What kind of man are you?

Can I combine 26 letters in enough ways?
Will 100 trillion synapses firing away suffice?

Towels, dishes, sandals, and all the other ordinary things in our lives reveal what we are made of more quickly than anything else.

Oswald Chambers

my hand shakes as i hold the phone to my ear

"damn, what the hell."

the phone rings.

i wonder if it's from punching the tree.

no, all it left was a quick cut. already scabbed over by the time i got home.

maybe it's because my stomach feels like it's being held by a wood clamp.

grinding clock-wise. it feels like it's twisted three times over. nah.

it's only causing the pizza to inch up my throat. it's pretty close to dancing with my tonsils.

it won't be a pretty dance.

maybe it's this damn head cold. i swear sweat and wind chill do not mix well.

too efficient. like turning on the AC during a winter storm. eff my life is all that throbs.

it does feel like an eight hundred pound gorilla is gripping the back of my neck and my forehead.

son of a bitch won't let go.

at the end of it. i think what really makes my hand shake, and my nerves all wound up

are these mother bleeping thoughts swirling in my head. i swear, it has to be the fifth five-minute round. we're closing in on the last minute. waiting for the paddle-clap at ten seconds.

feel about ready to submit to these bastard thoughts. or maybe i'll come through

like anderson silva when he fought chael sonnen. just give me a few more seconds.

yeah. that's it. i'm gonna knock his ass out.

the phone stops ringing.

"hey, ted! you called?"

5 Months

In an effort to prepare for the desert

I collect droplets of water

How precious each splash

that will sustain me and save me in drought

It's because of these morsels called memories

that with you, I'll be able to live without

I don't like hearing and reading phrases like "RIP Phone" or "I looooooove food!"

The reason I don't like it is because we mingle something so weighty, words so great to trivialities. I suppose we have come to a point in our culture where material loss is just as bad as emotional, physical loss of loved ones. What words will you reserve for your best friend's epitaph? We've also reached the waistline and sheer lust for food that we will say "I love food" with 23 o's. There will be no more O's left over to say you l_ve your wife.

I want to make an effort to not think, talk, or live this way: placing lofty meanings to complete frivolous bull crap. Don't let them hold hands. One will soil the other. Let me reserve real words for real emotion, real tragedy, real success. Not food, never to phones.

The requirements of a soul are high

Neglected souls can do nothing but shrivel

They will shrink to the size of marbles and fruit flies

Indestructibly hard and prone to suck on rotting food.

Sometimes one needs to ask the question:
What the hell are you trying to prove?

I hope you don't mind.

I itch to spill it all here, instead of keeping ish bottled up inside.

From the looks of it, it appears that I enjoy my aquarium-keeping hobby too much.

You must know, however, that in an instant I would shatter all the glass in my room for you.

[Watching seahorses on TV]

All : Ooooh, nice.

Brother : Oh, whatever. Uhmma, you wanna eat that huh?

Uhmma: With Gochoojjang

Brother: Damn Koreans.

[Baby fish series on TV]

Uhmma: Ooh, ggongchi! We can make jjigae.

Brother: You want to eat everything on this show.

[Fish breeding]

Sister: Ewwwwww, we eat that in sushi.

C.S. Lewis on George Herbert

"Here was a man who seemed to me to excel all the authors I had read in conveying the very quality of life as we live it from moment to moment, but the wretched fellow, instead of doing it all directly, insisted on mediating it through what I still would have called the "Christian mythology." The upshot of it all could nearly be expressed, "Christians are wrong, but all the rest are bores."

John Piper on William Cowper

From the standpoint of adventure or politics or public engagement his life was utterly uneventful. The kind of life no child would ever choose to read about. But for those of us who are older we have come to see that the events of the soul are probably the most important events in life. And the battles in this man's soul were of epic proportions.

Tell me what's important.

Renunciate.

Never feel sorry for a Christian who has gone to sleep.
Because it is likely he is shaking the heavens with mighty laughter.

I hold my breath

This is how I keep things in

If I exhale

I swear I'll lose it

The dams will rupture

and my spine will break

it will all fall

like a million pennies

on the kitchen floor.

God is in the business of restoration.

Even, or perhaps especially, in the most dire of situation and circumstances that heart and feet take you.

See, look. There it goes. That shriveling thing. Yeah, there it goes writhing. Like a wet worm on a hot sidewalk. It burns and squirms. There it is, drying up into a corpse. It's almost there. My soul. Leave it be. Turn away, it's starting to get ugly. Plug your ears. Don't hear it scream. It will curl your veins into knots. Boy, it doesn't go without a fight. There it goes trying to drag its body and muster it up into being again. Useless. Hopeless. How sad. Leave it be. Just turn away.

Fireproof

This movie is deep, son.

Watch

and learn

what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?

This is my resolution:

to live life on the brink of tears

on the precipice of death due to persecution

for doing right, nothing just,

just the unjust

doing what they think is right

i will stand

but i just won't stand

i'll go

i'll run into the arms of danger

with my arms ready to embrace, to love

wielding love like a dagger

swiftly making surgical cuts

severing evil from the root

from the heart, the wellspring

it will hurt and offend

i am sure

the proud do not accept kindness so willingly

but what else can you do

but run with tears in your eyes

into the heart of darkness

to shoot love from your mouth

and emit light from your irises

let it creep

let it wander

it will end up somewhere

let loose the reigns

close your eyes

you'll go somewhere

but it won't be no place good.

Time flies certainly

Without emotion

Straight forward it goes

If you blink,

it will pass you by

without question

without concern

Time goes by so cold

Life is short,

even 90 comes in a heartbeat

How would I have liked to live when I come to that age?

Would I have liked to take my life

and live it to its utmost

to live recklessly in service for others?

fling my cares on the floor

to help others from it?

I think I would like to let myself pass

let thoughts of self diminish and die

to allocate all resources all faculties

to one cause and purpose:

the promotion of the wellbeing of others.

what does it mean to promote others?
help them to heaven, al.

that's the point.

now shut up, and go. do.

The rain pattered lightly behind me through the glass door to the balcony. I heard gentle rumblings of thunder. It's official: Autumn is here.

The lights turned to a buzzing halt. "Oh, that's just the timer", I commented to my brother. The light over my aquarium had just turned off, making invisible the tiny red shrimp.

When the light left, it seemed like sound left too. I moved about silently. I look to my alarm clock to see the time, but it had dimmed. As twilight was winding down, I could see only through squinted eyes. All the lights in the house had died.

I immediately went to my room to light candles. My brother went to his room and shut the door. He had to sleep. I rummaged through my room in search of more candles. The quickening darkness induced slight panic. I moved more frenetically than I wished. Dammit, why was I so paranoid? I consciously took a deep breath to collect myself.

Think, now, think: big candles on top of the bureau. Small candles in the second drawer to the bottom behind the stack of old term papers. A flashlight and a headlamp in the car. 300 dollars in the third drawer on the right. Knife under the bedside table. Camping pack under the desk. Firewood in the backyard in the dry area near the house. Kindling at the front door. Packs of water bottles in hyung's room, umma's room, and garage. Enough dry food to get by a few days. Shrimp to eat in the aquarium.

I lit two of the large candles and placed them on the desk. One was much brighter than the other. The second seemed to only be growing dimmer. I picked up my full-tang survival knife, attached the bottom portion to my thigh and the upper part buttoned to my belt loop. I threw on my insulated fleece and zipped up the lighter in its pocket. I flung my camping backpack over my shoulders and grabbed the bag of mini candles. I walked out of the room into the dark blue hallway. Twilight was transforming into night. Thank God for this fruity-smelling candle.

I went to the backyard, squeezing between old bikes and broken laundry machines. Sucking in my stomach to reach the wood pieces, I grabbed an old Ikea desk. This will do for now. I went inside, this time my dog followed me. I dropped the broken desk at the fireplace, and went to the kitchen for newspapers and the dog's bed. Upon return to the living room, I had the fire started in minutes and with more paper than necessary. Conserve the paper, you never know how long this will last. You'll regret it if this turns into something terrible. I went to the front door and unlocked it. I went to the left to pick up some kindling. I looked out into the front courtyard. If the light posts had life, you'd see the well-manicured lawn and the weeping willows, instead it was dark completely. On the black canvas I imagined looters trying to steal from us, like our television. Then as I was about to settle back inside, I opened my mailbox and saw with the scented candle an iron lever I had found as a child near the landscaper's tool shed. I haven't seen this in years. We'll bring this in--just in case. I brought in the lever after I lined the kindling in arms reach of the door.

The fire beginning so bright had settled into an amber glow with a powerful heat. I left comfortably knowing it would last without attention for another half hour. I left the room and my dog skipped alongside. He was oblivious to the happenings. He seemed to be having fun while I was in survival mode. I began to pour water for myself, but did not stop with one. I filled up every glass in our cabinet. If something indeed terrible was triggered, water could get contaminated and it could be scarce. Better safe than sorry. After filling 14 of our largest glasses, lining them up neatly on the bar, I made my way upstairs.

I walked to my room, carefully navigating around the shrimp tank to my glass door leading to the balcony. I went to see what I could bring of use in this situation, and found two buckets. I went to my room and proceeded down the hall and made a sharp left into the bathroom. I turned on the water, and tasted it. I didn't know what I was looking for, but it was normal. I placed both bright orange buckets into the tub, and cleaned them out quickly. I went on to fill each to the brim and left them sitting in the tub. I paused and looked at the tubs. I wonder if I should leave one here, and one downstairs. Gosh, I hope I don't have to use any of this.

I went to the fire, the middle of the table legs burned through, the pieces falling over on the sides. I adjusted the wood the make a small mound. The fire started again brightly and made my face hot. I began to feel more at peace. Food and water for 3-4 days, enough wood for hours on end, protection check. I turned away from the fire to take a seat. The leather chair was facing the 55-inch flat screen TV. I paused for a moment who cares about a television now? What a bad investment. I pulled the seat towards the fire and had the chair face it. I sat, spread my feet out, and looked above the flames. The bricks surrounding the fire was dim. I could only barely make out the wooden cross that stood so tall in the room. I began to pray. God, would you be with us during this time? I ask so many rhetorical questions to God. I know you have us, and you equip us to work. Let these two factors lead us to good. Sorry for wasting so much time and money on stupid things like flat-screens and computers. What really matters when the electricity goes out? None of those. Please, let this lesson sink. Let me not waste this black-out. I went to pick up my phone. I looked at the messages. 49. All of them stating happy-birthday one way or another. God, if I were to die as a result of this, I would be thankful. Thank you for reminding me of the love I have experienced. I thought of all the messages, phone calls, emails, and social network alerts, the letter.

What a sweet way to spend a birthday. I went to my phone to say Thanks. Then the lights turned on.

Primarily, there is one thing I long for when I get to heaven.

No question, no contest; I want to embrace Jesus.

However, somewhere in between these eternal hugs, I'd like to have a cup of cloud with Jack, Chesterton, John the Baptist, and Theophilus.

Lord

unleash every part from bondage

allow this beast to pursue glory

You and Yours only

Thank you

Hi Vince!

There are parts that fuel the run until my lungs rip in my chest, and bang with a tremendous force against its cage to be released. The insanity rushes through veins and arteries, faster, harder, muscles ache and quake. I swear I could throw up all my insides, intestines and all. There are parts that tremor with madness, the emotional overflow of frustration. But this is only part, only parts I leave on iron, on track, on sand, on hills. This part, this still unbelieving part, still frustrated, still lost, the part that still longs for times now long ago. Most of me knows, most of me believes in better, but I am no perfection. Still part lives in ignorance, still parts wants to grind my body to mush in a hope to crush the most. These parts are lonesome and evil. This is a confession of sorts, I suppose. Hey Vince, help me crush these parts before they crush the most, the whole. Confusion to most, I'm sure; clarity to some I believe. Thank you, Vbo, always part of the few, helping me as a whole.

This, I pray

There is a dissatisfaction that is deep

It itches in a place I cannot reach

I want to hurl my body inside-out

inspect the sinews of my heart

and between the wrinkles of my brain

East of Eden

A summary will soon ensue

Backwards I go

Forward I swirl

You put me in a whirl.

Will this only spin me

my life and destiny

out of control?

Mark Driscoll

The cross isn't just something that was done for us;

it was done by us.

without grumble, without complaint

The word "all" is a black-hole of a word. This word sucks in every object, motionless or breathing, every situation pleasant or intolerable, lovely or painful, to every person, friendly or downright mean. Can I really, in all situations, to all people, all the time, be without grumbling and without complaint? Really, God? (note how this question itself is a form of complaining).

If God were to answer that last question, he wouldn't. I don't think God spills his words uselessly. I believe He would not repeat Himself. He already said it. Paul already wrote it. I know it in heart. It sits on my desk, just not in my heart. What doesn't sit in my heart? The command: do all things without grumbling or complaining?

Well, yes, that.

But there's also something else going on here. Before words materialize in the air between you and eye, or before the lights hit your eyes, there's is a forgetfulness in my heart that has taken place. I have forgotten something essential. I have forgotten the gospel. My condition of wretchedness, my blameworthiness. It is the reality of the God-man Jesus that has fallen from sight. His glorious life lived, his body tragically pierced with more twisted villainous rugged metals, bones, woods, whips, fists and spears than I can properly envision, and his travel from heaven to earth, from earth to hades, and hades to heaven with a brief showing in Jerusalem, these are forgotten and lost. The gospel somewhere inside flickers faint when grumbles stir and ingratitude mount. I forget my new position thanks to my resurrected Savior.

This is at work in this body of death and fire-breathing mouth: the sin of forget. I forget my First Love, and remember my trivial complaint.

Lord, forgive my forget.

3AM

Whenever it's 3AM, I think of the song by Matchbox twenty: 3AM (Piano version).

However, this morning, I am thinking of Cathy Ames' psychotic nature, Cyrus Trask's lies, the tension between Adam and Charles Trask, and the amicable nature of Samuel.

Quite frankly, this book, East of Eden is scaring the crap out of me. Perhaps its the perpetual vision of cold, indifferent stares of pretty, soft-skinned girls and hardened men with darkened scars on their brow.

I just laid in bed for two and half hours reading this, and am wondering whether to finish this book or to damn it. I wonder how in the world this out-competed Elizabeth Eliot's Passion and Purity? I was enamored by that book, and couldn't put it down a few nights ago. Darn you, Steinbeck, and your gripping murderous mysteries. They are too thrilling--too tempting. I need to guard this mind and end this rant.

James 3

My tongue

My weapon

I kill glory restlessly.

Cain, Charles, and Albert

Never have I felt the sick power behind Cain's murderous blow (Genesis 4:8) until I read East of Eden (3:4).

"Cain spoke to Abel his brother. And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel and killed him."

"The punching continued eternally. He could hear his brother panting with the quick explosive breath of a sledgehammer man, and in the sick starlit dark he could see his brother through the tear-watered blood that flowed from his eyes. He saw the innocent, noncommittal eyes, the small smile on wet lips. And as he saw these things--a flash of light and darkness."

"The footsteps came close, slowed, moved on a little, came back. From his hiding place Adam could see only a darkness in the dark. And then a sulphur match was struck and burned a tiny blue until the wood caught, lighting his brother's face grotesquely from below. Charles raised the match and peered around, and Adam could see the hatchet in his right hand."

I do not dare say that Steinbeck's prose is some type of explicit exposition of biblical text. However, I do think that his vivid imagery and ability to capture such intensity has pierced my otherwise bland view of Adam's murder. It pronounces Cain's sin and makes my insides wrench when I think of how indifferently he denies his own blood slain.

I only fear that people like Cain, like Charles, like myself do exist. Murderous and hateful. Oh how I wish to slay every evil, hateful, murderous desire in my heart against my fellow man. Whether it be on the road in a commitment to rage, on a football field where prides collide and emotions roar, in the bedroom where fortified hurts protected for years come ripping through walls willing and able to hurt anyone with ears. Lord, keep me from reaching this hatchet of hate.

Why Johnny Can't Preach: The Media Have Shaped the Messengers

In this book by T. David Gordon, he takes the accumulated observation of many years as Christian and lesser years as a pastor and professor to critique today's pulpit. Coming from the unique perspective of a media ecologist he spoke how damaging our communicative outlets are: instant messaging, telephone, television, etc. These inadequate means of receiving and dispensing information have dampened the fire that ought to shoot forth from the preacher.

His argument may come off very blunt and harsh, but it is truth unveiled. Compassion I can get from other reads, but honesty is what I'll gladly take from this salty piece. Therefore, I have decided to take this book as an impetus to rekindle my need to read and my want to write.

I will use this blog to share what I'm reading and how they have so affected my thoughts and my life. Let us here begin.

I started East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I already feel the monstrosity that is Charles begin to frighten me whether by his alien form of aggression or the way that I may imitate him in secret. the nature of his bond with his brother, Adam, is one that intrigues me not because it is similar to the relation to my own brother but perhaps because it is so different.

It is illuminating to see how a man becomes what he is, as Steinbeck shows us how Cyrus is constructed: primarily by self-deception and his obsession over the military. His fanaticism, emotional unavailability: its wider effects on his children and Alice is something frightful. I have found myself wanting to raise my children in such a way, as brilliant athletes, militantly disciplining and shaping them to be "men". His depiction of a man that really put this in practice reminds me not to operate a family in such a way.

The most striking character for me is Samuel. After reading the first chapter about him, I remember telling myself: I want to be like that. I will let this be enough: Sam is the man.

You splashed summer into my palms

I received it like a poor man would alms

Thank you, God.

dickinson exclusively

exclusively dickinson's

From deserts of
mouth and mind
I drink your words
they slide down
and soak my gut
and saturate
my blood lines

it's my cells that sip
with delight
your words
I exhale gratitude
you are
always
more than
enough

she gone

Quite remarkable

How days are made:

our minutes

make her hours

oh, how something so

quick

leaves such a

lasting impression

like paragraph indentations

her words are forever

she hits me hard

in the heart muscle

soft not gentle

every time

fresh as the first

her seconds

is all i want

spontaneous like kerouac

frustrations mount

let them boil over

on the skin of john

like water that scars

let me share

in the sufferings

of Christ on Calvary

let me have it

the thing i don't

know what i'm asking for

The older girls were expert at building it into pompadours with ringlets at ear and nape. Sylvie crossed her legs at the ankles and read magazines. When she got sleepy she would go off to her room and take a nap, and come down to supper with her gorgeous hair rumpled and awry. Nothing could induce vanity in her.

Housekeeping

Marilynne Robinson

So quick, so eager

to pour that poison

on my tongue

let it dribble

off my chin

set fire to my chest

keep me warm

so shortly

fleeting are your ways

yet the habit

like cement

stays

energize my limbs

to act the fool

speak loose

without care

without shame

I wrong so easy

right so wrongly

coerce this cadaver

into action

provide the natural

with unction

divine

Slap the hell out of me

but gently please

Fold it into the layers of my heart,

into the wrinkles of my brain

the silent cry:

God, be merciful to me, the sinner.

grace

cover me

like

gravity

Shut my mouth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMerKVKssQU&feature=related

There goes

the damn

dagger

slowly

with pressure

tremendous

enter my

solar plexus

hit the

invisible

penetrate

the deep

leave clean

leave quiet

scar me something sweet

I want to stay awake forever

Humanity, drag me not down

Let me go; Lord, allow me up

Can I see how the stars taste?

Let a meteor shoot through

My brain so finite

My energy so weak

always needy

of everything

sleep,

air,

food,

what of these supplies

are not spelled by words

were they not made by Word?

My aim is for glory eternal

Would you grant this?

I know the way up

is the way down

So this is my request

one that I know not

Keep me low

so that I may arise

By paradox

in ways unorthodox

This music shoots through this tube, right

then hits these buds in my ears

they start to shake and vibrate

into something coherent

something that makes me move and groove

i tap my foot and nod my head

these little beats

do this to me

keeps me from sleep so pleasant

to think of things so far

so distant

this length is not measured by miles

something abstract

loftier than what my mental faculties can hold

I want to stay awake and soak it all in

drink up the world

breathe in genius

spit truth

I want to catch difficulty by the throat

only to embrace him

have him sit next to me at lunch

and sleep next to me

for it is through difficulty

that I will travel the infinite

and taste the stars

I bet they taste like milk

My tongue will glow through my mouth

sparkles dribbling down my chin

licking up truth from lips

drench my mouth with this

but first drench me with difficulty

Albert,

Who do you think you are?

Happy Super Bowl Sunday

Kids scurrying on busy streets

like rats in the dark when light meets

Waiting between cars to throw the pig skin around

Hoping for a miracle:

If the saints win, I'll bring my knees to the ground

And yell Hallelujah with a mighty chest pound

Families stock piling food fit for an army of kings

Ready for the big day? they ask

You can bet on it, son, they reply

Don't forget the dip

or else your fat buddies will give you some lip

let's hurry on up with church

three thirty is almost here

we have three hours and thirty minutes left

times a tickin'!

Dear God,

Let the Colts win.

Amen.

Let the beer flow

and the good times roll

dress me up

and black me out

tell me the score later

let's just get together,

and pass me a Budweiser

actually make that

a Bud lite

Make not too heavy

over too light

or else you just might

live the rest of your life

like you're too light,

when really you're so heavy

your fat butt can't go up to heav'n.

Dear God,

answer one prayer here

Help us

Amen

Note to self:

http://sermonaudio.wordpress.com/category/money-matters/

Also:

1. JohnPiper
   Thank you Rick Gamache for the best sermon I ever heard on the Fatherhood of God and our adoption into it.http://ow.ly/14Uy5about 1 hour ago from HootSuite
   
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2. JohnPiper
   What I did without a TV tonight: Sang with T, talked with N about the future, and read "Same Kind of Different As Me". Sweet.about 2 hours ago from HootSuite

Defending yourself and the decisions you've made in the past against a room full of well-educated, articulate critics in front of the whole country with composure, grace, good humor and firmness, this takes a lot of something I don't have enough of--courage.