My principal looks at her favorite teacher's homework packet to send to this kids: "Wow, I love how you organized the student's homework in a list like that for them to cross out! Mr. Albert, why don't you do it like that?" Before I could answer, the favorite teacher interjects: "I actually got the idea from Mr. Chun; he did it last time." Me: with a smile on my face, and a cuss word in my mind, I ignore my principal as usual, and carry on with my business.

We love the mood, the reds, the yellows, the Christmas tunes (not the lyrics), the mini lights (more white than white). We love to talk about thankfulness, but not when the games on, or when the sales are on. We love the idea of thanksgiving, but we won't give it any other time of the year. We used to go shopping after dessert and games, from midnight to six am, because shopping so greedily was almost condemnable; now it is approved, it is the norm. Doors open when the family games begin, no wait, there's a place that opens right before we cut the pie. Oh heck, let's sacrifice a priceless family dinner by waiting in line for 200$ off something that will take 200,000 hours off of more future family time. Now let's do the same for Christmas. Let's talk about tree sales and pine smells. Let's talk about gifts we bought from our raped thanksgiving celebration. Let's talk about getting and not giving. I used to see so many pictures of Santa hats in dining halls for the homeless. Now I see so many fat, spoiled kids who cry for not getting what they want. When we realize this is a season we celebrate the birth of a child who would sacrifice His very life for something we all need--and not even realize we need. This is a season not to get fat off of ham, or excited about some silly lights. It's about fasting for our unsaved family who pillage these holidays like their sole purpose on earth is to be a gluttonous consumer. Do we not see the "holy" in holiday? Do we not recognize The Holy in the holidays? Let's fix our broken holidays, and let's start with our broken hearts. Mend us, O God, we are sinfully shattered before you.

Thanksgiving is more than a special meal, you fat asses.

Some days, you need forty-four sunsets.

the crushing weight of total depravity can lead to insanity. i must move on to unconditional election. it's true: there is not a single damn reason for my salvation. not one.

I wanted to listen to something beautiful and undeserved, so I went to church and called my girlfriend.

One of my students was responding to a prompt that I put up: "What motivates you the most?" She wrote about how her mother was her biggest motivation. Here's an excerpt from her writing: "She doesn't need to tell me how much she loves me because all she does is something bigger than that word." I need to do more than I speak.

Today, we were reminding ourselves how great our class plant, Uncle Bob, is. We talked about how our lemon balm plant could be turned into herbal tea, that it can mitigate fever, anxiety, and even stress. One of the most amazing things about our plant is that it helps improve the memory of Alzheimer patients. As the excitement of our sharing began to quell, a lone hand rose. The student, a small, quiet, contemplative boy with a purpose behind every question, asked through his glasses, "Mr. Chun, can we ship plants to Mexico?" I told him I wasn't sure what the law said about sending live plants across the States into Mexico. I asked him why he wondered about such a thing. "Well, my grandfather has Alzheimer's and I wondered if we could send it to him." "Oh." "Do the leaves cure Alzheimer's?" I fought back my emotion and told him the research says it helps the symptoms, but has not been known to cure the disease completely. His expression did not seem to change, but my heart broke at my disappointing response. I quickly picked up: "I don't know if we can send an entire plant, but let's send him some leaves, so he can at least have some tea. It can help." I felt helpless. He gave me a courteous smile.

There's anger in my joints, and fight in my knuckles. Come close and hear them speak.

Wealth can't buy everything. Character and hunger are two of them. I'd rather have my kids grow up in the gutter and come out with some character and hunger, than be raised in the lap of luxury not knowing what the hell either of em were if they smacked him up side the head.

In hell someone may say, "I thirst", but no one will bring them sour wine. Eternal thirst never to be quenched. Frightening.

To the Northeast:

I owe you a million words of thanks.

Why did vintage become cool, and antique chic?