For hours.
After concluding that something with romantic overtones is up, Person C then casually mentions this possibility to Person D. When Person D demonstrates some skepticism by saying something like, "Yeah, yeah, they were probably just having a committee meeting. Or maybe they were closing a real estate deal. Ever thought about that?"
Nevertheless, Person C is undaunted, after all, who needs daunts? He/she then lays out the evidence to support his/her conclusion. This is important in the event that something actually DOES come about of this relationship. That he/she has a witness to give validity to his/her claim that he/she saw it coming for a long time already.
A prediction such as this is worth a lot of points, and in this game one must rack up many points to keep from falling into the loser's bracket. Unfortunately, there are no points deducted for false assumptions.
To which I say, "Lose the game already!" The paltry bit of smugness one feels over knowing stuff before anyone else is not worth the risk of starting a rumor that is rumored to be quite possibly true. Maybe.
As Scripture states, "For he does not know what will happen; so who can tell him when it will occur?" (Eccl. 8:7) And again, ". . . If a tree falls to the south, or to the north, in whatever place it comes down, there it lies." (Eccl. 11:3) What do these verses have to do with the subject at hand? Easy, they basically say, "It's not over until the extremely gravitationally enhanced female sings," (to borrow the colloquialism).
Or don't jump to conclusions.
So remember this the next time you spot Guy A conversing with Girl B for the 47th time in the last 2 weeks. They're probably just having a committee meeting. (Or closing a real estate deal.)
Maybe.
But then again . . . maybe not.
In an effort to bring about reform, a friend of mine recently started the PALM club. No, he wasn't looking for people to accompany him to the Bahamas, or even get his way paid for that matter. Instead, he was simply attempting to assemble a group consisting of: (and I quote) "People Against Lousy Matchmaking". No, I am not making this up. But I digress.
We all know how easy it is to come to erronious conclusions that are based solely upon circumstantial evidence. I know, I'm a repentant perpetrator of this myself. Let me outline the problem a bit more by describing a hypothetical scenario.
Guy A is discovered conversing with Girl B yet AGAIN, by Person C. Alone. Person C assumes that since this is the 47th consecutive converstion Guy A and Girl B have had in the last 2 weeks that must certainly mean that he is "putting the moves" on her. Option #1. It's either that, or they're on the same committee and were just having another meeting (or closing a real estate deal). Option #2. It could be that, but that's not NEARLY as exciting as Option #1.
So Person C lays awake at night considering the possibilities.
For hours.
After concluding that something with romantic overtones is up, Person C then casually mentions this possibility to Person D. When Person D demonstrates some skepticism by saying something like, "Yeah, yeah, they were probably just having a committee meeting. Or maybe they were closing a real estate deal. Ever thought about that?"
Nevertheless, Person C is undaunted, after all, who needs daunts? He/she then lays out the evidence to support his/her conclusion. This is important in the event that something actually DOES come about of this relationship. That he/she has a witness to give validity to his/her claim that he/she saw it coming for a long time already.
A prediction such as this is worth a lot of points, and in this game one must rack up many points to keep from falling into the loser's bracket. Unfortunately, there are no points deducted for false assumptions.
To which I say, "Lose the game already!" The paltry bit of smugness one feels over knowing stuff before anyone else is not worth the risk of starting a rumor that is rumored to be quite possibly true. Maybe.
As Scripture states, "For he does not know what will happen; so who can tell him when it will occur?" (Eccl. 8:7) And again, ". . . If a tree falls to the south, or to the north, in whatever place it comes down, there it lies." (Eccl. 11:3) What do these verses have to do with the subject at hand? Easy, they basically say, "It's not over until the extremely gravitationally enhanced female sings," (to borrow the colloquialism).
Or don't jump to conclusions.
So remember this the next time you spot Guy A conversing with Girl B for the 47th time in the last 2 weeks. They're probably just having a committee meeting. (Or closing a real estate deal.)
Maybe.
But then again . . . maybe not.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Scene: GTC Dental Clinic
Hygenist Student: But, where is it?
Innocent Victim: Apparently I don't have a pulse. Try the other wrist.
Hygenist Student: Nope, not there either.
Dr. Kraus! Please help me. I can't find my patient's pulse.
Innocent Victim: Ha ha ha!
Dr. Kraus: He must be dead, but then I doubt he would laughing.
(Patiently) Remember: follow the vein from the thumb down to the wrist. See it's right here.
Hygenist Student: Can you feel a pulse?
Dr. Kraus: It's not in-your-face there; it's more like weak-and-faint there.
Hygenist Student: That is faint.
Innocent Victim: What was it?
Hygenist Student: 60 beats per minute.
Innocent Victim: Apparently I don't have a pulse. Try the other wrist.
Hygenist Student: Nope, not there either.
Dr. Kraus! Please help me. I can't find my patient's pulse.
Innocent Victim: Ha ha ha!
Dr. Kraus: He must be dead, but then I doubt he would laughing.
(Patiently) Remember: follow the vein from the thumb down to the wrist. See it's right here.
Hygenist Student: Can you feel a pulse?
Dr. Kraus: It's not in-your-face there; it's more like weak-and-faint there.
Hygenist Student: That is faint.
Innocent Victim: What was it?
Hygenist Student: 60 beats per minute.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Why aren't we (conservative mennonite culture) having more impact in American culture? Good question.
After reading a thought-provoking blog post by firefliesanddandeliondust, I would like to weigh in with several thoughts.
I. Spiritual apathy causes lack of spiritual impact.
It's important to remember Christ's number one commandment. Before you do anything else: Love God. Ours is a resultant-based life. The natural result of loving God is keeping His commandments. And guess what one of His commandments is? Of course: Love others! (I wonder if I can memorize this one?) Pretty simple, but maybe not pretty easy. So if you have trouble loving others check your love for God.
If you're like me, you do this once, and you're like, "I've got this one taken care of. It's fixed." And then you go on your merry way and forget about it. The problem with love is that it can cool off. This then translates into an attitude of apathy towards God. Oh, we may claim to love God, but our lives say otherwise.
This was obvious in the lives of early church Christians, a fervent love for others was displayed as a result of their fervent love for God (think: Stephen).
Any love not based on a love for God is fake. This is a strong statement; is it true? I think it is, but I'm open to be corrected. I would maintain that any show of love that is not rooted in a love for God is in the end done for selfish purposes and is therefore not true love. Read I Cor. 13. One may perform all sorts of sacrificial deeds that look loving, but if they're not done out of love, they are futile.
II. Salvation is the means not the end.
The main theme of the Bible is not man's salvation. The main theme of the Bible is God's glory revealed. It's pretty easy to get caught into a "me-centered theology" because I am very important to myself. (After all, if I didn't exist, I wouldn't be here to write this post. Ha ha ha!) It's not about primarily about me, it's about God. Now fortunately for us, it brought God glory to invite us into His kingdom (think: the Gospel). But alas, we cannot enter due to our sinful condition. However, God in His mercy brought salvation for us through Jesus Christ.
It's not about "fire escape salvation", either. One revivalist from the past (Spurgeon, I think) said he questioned anyone's salvation if they had only become saved to escape hell. Ouch.
As one who was motivated to make a commitment to Christ based on a fear of hell, I now wonder about the sincerity of my commitment. To me the Christian life was reduced to a couple of "thou shalts" (daily: read your Bible and pray) and a bunch of "thou shalt nots". Ugh. How tiresome. What a drag. Originally what kept me from making a commitment was the fear of losing my indepenance. Self. Yet I realized it was in MY best interest in the long run to "accept Christ". Still selfish.
God meets us where we are, though, and so maybe He grows us out of this selfish thinking on salvation. Then turns it into what it should be: a denial of ourselves and a following of Him instead. Salvation is simply the way we enter God's kingdom.
III. Who says we're doing nothing?
Based on tangible results, it would seem that we have become irrelevant to our culture around us. However, not all results are immediately evident to us. There are those among us that are active in ministries of various capacities, but we just may not hear much about it. I think this is true in the church that I attend. Not everybody knows everything I'm involved in, and I don't know everything they're involved in (for better or for worse). Nevertheless, we are still working together to build the kingdom in our different capacities. Could we do better? Um, I think so.
I would also challenge the assumption that is made at times in our Christian culture that there are both secular and holy compartments of life. Or secular activities and holy activities. Really? Then to be truly holy, we should only do holy activities. If what we mean holy activities are only those things that pertain to ministering to others and to God, then I would disagree. What makes an action holy is not so much what it is but more why it's done. Any right action done for the glory of God is holy.
Therefore, it could be holy to dig ditches. In fact, it's possible, depending on the situation, that it could be more holy to dig ditches than to *gasp* preach the gospel.
So maybe our problem is we don't do things to bring maximum glory to God, and that's where we fail.
Please feel free to express any amounts of disagreement you may have. Thank you. (Is this on? *Squeal*)
After reading a thought-provoking blog post by firefliesanddandeliondust, I would like to weigh in with several thoughts.
I. Spiritual apathy causes lack of spiritual impact.
It's important to remember Christ's number one commandment. Before you do anything else: Love God. Ours is a resultant-based life. The natural result of loving God is keeping His commandments. And guess what one of His commandments is? Of course: Love others! (I wonder if I can memorize this one?) Pretty simple, but maybe not pretty easy. So if you have trouble loving others check your love for God.
If you're like me, you do this once, and you're like, "I've got this one taken care of. It's fixed." And then you go on your merry way and forget about it. The problem with love is that it can cool off. This then translates into an attitude of apathy towards God. Oh, we may claim to love God, but our lives say otherwise.
This was obvious in the lives of early church Christians, a fervent love for others was displayed as a result of their fervent love for God (think: Stephen).
Any love not based on a love for God is fake. This is a strong statement; is it true? I think it is, but I'm open to be corrected. I would maintain that any show of love that is not rooted in a love for God is in the end done for selfish purposes and is therefore not true love. Read I Cor. 13. One may perform all sorts of sacrificial deeds that look loving, but if they're not done out of love, they are futile.
II. Salvation is the means not the end.
The main theme of the Bible is not man's salvation. The main theme of the Bible is God's glory revealed. It's pretty easy to get caught into a "me-centered theology" because I am very important to myself. (After all, if I didn't exist, I wouldn't be here to write this post. Ha ha ha!) It's not about primarily about me, it's about God. Now fortunately for us, it brought God glory to invite us into His kingdom (think: the Gospel). But alas, we cannot enter due to our sinful condition. However, God in His mercy brought salvation for us through Jesus Christ.
It's not about "fire escape salvation", either. One revivalist from the past (Spurgeon, I think) said he questioned anyone's salvation if they had only become saved to escape hell. Ouch.
As one who was motivated to make a commitment to Christ based on a fear of hell, I now wonder about the sincerity of my commitment. To me the Christian life was reduced to a couple of "thou shalts" (daily: read your Bible and pray) and a bunch of "thou shalt nots". Ugh. How tiresome. What a drag. Originally what kept me from making a commitment was the fear of losing my indepenance. Self. Yet I realized it was in MY best interest in the long run to "accept Christ". Still selfish.
God meets us where we are, though, and so maybe He grows us out of this selfish thinking on salvation. Then turns it into what it should be: a denial of ourselves and a following of Him instead. Salvation is simply the way we enter God's kingdom.
III. Who says we're doing nothing?
Based on tangible results, it would seem that we have become irrelevant to our culture around us. However, not all results are immediately evident to us. There are those among us that are active in ministries of various capacities, but we just may not hear much about it. I think this is true in the church that I attend. Not everybody knows everything I'm involved in, and I don't know everything they're involved in (for better or for worse). Nevertheless, we are still working together to build the kingdom in our different capacities. Could we do better? Um, I think so.
I would also challenge the assumption that is made at times in our Christian culture that there are both secular and holy compartments of life. Or secular activities and holy activities. Really? Then to be truly holy, we should only do holy activities. If what we mean holy activities are only those things that pertain to ministering to others and to God, then I would disagree. What makes an action holy is not so much what it is but more why it's done. Any right action done for the glory of God is holy.
Therefore, it could be holy to dig ditches. In fact, it's possible, depending on the situation, that it could be more holy to dig ditches than to *gasp* preach the gospel.
So maybe our problem is we don't do things to bring maximum glory to God, and that's where we fail.
Please feel free to express any amounts of disagreement you may have. Thank you. (Is this on? *Squeal*)
Monday, January 25, 2010
Hindsight 2009
CHAPTER 2
And after some time had elapsed, Wengediah journeyed forth into the land of the north to FBEP. For he desired to learn of the teachings delivered there by many of the hoary head. There was in the same place, a student who at that time began to make sport of the teachers there, for it was a talent show. And he didst put forth the theory that FBEP was symbolic, for he said it standeth for the Federation of Bearded Professors. And as he spake these things in their presence, they didst laugh at themselves for there were many of them who wore beards. And he spake yet even more and lifted up his voice saying, "Not everyone of these doth wear a beard, but they that do, make up for them that do not." And this did bring the house down, as it were. And after these sayings, he did sing a rap song based upon Proverbs 31.
And there Wengerdiah did learn of things even more profitable than this, for he did take a class of the Kingdom of God. And he did consider the ways of the world as it opposeth the ways of God. And he did study the history of theology and God's church. Also he studied upon the making of music at that time. And he wondered greatly upon these things.
And it came to pass, in the first year of the reign of Obamanus, that Wengediah returned to the place of his dwelling in the South. And it was that while he was reclining and taking his ease, behold, his LG 8300 did shine upon him with a bright light, and he heard the sound of the harp coming forth from its speakers. So he laid hands upon the device with haste and didst speak unto it, and the voice of Jonathas answered him from within saying, "Have I not need of thy services at this time, and why layest thou around wasting away? For there are some brick to be laid. Dost thou find it in thine heart to render unto me assistance?"
And Wengediah went forth to assist him, for the thing seemed good in his sight. And he did realize that though eating and drinking and taking his ease was pleasurable, behold, it doth have its drawbacks, for it causeth many of his garments to shrink. And in those days, when he didst step upon the scales, behold, a voice would call out from inside the scales saying, "One at a time, please." And he was grieved over this matter. And many were the scales that suffered at his hands in those days.
And when his days of servitude for Jonathius were accomplished, he went forth and did haul sand and gravel for the labor that he would perform upon his own dwelling place. And as he journeyed to his house from the gravel pit, lo, much gravel began to scatter upon the highway, and he did fear greatly for windshields and paint jobs of the others on that highway. And he thought it needful to stop beside the road and remedy the situation, and he was downhearted over this thing.
And straightway he heareth a voice saying, "Yea, my child, thou shalt surely leave this place. For I have a plan for thee. Thou shalt go to Minnieapolis, and thou shalt work for Billy Grahamus. For surely he doth have need of thee." And he wondered within himself saying, "From whence cometh this oracle, and what is it's source thereof? (And why shall it speak unto me in King James English?) " Then did he remember that Billy Grahamus was not a resident in Minneapolis in those days, and he knew through his discernment that this thing was not of the Lord. For this thing had previously been spoken unto a man whom he had listened to on a tape.
And so Wengediah hearkened not unto the voice and did not travel to Minneapolis to work for Billy Grahamus. But instead he searcheth and he discovereth a hole in the trailer that alloweth the gravel to spew forth withersoever it wisheth. So he laid hold of his shovel and scooped the gravel forth from the brink of the opening, and he was met with success in this thing. And he did fix this hole for the hauling of the sand, and his heart did rejoice in this solution. For the Lord helped him according to his need. And so he continued to labor for himself in those days and paid himself whatsoever he did require of himself.
And it came to pass that he went journeyed toward the East and there visited his friend in the city of Jerusalem. And he was in that same place for one month, doing all manner of tourism, relaxing, and a little labor.
And after some time had elapsed, Wengediah journeyed forth into the land of the north to FBEP. For he desired to learn of the teachings delivered there by many of the hoary head. There was in the same place, a student who at that time began to make sport of the teachers there, for it was a talent show. And he didst put forth the theory that FBEP was symbolic, for he said it standeth for the Federation of Bearded Professors. And as he spake these things in their presence, they didst laugh at themselves for there were many of them who wore beards. And he spake yet even more and lifted up his voice saying, "Not everyone of these doth wear a beard, but they that do, make up for them that do not." And this did bring the house down, as it were. And after these sayings, he did sing a rap song based upon Proverbs 31.
And there Wengerdiah did learn of things even more profitable than this, for he did take a class of the Kingdom of God. And he did consider the ways of the world as it opposeth the ways of God. And he did study the history of theology and God's church. Also he studied upon the making of music at that time. And he wondered greatly upon these things.
And it came to pass, in the first year of the reign of Obamanus, that Wengediah returned to the place of his dwelling in the South. And it was that while he was reclining and taking his ease, behold, his LG 8300 did shine upon him with a bright light, and he heard the sound of the harp coming forth from its speakers. So he laid hands upon the device with haste and didst speak unto it, and the voice of Jonathas answered him from within saying, "Have I not need of thy services at this time, and why layest thou around wasting away? For there are some brick to be laid. Dost thou find it in thine heart to render unto me assistance?"
And Wengediah went forth to assist him, for the thing seemed good in his sight. And he did realize that though eating and drinking and taking his ease was pleasurable, behold, it doth have its drawbacks, for it causeth many of his garments to shrink. And in those days, when he didst step upon the scales, behold, a voice would call out from inside the scales saying, "One at a time, please." And he was grieved over this matter. And many were the scales that suffered at his hands in those days.
And when his days of servitude for Jonathius were accomplished, he went forth and did haul sand and gravel for the labor that he would perform upon his own dwelling place. And as he journeyed to his house from the gravel pit, lo, much gravel began to scatter upon the highway, and he did fear greatly for windshields and paint jobs of the others on that highway. And he thought it needful to stop beside the road and remedy the situation, and he was downhearted over this thing.
And straightway he heareth a voice saying, "Yea, my child, thou shalt surely leave this place. For I have a plan for thee. Thou shalt go to Minnieapolis, and thou shalt work for Billy Grahamus. For surely he doth have need of thee." And he wondered within himself saying, "From whence cometh this oracle, and what is it's source thereof? (And why shall it speak unto me in King James English?) " Then did he remember that Billy Grahamus was not a resident in Minneapolis in those days, and he knew through his discernment that this thing was not of the Lord. For this thing had previously been spoken unto a man whom he had listened to on a tape.
And so Wengediah hearkened not unto the voice and did not travel to Minneapolis to work for Billy Grahamus. But instead he searcheth and he discovereth a hole in the trailer that alloweth the gravel to spew forth withersoever it wisheth. So he laid hold of his shovel and scooped the gravel forth from the brink of the opening, and he was met with success in this thing. And he did fix this hole for the hauling of the sand, and his heart did rejoice in this solution. For the Lord helped him according to his need. And so he continued to labor for himself in those days and paid himself whatsoever he did require of himself.
And it came to pass that he went journeyed toward the East and there visited his friend in the city of Jerusalem. And he was in that same place for one month, doing all manner of tourism, relaxing, and a little labor.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
This is what really happened -- in Janelle's own words.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a story to tell. A story that has endured such name-callings as (I quote) "trashy"or "dumpy," and has been quite gossiped about in several communities.Well, I am here to set the record straight. I will give you all the necessary details here, and if you happen to hear another, somewhat twisted version of this story, please refer to my original.
It all started one evening in Grassy Narrows. My very nice dad suggested to my very nice boyfriend that he(Joe) and I take the trash to the dump so that we could have some time alone together. We very gladly agreed, commenting on the romanticness of the prospective date. So, after devotions, around 11 o'clock or so, we loaded up the numerous bags of yucky trash and headed to the Grassy Narrows dump. In my mind, I considered taking bug spray along, but I said to myself, "Self, we will be in the van the entire time and will have no need of bug spray since mosquitos generally live outside, or should." Instead, I took my camera, because it is not uncommon to see a bear or bears on a visit to the dump.
When we reached the dump, we spotted a bear right off. So, Joe pulled the van up so I could get a nice shot at him(the bear) with my handy-dandy Nikon Coolpix 4600. I opened the window, thus giving entrance to a family of mosquitos. The picture did not turn out and the bear lumbered off. Apparently he does not appreciate bright flashes of light in the darkness, especially whilst he is feasting so luxuriously. I don't remember what happened next exactly, but I guess Joe decided to pull the van forward or something and it would not pull forward. I suppose you could say we were stuck. Quite stuck, actually. He tried for about 5 minutes or so, but to no avail. He suggested we pray about it, which we did. Then we tried again. Finally, after a very long time, the front wheels came out of the rut. Praise the Lord! However, to our great sadness, the back wheels decided that they would like to have a turn at being stuck in the rut too. So we were stuck again. No amount of scratching at the sand around the wheels with a stick or whatever other fancy stuff guys know how to do in stucky situations helped. I think then, we prayed that God would keep my dad awake and somehow let him know that we needed help.
Since we still had not thrown out the trash, we hastily got rid of it. Quickly, so as not to let in too many more mosquitos. They were bad enough already. I could hear them singing in my ears. We were really wishing for my bug spray then. Every once in a while, a bear would lumber by, either checking us out, or looking for tastier trash bags to consume. Several came quite close, but I was unable to get any good pictures of them. One came right in front of us, right in the headlights. It was beautiful.
I never imagined that nighttime in a dump could be beautiful. The sky was clear, and the stars were bright. The Milky Way was clearly visible and we saw several falling stars. Yep, the dump was beautiful. We sat there and talked and talked and talked and talked, until around 2 A.M. when we saw headlights splitting the darkness. It was my Daddy coming to rescue us.
So, there you have it. That's what really happened. No more, no less.
It all started one evening in Grassy Narrows. My very nice dad suggested to my very nice boyfriend that he(Joe) and I take the trash to the dump so that we could have some time alone together. We very gladly agreed, commenting on the romanticness of the prospective date. So, after devotions, around 11 o'clock or so, we loaded up the numerous bags of yucky trash and headed to the Grassy Narrows dump. In my mind, I considered taking bug spray along, but I said to myself, "Self, we will be in the van the entire time and will have no need of bug spray since mosquitos generally live outside, or should." Instead, I took my camera, because it is not uncommon to see a bear or bears on a visit to the dump.
When we reached the dump, we spotted a bear right off. So, Joe pulled the van up so I could get a nice shot at him(the bear) with my handy-dandy Nikon Coolpix 4600. I opened the window, thus giving entrance to a family of mosquitos. The picture did not turn out and the bear lumbered off. Apparently he does not appreciate bright flashes of light in the darkness, especially whilst he is feasting so luxuriously. I don't remember what happened next exactly, but I guess Joe decided to pull the van forward or something and it would not pull forward. I suppose you could say we were stuck. Quite stuck, actually. He tried for about 5 minutes or so, but to no avail. He suggested we pray about it, which we did. Then we tried again. Finally, after a very long time, the front wheels came out of the rut. Praise the Lord! However, to our great sadness, the back wheels decided that they would like to have a turn at being stuck in the rut too. So we were stuck again. No amount of scratching at the sand around the wheels with a stick or whatever other fancy stuff guys know how to do in stucky situations helped. I think then, we prayed that God would keep my dad awake and somehow let him know that we needed help.
Since we still had not thrown out the trash, we hastily got rid of it. Quickly, so as not to let in too many more mosquitos. They were bad enough already. I could hear them singing in my ears. We were really wishing for my bug spray then. Every once in a while, a bear would lumber by, either checking us out, or looking for tastier trash bags to consume. Several came quite close, but I was unable to get any good pictures of them. One came right in front of us, right in the headlights. It was beautiful.
I never imagined that nighttime in a dump could be beautiful. The sky was clear, and the stars were bright. The Milky Way was clearly visible and we saw several falling stars. Yep, the dump was beautiful. We sat there and talked and talked and talked and talked, until around 2 A.M. when we saw headlights splitting the darkness. It was my Daddy coming to rescue us.
So, there you have it. That's what really happened. No more, no less.
I tried to leave this as a comment, but, alas, it didn't work out (unlike the expendable crewman)
For those who wondered, here it is:
http://www.rmhiherbal.org/review/2002-1.html#harm
I know this is shocking, but (are you sitting down?) . . . not all of my blog posts have a point -- well, unless you count the entertainment I get from writing them as part of the point.
The reason I posted the previous one was because someone from Facebook wanted to see it again.
Yes, it was a rerun.
Yes, it was fictional.
Actually, the story was based upon the experiences of one of my NYP coworkers. Yes, she really did get stuck in the landfill with her boyfriend.
Isn't that romantic? (Or just "tic"?)
Now are you people with female brains getting "high" off of this? (I refer you to a recent post from examininglifesmysteries.) I'll quit before I cause any added addiction.
http://www.rmhiherbal.org/review/2002-1.html#harm
I know this is shocking, but (are you sitting down?) . . . not all of my blog posts have a point -- well, unless you count the entertainment I get from writing them as part of the point.
The reason I posted the previous one was because someone from Facebook wanted to see it again.
Yes, it was a rerun.
Yes, it was fictional.
Actually, the story was based upon the experiences of one of my NYP coworkers. Yes, she really did get stuck in the landfill with her boyfriend.
Isn't that romantic? (Or just "tic"?)
Now are you people with female brains getting "high" off of this? (I refer you to a recent post from examininglifesmysteries.) I'll quit before I cause any added addiction.
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