tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43679177965297929622024-02-20T17:36:26.541-08:00RHETOROCKAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-29885263578528779522018-02-28T10:21:00.000-08:002018-02-28T10:21:37.468-08:00FRUIT.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Fruit.</div>
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It’s delicious. Nutritious. And, despite our best scientific advances, it can’t be created in a laboratory. Sorry to break it to you, kids, but Skittles aren’t a fruit.</div>
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Real fruit is the result of a long, intricate, seemingly mundane natural process.</div>
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A seed is planted. After years and years, it grows into a tree. Eventually, that tree becomes mature enough to bear fruit. Fruit begins to grow, and after a few more months, it’s ready to be harvested. Eaten. Enjoyed. Or, the fruit rots, falls, and releases more seeds, and the cycle begins anew.</div>
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For trees, being fruitful isn’t easy. It takes time. Patience. The right combination of sunlight, water, and soil. But it’s the only way the tree can reproduce, and the only way to create sweet, delicious fruit.</div>
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For humans, living a fruitful life isn’t so easy, either. We, especially in the West, live in a very results-oriented society, one that demands instant production without regard to the growth process. We are overworked, overstressed, overstimulated, and overwhelmed. Mother Teresa herself put it like this: “Everything is measured according to results, and we get caught up in being more and more active to generate results.”</div>
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We tend to demand the same level of immediate gratification from God that we look for in other areas of life, too. So you’ve given your heart to God, yet you still find yourself struggling with sin? With doubt? With old habits? You surrendered, but then plunged yourself into busying your schedule for God without taking the time to grow, in the secret, in the quiet place? Why is your life still tough? Why is your heart still broken?</div>
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Galatians talks about the “fruits of the Spirit.” Things like patience. Self-control. Kindness. Qualities that contradict our existing tendencies; go against what comes naturally to us. Qualities that take time to grow. These fruits don’t grow overnight, and don’t grow with concentrated, concerted effort on our part.</div>
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These fruits can only grow when we keep our eyes and hearts fixed on the only Source of Life. The Way. The Truth. The Life. Abide in the Vine, and you’ll bear fruit beyond your wildest expectations.</div>
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Simply put, seek Jesus first. Everything else you’re looking for will come out of this one decision to prioritize the only One who can change you from the inside out.</div>
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Paul says it like this: “When you intend to live by your own religious plans and projects, you are cut off from Christ, you fall out of grace. Meanwhile, we expectantly wait for a satisfying relationship with the Spirit. For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love.”</div>
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God takes our inward faith and transforms it into the outward fruit that matters most: love.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0tRQal5HmgQyCrHAUX2TT9-f7-_qqJZCiNa_YdZ_R-uNGINJ_5svtnyyCtkcaLjqqfGONDuEWa_Y6iAbfBhDz-2-GLS_dFdD2QDWDorZjZvxFF7Pu7jzqnTjjAqBFcfOPV5S2_K22ijr/s1600/Fruit2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0tRQal5HmgQyCrHAUX2TT9-f7-_qqJZCiNa_YdZ_R-uNGINJ_5svtnyyCtkcaLjqqfGONDuEWa_Y6iAbfBhDz-2-GLS_dFdD2QDWDorZjZvxFF7Pu7jzqnTjjAqBFcfOPV5S2_K22ijr/s320/Fruit2.png" width="320" /></a>Just as fruit doesn’t discriminate when it comes to who eats it, true love doesn’t discriminate when it comes to its recipient. All the religion in the world is useless if it doesn’t lead to love. Love for everyone. Muslim, Christian, Sikh, atheist. Gay, straight, trans. Asian, African, Arab, American, Antarctican.</div>
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Mother Teresa, again, nails it when she says, “The success of love is in the loving; it is not in the result of loving.”</div>
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We don’t love so that others can believe the same things we do. We don’t love only those who look like us, think like us, act like us. We love because we can’t help it: the love of Christ, burning inside of us, leaves us passionate about people. Gung-ho about giving. Crazy about changing the world.</div>
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This is the fruit an unbelieving world needs to see, to taste. An unbelieving world, fed up with Christians who say one thing and do another, sick of atrocities being committed in the name of Christ, and tired of judgmental, narrow-minded, legalistic believers, will never be confronted with the reckless love of a Savior if the closest they get to seeing Him is looking at a bunch of His followers whose love, or lack thereof, looks nothing like that of the Jesus they claim to know.</div>
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This is why Jesus tells us, begs us, to abide in Him. Let His Spirit do His work on the inside before we rush out to do His work on the outside. Take time to let the Master Vintner cultivate you, prune you, get you ready to bear His fruit.</div>
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God is far more concerned with who we are in Him than what we do for Him. Seek first the Kingdom of God, and fruit, yes, all the fruit, will be added unto you.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-67928374348210768042016-12-19T12:10:00.001-08:002016-12-19T12:10:35.982-08:00PEACE.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just over two thousand years ago, a baby was born.</div>
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This baby promised to bring peace to a broken, violent world.</div>
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You probably know the story. A king sought to kill this baby, and in the process murdered thousands of other innocent children. This baby’s family fled.</div>
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Years passed. This baby grew into a man, a man who taught. Healed. Forgave. More often than not, though, his words divided. Incited riots. Caused many to plot his death.</div>
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Many of his followers misunderstood his mission. They thought he came to free them from oppressive Roman rule, not from sin.</div>
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Ultimately, he was executed brutally. The friend who had betrayed him hung himself. His followers scattered.</div>
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Where was this promised peace?</div>
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This man rose from the dead. Went back to heaven victorious, to sit at the right hand of God. On Earth, though, things spiraled downward for those who believed in him. His message spread all over the world, but those who carried it were imprisoned, persecuted, crucified, hanged. Burned at the stake. Disembowled.</div>
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Finally, his teachings were made the official religion of a powerful empire. Things got better for his followers, but only those who believed certain doctrines. Those who espoused heretical beliefs like salvation by grace and baptism by immersion? Hunted down.</div>
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Wars were fought in his name. Against his name. Inquisitions. Atrocities. Genocide.</div>
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An entire race was enslaved, then freed, then still oppressed by a country founded on freedom for all. They were granted equal rights, then ruthlessly shot by police in cold blood.</div>
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An entire religion was rounded up, worked to death, gassed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OgySH4PRZAAxi5LjSEPYL_LmfNOsl11fUrgn7ZFANReanls-pSZRfLsO46pPeNKT68CY9RVqpBMpgZBHjFZxOMq81W1Os7YFJyEyOJ0T90tbWYFxhxaEt8iFZZbzXhOT8YhO6F9cTSx1/s1600/peace.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OgySH4PRZAAxi5LjSEPYL_LmfNOsl11fUrgn7ZFANReanls-pSZRfLsO46pPeNKT68CY9RVqpBMpgZBHjFZxOMq81W1Os7YFJyEyOJ0T90tbWYFxhxaEt8iFZZbzXhOT8YhO6F9cTSx1/s320/peace.png" width="288" /></a>Catholic against Protestant. Hutu against Tutsi. Sunni against Shiite. Arab against Jew. ISIS against pretty much everyone.</div>
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Openly racist, misogynist candidates won elections on platforms of hate throughout the ostensibly civilized Western world.</div>
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Aleppo. Rwanda. Belfast. Ground Zero. Mogadishu. The list goes on.</div>
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Where is this promised peace?</div>
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I believe that one day, this man over whom so many wars have been fought will return, not as a crying, helpless baby in a barn but as a king in his glory. He’ll put an end to war, to death, to sin. There will be peace on Earth.</div>
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But could it be that we, like the Jews who he lived among over two millennia ago, have misunderstood his mission?</div>
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They looked for someone to free their country. He came to free their hearts.</div>
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Perhaps we, too, have been looking for a Messiah to right this world’s wrongs. To end wars. To eliminate suffering. To advance some holy political agenda. To make our lives better. Less stress. Fewer tears. Fewer spilled lattes. A personal Messiah who lets us sit on his lap and tell him what we want for Christmas.</div>
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It’s brutally obvious, though, that this sort of Messiah never came. The world is a mess. Our lives are still broken and full of pain.</div>
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Could it be, though, that the peace he promised to bring is already here, in the midst of the maelstrom we call Earth? In the midst of divorce, bankruptcy, unemployment, loneliness?</div>
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Perhaps real peace doesn’t come once everything is made perfect. Once everything is the way we’ve planned. Once we’ve fashioned a Savior in our own image.</div>
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The Prince of Peace puts it this way, in the Gospel of John: “I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.”</div>
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The angels who announced the birth of the Prince of Peace are often misquoted. They didn’t proclaim some utopian age of peace. They <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">did</em>promise peace to those who believed in the newborn Savior. Not the peace the world gives, but a peace that can’t be shaken, come whatever may.</div>
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This peace doesn’t come by trying to avoid difficulties. Peace comes in how we respond when the difficulties inevitably arrive.</div>
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The Prince of Peace himself gave up everything to become a crying baby. The Light, who took all our darkness upon himself, lived a tumultuous life. Died a violent death. His thirty-three years on Earth were hardly a portrait of peace.</div>
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Yet, he was at peace. With his Father. With his mission.</div>
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Peace comes by trusting in a God who didn’t stand idly by as we ate the forbidden fruit. As we wrote this Earth’s story, a story of war, of death, of hate, of pain.</div>
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Peace comes by trusting in a God who entered our story. Who rewrote it. Who gave it an ending far better than anything we can imagine. Who, while we are here on this Earth, has promised us a peace that passes all understanding. We can’t even wrap our feeble, finite minds around it. But it’s real. It’s here.</div>
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It’s not a magic wand; it’s a journey. I trust God, yet I still doubt, worry, fear. I try to find peace in so many lesser things. All the while, the Prince of Peace graciously invites me, and you, to be co-writers in his story. In our new story. A story of peace in the middle of the storm.</div>
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This is the peace we’ve been promised.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-74975160910987820392016-08-28T14:43:00.000-07:002016-08-28T14:43:00.562-07:00A SLAVE TO THE ALMIGHTY DOLLAR.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m stuck.</div>
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Not under a rock for 127 hours, hacking off my own arm, although that’s what many of you think will inevitably happen to me on one of my climbing adventures.</div>
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No. Far worse, actually. I’m stuck in life.</div>
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Why? Because, like Sisyphus, I’m chained to something that I hate.</div>
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Money.</div>
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In fact, I would posit that most, if not all, Americans are slaves to the dollar in one way or another.</div>
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I’m working 40 hours a week at two different bars, and spending another 20 hours a week working on my various entrepreneurial endeavors. For what? So that I can take another trip, buy another house, plan for the future.</div>
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But why? We’re not even guaranteed tomorrow, much less retirement at 65 or 75 or 85, since Social Security will be bone-dry by the time I’m actually eligible.</div>
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We work. We all work. Except those who lazily sit at home watching Netflix and collecting unemployment, never applying for jobs or working very many hours lest they lose their government benefits. Benefits that come out of working class pockets. But, that’s another blog post altogether. I digress.</div>
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We justify our slavery to money with lines like, “Well, my family needs to eat!” or “I’m just trying to be smart financially!”</div>
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All the while, the bonds of slavery tighten.</div>
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Are you stuck? Do you feel like you just can’t get ahead? Do you tell yourself that once you’re in a different place financially, or once you get that promotion, or once you get a different job, or once your kids are grown, you’ll do things differently?</div>
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What does “getting ahead” even mean? It means more. Bigger houses. Faster toys. More first-class tickets.</div>
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What good is it if a man gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?</div>
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Contrary to popular belief, I’m not independently wealthy. In the least. I have no kids, no wife, no car payment, and no student debt (or debt of any kind, except mortgages), which enables me to spend money on a lot of things that I enjoy. Then, I go back to work and save up and do it all over again.</div>
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Some may point to the things I do and say that I’m an inspiration, that my photos and adventures inspire them to get out and do more, that my music touches them. I definitely appreciate hearing those things. However, much of what I do is based around <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">me. </em>I’m selfish to the core.</div>
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Hiking, travel, and real estate aren’t bad things. In fact, they’re positive, when part of a balanced approach to life and finances. Unfortunately, I lack that balance.</div>
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Sure, I sponsor some children in Africa and India. Sure, I donate a portion of each album sale to MercyCorps. And I pat myself on the back smugly and go right on living a selfish life, a slave to the dollar and what it can do for me.</div>
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Do I say I trust God with everything, including my money? Yes.</div>
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Does my life demonstrate that to be true? No.</div>
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Here I sit, in my comfortable house that cost me hundreds of thousands, wearing clothes that cost me hundreds, drinking organic kombucha that cost me $5, writing about money and sacrifice.</div>
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What would it take for me to step out in faith? To quit my job, to sell almost everything, and to move to a place with a lot of need? To give my life, and money, in service to others, not from a stage but behind the scenes? Would I finally learn to rely on God, to give Him control of my wallet as well as my heart?</div>
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God doesn’t call us to be comfortable. He doesn’t promise to make things easy for us. In fact, just the opposite. The Message puts Matthew 10:38–39 this way: “If you don’t go all the way with me, through thick and thin, you don’t deserve me. If your first concern is to look after yourself, you’ll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you’ll find both yourself and me.”</div>
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I’m comfortable. I’m stuck. I don’t deserve Him. And I can’t find myself.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipPi7zeEmzvGuGltOPxBIIRwBZ9gjRH4gxUYebWgIKCpLJj1umj6lk8XkkHkqOOU7bhUvxfMwXmWhuioIJo5tu1fN939NLn-j2dBzyefrWVo8xipG5wgjMYty2GkY5UJqp5ws646KPS4i/s1600/Money.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipPi7zeEmzvGuGltOPxBIIRwBZ9gjRH4gxUYebWgIKCpLJj1umj6lk8XkkHkqOOU7bhUvxfMwXmWhuioIJo5tu1fN939NLn-j2dBzyefrWVo8xipG5wgjMYty2GkY5UJqp5ws646KPS4i/s320/Money.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a man who wants to give more. Who wants to serve more. But because of my dependence on the almighty dollar and the security and happiness it brings, I can’t. Or won’t. My first concern is to look after myself. So I remain stuck. Stuck in a barely bourgeoisie bubble of comfort and cowardice. My savings account gets fuller while my soul is sucked dry.</div>
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What’s it going to take?</div>
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My Westernized brain tells me to include a disclaimer here. To say something about how saving and planning are good and balance is necessary. God calls us to be faithful stewards, after all, in a famous parable.</div>
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In reading that parable, though, it’s easy to forget that the money that we’re supposed to steward is His, not our own. Do we believe that? Do we actually think that He can provide? Do we go search for our own beef instead of trusting in His cattle on a thousand hills? Do we hedge our bets against His faithfulness with our 401ks and investments? What could He do with our money if we trusted Him with more than ten percent of it?</div>
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I don’t have the guts to find out. I wish I did. I hope to.</div>
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Did the words of Jesus somehow take on a different meaning over the last two millennia? Did He ask more of his followers then than He does of us now? Does writing a check to a charity really count as giving up everything to follow Him? Or have we become numb to the stark reality of what Jesus has called us to do: to trust Him with <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">everything? </em>To sacrifice <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">everything?</em></div>
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What if Jesus Himself, after thinking things through, would have decided not to give it all? What if He would have come down wrapped in glory, said some positive things about self-improvement, and then ascended back to heaven, never having tasted death or suffering on our behalf? Our eternal future would look a lot different, that’s for sure.</div>
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In conclusion, I don’t have answers. I don’t know how to unchain myself, but I know that some big changes are necessary. And they’re coming.</div>
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I don’t want to be Sisyphus. I don’t want to be stuck.</div>
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Money is replaceable. Time spent chasing it is not.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-70574218508217149792016-06-29T14:50:00.004-07:002016-06-29T14:51:43.705-07:00ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<i>Have We Lost The Ability To Be Satisfied?</i></h2>
<div>
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Last night, as I streamed music from Spotify across the room to a Bluetooth soundbar, I thought back to the long-lost days of my childhood. Days of cassette players. Of rewinding tapes with a pencil. Of burned CDs.</div>
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Now, with a tap of a smartphone screen, I can access any song, anywhere, anytime.</div>
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Faster. Stronger. Bigger. Better.</div>
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The world as we know it has changed dramatically in my lifetime alone. Technology has vastly improved our efficiency as human beings. What have we done? Sat back, relaxed, and spent more time with our families and friends? Of course not. We’ve piled more and more on our already-burgeoning plates in a scramble to keep up with a tech-powered world that shows no signs of slowing down.</div>
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I’m writing this blog as I’m sitting in a leather seat at 35,000 feet, connected to inflight WiFi, headed from Portland to Montreal in less than 7 hours.</div>
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Technology has brought about some astounding achievements. We’re closer than ever to eradicating some deadly diseases. We’re more connected with loved ones across the world than ever before. We have eliminated the need to know by virtual encyclopedias at our fingertips. Our phones can do the work of 20 different gadgets, all for less money than a couch.</div>
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However, technology also has a dark side. And I’m not just talking about nuclear proliferation, loss of interpersonal communication skills in today’s youth, genetic modification threatening to blur the lines of what’s human in the near future, or even the autotuned career of Katy Perry.</div>
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What I’m talking about is even more dangerous, and it is this: we have lost the ability to be satisfied.</div>
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More. More. More. More. More.</div>
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We can’t simply sit and watch a breathtaking sunset anymore. Now, we have to post it to Instagram or it didn’t happen. Family dinners? Forget it. Everyone is on their phones. We want to live longer, but we do less and less of lasting value with the time we do have. We want the latest heart medication, but would rather pop a pill than stop eating cheeseburgers on the daily. Kids post Periscope videos of their friends getting raped. Everyone sits and tweets, and nobody takes action, while Bill Nye The Science Guy almost dies onstage.</div>
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America is engaged in a very crucial election. Our country is on the brink of putting the next Hitler in the White House. Yet, I guarantee you that nine out of ten Americans know more about Game Of Thrones than they do about an election with very real, very disastrous implications.</div>
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We need more. More right swipes on Tinder. More likes and loves on our Facebook posts. The best makeup, jeans, bike, phone, car, house, whatever. Still, when we get what we want, we want even more still. We battle with depression. Loneliness. Suicidal thoughts and actions. As prophet/comedian Louis C.K. puts it, “Everything is amazing, and nobody’s happy.”</div>
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Meanwhile, on our own planet, millions and millions of our fellow humans have no access to clean water, have to scavenge and beg for food, and have never heard of the Internet. They are probably happier than we are.</div>
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I’m in no way insinuating that we return to some sort of Luddite stone-age society. I’m not saying that we should stop trying to better ourselves, put a wrench in the spokes of the wheels of invention, or stop purchasing technology that improves our lives in meaningful ways. I am suggesting, though, that we will never truly be happy until we learn to be content with what we have, and content with who we are. The endless quest for more can be as addicting as any opiate. We’ve got to find a way to detox, as individuals and as a society.</div>
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When will we collectively say that enough is enough?</div>
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Elon Musk and SpaceX want to colonize Mars. Part of me thinks it’s ludicrous to invest trillions in space exploration when our own planet is a mess.</div>
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Another part of me, though, thinks that Earth is in a downward spiral from which it will never recover, and we might as well get out if we can and go screw up another world. I’d like to apologize in advance, Mars.</div>
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When will enough be enough? When will we understand that just because we can doesn’t mean we should? Can we get off this ride before we forget what it<br />
means to be human? Can we put down our phones and enjoy the beauty this world has to offer before we ravage and kill it entirely? Can we unlearn how to<br />
Snapchat and relearn how to actually hold a meaningful conversation?</div>
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If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t put my money on us turning this ship around.</div>
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I ask you to take a minute. Put aside your financial goals for a second. Put down your phone and tablet. Turn off your TV. And, think. Alone. Think about all the things you are grateful for. Think about the ways in which you ARE satisfied. Think about the people you love, the people who love you.</div>
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Disconnect and reconnect.</div>
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Satisfaction is a choice. Life doesn’t come with a refund policy. You can’t take it back to the store if you’re not satisfied. As Jim Carrey said so profoundly, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”</div>
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What <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">is </em>the answer, then? What are we all looking for? I can’t answer that question for you, but I can answer it for myself. I crave a simple, authentic life. I want to collect experiences, not things. I want genuine relationships with God, my family, and my friends. I want to make a difference, tangibly, whether big or small.</div>
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Maybe you can’t put the brakes on society as a whole. Maybe you can’t change the world in a monumental way. But you can change <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">your </em>world. Choose to find happiness in the things that matter. Choose life.</div>
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Enough is enough.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-47170241924660073812016-06-13T13:22:00.002-07:002016-06-13T13:28:42.386-07:00MR. TRUMP, YOU'RE AN IDIOT.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mr. Trump:</div>
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You’re an idiot. Actually, <i>idiot</i> doesn’t even begin to sum you up. <i>Monster </i>might be a better term. Just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower, you have.</div>
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Congratulations on doing your best to capitalize politically off of the heinous tragedy in Orlando.</div>
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Patting yourself on the back and issuing an I-told-you-so on Twitter in the wake of 50 needless deaths? Classy, Donald. Classy.</div>
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Want to implement your racist, Hitler-esque proposal to ban Muslim immigration? It wouldn’t have helped. The shooter was born in the US.</div>
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Think that arming everyone would have prevented this shooting? Think again. There was an armed guard at the nightclub. How did that work out?</div>
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Why should anyone be able to buy an automatic or semiautomatic weapon, anyway? Oh, you’re going to hunt deer? I think not. You’re going to hunt humans.</div>
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You’re all of a sudden trying to present yourself as an advocate for the LGBT community? How many times have you come out against gay marriage and equality? How many times have you made derogatory comments about everyone from Caitlyn Jenner to Michael Sam?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKfjMPdc8qRwhVvDtQjbVyqvpnF-W_ONcKKVpC2kAGhAlU4MrtJp_KxmIRk89H-2IkYytBlhwbb2lfOCbaxjJboJKDJGTFQ24aHK6jUSf265nBrWeKGHJ-hrW475v0n2qHKGyzCQ5dKw5/s1600/trump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKfjMPdc8qRwhVvDtQjbVyqvpnF-W_ONcKKVpC2kAGhAlU4MrtJp_KxmIRk89H-2IkYytBlhwbb2lfOCbaxjJboJKDJGTFQ24aHK6jUSf265nBrWeKGHJ-hrW475v0n2qHKGyzCQ5dKw5/s320/trump.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; text-align: left;">You, Mr. Trump, and those who share your xenophobic, homophobic, bigoted, ignorant views, are the reason ISIS and terrorists worldwide hate America. You absolutely sum up all of the reasons why we are under attack. If all Americans were like you, I wouldn’t be too fond of this country either. Our biggest threat is coming from within: Americans who have realized that this country stands for something pretty far from the values it was founded on.</span></div>
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Deluded Donald, you are truly an awful person, to your core. You have spent your entire life in a high tower of wealth and affluence. You are absolutely clueless on foreign policy, and all policy, really. You respond like a bullied toddler when someone attacks you. You rejoice when the market crashes, so you can make money. You flip-flop on everything, including political parties. You’re a liar. A cheat. A bigot. A fraud.</div>
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You bring a bulldozer when a surgical scalpel would suffice.</div>
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Judd Apatow put it like this on Twitter: “Is it possible to be a more self serving, terrifying dumbass than you? Congrats on that. You won that contest.”</div>
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Want to make America great again? Shut the hell up, and withdraw from the presidential race in disgrace.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-14132678324221827692016-06-08T14:32:00.001-07:002016-06-08T14:32:44.458-07:00FISTS OVER FLOWERS.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Why Socialism Will Never Succeed In America.</i></div>
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I’m a socialist, of sorts.</div>
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I’m also an American, of sorts.</div>
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I would love to see these two identifying characteristics coincide. Sadly, despite best efforts, policies, and intentions, socialism will never succeed in the United States.</div>
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Why? Because Americans are simply too damn selfish.</div>
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I just got back from a trip to two of the world’s model socialist countries, Norway and Sweden. Their societies <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/03/16/travel/worlds-happiest-countries-united-nations/" href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/03/16/travel/worlds-happiest-countries-united-nations/" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.439216); background-color: transparent; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 50%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.6) 50%); background-position: 0px 22px; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 2px 2px; text-decoration: none;">consistently rank among the safest, happiest, and most fulfilling on the planet</a>.</div>
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Yes, people in both countries pay taxes. A significant amount of them. But, they also receive a litany of important benefits. For free. Healthcare, education, social security that isn’t going bankrupt, you name it. I worked my butt off this past year, and qualified for a higher tax bracket. I paid over $14,000 in taxes. Yet, I still paid almost $300 a month for my healthcare premium, not to mention the thousands I’ve spent fighting Lyme Disease that haven’t been covered by my insurance at all. I also pay into Social Security that I will most likely never receive.</div>
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Here in America, the argument is frequently made that socialism is misguided, because why should those who don’t want an education have to pay for those who do? Why do those who don’t need healthcare have to pay for those who do?</div>
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Well, I didn’t want a war. Or two. Yet my taxpayer dollars helped fund Iraq and Afghanistan, and they continue to be used towards our multi-trillion-dollar defense budget, against my will.</div>
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Capitalism does NOT always give you a choice.</div>
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You’re telling me that if healthcare were free, people would milk the system? Possibly so. But as the country with the first world’s highest obesity rate, people are milking the system anyway. And, it’s whole milk, not skim or soy. Rather than eating right and exercising, they’re spending their food stamps (socialism!) on Doritos and hamburgers, then costing taxpayers trillions of dollars in raised healthcare costs to treat diseases and conditions that could have easily been prevented by simple healthy choices.</div>
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The truth is, you’d be hard-pressed to name another society that is simply as me-first and selfish as American society today.</div>
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In theory, socialism is a phenomenal system of governance. In reality, when put into practice in individualistic societies such as that of the United States, it fails miserably.</div>
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Ironically, it’s Republicans, who often identify themselves as Bible-believing Christians, who want to do away with the very social programs that Jesus Himself taught: taking care of the poor, the sick, the needy, the widow, the orphan.</div>
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You think Jesus would’ve voted Republican? Think again. The love of money is the root of all evil, Mr. Trump. (Not that Trump has ever actually opened a Bible, but if he did, he might find that verse in there.) Look at the early church in the book of Acts, the one that guy named Jesus founded. Everyone shared everything for the good of the community. Everyone was heavily involved in serving the less fortunate. Everyone wanted to live the selfless life that that guy Jesus had lived. Ever heard of turning the other cheek? Don’t worry, neither has Donald Drumpf.</div>
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Every socialist society recognizes that when the good of the group is sought after, when the needs of everyone in society are met, one’s own needs are met in the process.</div>
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Just because you don’t put yourself first doesn’t mean that you can’t take care of yourself. In fact, quite the opposite. It’s in recognizing that the greater good is greater than just yourself that we find that others are doing the same. We find community. Authentic relationships. Love. Things that this disconnected, entitled, mass-shooting-prone, sociopathic society are sorely lacking.</div>
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I hate to break it to you, right-wing Trump-touting Christians: Jesus was a liberal. A socialist, even. He advocated SO many ideals that you vote against. What happened? The religious right murdered him. Open your beloved Bible, and look past the three verses on gays and look towards the three thousand on grace.</div>
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This country will never boast the utopian, peaceful, communal society that I wish it would. Guns will always outsell Super Soakers. War will always outsell peace. Crimes will always outnumber acts of kindness.</div>
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Fists over flowers. Hate over heart. If our country is idiotic enough to put a racist, misogynist, completely underqualified, fraudulent, petty bully in the Oval Office and anywhere near the button that controls our thousands of nuclear warheads, I’m leaving. For good. It’s not about Democrat versus Republican. It’s about one qualified candidate that I certainly don’t love, versus a certifiably insane “candidate” who is endorsed by the KKK and Putin, and would be endorsed by Hitler, too, if he were alive. <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/01/27/politics/anne-frank-donald-trump-adolf-hitler/" href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/01/27/politics/anne-frank-donald-trump-adolf-hitler/" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.439216); background-color: transparent; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 50%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.6) 50%); background-position: 0px 22px; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 2px 2px; text-decoration: none;">Just ask Anne Frank’s stepsister.</a> Making America great again doesn’t mean an isolationist, imperialistic foreign policy. It doesn’t mean hearkening back to the dark days of constant racial discrimination and hatred. The things that make America great don’t involve Confederate flags, internment camps, and segregation.</div>
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So, you call yourself an American? Please, I beg you: think. Vote for anyone but Trump. Do your part to remember that we’re not called to question the motives or the choices of those less privileged than us. We’re called to help them. By God Himself. Don’t believe in God? That’s fine too. Shouldn’t the fact that less fortunate people are human too be reason enough?</div>
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Choose flowers over fists. Choose heart over hate. Together, we <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">can </em>make America great again.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-60580325153259459932016-05-10T14:35:00.000-07:002016-05-10T14:35:23.289-07:00SOMEWHERE BETWEEN TOMORROW AND TODAY.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m stuck.</div>
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Somewhere in between tomorrow and today.</div>
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In my heart, I know that life is short and none of us are promised another sunrise. I know that being present in the moment is the most meaningful way to live. That waiting for a better time means our time may run out before that better time comes.</div>
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In my head, though, I know that the future matters. That throwing all financial, relational, and spiritual responsibility to the wind in the name of #yolo is a careless and ultimately self-destructive way to live. That it’s important to invest in relationships, in Roth IRAs, in real estate.</div>
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My heart wants to blow all my savings on travel, on giving, on experiencing, on making memories.</div>
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My head wants to save, save, save. Get better at adulting. Pick up another shift. Another job. Buy another house. Put my nose to the grindstone until it bleeds the blood of responsibility.</div>
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I’m stuck somewhere between tomorrow and today. Perhaps you can relate.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82Ve8eVaf5KQJ0B4JJuj6jFSleDxKVyoqMi7nmSqwLv82YwFv9Ld_bQ-62nLgpuu1M-p4srO4LpTTaavFEbjG-oh8al_guqiQHT3tptvSeKpTWaVpBVeqJeU62GZ_JDZH4W8OZt9ETka1/s1600/tomorrow+and+today+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82Ve8eVaf5KQJ0B4JJuj6jFSleDxKVyoqMi7nmSqwLv82YwFv9Ld_bQ-62nLgpuu1M-p4srO4LpTTaavFEbjG-oh8al_guqiQHT3tptvSeKpTWaVpBVeqJeU62GZ_JDZH4W8OZt9ETka1/s320/tomorrow+and+today+2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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I know there must be a balance between the two. I just don’t know how to find it.</div>
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Last year, I only went on one international trip. I worked 70 hours a week. I saved relentlessly and made sacrifices. I invested in the future, invested in the things my head wants. Until, that is, I came down with the devastating mystery illness that made me want to die, that put me in bed for 15 hours a day, that required months of testing and hordes of doctors in order to ultimately be identified as Lyme Disease.</div>
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This year, after several months of antibiotics and drastic lifestyle changes, I’m on the road to recovery and feeling a solid 50% better. As a result, my heart once again dominates my decisions. I just got back from Greece and Turkey last month. I’m going to Norway, Sweden and Denmark in less than a week, and to Quebec and Vermont in June, two trips that I cannot and should not afford. I’m taking nights off work, impromptu, to stay at the beach. I’m investing in the present. Investing in the things my heart wants.</div>
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You see, I could die tomorrow.</div>
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Or, I could live another 70 years.</div>
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Nobody but God knows my future, and He’s not being all too forthcoming about it.</div>
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So I search for the balance between tomorrow and today, between the head and the heart.</div>
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As with most things (except for maybe lead in Flint’s water supply), moderation is key. I need to strive to find balance, to live for today while planning for tomorrow. I dare say that no workaholic who reaches the end of her life wishes she would’ve spent more time in the office. Conversely, though, no party animal who ends up homeless and penniless wishes he would’ve spent more of his money on frivolous things, either.</div>
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The common thread that sews together today and tomorrow, I suppose, is purpose. Why am I here? What was I put on this earth to accomplish? To become?</div>
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I believe that I am here for two things: to love God and to love people. Most days, in my pursuit of either present happiness or future preparedness, I fail miserably at loving anyone but myself. But, in the midst of the clutter and clamor of today and the uncertainty and anticipation of tomorrow, there is One who was, and is, and is to come. And His love is unbelievably perfect. Unbelievably selfless. Unbelievably, <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">we </em>are the objects of His affection.</div>
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He made the ultimate sacrifice to live in our present experience, to live as a man on a wicked planet, to walk a mile in our shoes while carrying a rugged cross. Having conquered death, He started planning for the future. He went home to prepare a place for us, so that we could spend forever with Him in a world full of none of the questions we now face. Because He lives, we can face tomorrow, <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">and </em>today.</div>
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In the light of what I believe really matters in this life, it’s still wise to plan for tomorrow while living for today. I will still strive to find balance, to slow the wild pendulum that swings back and forth between my head and my heart. Mercifully, though, we are not in control of our own destiny, in control of how many sunsets we will live to see on this pained planet. So, we live in each moment while looking towards the future. A future far better than anything we could have concocted on our own. A future far better than a Social Security check, a pension, and a bad back and arthritic hips. A perfect future, crafted by the Maker Himself.</div>
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A future where every day will always have a tomorrow, and each day will be better than the last.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-47090145042280920822016-01-10T12:52:00.000-08:002016-01-10T12:52:24.864-08:00A New Year's Re-Solution.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We are officially ten days of 2016 deep. For you stat geeks out there, that means that we are 2.74% of the way through the year already. Unless this is a leap year, which I don’t think is the case. I guess I could Google it. Oh wait, it <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">is </em>a leap year. Now I’ve got to do some braining again.</div>
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2.73%. You get the point.</div>
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If you’re anything like me, you’ve already broken your New Year’s Resolutions. Or, maybe you didn’t even make any this year, because you knew you were going to break them anyway.</div>
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Why do we naively expect resolutions to last, anyway? Why do we think that through an act of sheer willpower, we can change ourselves into completely different people when the ball drops at midnight on New Year’s?</div>
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According to research from the University of Scranton, only 8% of people actually achieve their New Year’s goals. Not one of them? Neither am I. Furthermore, 72% of New Year’s resolutions are too vague and unattainable anyway, according to a study whose results I have completely fabricated.</div>
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The secret to change, I think lies in the word <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">resolution </em>itself. Simply breaking apart the word in a new way gives me a little hope. It’s not about resolving to change once and for all, but rather about finding solutions, over and over again. Finding the re-solution.</div>
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Change usually happens in tiny increments, not in massive chunks. Did you resolve to eat better? Your cravings for unhealthy foods aren’t going to disappear overnight. Rather, you need to choose, on a daily basis, to order the salad instead of the pizza, the water instead of the Coke. So you broke weak on January 9 and got the Triple Bacon Cheeseburger? That doesn’t mean that you should give up on your resolution entirely. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Who throws babies out, anyway? I believe that’s a crime. Rather, simply go back to making a better choice the next time you’re out to eat or at the grocery store.</div>
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We can’t change the past. We <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">can </em>change the future. Choice by choice by little choice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgri4ZYm7DDq9XJut5KuAto1sTyz1TFxyEd5p_iuSXmDxwuiEjPzx2DM36OvN5_DQe2dkY1rQ9jPIVBqTPF2LrguBtZ4trOexM_TcTwyYOUEZ9vYnVe8O7WSabONxvTKONHwdP3H2du2EwY/s1600/change2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgri4ZYm7DDq9XJut5KuAto1sTyz1TFxyEd5p_iuSXmDxwuiEjPzx2DM36OvN5_DQe2dkY1rQ9jPIVBqTPF2LrguBtZ4trOexM_TcTwyYOUEZ9vYnVe8O7WSabONxvTKONHwdP3H2du2EwY/s320/change2.png" width="265" /></a>Did you resolve to be a better parent on January 1, yet find yourself screaming at your kids on January 10? Don’t give up. Don’t beat yourself up. Go hug them and say you’re sorry. Life is a series of moments in a row. Just because the last moment didn’t go as planned doesn’t mean that the next moment is ruined, too. </div>
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Where does the word <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">resolution </em>come from, anyway? The Online Etymology Dictionary states that it stems from the Latin word <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">resolutionem, </em>which refers to “the process of reducing things into simpler forms.”</div>
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This is beautiful. And powerful. </div>
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How often do we try to make things too complicated? How often do we set goals that are out of our reach? </div>
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Life is about finding simplicity in a cluttered, frenetic world. Our goals should be simple, too. Goals that reflect what’s truly important in our lives. What if we resolved to love a little bit more? To give a little bit more? To listen a little bit more? What would 2016 look like if we didn’t give up on these goals, but chose them every single day of the year?</div>
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Change starts today. And tomorrow. And the day after that. Slowly but surely, by God’s grace, we become more and more of the people we want to be.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-1358731493016954102015-10-27T13:49:00.003-07:002015-10-27T13:53:02.486-07:00HOPE.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I ho<span style="background-color: transparent;">pe, therefore I am.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope for a lot of things. Some of my hopes are realistic. Some, not so much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I hope that work will be busy tonight so that I can make more money, my hope has a good chance of coming to pass, especially because I’m planning to stand on the street corner in my giant iridescent salmon costume to drum up business. When I hope that my 49ers will win the Super Bowl this year, my hope simply isn’t based in factual reality, as long as the Colin Kaepernick formerly known as an NFL quarterback remains on the roster.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6z3QvjVz45koqcDrJbLkJa_-ybyEXsbGrwXcJzt22I46Mv_IozGtyW_BNc8a5-qYVWmwU6DtUP9yAysI3_gwP4x08TarhlgMVGS6_ZNvcXyTmlYvhvBSVyGkyUeUkjoOG8UuBf__qFkO/s1600/hope+cropped.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6z3QvjVz45koqcDrJbLkJa_-ybyEXsbGrwXcJzt22I46Mv_IozGtyW_BNc8a5-qYVWmwU6DtUP9yAysI3_gwP4x08TarhlgMVGS6_ZNvcXyTmlYvhvBSVyGkyUeUkjoOG8UuBf__qFkO/s320/hope+cropped.png" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some of my hopes are trivial. Some are fundamentally existential. This is true for all of humanity. We hope for things as mundane as good barbecue weather, or as profound as peace on earth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right now, I’m hoping that my neck will feel better. What started as a strained muscle while climbing in Colorado a month ago has developed into a C6 herniated disc, featuring profound weakness in my neck and forearm muscles punctuated by intermittent blurred vision, headaches, and pain. I’m now wearing a sexy neck brace to work and popping Flexeril and Advil like they’re Halloween candy while seeing doctors, chiropractors, and massage therapists. My life as I know it has been put on hold. Hiking? Forget about it. I spend most of my free time just laying in bed. Thursday, I’ll go in for a second MRI, this time of my brain. Here’s hoping it provides some more answers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Without hope, we have no hope. Hope is essential to our psyches, vital to our everyday existence. With nothing to look forward to, our happiness withers, our dreams die, our passions fade.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, in case you forgot, we live in a hopeless world. A world where hopeless people bring guns to classrooms, and use them. A world where hopeless people drive cars into victory parades. A world where bacon causes cancer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All of our hopes, in one sense, are but temporary placebos, easing the pain of existence, brightening our days, yet eventually meeting their end when each of us is laid six feet under.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we die, hope dies with us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or does it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I believe that hope is only truly hopeful if it’s out of this world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You see, I have high hopes for a future that lasts forever. A future free of death. Of tears. Of pain. Of neck pain. I hope desperately for a day when all things will be made new.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m not talking about pie in the sky, about harps and halos. I’m talking about a real, tangible forever, spent with the ones we love and with a God who took on our hopelessness on a cruel cross to give us a hope we can wager our lives on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some people point to religion, and to Christianity in particular, as a crutch for the weak, as a belief system that provides hope in a cruel, capricious world. In a sense, they’re right. It’s not until we recognize the depths of our weakness, of our hopelessness, that we find the need for hope. For real, lasting hope. For the kind of hope for a future that all the strong, proud nonbelievers in the world put together can’t contrive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Steven Curtis Chapman puts it like this: “Let me be made weak so I’ll know the strength of the one who’s strong.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m not saying that we should all blindly become Christ-followers simply so we can have hope, and can pat ourselves on the back and tell ourselves that everything will be okay in the end. There are a myriad of logical, historical, philosophical, and anthropological reasons to believe. (Don’t believe me? Read Timothy Keller’s <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Reason-God-Belief-Skepticism/dp/1594483493" href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Reason-God-Belief-Skepticism/dp/1594483493" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.298039); background-color: transparent; background-image: linear-gradient(rgba(0, 0, 0, 0) 50%, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.6) 50%); background-position: 0px 22px; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: 2px 2px; text-decoration: none;"><em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="-webkit-font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">The Reason For God</em></a><em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="-webkit-font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">.</em>) But, that’s not my point here. This post isn’t about apologetics; it’s about hope, for heaven’s sakes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, while we wait for our eternal hopes to become reality, we’ll have to put up with our earthly hopes being crushed a time or twenty. Our hopes on this earth can and will be dashed on the rocks of reality when we’re faced with suffering, with pain, with heartache, with discouragement, with death. But as long as we hold on to our eternal hope, we can be bent but not broken.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martin Luther King, Jr., a man who put his hopes for a better earth into action, hopes that ultimately cost him his life, said this: “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The apostle Paul, who knew a thing or two about suffering, puts it like this: “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="-webkit-font-feature-settings: 'liga' 1, 'salt' 1;">not </em>disappoint.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I put my hope in things, in people, in what the future holds, or in the 49ers, I end up hopeless. Every time. C.S. Lewis agrees: “Most people, if they had really learned to look into their own hearts, would know that they do want, and want acutely, something that cannot be had in this world. There are all sorts of things in this world that offer to give it to you, but they never quite keep their promise.” I need to hope in something, in Someone, I can count on. Someone who has gone as far as giving up his own life to show me that he can be trusted. Someone who will one day take us home from this wretched place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Needtobreathe sums up my feelings well: “In this wasteland where I’m living, there’s a crack in the door filled with light, and it’s all that I need to get by.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Someday, that door will be thrown open wide. All that we’ve hoped for from the beginning of time will come to pass, and the God of hope will wipe every tear from our eyes. Forever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope that day comes soon.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-7036727072919061492015-09-23T10:58:00.000-07:002015-09-23T10:58:03.248-07:00ONE THING<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<main class="postArticle-content js-postField js-notesSource" role="main" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.952941); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 22px; letter-spacing: 0.01rem; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 0px; outline: 0px; position: relative; word-break: break-word; word-wrap: break-word;"><section class=" section--body section--first section--last" name="6c31" style="clear: both; margin-top: 20px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="section-content">
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If you could be famous for one thing, what would that one thing be?</div>
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One thing you excel at. One thing that you are appreciated for. One thing that will appear on your tombstone someday.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="57a0" name="57a0" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Keira Knightley? Zac Efron? Scarlett Johansson? Those looks. Lorde? Chris Cornell? Adele? That voice. Ron Jeremy? That..well, we won’t get into that.</div>
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Donald Trump has his hair. Tom Hanks? His acting skills. Peyton Manning? His arm. Alex Morgan? Her foot.</div>
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Of course, there are the Bo Jacksons, Arnold Schwarzeneggers and Jared Letos of the world that are legitimate two-sport stars. But for the most part, the rich and famous are rich and famous for one reason. One thing.</div>
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</figure><div class="graf--p" id="b23e" name="b23e" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
All of us, whether rich or poor, famous or anonymous, have our one thing. One thing that matters more to us than anything else. One thing we put first. One thing we pour our time, money and energy into.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="616b" name="616b" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
What are you known for? What is your one thing? Your singular focus? What do you put first? What will they say about you at your funeral?</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="467f" name="467f" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
For me, what I’m known for and what I want to be known for are sometimes light years apart.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="1bb1" name="1bb1" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
I’m pretty good at a lot of things. I never got to where I wanted to be in my music career, but touring 45 states and having a song on 275 FM stations ain’t too shabby. I’m pretty decent at photography, social media, writing, and bartending, and I’m awesome at folding socks, even though I choose never to do it.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="8c36" name="8c36" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Do these things matter in the end, though? Do I want my tombstone to boast about how many followers I have on Instagram? How many major label bands I opened for? How many dollars I sold per hour at various restaurants?</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="7fae" name="7fae" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Look at Mother Teresa.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="c992" name="c992" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
By her own admission, she wasn’t much to look at. She struggled with her faith. She couldn’t sing, dance, or tweet.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="f802" name="f802" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
What did she do better than anything else? What was she world famous for? What was her one thing?</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="b14c" name="b14c" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Her ability to love. To give. To serve. That’s it.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="e3c2" name="e3c2" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Remember that Finger Eleven song from a few years ago? “If I traded it all, if I gave it all away for one thing…wouldn’t that be something?”</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="a06e" name="a06e" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Think you don’t have many gifts? Think you have nothing to offer? Think you’re destined to slave away in anonymity, unnoticed for what talents you do have? Think your tombstone will be blank?</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="9409" name="9409" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Think again.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="561a" name="561a" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
All of us have been give the ability to love. To give to serve. And when we do, it’s going to change the world.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="be26" name="be26" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
All of us, any of us could be the next Mother Teresa. Right now. Right where we are.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="5d79" name="5d79" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
I desperately want love to be my one thing. Sometimes, I do all right at this. Sometimes, I fail miserably.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="fc24" name="fc24" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
The apostle Paul was a pretty well-rounded guy. He was a former Jewish ruler, the leader of a rapidly growing church, a prolific author, a linguist, a theologian, a dual citizen, a world traveler, a gifted orator. He even made tents on the side. But even a renaissance man such as himself recognized that if he didn’t have love, he was nothing. Nothing.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="226c" name="226c" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
If your one thing is a talent that brings you personal gain, fame, and riches, you win.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="41c9" name="41c9" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
If your one thing is love, everyone wins.</div>
<div class="graf--p" id="31d9" name="31d9" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Your heart will end up where what you treasure is. What good is it if you gain the whole world, but forfeit your soul?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf--last" id="33c9" name="33c9" style="margin-bottom: 30px;">
Make love your one thing. When all is said and done, it’s the one thing that matters.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-40749224015907242382015-08-26T12:59:00.001-07:002015-08-26T12:59:41.655-07:00CLIMBING MT. YORAN.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i4YOo1hVdsgKd1lyig3H78gWzXy4V_IDGqVYzbP_aJxycYFBmgw4m_As6XfRQtKD-3SlUrJYhio3MKHbJLRYn1xMYZhyadOtNkjujT2opUJwXls4SQLGpk8OqpSZyjkvuix49oNcP160/s1600/IMG_20150717_184726.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-i4YOo1hVdsgKd1lyig3H78gWzXy4V_IDGqVYzbP_aJxycYFBmgw4m_As6XfRQtKD-3SlUrJYhio3MKHbJLRYn1xMYZhyadOtNkjujT2opUJwXls4SQLGpk8OqpSZyjkvuix49oNcP160/s320/IMG_20150717_184726.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">A month ago, I climbed Mt. Yoran, an extinct volcano in the heart of Central Oregon's wilderness east of Eugene.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Have you climbed all the easy stuff in the Northwest? Dog Mountain, Mt. Defiance, Mt. St. Helens? Are you looking for a peak that provides a taste of what the more difficult Cascade volcanoes are like, without a lot of the danger and arduous effort? Yoran luck. In fact, Yoran idiot if you don't climb this peak.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Okay, I'll stop. </span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">All puns aside, Mt. Yoran boasts scenic forests, gorgeous views of Diamond Peak and Divide Lake, and a short, sharp, exciting Class 3/4 summit scramble that flirts with significant exposure but never leaves you one mistake away from an untimely death. </span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">This eight-mile hike starts by meandering through beautiful forests for three miles, gently climbing to Divide Lake. Follow the signs for Mt. Yoran Trail (if you couldn't figure this out on your own, you might want to hire a guide). Once you've reached Divide Lake, take a minute to walk to the far side of the lake and snap a couple pictures of your stately quarry, majestically reflected in Divide Lake's green waters. Look for a climber's trail that angles towards the right side of Yoran's prominent South Gully. It's worth the extra effort required to locate this small trail, because otherwise you'll be scrambling through a steep field of scree and rubble for quite some time just to reach Yoran's South Gully.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">At this point, Yoran eighth of a mile from the summit, but the fun has just begun.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Sorry, I promise I'll stop this time.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Scramble left around a large rock outcropping into the obvious South Gully itself. Climb this class 3 gully on surprisingly solid rock, staying on the right side of the gully. I took my time here, since I was climbing solo and wasn't in the mood to become a statistic due to the rubble that remains on many of the gully's ledges.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Work your way towards the obvious headwall at the top of the gully, and exit via a nifty class 4 move onto a slightly airy ledge. If you're not accustomed to exposure, take your time here, and walk to your left towards the obvious, steep rockfield just below the summit ridge. Scramble up these class 3 rocks to the ridge (don't know what these rock climbing ratings mean? </span><a href="http://www.mountainmadness.com/resources/climbing-rating-systems" style="color: #972b27; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="">Click HERE</a><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">), turn right towards the higher, true summit, navigate a narrow catwalk, and you're there.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Mt. Yoran's summit is, in a word, spectacular. It affords up-close-and-personal views of Diamond Peak and South Mt. Yoran, and 360-degree vistas of the Three Sisters, Mt. Jefferson, and more. Its 7,100' elevation is short by West Coast standards, but bear in mind that if transplanted, it would be the highest peak in 35 US states. In other words, you can still shamelessly brag about this summit to your friends anywhere east of the Rockies.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">I spent over an hour on Yoran's summit, devouring the delectable views and snapping photos. The weather was perfect, and, like a kid in a candy store, I couldn't get enough. Yes, I used my selfie stick. Yes, it was a gift. Don't hate.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Though Yoran wouldn't even make the list of the tallest 50 mountains I've climbed, it will always hold a special place in my heart. Its summit was the first real summit I'd stood on since fully rupturing my Achilles 17 months ago. </span><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 1.5; text-align: justify;">This mountain meant more to me than almost any other peak I'd climbed, because of what it's taken me to get back to doing what I love. So I sat, munching BBQ Cornnuts and taking it all in, so grateful for life, for grace, for every step I'd taken, and for the fact that the body heals.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Finally, I retraced my steps to the top of the South Gully and carefully downclimbed it, pausing several times to admire the emerald waters of Divide Lake, seemingly directly beneath my feet. Once back on the Mt. Yoran Trail, I returned the route I'd come.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">A word to the wise: bring mosquito repellent on this climb. I didn't. The mosquitoes were hungry, and I was delicious. I got eaten alive, especially in some of the marshy areas towards the beginning of the hike. Anytime you can learn from your own mistakes, it's a beautiful thing. Anytime you can learn from someone </span><em style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; position: relative; text-align: justify;">else's </em><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">mistakes, it's even better. You're welcome.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Also, bring sunblock, plenty of water, plenty of food...you know the drill. For directions to the trailhead, </span><a href="http://www.summitpost.org/mount-yoran/151273" style="color: #972b27; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="">click HERE.</a><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">In the Pacific Northwest? Climb this mountain. As soon as possible. Yoran for a real treat.</span><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><br style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;" /><span style="color: #45342e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;">Sorry.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-51560558777113429382015-07-18T14:53:00.004-07:002015-07-18T14:54:38.307-07:00PAIN IS CALLING. ARE YOU LISTENING?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pain.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="aabe">
It’s an inevitable fact of life. A unifying reality that both rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, men and women, left-handers and those not fortunate enough to be left-handed, all experience.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="a2d3">
Everyone hurts. As Bob Dylan said, “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="bf96">
Pain comes in many forms. We go to great lengths to avoid it, to bury it deep, to fight it with therapy and medication and a slew of other solutions.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="ac87">
I’d like to posit, though, that pain is not the enemy. It’s simply an indicator that something needs to change.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="5a04">
Physical pain, for instance, is the body’s way of letting us know that something is wrong. If, for reasons unknown, you put your tongue on a hot rod of iron, for instance, pain will immediately let you know that this was a terrible idea. Unless, of course, you’re a leper, in which case I invite you to skip to the next paragraph.</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="5a04">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="9ae0">
In a similar fashion, emotional pain is the heart’s way of letting us know that something is wrong, that something needs to change.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And change we do, whether for better or worse.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="afc0">
Pain can shut a heart down; it can break a person’s will; it can lead to terrible, permanent decisions.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="5598">
But pain, in and of itself, has no power. It can only break us if we let it. Ergo, it can only help us if we let it, as well.</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="5598">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="c414">
Pain can do amazing things. It gets us out of our comfort zone; shakes us from complacency. Pain helps us find meaning in all that heals. Without pain, we would never know that we’re in need.</div>
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<div class="graf--p" name="849d">
Through pain, not in spite of it, we become who we want to be. We learn how to love more deeply. We strip away all of life’s frivolity and cling to who and what really matters. And, in the midst of pain, we long even more deeply for a place where everything is made new.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheebrLmYS9_F9NZd8BQz1bfyAOBprL8oi1X6r3LkGhaWxwK8qpMDXGvWmCKtGJmzgZ_4pXSiYWJQ-rmElSTImc460YvIE0Tdpc78nA2emX_HjruoveNbOJ193NUeJd0a3Wcds6DIUMaV-_/s1600/pain4cropped.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheebrLmYS9_F9NZd8BQz1bfyAOBprL8oi1X6r3LkGhaWxwK8qpMDXGvWmCKtGJmzgZ_4pXSiYWJQ-rmElSTImc460YvIE0Tdpc78nA2emX_HjruoveNbOJ193NUeJd0a3Wcds6DIUMaV-_/s320/pain4cropped.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="d8ed">
Are you going through pain? A tragedy, a failed relationship, a death, broken dreams, an illness, or regret? I can relate. We as a human race can relate. You are not alone in your pain. I have experienced plenty of it, and I have often let it get the best of me. I’m in the midst of several very private, very painful situations right now, so I’m writing this just as much for myself as I am for you.</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="d8ed">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="1593">
If you are anything like me, you’re tired of useless clichés: “Things will get better!” “You’ve gotta find the silver lining!” “Everything will turn out OK!”</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="1593">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="ce06">
Sometimes, things will not turn out OK. Sometimes, pain becomes our ever-present reality. Sometimes, there are no easy answers, and sometimes, there are no answers at all.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="e856">
Pain is well beyond knocking when it arrives at your door. Now, it just lets itself in, makes itself at home in your heart. So, I encourage you not to run from it. Not to bury it. Not to ignore it. Face the pain head-on. Embrace it, even. A wise woman named Oprah puts it like this: “Turn your wounds into wisdom.” Let your pain change you: not into a bitter, self-pitying recluse, but into someone who clings firmly to love, to joy, and to the promise that one day, pain will be no more.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="619b">
We are not left to deal with our pain alone. A Man of Suffering, familiar with pain, took the agony we deserve upon himself so that one day soon, pain will be erased forever.</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="619b">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="0cbb">
An wise man named C.S. Lewis delves deep: “Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="0cbb">
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="4925">
Pain is calling. Are you listening?</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-73736825018478860752015-07-15T14:29:00.001-07:002015-07-15T14:29:11.790-07:00LISTEN UP. EVERYONE HAS A STORY.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="tG QF" style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; position: absolute; width: 0px;">
</div>
<div class="Ct" style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYQ0u0oWetohDJaI4hHE52pQpzH856H9sLksYWBaCMBqwZwnbotHdNJYuECnGPlrhOasIubXVJqw5zwS8k0uhDiaXHqP9BiEk_uWhArTHYN-UkuUenB5e9Ll7slvwbOYAIjCXIqEHG0gO/s1600/ListenUp+cropped.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYQ0u0oWetohDJaI4hHE52pQpzH856H9sLksYWBaCMBqwZwnbotHdNJYuECnGPlrhOasIubXVJqw5zwS8k0uhDiaXHqP9BiEk_uWhArTHYN-UkuUenB5e9Ll7slvwbOYAIjCXIqEHG0gO/s320/ListenUp+cropped.png" width="320" /></a>Listen Up: Everyone Has A Story.<br /><br />It's my new blog post on the beauty of being an ear, not a voice.</div>
<div class="Ct" style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Ct" style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">
Read it on my <a href="https://www.blogger.com/Listen%20Up:%20Everyone%20Has%20A%20Story.%20%20It's%20my%20new%20blog%20post%20on%20the%20beauty%20of%20being%20an%20ear,%20not%20a%20voice.%20%20https://medium.com/@jondavidson/listen-up-2d005e2861a4%EF%BB%BF" target="_blank">Medium page!</a><br /><br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-58180316131565599982014-11-10T08:43:00.002-08:002014-11-10T09:01:42.467-08:00THE KILLER IN YOUR LIVING ROOM.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There
is a killer in your living room.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It
lies in wait for your demise.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Forget
the suspense. The killer is your TV.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">No,
I'm not talking about potentially dangerous radiation emissions from
your flat-screen. Your TV literally wants to kill the you inside.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Chances
are, you're a typical American. If so, you watch more than 5 <i>hours</i> of
live TV every day, according to numerous studies like<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/average-american-watches-5-hours-tv-day-article-1.1711954" target="_blank"> this one</a>.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Assuming
you're average in every way, you'll live to 79. By the time you
croak, you will have watched 144,273.75 hours of television. Don't
feel like doing math? Don't worry, sponge-brained TV watcher, I did
it for you. When you die, you will have watched TV for almost 16 and
a half precious years of your life, or just under one third of the time you're awake.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">These
figures don't even account for Netflix, YouTube, TiVo, and every
other current available medium for getting your fix. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And
you say you never have time to get things done.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Don't
get me wrong: it's not <i>what</i>
you're watching that's bad. It's<i>
that</i>
you're watching.<br /><br />You
watch TV because you're broke? Here's a news flash: TVs costs money.
Satellite, cable, and Netflix cost money. More importantly, you could
be making money in the time you're wasting.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimT-LUrpa1cdO13nRuQplW-obzn0x9FbG2y4qDPY3T26pV50ge02Rr6v6mV_F6UkfT-8KrcNKuI_h2VTJnPkN_k_ulyaLYUbNjGFgzNNOg9ieIiOM-axLHUNr-53c9FR5OeH0vPdnRvcj0/s1600/TV5CROPPED.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimT-LUrpa1cdO13nRuQplW-obzn0x9FbG2y4qDPY3T26pV50ge02Rr6v6mV_F6UkfT-8KrcNKuI_h2VTJnPkN_k_ulyaLYUbNjGFgzNNOg9ieIiOM-axLHUNr-53c9FR5OeH0vPdnRvcj0/s1600/TV5CROPPED.png" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You
watch TV because you're bored? Cool. So you're telling me that you
don't have a single friend who could use a listening ear? There's not
a single nonprofit organization in town that's accepting volunteers?
There isn't a single hike you could go on, a single person whose day
you could brighten, a single cause you could champion? I didn't think
so.<br /><br />You
don't have a TV, and you're proud of it? Good for you. Oh, but you
stream all your shows and watch a ton of movies, too? You're a
hypocrite. Shut up.<br /><br />You're
not doing, enriching, creating, living. You are simply
consuming.<br /><br />You
made a connection with someone over the fact that you watch the same
show? So what? A chimpanzee can watch TV and communicate about it. Forge
connections with people over real life, over things that actually
matter.<br /><br />TV
is not real life. Reality shows are not reality. TV <i>is</i>
your reality, you say? Wake up. Your reality could be so much bigger.
You were made to live life to the fullest, not take root on your
couch.<br /><br />You
could be bettering yourself, your life, your planet. You simply can't
do that while watching TV.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Chances
are, your steady consumption of entertainment is the single biggest
thing ruining your life today. You aren't making progress at work?
Your relationship is stagnant? You feel like you don't have any real
friends? You can't seem to lose weight? Stop complaining, turn off
your TV, and get to work on your life. TV is a drug. It's an escape.
But it won't let you escape forever.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Do
I own a TV? Yes. Do I watch it? Once every couple months, when my 49ers are playing an important game. Does this
make me a hypocrite? Of sorts, yes. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I'm
not saying that there is never a time and a place for TV. I'm not
advocating complete abstinence from entertainment consumption. I'm
merely pointing out that if the balance sheet of your life tips in
favor of consumption instead of production, it's time to make a
change.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Nobody
<i>ever </i>changed
the world for the better by watching TV. Not once. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You
can't imagine a life without NCIS, The Walking Dead, The Big Bang
Theory, and Game Of Thrones, you say? (Confession: I Googled “Most
Popular TV Shows 2014” before writing the previous sentence so I
would actually sound like I have a clue about this stuff.)</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Try
turning off your TV for a week. I dare you. With all your newfound
spare time, do something—<i>anything--</i>to
make this world a better place.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Nobody
on their deathbed wishes they would've watched more TV.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 0.2in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Kill
your TV before it kills you.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-52272670836246608092014-08-02T11:25:00.001-07:002014-08-02T15:22:11.577-07:00YOU CAN STILL CHANGE THE WORLD.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Remember when we were kids?<br />
<div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
Back when we were little people, we had big dreams. Dreams of changing the world. Dreams of leaving a mark on history.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We dreamed of being astronauts. Firemen. Explorers. Fighter pilots. We dreamed of becoming President. Of curing cancer. Of ending wars.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We dreamed big. </div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, life happened.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we grew older, and as we faced obstacles, our dreams were tempered by the fire of reality, shrunk in the dryer of the daily grind. We set our sights on careers with smaller impacts. We listened to the calm voice of reason instead of to the rebel yell of risk.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We got so wrapped up in making a living that we forgot to make a life.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, we sit in our cubicles, in our committees, at our conferences, with our clients, or on our couches, wondering what happened to our dreams of changing the world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have good news for you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>You can still change the world.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Impossible, you tenuously mutter to yourself. You have a mortgage. Bills. Kids. A family. Friends. A job. A dog that you love, at most times, more than everything else in this paragraph. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, you're probably not going to cure world hunger or eradicate terrorism anytime soon. You're most likely not going to devote yourself to the destitute hordes of Calcutta. You're too old to be a rock star, and you're too (insert any number of negative adjectives here) to be a supermodel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You left your childhood dreams in a box, along with all your action figures and stuffed animals, somewhere in your parents' basement.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But, you can still change the world. Not metaphorically. Tangibly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's how: Show some love to someone. Today. Right now. Love someone lovable. Then, love someone unlovable. Then, do it over again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Heard of the ripple effect? The butterfly effect? You have. Believe in their efficacy? You probably don't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7V1qXAmXlHCpnIfBde2wuEPOU1CP_IGIKPLJdQRupzXdJPflX1RKJFojZbaz0NJuorfq8hTfYaOeD-mQ-jLBcmRoGtpeeIwdG9Hh-Be95FvgFo7vdxN9jIfRfZvqH0tOYSZDfUyl2jTts/s1600/change.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7V1qXAmXlHCpnIfBde2wuEPOU1CP_IGIKPLJdQRupzXdJPflX1RKJFojZbaz0NJuorfq8hTfYaOeD-mQ-jLBcmRoGtpeeIwdG9Hh-Be95FvgFo7vdxN9jIfRfZvqH0tOYSZDfUyl2jTts/s1600/change.jpg" height="320" title="" width="320" /></a>Love someone. Try it today. Will you see the effects overnight? Probably not. Will you be voted <i>Time's </i>Person Of The Year? Doubtful. Will your actions have a very real, lasting effect on your sphere of influence, and eventually many other spheres as well? Unequivocally, yes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be the kind of person you want in your own life. The kind of person who changes the people around you for the better. They, in turn, will do the same.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kevin Bacon has only six degrees of separation from everyone else on the planet? I'm pretty sure that love and kindness spread considerably faster. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, go ahead and dream big. Dream of being kind to someone who life has passed by. Dream of responding to a snarky comment from your significant other with love and grace. Dream of giving when no one is looking. Dream of loving your family even when you don't feel like it. Dream of being the kind of person who exudes such joy, such love, such concern, such grace, that everyone around you can't get enough of you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dream of loving and expecting nothing in return.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dream it, then do it. It really is that simple.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You rarely change someone else's life from on stage. From a space shuttle. From the Pentagon. From a mansion in Beverly Hills. You change someone's life, someone's world, when they are standing right in front of you, imperfectly perfect, beautifully bittersweet. Just like you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Riches, fame, and success are fleeting. Faith, hope and love remain, and the greatest of these is love.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What are you waiting for? Go change the world.</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-26745641049252260362014-07-07T18:12:00.000-07:002014-07-07T18:18:56.678-07:00OF SHOES AND SALADS.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I blew it.<br />
<br />
Messed up. Missed a golden opportunity.<br />
<br />
I believe that we were placed on this earth to love, primarily. Not just to love our friends, our family, and those who love us back. We were placed here to love people who have nothing to give us in return. The unlovable, if you will.<br />
<br />
Every morning, I pray that my eyes will be open to the needs of those around me, both stranger and friend. I pray that people who need love will be placed in my path. I pray that I will be able to take my mind off of my own needs, pull my head out of my metaphorical behind, and simply love. Whether that love consists of a listening ear or a Clif Bar tossed out my car window in the general direction of a homeless person, I try to answer the call.<br />
<br />
More often than not, I miss that call.<br />
<br />
A couple days ago, I was in the midst of a busy shift at Stanford's at Portland International Airport. Working at airport bars is an interesting endeavor. It's virtually impossible to predict when business will arrive. A couple international flights delayed simultaneously? You can go from two guests to a hundred in just a few brief minutes.<br />
<br />
I was in the middle of such a rush when a young, dirty, scraggly-looking guy walked in to my bar and sat down at one of the few remaining open tables. He ordered a water. I brought over a menu and asked for his ID. Even though he wasn't drinking alcohol, Oregon law mandates that minors can't even sit in certain bars, including mine.<br />
<br />
"I don't have an ID," he meekly replied.<br />
<br />
There was a sadness, an emptiness, in this young man's eyes that struck me, that seared its way into my brain.<br />
<br />
"OK, no worries," I said. "I'll get you a table in the dining room."<br />
<br />
He quietly got up from his chair and made his way towards the dining room. I followed. It was then that I noticed his feet.<br />
<br />
He wasn't wearing shoes.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, our corporate policy adheres to the old adage "No shirt, no shoes, no service." No pants? No problem. But shoes are a <i>must.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I knew I had to ask him to leave. I was getting busier by the second, with people streaming in from several hurricane-delayed flights to the East Coast.<br />
<br />
So I did. No apology, no pause.<br />
<br />
He quietly responded, "I've been asking all the stores in the airport if they have any work I can do in exchange for some shoes. No one had any available. I just want to get a salad but I can't afford that either."<br />
<br />
This was no ordinary homeless guy. He was no con artist, he was no criminal. He never asked me for anything; never was anything but courteous. Somehow, though, his path had led him to the place where our paths would intersect.<br />
<br />
I have over 40 pairs of shoes in my closet. I have an enormous tub of salad mix currently spoiling in my fridge because I can't eat it fast enough.<br />
<br />
This is America, though! I work hard for what I have. I give, but only when it doesn't hurt.<br />
<br />
"I'll just finish my water and go," the guy said. And he did. I walked away. Paying customers required my attention.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until after the rush slowed down that the weight of what I had done settled upon my shoulders.<br />
<br />
I could've done so much in so little time. I could've bought him a salad, and boxed it up to go. I could've given him the Clif Bar I'd brought to work. I could've smiled. I could've asked him how he was doing. I could've asked him if there was any way I could bring him a pair of shoes after I got off work.<br />
<br />
None of these things would have taken much time, money, or effort on my part. Still, I did none of them. My other customers were waiting, customers whose tips would help me store up treasure here on earth. As for the one customer who could've helped me store up treasure in heaven? I turned my back on him and walked away.<br />
<br />
"Whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine," said Jesus, "you did it for me."<br />
<br />
"I was hungry and you didn't give me food to eat...I was a stranger and you didn't welcome me. I was naked and you didn't give me clothes to wear."<br />
<br />
I don't know why this one encounter left me in such a fragile emotional state. I've blown plenty of opportunities to love in the past, and I will undoubtedly miss more chances in the future. But this one guy's eyes, his voice, his pain left an indelible impression on my heart.<br />
<br />
Maybe I've been too focused on my own struggles. Yes, this year has been tough for me. Three months of no walking and working. Two months and counting of constant back pain and fitful sleep. Literally sixty appointments with healthcare professionals.<br />
<br />
All it took, though, was one man's lonely, hungry, desperate stare to realign my perspective.<br />
<br />
I'm going to keep an extra pair of shoes in my car, just in case our paths cross again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-13917787858286897452014-05-09T14:48:00.001-07:002014-05-09T14:48:19.039-07:00IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPqUoN8g4iYdyF2zZs9-fTEPMwgWf5FEFCW5kjdEzOZHcFZ3UzFv8jmmFpyaVhoK1Uj5HWrMfDlkLl0hN6-QDEeA7KZIgkMAbOyNHpkR-QhbUsCagM1s7qo-nLwBpw5GmCRa0WHpNWtlf/s1600/itiswell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPqUoN8g4iYdyF2zZs9-fTEPMwgWf5FEFCW5kjdEzOZHcFZ3UzFv8jmmFpyaVhoK1Uj5HWrMfDlkLl0hN6-QDEeA7KZIgkMAbOyNHpkR-QhbUsCagM1s7qo-nLwBpw5GmCRa0WHpNWtlf/s1600/itiswell.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">These last three months have been a trying time for me. In the midst of almost constant pain, frustration, immobility, and financial difficulty, the words of the old hymn "It Is Well With My Soul" have given me hope. So, I recorded this hymn in the hopes that it, and He, could do the same for you. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;">It will be officially released on May 12 on iTunes, Spotify, and everywhere else, and you can <a href="http://www.amazon.com/It-Is-Well/dp/B00K1VYMEI/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1399671856&sr=8-2&keywords=it+is+well+jon+davidson" target="_blank">pre-order it on Amazon today</a>.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">After reading about Horatio Spafford, the hymn's author, and the suffering that he endured, my trials pale in comparison. However, it's safe to say that we will all encounter hardship, and we are all in need of hope and perspective. I hope this song can provide that for you, as it has for me.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-47725872827890117642014-04-10T11:59:00.000-07:002014-04-10T12:00:54.270-07:00HAPPINESS: IT'S A CHOICE.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;">Are you happy?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;">Do you tell yourself that as soon as life gets better, or as soon as things slow down, or as soon as circumstances change, you will be?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;">Or are you happy right now, in this moment, in the midst of this malevolent maelstrom called life?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;">Several years ago, I wrote a song called "Comatose." It never made it on a Crown Point or Jon Davidson album, but we played it hundreds of times on tour in hundreds of cities. It's a song about a girl who has been hurt deeply and endured a lot of pain, both emotional and physical. Often, to introduce the song, I'd say that crappy things are going to happen to us all, and that we can't avoid them. What matters is how we respond: do we shut down and feel sorry for ourselves, or do we take the pain, whether physical or emotional, as a chance to grow and bless others?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">It's one thing to dispense sound advice. It's quite another thing to accept it. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">And so, in the wake of my ruptured Achilles and the months of no walking or working that have ensued, I came to the conclusion that once again, it's time for me to take my own advice. Which, to be quite honest, I'm rarely a fan of doing.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">I don't mean to beat a dead horse (although since the horse is already dead, it can't feel a thing, and therefore I won't be expecting any angry correspondence from PETA), but this injury, and all of the life changes it necessitated, has been very difficult for me.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">I'm still happy, though. Why? It's simple.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Happiness is a choice.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Not a choice we make once. Not a choice we make when it's convenient and easy. Happiness is a choice we each must make, every moment.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">It is a choice we can make regardless of our past, regardless of our future, regardless of the present. It doesn't mean ignoring pain or sugarcoating miserable situations. Yes, there are times to mourn, as the book of Ecclesiastes phrases so beautifully. I'm not suggesting that we all walk around with big, goofy grins at funerals. However, choosing happiness </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px; position: relative;">does</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;"> mean being able to find joy and peace in spite of the terrible circumstances life throws our way, and realizing we still have the incredible ability to make other people's lives better through our words, actions, attitude, and example.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">I haven't always succeeded at choosing happiness these last nine weeks. Kimberly, and quite a few of my friends, can attest to the fact that there have been plenty of moments that I've been frustrated, angry, sad, and discouraged. Furthermore, most of the activities that used to bring me happiness, like hiking, biking, running, sports, traveling, and playing shows, haven't been feasible with my injury. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5;">Needless to say, I've struggled way more with remaining happy than I usually do.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Two things have kept me looking up, though. First, I </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px; position: relative;">do </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">have a lot to be thankful for. More than I care to write, and more than you care to read. Second, the </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px; position: relative;">only</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">thing I have control over is my perspective, my attitude. Life happens, and it happens to us all. However, life can't steal my joy; it can't bring me down unless I let it.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">So, for today, for right now, I choose joy. I choose happiness. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">So can you.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Here are the lyrics to </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px; position: relative;">Comatose, </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">in case you're interested. You can read more of my lyrics at http://www.jondavidsonmusic.com/lyrics.html.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">COMATOSE</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Copyright 2011 by Jon Davidson</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Maybe she has figured out what life is truly all about</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Behind the twisted maze of wires, a living, breathing, flickering fire</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">But she has tried and failed to wake her heart from its unconscious state</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">To love is to be prone to pain; she vows to never hurt again</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Comatose, comatose</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Her eyes forever open, her heart forever broken</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Comatose, comatose</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Her eyes forever open, her heart forever broken</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Maybe she will sit and wait as she succumbs to every fate</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Or maybe she will wake again to life and love and blood and pain</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">For in the face of hardship lies the choice to simply shut her eyes</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Or take the pain as grace and know that she will never be alone</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Comatose, comatose</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Her eyes forever open, her heart forever broken</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Comatose, comatose</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #33505b; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">Her eyes forever open, her heart forever broken</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-11170013898066940322014-03-03T12:59:00.000-08:002014-03-03T13:02:38.379-08:00FROM SIXTY TO ZERO.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are two types of people: those
who get it, and those who don't.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes, this obvious truism could be
applied to all walks of life. But since I'm holding the pen
(metaphorically, of course—pens are so 1987), I'm going to apply it
to the suffering and hardship that each of us will inevitably go
through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are people who have been through
exactly what you're going through, and can empathize, as well as
people who haven't, but can still sympathize and be there in your
time of need. And then? There are those who, through some pitifully
inadequate analogy, try to make you think that they understand, and
in the process point focus directly back on themselves. We'll call
this group of people Group FT, which stands for a word I'd rather not
type here. Use your imagination.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Saturday night neatly summed up the
dichotomy between these two groups.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The scene: Radio Room, one of my
favorite lounges in Portland, located on Alberta Street. Around 9, I
rolled in on my knee scooter (that's just how I roll these days) to
meet up with a couple good friends. We engaged in some meaningful
conversation, only to be briefly interrupted by not one, but two,
obnoxiously loud, yet surprisingly melodic, renditions of “Happy
Birthday.” After awhile, our server stopped back by, motioned in
the direction of a table of birthday partiers, and said that the
gentleman in the blue shirt would like to buy me a drink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Typically, when a man (especially one
in a blue shirt) buys me a drink, it's because they assume that I
play for the other team, or at the very least, they think that they
can convince me to briefly make a guest appearance for the other
team. I take this as a compliment, but politely decline. Due to my
injury, though, I'm unemployed, and am in no place to turn down
complimentary beverages.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I accepted his offer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Naturally, I went over to the birthday
table to thank my benefactor. Turns out, he had no romantic
intentions. He had just gotten off of a knee scooter and crutches
himself, due to a broken leg that had kept him out of the world of
the walking for five months. “I feel your pain,” he said. And he
had.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not only that, it was his birthday. The
birthday boy himself was so empathetic, so able to relate to my pain,
that <i>other people </i>were all
he could think about on a day that was supposed to be about him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not five minutes later, the drink had
run its course, and I headed for the men's room. There, at the urinal
next to me, a guy looked over, assessed my injury, and said, “I
feel you, man. We're both in the injured camp. I tweaked my hip this
morning, and it's been kinda hurting all day when I walk.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This guy was definitely an FT.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What I wanted to say? “With all due
respect, I'm sorry that you hurt your hip. But, guess what? You're
<i>walking. </i>Just fine, from the
looks of it. I haven't walked in a month, and there's a chance I may
never walk normally again. Not only that, but my Achilles hurts me <i>24
hours a day. </i>When I'm laying
down, elevating it, sitting up, riding in the car, taking a shower,
trying to do mundane chores around the house without capsizing on my
knee scooter...it hurts. All. The. Time. Man up, you FT.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What I
actually said? “That's too bad, man. Hope you feel better.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't
tell this guy that a loved one or close friend just died. He'll come
back with a story about Goldy, his late pet goldfish, that will rip your
heart out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't take this the wrong way, but
unless you've been a very active person and then suffered a
debilitating injury that not only kept you from walking for months,
but also changed the course of the rest of your life, you have no
idea what I'm going through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A month ago today, my life went from
sixty to zero with the snap of a tendon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't work. I can't walk. Something
as mundane as trying to put dishes in the dishwasher is an absolute
ordeal.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Doctors have told me I'll never play
basketball, tennis, or volleyball again; may never again be able to
climb mountains; will likely tear my Achilles again at some point
down the road; will suffer pain and tightness in my leg for the rest
of my life. This is not some minor setback. An Achilles tear is
considered one of the most difficult injuries to fully recover from.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Furthermore, surgery isn't an option,
according to every orthopedic physician I've seen. Most Achilles
tendons tear close to the ankle, and surgery is as simple as suturing
the two halves of the tendon back together. Recovery time is
shortened, and you have a much slimmer chance of re-tearing your
Achilles, when the surgical route is taken. In my situation, though,
my tendon ripped completely off of my calf muscle, and it simply
can't be reattached to the muscle.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I wait, leg immobilized, for my
tendon to somehow find its way back to my calf like a long-lost
friend and reattach. Best case scenario? I'm walking, albeit in a
walking boot, two months from now, and through long, painful months
of physical therapy, I'll regain most of the function of my leg.
Worst case scenario? I may never walk normally again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sixty to zero.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the year before my injury, I ran one
full and one half marathon, climbed Kilimanjaro and Rainier, visited
four continents, toured 27 states as a solo artist, and hiked in
Alaska, Colorado, Oregon, and more. In the year following my injury,
I'll be lucky to take a few painful steps on any given day.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
If you haven't been here, you don't
understand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't understand until February 3. I
took walking for granted every second of my waking life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XpWhLHr3gDUosbgj3QMkXALoPlsHoo4CVAAJOCEzK5tCh05qpPu6cmBoVNZOvJuIBfLMLmjdMzS4AezEuL_pDg1GqB2XuEId1wTR-80QWRxNy5o_fO8TJxqsl8i0If8KWt5KWXzBWLpB/s1600/from+sixty+to+zero.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XpWhLHr3gDUosbgj3QMkXALoPlsHoo4CVAAJOCEzK5tCh05qpPu6cmBoVNZOvJuIBfLMLmjdMzS4AezEuL_pDg1GqB2XuEId1wTR-80QWRxNy5o_fO8TJxqsl8i0If8KWt5KWXzBWLpB/s1600/from+sixty+to+zero.png" height="123" width="200" /></a>Likewise, I don't understand what
you're going through. I know there are events and struggles and
trials in your life that I can't relate to, because I haven't been
there. You've been through things that I may never have to endure,
and my heart goes out to you. At the same time, I don't have to
pretend to understand, and don't have to relate and equate your
hardships to much more trivial events in my own life. I simply say a
genuine “I'm sorry” and ask if there is anything tangible I can
do to help.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We all will face pain in life, whether
physical, emotional, spiritual, or mental. We all will go through
situations that test what we're made of. If the hard times haven't
reared their ugly heads in your life yet, just wait. They will. I'm
no solitary, heroic martyr here; billions of people before and after
me will suffer injuries and setbacks that will change the course of
the rest of their lives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So what happens when someone in some
sphere of yours is going through their Waterloo? Be someone who gets
it. Even if you haven't walked in their shoes, be there for them. Be
genuine. Don't make it about yourself. Find tangible ways to help get
them back on their feet, both literally and figuratively.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
James puts it this way in chapter 2 of
his book: "Do you think you'll get anywhere in this if you say all the right words but never do anything? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, "Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!" and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup--where does that get you?" (<i>The Message</i>)</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Regardless of your beliefs, or lack
thereof, this is sound advice. True friendship and true love don't
consist of words alone; they consist of actions.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't sit at home simply praying for
someone if you can be the answer to their prayer. Don't send someone
an e-Card and never take the time to visit. Don't put off till
tomorrow helping those who are in need today.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm grateful for the people in my life
who get it. I want to pay it forward; to make a tangible difference
in others' lives the way my friends and family have done in mine. I
fail at this more often than I'd care to admit, and tend to focus on
my own needs, especially in the wake of my injury. I need to remind
myself that although my leg may be in disrepair, my heart still works
just fine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm unable to do most of the activities
that bring me happiness. However, this just means that maybe it's
time for me to wake up, to find ways to bring <i>others </i>happiness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I want to be someone who gets it. Are
you with me?</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-11872213243439586212013-09-30T12:57:00.001-07:002013-09-30T13:03:10.279-07:00DON'T BE A DOUCHEWAFFLE.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Homeless people confuse me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course, we've all heard the stories
of impostors clearing six figures begging on busy Manhattan street
corners, then hopping back in their Beamers to head back to their
penthouses and enjoy their tax-free earnings.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Last week, an ostensibly homeless girl
on the corner of 6<sup>th</sup> and Taylor in downtown Portland
looked up from her iPhone 5c just in time to see me walk by. Without
even attempting to conceal her expensive mobile device, she asked me
for money.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I pulled a middle finger out of my
pocket.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
However, some homeless people appear to
genuinely be in need. I'm aware that mental illness runs rampant
among the homeless population, and that a few of those individuals
who hold signs proudly advertising the fact that they are military
veterans are, in fact, military veterans. Perhaps they're suffering
from extreme PTSD, or war injuries, although judging by the fact that
the US military has always been generous with its pension plans, I
find the fact that these vets are now on the streets somewhat hard to
believe.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Still, they can't <i>all </i>be
lying, can they?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In my opinion,
honesty is always the best policy. Well, personal hygiene is a pretty
good policy, too, but if you're homeless, honesty is a lot easier to
come by.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's a guy in
northeast Portland that I've given money to a handful of times. He
always wears a smile and holds the same sign. It simply reads: “Why
lie? I need a beer.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>That's </i>something
I can get behind. I can only hope that he has a discerning palate and
uses my generous donations to buy a decent IPA or porter, not a 40 of
Hamm's. Hamm's is not beer. It is Satan's urine. Don't be fooled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Recently, I ate at Taco Bell. I
actually went inside with some friends and sat down. Don't judge me.
Their new Cantina burritos actually look and smell different entering
your body than they do on their way out, which is a good start. While
feeding on this bounty, I was approached by a homeless man, who asked
me to buy him a taco.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whenever homeless people ask for food,
I have no problem obliging. After all, it's tough (albeit not
impossible) to use a taco to buy meth. You just simply wouldn't get a
whole lot of meth in return.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I bought the guy a 99-cent soft
taco. When I handed it to him, he glanced down at it with disdain,
and said, “I wanted the six-taco combo box.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Although I was tempted to rip the taco
back out of his greedy hands and beat him with it to prove a point, I
quickly realized that due to my poor decision to purchase a soft
taco, it really wouldn't do a whole lot of damage. I resolved to
henceforth only purchase hard tacos for homeless people to alleviate
this problem. Flaccid tacos simply don't get the point across
effectively when they're used as weapons.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why did this ungrateful douchewaffle
ask for more tacos? Did he realize that with six tacos, he could
barter for six times as much meth? Was he simply hungry and devoid of
the mental capacity to determine that his request would imply
ingratitude? Or was it just a manifestation of the general sense of
entitlement that pervades today's American society, corrupting
spoiled kids, tax-exempt billionaires, and homeless douchewaffles
alike?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For the record, douchewaffles aren't just entitled frat boys anymore. That was 2005. This is 2013. Douchewaffles have now 'grown up', clung to their irrevocable sense of douchey entitlement, and are now homeless or living in their parents' basements. They have gotten so douchewaffley that they might now be more aptly categorized as Belgian douchewaffles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At the risk of sounding like a Tea
Partier, I'm sick and tired of Americans and their abuses of the
government systems that have been put in place for times of need.
Unemployment is for just that: times when you're unemployed and
actively looking for work, not for times when you feel like sitting
in your parents' basement for two years, playing video games and
getting fat on Doritos that you bought with your food stamps, all the
while 'applying' for positions that you are completely unqualified
for to appease governmental requirements. Wait, your last job was at
McDonald's eight years ago, and you just applied to be the CFO of a
Fortune 500 company? Good luck with that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Speaking of McDonald's, is it <i>really
</i>that hard to get hired there?
Couldn't 95 percent of homeless and unemployed people alike get a job
at a fast-food restaurant, work their way up, get their own place,
and eventually move on to bigger and better things, instead of being
a tax liability to the rest of us, suckling at the teat of social
welfare until it's shriveled, chafed and dry?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In a perfect world,
welfare, food stamps, and socialized healthcare are great ideas. So
are communism, gun ownership rights, and genetic manipulation. The
truth is, though, there is a percentage of the population that would
simply rather take advantage of, and ultimately ruin and bankrupt,
the systems that they depend on. Go for it, lady: get knocked up.
Have seven kids by ten different fathers, and collect a little more
welfare. It's the American way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately, you
can't legislate integrity. Douchewaffles will continue to cheat the
system. Hear about the woman in Michigan who continued to collect
welfare for years after winning millions in the lottery?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here's a novel idea for you, Mr. and
Ms. American: work hard and make a living. Stop complaining about how
you lost your job and go find another one. Maybe it won't
comprehensively utilize your massive skill set. Maybe it doesn't pay
as much as your last job. Maybe it means a serving of humble pie.
Maybe it means you can't sit on your couch and play whatever it is
you gamers are playing these days.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But, with Social Security crumbling,
employers cutting benefits and pensions, and whole states on the verge of filing for bankruptcy, wouldn't it make you happy to know that you're
now contributing to our country's long-term chance at survival,
rather than eating away at its foundation like a hungry termite?<br />
<br />
I'm not trying to be heartless to those who are genuinely in need. But to those of you who aren't, grow up and do your part.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't be a douchewaffle.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-70833470944666788762012-11-26T10:43:00.002-08:002012-11-26T10:43:21.441-08:00TOURING: NOT A WALK IN THE PARK.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaGC-87FxfMvtzGp-Bf8rtG90Hs_pf7llYBUwpFk4DfMu1w8O0EAuNGKeN7YthVzzOSlML9EMwT-o3dydDZDzzqIu5WJ2t1TInwz-jvhdtcIHCNp0w8O73v-KhI1LKvMW9o79T9EvD8gQ/s1600/Milwaukee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaGC-87FxfMvtzGp-Bf8rtG90Hs_pf7llYBUwpFk4DfMu1w8O0EAuNGKeN7YthVzzOSlML9EMwT-o3dydDZDzzqIu5WJ2t1TInwz-jvhdtcIHCNp0w8O73v-KhI1LKvMW9o79T9EvD8gQ/s320/Milwaukee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
When you think of a touring band, you probably think of U2 rolling up to your hometown stadium with seventeen semis full of gear and a massive tour bus or seven. Or, maybe you think of charter jets, 5-star hotels, and a massive rider. Sold-out shows. Hundreds of roadies.<br />
<br />
That's just rock & roll, right?<br />
<br />
Wrong.<br />
<br />
Let me introduce you to the world of the independent touring band.<br />
<br />
My band <a href="http://www.crownpointband.com/">Crown Point</a> is in the middle of a 29-state US tour supporting the release of our new album, <i>Curtains. </i>We're an independent band by choice: We've gotten label offers, but have chosen to turn them down and retain the rights to our music and our career choices. That means that we tour the country in a Ford van and trailer, guzzling gas at a 9 mpg clip, staying in cheap motels and on couches of fans, and eating cold soup out of a can. We get to visit some amazing places, but never have time to actually explore them, because we're too busy booking and promoting our own shows, and setting up our own gear and lights.<br />
<br />
We're no Goliath. We're barely even David.<br />
<br />
However, for the uninitiated, cold soup is actually not as bad as it sounds. Call it gazpacho, and it practically becomes gourmet. Furthermore, adding a little Frank's Hot Buffalo sauce to <i>anything </i>makes it awesome.<br />
<br />
Here's a rundown of our last 72 hours:<br />
<br />
Friday night, after driving all day from Michigan, we played a show in St. Louis to a sparse yet amazing crowd. The local band who was sharing the bill canceled a couple days prior, and a lot of our fans were out of town for Thanksgiving or unable to attend for other reasons. We crashed at the house of a friend of a friend who we'd never met, yet graciously opened his house to us. As a result of the all-night party going on, most of us got little or no sleep.<br />
<br />
Saturday, we drove to Indianapolis to play another show in a market we've only played once, back in 2010. One of the local bands on the bill never even bothered to cancel but simply never showed up, and the local band who did, while talented, brought a total of seven of their fans to the show. I was unable to use my in-ear monitors due to the subpar sound board at the venue, and the house monitors produced mostly feedback, so I torched my voice during the course of our 45-minute set straining to hear myself. We made a grand total of $0 from the venue that night. Afterwards, we loaded the inordinate amount of gear we possess up a flight of stairs in 20-degree weather, then proceeded to drive all night and all day to our show in Philadelphia. I had the first driving shift, from 1:30 to 5:30 AM, and had to drink gratuitous amounts of caffeine to keep myself awake and the band alive. As a result, I was unable to sleep on the fold-out bed in the back of the van, which, of course, is about three inches too short for me, when my driving shift was done.<br />
<br />
I finally woke up after some fitful sleep and ate some 'gazpacho' just as we were exiting the Pennsylvania Turnpike. We literally spent more in tolls than we'd made at the past two shows combined, not to mention the $600 in gas we'd spent over the past two days. We checked in to our room at the Comfort Inn, showered, and then headed to that night's show in Philly.<br />
<br />
Now, we're en route to tonight's concert at The National Underground in New York City. We've had one day off in two weeks, and we can't wait to have two consecutive days free in Florida next week. However, we can't wait to play in NYC, Providence, DC, Nashville, Atlanta, and Sarasota this week, either!<br />
<br />
If it sounds like I'm whining a bit, I probably am. I apologize. I absolutely love what I do, and meeting great people across the country and getting to play music for a living (albeit a meager one) makes everything worthwhile.<br />
<br />
If you're reading this, thank you. Thanks for supporting independent music, for coming to that Monday night show, for buying that album or that T-shirt. For hanging out with us, for getting to know us, for spreading the word about Crown Point online and mouth-to-mouth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
You make the sleepless nights, unprofessional local bands, thousands of dollars in gas, Wet Wipes showers, and touring-induced premature aging seem insignificant. You are the reason we do what we do, and we'd love to see you at a show. <a href="http://www.crownpointband.com/tour.html" target="_blank">Check out our tour schedule here.</a><br />
<br />
Thank you!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-38832589466981152982012-03-28T14:28:00.001-07:002012-03-28T14:28:17.960-07:00Stuff You Can Buy Pretty Soon.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">2012 is practically 25 percent gone. Perhaps you've asked yourself, "What is Jon Davidson doing right now?" Or, perhaps you haven't asked yourself. But, either way, if you're reading this, you're about to find out.</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Currently, I'm sitting in the control room of Black Diamond Studios in Portland, OR while Crown Point's drummer, Kaycee Kay, prepares to track drums for our upcoming album, <i>Oceans. </i>He's currently hitting the same floor tom monotonously as the engineer tests mics. For some reason, I want to dance like a white boy.</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">My first attempt at authorship, a book called <i>Of Bombs And Blackberries, </i>is at the publishers. The design team is working on the fifth cover concept proof. I've shot the first four ideas down in a fit of rage.</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I'm also working on a brand-new solo album, my first solo effort since 2010. I've got some electronic surprises up my sleeve. The album is called <i>Tip Of The Iceberg.</i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I'm also booking music at a venue in Portland, bartending at two different bars, working on booking and promoting Crown Point's Australia and US tours, and drinking gratuitous amounts of the new flavors of Monster Rehab energy drinks. Loaded with guarana, mangosteen extract, goji berry extract, acai extract, coconut water, and tons of other natural ingredients, it's actually not all that bad for me. Moderation is key--I've only had three and a half cans today.</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">So, although life is crazy right now, I'm thankful that my time is being occupied by projects that I'm passionate about completing. I'm also thankful that my tongue has almost completely healed from last summer's accident, and especially thankful that the genetic-modification wizards out there have created a seedless, easy-peel tangerine. I'm going to go crush a couple of them in my mouth right now.</div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-57259996328568089432011-12-22T01:19:00.000-08:002011-12-22T01:38:44.204-08:00Live Like We're Mayan.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="CSP-ChapterTitle">It’s December 21, 2011. The Winter Solstice. A year from today, according to interpretations of an ancient Mayan tablet, the world will end.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">It will end in very similar fashion to when it also ended at Y2K and twice already in 2011, according to Harold Camping.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">You'd think that the Mayans, with all their alleged prophetic knowledge, would have been able to accurately foretell the catastrophic, mysterious downfall of their own civilization.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Funny thing is, the Mayans aren’t the stupid ones. We are.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The Mayan ‘long-count’ calendar (actually, there are several) doesn’t predict the end of the world. Yes, the 13<sup>th</sup> Baktun ends on 12/21/12. However, a time of great celebration is supposed to ensue, not Armageddon. (Armayageddon?) Does your world end every time you celebrate a birthday? It may feel like it has when you wake up the next morning, but in most cases you’re still very much alive.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Furthermore, the Mayans make many references to dates that occur past 2012. Many Mayans are still alive today, and they’re not freaking out about next year. The whole idea was coined by New Age author José Argüelles in 1987. Yup, I’ve been alive longer than this whole 2012 Doomsday thing. Yup, Snoop Dogg has been high for longer than this whole 2012 Doomsday thing.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Once upon a time, I had a good-natured friend named Greta. She bought a tome about the Zodiac, and asked me what my sign was. “Sagittarius,” I said. She proceeded to read me two pages about myself and how my sign interacted with hers, about how I was a natural-born leader, about how I had some inner pain that hadn’t yet been dealt with. She punctuated many a sentence with exclamations of how spot-on the book’s interpretation was.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I let her finish before I casually informed her that I’m actually a Libra.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Oh,” she muttered, crestfallen, and left the room.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Reminds me of an episode of <i>Criss Angel Mindfreak </i>in which Criss poses as a tarot card reader in Vegas. Once his subjects have been blindfolded, he swaps out the tarot card and instead reads the same paragraph from the cheesiest small-town newspaper horoscope to each person, telling them how they are strong yet have a need to be loved, among other generic, widely applicable truisms. Many of his subjects start crying and tell him that he’s able to see into their soul more than even their loved ones can.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">At the end of the episode (and forgive me if my facts are wrong; it’s been awhile since I’ve seen it), he lets people in on his little secret: they’ve been duped. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">We all share in this human experience. We all need love; we all have love to give. We all want attention. We all take dumps which often stink. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Mine stink less than yours. I’m a vegetarian, so I don’t have ten pounds of rotting carcass in my colon. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">No Chichen Itza for this guy. Although a Mayan city, it sounds quite edible.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Everybody merely wants someone to reinforce what they already believe to be true. Why do the best psychiatrists merely listen? Why do people pay thousands to talk to them? It’s crazy: psychiatrists make more than Bernie Madoff. Well, more than he makes <i>now, </i>anyways.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Everybody wants to be heard. I once read about a guy who made a comfortable living on the streets of Tokyo by charging people money in exchange for letting them yell at him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Everybody wants a framework to explain why life is the way it is, and someone to blame when things go wrong.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Americans spend $200 million a year on astrology. I am clearly in the wrong profession.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> “Pluto is no longer a planet! How else am I supposed to explain the powerful pull on my psyche?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">It cracks me up when people try and quantify human interaction through the use of Zodiac signs. “Ah, he dumped me because I’m a Taurus and he’s a Cancer. It had to be because the Sun was in transit to my natal Saturn, and.. .” Really? You sure? None of this happened because you are a crazy biznatch? Of course not; let’s blame some stars.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am going to become an astrologer. That way, nothing is ever my fault. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The reason this blog sucks so hard is because I wrote it while there was a stellium, or buildup of planets in Libra.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a mediocre writer with a penchant for tangents, sesquipedalianisms and run-on sentences.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Screw it; maybe I’ll look into gender-specific psychiatry. Men don’t talk, as a general rule, unless it’s about sports. Or women. But, of course, never women’s sports. Über-lame.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I’ll just charge women $200 an hour to complain about their problems. The best part about listening to women is that they don’t even <i>want </i>you to find a solution! Solve their issues, and they have to go to all the trouble of finding new things to complain about.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Or, maybe I’ll just become a doomsday prophet. Mr. Camping may look like a fool now, but at least he looks like a very wealthy fool. Everyone in the Bible Belt will be getting thank-you cards this Christmas.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The best part about Camping’s prediction, and other Christian doomsday predictions, is this: Matthew 24:36 states that no one knows the day or the hour when the world will end. No one except God. Well, God and Harold Camping, that is.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The truth is that the end will come for all of us someday. It won’t come a year from now for most of us, but it may come sooner than that for you. For me. For someone we care about. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">As much as I hate to quote yet another American Idol star, there’s truth in Kris Allen’s one and only hit single. “We only got 86,400 seconds in a day to turn it all around or throw it all away….gotta live like we’re dying.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Let’s also not forget to live like we’re Mayan. In other words, relax. The world is not ending next year.<o:p></o:p></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-54715777375398172992011-12-16T02:34:00.000-08:002011-12-16T02:56:17.579-08:00I HAVE HAD A BABY WITH EVERY SINGLE DEFENDANT IN THE STATE OF OREGON.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Yesterday sucked.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Six words for you: Jury duty on absolutely no sleep.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I got home around eleven the night before last, and promptly took a sleeping pill and four melatonin pills. And then lay awake in bed for the next seven and a half hours. Diphenhydramine didn't cut it. I should've tried some of diphenhydrayours.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">There's a tight-knit community of insomniacs who post to Facebook in the middle of the night. It felt good to be a part of something bigger than myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I hate sunrises. Actually, there's nothing wrong with them per se, and I enjoy looking at sunrise pictures in coffee table books and the like just as much as the next guy. Yesterday morning's was actually particularly beautiful. But, it served as a visual aid to reinforce the point that my day was going to be a suckhole. Anytime I see a sunrise, I've either been up way too long or have had to get up way too early. In this morning's case, it was both.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I should be barred from recording songs that are named after natural phenomena that I have almost no firsthand experience with. "Sunrise" is obviously out, and I should probably also hold off on finishing my next hit single, "The Honduran Rain Of Fish."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I showed up to the jury room a fairly fashionable fifteen minutes late. Of course, I got the one remaining empty seat next to the guy with whooping cough. Or consumption; not sure. I don't have much firsthand experience with chronic wasting diseases, either. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">There was a painting of a clown riding a carnival horse on the wall, and I wanted to rip it down and set it on fire, and then bawl my eyes out, just to make sure that everyone in the room knew how crappy I felt.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Leave No Childish Happiness Behind.</span></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">The State Of Oregon Judicial Department's introductory video, complete with poor acting and the requisite female African-American judge, was first on the agenda. Actually, it was the only thing on the agenda. Then the waiting began. We were informed that we should prepare to be there for the next 9 and a half hours. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">If picked for a trial, I would have literally gone to any length to make sure I didn't get selected for a jury. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">"Yes, I'm wanted for six felonies in Mozambique. Yes, every single member of my family serves in law enforcement, even my cousin's unborn child. Yes, I have had a baby with every single defendant in the state of Oregon. Yes, I hate white people. Yes, I have IBS. Yes, I dine and dash, and then drink and drive."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">If one of those six didn't work, I contemplated faking a seizure. Or feigning Tourette's. Or chanting "Tebow" until they made me leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I pay taxes. I vote, even for county commissioners and pointless measures. I've never been on welfare. I even use the self-pay drop boxes when I visit state parks. Most of the time. What do you want from me, Oregon? <o:p></o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">(Cue Adam Lambert hit single here.)</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Yes, I realize that without jurors the justice system wouldn't work fairly. But, there were at least 400 other able people in the waiting room, and it's safe to say that most, if not all, had gotten at least some sleep, and were therefore of more sound mind. Sounder mind? More soundlier mind? </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">My neighbor's whooping cough took a turn for the worse. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I've wished many times for a rewind button. Something I could press to give me a mulligan, to turn back time. But, a fast-forward button? I would have been sorely tempted to use one.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I must be getting old. I used to pull all-nighters almost every week in college. Not to study, of course, but to have a ten-hour Lord Of The Rings marathon. Or a ten-hour </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Connect Four marathon (we actually did this). </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Or, to TP, egg, pee on, or otherwise ‘beautify’ various statues and security vehicles on campus (yup, we actually did this, too). </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">The aftermath of this all-nighter was different. I was a wreck, probably because I hadn't committed any misdemeanors or other mischievous acts during the night. My left eye was twitching. My head throbbed. My vision was blurred. Would I even have been able to tell if I were having a stroke?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I accidentally broke my juror badge. I think that’s grounds for dismissal from jury duty. If I can’t even be trusted with cheap plastic, how can I be trusted with a verdict? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I also attempted to slip a clerk $20 to let me go early. She wasn’t impressed, and pointed out that she’d be happy to assign me to another room of the courthouse to stand trial for attempting to bribe a government employee.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Six hours later…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">My name was finally called, and I was released, my ‘jury duty’ complete. I, like hundreds of other people, had sat in a waiting room and done absolutely nothing, only to be sent home. Even if we only each get a check for $10 plus mileage, this scenario is played out daily in thousands of courtrooms across the nation. I think I’m beginning to see why our government has a budget deficit of $15 trillion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">What is the government doing to combat that deficit? Well, upon stumbling to my car, I found that, in addition to the $17 I’d already paid for parking, I had incurred a $40 parking ticket. My curbside receipt had fallen to the floor of my car. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Back to the courthouse tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">God bless America.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4367917796529792962.post-52250084707187272022011-12-06T11:37:00.000-08:002011-12-06T11:42:22.788-08:00Fruitcake Merrily On High.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
When did Christmas get all prima donna and demand its own month?<br />
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Every other holiday gets merely a single day. In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue, but he doesn't even get more than 24 hours and a lame excuse for financial institutions to take the day off? Do you know how hard it was to sail around the earth back when it was flat? This is how we say thanks?<br />
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Sure, some of the more prestigious holidays might command a weekend. Halloween stores do open up a couple weeks before Oct. 31, and Irish people find reasons to get drunk year-round, not just on March 17. But, Christmas is still in a class all its own.<br />
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Sadly, Yuletide's length enshrouds some other meaningful December holidays in its bloated wreath-shaped shadow. Holidays like Forefathers' Day, December 21, which shouldn't be confused with Four Fathers Day, a celebration of homosexual plural marriage. Holidays like Pepper Pot Day, December 29. And, of course, my personal favorite, December 8...<br />
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Take It In The Ear Day. Look it up.<br />
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Despite my unabashed affinity for it, I have questions about this holiday. How do I celebrate? What exactly am I supposed to be taking in my ear? And, most importantly, which ear should I take it in?<br />
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Perhaps the Christmas season is so long simply because of the lack of ample competition from any other December holiday. Perhaps Christmas helps us forget that Pearl Harbor Day and National Cotton Candy Day fall on the same date, and helps us avoid the inherent bipolar mood swings that this juxtaposition would provoke.<br />
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Sure, Christmas is a great holiday, one that billions, young and old, look forward to annually. However, plenty of other holidays encourage family togetherness. Plenty of other holidays encourage wanton spending and lavish consumerism. Furthermore, those individuals, myself included, who point to the birth of Jesus as being a seminal event worthy of extended celebration should be reminded that most scholars agree that Jesus was actually most likely born around September.<br />
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This leaves us with two theories as to why we celebrate Christmas in December:<br />
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1. The celebration of the birth of Jesus was moved in order to better coincide with the celebration of the Roman winter solstice.<br />
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2. Chuck Norris once accidentally sent Jesus a birthday card in December. Jesus was too embarrassed to inform Chuck of his mistake. Thus, we've celebrated Christmas in December ever since.<br />
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For the record, I'm not opposed to Christmas claiming the entire month of December. It's kind of a worthless month with nothing else going on. It's the Edsel of months, at least at higher latitudes here in the Northern Hemisphere. And if you're in the Southern Hemisphere, what happens to your Christmas carols this time of year? Do Australian families gather around their air conditioning units and sing "Let It Sun"? Or "Frosty the Foster's"? "Go Tell It In The Outback"? "I Heard The Didgeridoo On Christmas Day"? "Bring A 3-Foot Hunting Knife, Jeanette Isabella"? "Summer Wonderland"?<br />
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I could go on.<br />
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But, if Yuletide is going to last as long as it does, some changes need to take place, especially when it comes to Christmas music. My first suggestion for improvement? Pass laws that prevent this poor excuse for music, at least the really cheesy kind, from being played until, say, around December 23. Anywhere. Everywhere. I mean, "Santa Baby"? Really? How many rich old sugar daddies did the singer confess her love to in exchange for gifts before she settled for one that doesn't actually exist?<br />
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And "Come On A My House"? Really, Rosemary Clooney? In the good ol' days, they used to lock people away for confessing to pedophilia, like you do numerous times in this song. Fortunately, you failed to provide your address, so hopefully not too many children were able to take you up on your creepy offer.<br />
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My second suggestion would be to update the woefully antiquated ditty "Twelve Days Of Christmas". If my true love gave me ten lords a-leaping, I would be taken aback, to say the least, although I'm curious to see how long said lords could maintain their jumping routine. The song implicitly promises me that these lords simply don't quit. If I caught a lord taking a break, could I borrow a drumstick from one of the twelve drummers and beat him with it?<br />
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Furthermore, since I don't own cattle, what exactly would those eight maids be milking? Does anyone even know what a colly bird is? (Yes, that's the original lyric.) It's time to bring this song back to cultural relevance by replacing these hopelessly superannuated gifts with things that members of today's society would actually be happy to receive: divorce papers, welfare checks, and a 40 of Old E. <br />
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The last item actually fits neatly into the song, right where the partridge line used to be. Plus, Old E is conveniently sold everywhere. Who knows where you can purchase a pear tree these days, much less a partridge who would be content remaining in one for an extended period of time.<br />
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Come to think of it, we might as well overhaul America's entire repertoire of Christmas carols.<br />
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"Winter Wonderland" sucks. It must go.<br />
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"What Child Is This"? Duh, it's Jesus. Stupid question. Next.<br />
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"I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In"? Good for you, dollard. You're at a port. Lots of ships sail in daily.<br />
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"Carol Of The Bells", "Jingle Bells", "Silver Bells" and "I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day" need an instrument change. Bells are annoying at best. I was forced to play in a bell choir with a bunch of nerdy girls for a few months growing up. This was arguably the worst parenting decision my parents ever made.<br />
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And, finally, "Ding Dong Merrily On High"? Stupid. But, if we're going to keep it, let's at least give a nod to other dessert snack makers. Hostess has had the corner on this song, and therefore this market, for far too long. I would vote for either "Oatmeal Cream Pie Merrily On High" or "Zebra Cakes Merrily On High", but I'm open to suggestions.<br />
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In reality, we should probably vote in the most austere and revered dessert snack of all, that holiday institution, the gift that keeps on giving. Let's go with "Fruitcake Merrily On High". Cut. Print. That's a wrap.<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527168234886766480noreply@blogger.com0