Tea and crumpets?

The Revolution is, of course, re-evolving. As I enter a new phase in my life, so too should The Revolution enter its own new phase. Thus, I begin by talking about the ideal rural, medical practice. I began watching the "brit-com" Doc Martin. They serve tea in the doc's office. Good idea! Also, the ideal office would be located within my home. Logistics and health departments are probably somewhat inhibitory.
Now for the real juice. Obamacare allows for a payment structure for "Independence at Home Organizations." These are medical teams that would provide care to homebound patients within their homes. Sort of like home health nursing etc., but this involves all healthcare professionals. House calls have, in several studies, shown to be immensely beneficial to elderly and at-risk patients. They are not exposed to healthcare environments (and the accompanying bugs), they do not have to get out, risking injury and, being more comfortable in their own homes, they are more likely to speak openly, listen without distraction and integrate treatment plans into their home lives. Additionally, being in the home allows the physician an opportunity to assess the home environment - certainly an integral part of a person's health.

Yes, I realize the new revolution seems slightly more boring. It won't always be so.
Love,
The Revolution

Resurrection

If it works for teenage girls, perhaps it will work for me. . .


Dear Diary,

Today, I write to you from application limbo. We are now in the 9th month of this (probably) 13 month process. All interviews are done - it is out of my hands, for now.

The hardest part about it is that everyone has their opinions, and many share them freely. Except for Hayley. She doesn't. . . well, she does, but it goes like this: "Colorado would be fun, Rockford is cold, but the program is very interesting and Mizzou. . . you said it was a good fit, so. . ." This is actually very similar to my opinions, which means that her input only worked to reinforce my uncertainty.

Of course, none of these opinoins matter yet. As of now, I am still only accepted to SLU and U of I. Not doing U of I if it's not RMED, so there really is no limbo - no decision to be made right now. It's all in my head.

But it IS in my head, and I can't get it out.

I LOVE Colorado. Ten days after the interview and I'm still on a Rocky Mountain High. I can't help but hope that I'll get that phone call next week - even if it is half a country away.

I remember my impressions of Missouri. The camaraderie there, the learning environment, the sexy hospital and gadgets.

RMED feels like home. As annoying and archaic as U of I and the state of Illinois are, I could tolerate them for the sake of RMED.

Alas, limbo proceeds. . .

An update. . . and. . . the swine flu

There is a porch on the back side of the SIU student center. At 7:00 in the morning this porch is very quiet. That is where the revolution has been taking place. If you didn't know it was there, you'd have missed it. The fuel of this revolution: a pleasant blend of Seatle's Best coffee. The tangible results of this revolution: a crumpled up NYT crossword and a runny nose.
Dr. Huggenvik begins biology lecture today. I'm excited about this class for the first time this year.
The swine flu is here. I think alot of kids are using it as an excuse to stay home from school. I know I would have when I was 10 years old. Sure, there were 160 kids absent from a local school last week. . . just like there will be 200 absent on the first day of shotgun season in a month or so. Now, we (as a country) are running out of medicine to treat it. Ridiculous. . . we're so wasteful.

Take care,
The Revolution

Retreat

No longer being bucked and billowed by a stormy sea, I feel like a boulder in a sand garden, slowly settling into the proper place. . . the locus of balance, harmony and freedom through disciplined self-enslavement.
I don't know exactly why we are where we are at this time, but I feel certain it has to do with learning a lesson about service and the value of serving no matter the size or aim of the effort. I don't necessarily feel passionate about our church or its primary missions but perhaps that's the point.
Perhaps I'm still immature enough that a better spiritual environment would mislead and distract me.
In the meantime, I DO envy the emerging church people. . . it's a well intentioned movement on the whole and though I'm sure there are weak points, they think alot. That's more than most can say.

The reset button spoke up today

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/26/education/edlife/26medicalschool.html

Phenomenal article!

A university education (specifically in the sciences), by its nature, directs an individual toward formula and pre-determined structure and away from any ability to create.
The reason: I'm not sure. . . probably too many to name
It is a developed and mature human being who can see past this structure to find an art in education.
I'm not sure that I'm that person. . . yet

Passion
This is why we do what we do. Without passion, there may as well be no purpose; for a purpose that does not encite passion is no purpose worth having.
How to channel passion into a daily life?

Routine is my enemy

Every moment is sacred and so should be embraced with unending passion, reverence and joy. It is a fantastic gift to be given each moment and all that is sacred within it. It is a far more rare gift to be able to appreciate this.

What am I passionate about? I recite it every day. . .

The pressure I put on myself was related to an overcoming of passion by the immature desire to prove something or to succeed.

Success is doing what my purpose demands of me with the passion that it deserves.

The Fat Kid On the Other End of the See-saw

I don't want to participate in the cliche mumbo jumbo but at the same time, I don't want to neglect an open, free and unashamed relationship with Jesus.
I've been hiding from my brothers and sisters. I don't want them to see me.
Why can't it just be me and the strangers. I feel more comfortable with them.
Is that wrong?
I would like to find a balance. . .
. . . a way to operate in and not of.
The words just keep getting me all tangled up. They won't stop coming - like the last level of Tetris, right before "game over."
I keep getting close but the words keep repelling me with magnetic force as inherent as the charges of water molecules. I can't change them, I can't avoid them. . . they wash my desire to partake in the Kingdom away like the greasy remains of tonight's dinner.

That fat kid just keeps laughing. I don't want to play with him anymore, but who else is there?

A Sacred Moment

I slowed my pace as I reached the worn patch of grass that had been my home for the last few innings.
I thought about the fact that this may be my last game this year.
I smelled the grass, the dew.
I peered through the glow of the outfield lights to see the stars watching overhead.

There are few things better than this moment.

I sunk my hand into the wet leather of my glove, smelled the leather, felt it form to my hand as I pulled the velcro strap tight.
I looked over at my teammates. Are they experiencing this moment too?
The light fog, illuminated by the lights reminds me of the shekinah glory. If this isn't the presence of God, I'm not sure what is.

We lost the game, but my soul was pulsating with absolute joy for the rest of the night.

Perhaps its the legacy of an athletic tradition. . . gladiators and swordsmen subjecting themselves to physical hardship for the sake of a game, edifying no more than a metaphor with no less than their own sweat and blood.

Perhaps its the legacy of my own fathers. . . baseball, an American tradition - three generations gathered around a citronella candle, the AM radio hanging upside down at just the right angle, Jack Buck, in his excited mutter, describing the feats and failures of our heroes.

For whatever reason, in that moment, on that field, on that night, without glory, without pomp, without pretense --- baseball was sacred. And it allowed me to play too.

Art Is the Fuel of a Revolution

I ignored music for a while.
-not just music. . . art.
Maybe it's cliche but it keeps me in my place.
-re-evolves me.

• "Institutions, systems, ideologies, and all the vain, futile efforts of humanity that go with them are everywhere, and interaction with all of it is unavoidable. . . be inside or outside all kinds of systems and move freely between and among them. . . be in it and not of it." - William P. Young, The Shack
• The systems are designed to gain power over that which may not be controlled by man.
• There is music in my face --- a soul affected by the music

The music of daily life is worth attention.

Some More Revolutionizing

Where to begin?
where - to - begin?
I knew I wanted-
no
-needed to become a doctor as the gunshots went off at my grandfather's funeral.
As much as I want to deny that that was the turning point, the moment of decision, I can not do so.
That's not to say that his death is what has brought me to this point, but rather just that it was the spark, the initial force behind it.

What has sustained me from that spark to this point? Certainly, the idea of legacy carries me daily as do the principles of the Kingdom.
As yet mostly undeveloped is a good sense of responsiblity to humanity.

That's all for now,
The Revolution

A Rainy Sunday Afternoon

A rainy Sunday afternoon always brings about weird things. Long, drowsy naps, sports on the television, unwatched NASCAR on the next channel and an end to my blogging haiatus. Actually, what brought this on was not a rainy, Sunday afternoon but the revelation that my Dad and Step-mother have discovered The Revolution. (don't tell anyone, but I'd kind of forgotten it existed)
I'm resolving to repurpose the revolution over the next few weeks.
More to come. . . (maybe)

A New Way of Living

First, the business.

Pam, the word damn is in the bible. . . fair game

Now, the silly stuff.

"We are presently a nation of 120 million blogs and bloggers. Put differently, 120 million of us are enthused enough with our own stories - convinced enough in our own wisdom and wonderfulness of self - to believe there is great utility in posting our every thought, desire, and daily movement on the Internet, presumably for the common good, the benefit of all."
- Brian Williams "The Man in Seat 2B" (forward to If Not Now, When? by Jack Jacobs)

Maybe that's why I haven't blogged lately. I'm just not feelin' it. I've been up to quite alot. The time has come, it would seem, for me to truly test this newfound manhood I've been raving about for the last 6 months. I'm a bit nervous, but have seen it work swimmingly thus far. Pray for Aaron and Hayley. We're trying pretty hard. . . maybe too hard. . . to figure it all out and make it work right.

Don't worry though, this is still the revolution. We're still re-evolving our generation and its learned social behaviors, interpretations of life and perceptions of religion and spirituality. We're still proselytising a perpetual progression of the perspectives of the people. (that's some alliteration for all you losers out there)

Love,
The Revolution

A little of this, a little of that

Another brilliant writing prompt:

Safety
Security is a thumb and a blanket?
Perhaps so.
Is this going to become another damned psych-session in writing?
The living room couch is safe because I don't have to take on responsibilities. I don't have to fail.
This blog is safe not because nobody reads it, but because I don't have to write well. There are thousands of moronic bloggers out there writing about their feelings and their living room couches with oh-so-suave styles and catchy turns of phrase.
What is not safe?
Talking to people is not safe. I cannot control a dynamic conversation.
It's not really all that bad. I'm actually quite good at adjusting on the fly and taking conversations as they come. . . certainly better than many I know. So why do I hesitate at the thought of it? My instinct is to attribute it to human nature. Coward!

Actually, that which is truly safe is that which is right; those things in life that are so undeniably in harmony with both my self - my desires - and what would seem to be the will of God. These things - family, love, fly-fishing. . . exploring and loving the world that God created - are safe for me. I feel right in them.
The problem is that in order to become a "professional", one must endure a time of being outside of this safety. One must, in the short term, forsake desire, sacrificing it for the long-term good. That's not safe.
It needs to be.
It goes back to those responsibilities. It goes back to failure. Why am I afraid? I've failed before. I've had successes before. I've learned every time, no matter what the outcome. Serendipity leads us in such mysterious ways.
From my home, the road to Florida goes through the Smoky Mountains. When I was a child, I was so enveloped in the hopes and dreams of Disneyworld that I didn't note that fact.

Love,
The Revolution

Know Thyself Part II - Egospection

I bought a book today, The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood. It's a writer's aid meant to inspire and prompt thought and writing. The following prompt comes from this book

Write about someone who is pretending to be someone or something that he is not.
We're all pretending to be someone or something that we're not.
It's an inevitable part of life.
Why? I don't know. Is it because we are spirits inhabiting bodies which constrict the expression of our being? I don't think so. Is it because we're all afraid? Surely there's a way out if that's the case. But there's not. The fact is, we all pretend. Life is one give and take, being one person in one situation and another in the next.
So, to respond to the prompt, I am pretending to be someone or something that I'm not and it's killing me inside.
What I am not (but pretend that I am):

• I am not always right. I make mistakes often. I cut corners, give in to laziness and apathy, cower from confrontation, make wild guesses and act impulsively all too often. This often results in a loss of time, money and resources
  
• I am not in charge. I have to make a concerted effort in order to make decisions, act upon them and enforce those decisions. Whether it's something that doesn't matter to me, something I fear being judged on or something that might result in confrontation, I avoid most meaningful decision-making
  
• I do not live by a clear ethical code. I've allowed myself to be dragged into a feeling that “standing on principle” is a futile practice, resulting only in wasted time and inconvenience for all. I've been led to distrust the “slippery slope.” Unfortunately, both cliches hold true. A person must hold fast to his ethical standards and run every action through an ethical filter. The slippery slope, while overused, does indeed apply to the topic of ethical action. As such, one must remain vigilant and unwavering in standards and ethical rule. I, all too often, don't. I justify unethical behavior with phrases such as “everyone else does it” or “it doesn't hurt anyone” or “I'm entitled to it”. In fact, I live, especially at work, by very low ethical standards. I must change this
  
• I am not terribly responsible. While I've improved over recent months, I've still fallen horribly short in remaining regularly responsible with regards to my work. I continue to view my job as the primary responsibility while allowing studies and writing to slip through the cracks of relaxation and recreation. I often lack the discipline and self-motivation to pick up that book, no matter how boring it's gotten. I lack the discipline to diligently create, think and imagine throughout the hours of my days. I have a hard time overcoming the feelings and emotions of the now for the sake of the commitment and responsibilities of the broader, long-term.
  
• I am not caring. I do like to be there for people, but I have a tough time being sympathetic in many situations. It comes down to this: If I cannot empathize, then I do not sympathize. That is to say that if I don't identify with the trouble a person is having, I do not feel sorry for them, I do not feel as if I should help them. In some ways this is good, but in other ways it makes me an insincere, hypocritical jerk.
  
• I am not as brilliant as I often like to think that I am. I'm a pretty smart cookie, but I often let it get to my head and proclaim myself chairman of the mensa elite. I am not that smart, and deep inside I know it (or I'd actually get tested). My ideas and methods are not as revolutionary and wonderful as I often proclaim them to be (if only to myself).
  
• I am not humble. Just because I often dodge praise or do good deeds/works quietly does not indicate that I am not seeking praise. In fact, I thrive on it. The self-righteous half of me wants to claim that I know my weakness to praise and therefore avoid it. But the truth is that, in my experience, praise offered when not outwardly sought is far more gratifying than praise obligingly given to a boisterous achiever. So, by quietly performing good acts, I know that inside, I'm hoping that I will be noticed and praised. That is all too often my motivation, no matter how I try to convince myself otherwise.
• I am not done with this list, but. . . I am very tired and going to bed.

Love,

the Revolution

Who are you? Who who who who

The Following is my "Personal History" essay as submitted to Asbury Theological Seminary. Some of it's been written on in previous posts, some of it hasn't. Hope y'all get to know me a little better.
But first, some notes:
First and foremost, let me make clear that my father is not the villain he ends up being in this word-limited essay. I could write another 1250 words on how he's since shown me the meaning of words such as forgiving, patient, redemption, priority, man of God, etc.
Second, I haven't yet submitted this, so any comments or suggestions would be sooo helpful. Thanks,
The Rev.


“I want to love with much more abandon and stop waiting for others to love me first. I want to hurl myself into a creative work worthy of God.”
-John Eldredge, Wild at Heart
Having read these words, I stopped, folded the book closed, turned my thoughts toward God and prayed that he might give me the strength I needed – the strength to step forward into the unknown, the strength to make the hard decisions, the strength to quit making excuses, the strength to trust in His provision. I pray for the strength to do what he asks me to do.
For the past six months, I've been fighting, scratching, clawing at God to find exactly what it means to be a man. At the age of twenty-four, married and having recently bought our first home, I've come to realize that there are facets of my life, both current and past that have not been addressed, have not been handled appropriately. I hadn't faced the implications for my life that my father's actions and decisions have had. I hadn't faced the way in which I dealt (or didn't deal) with those imprints of my father's life upon my own. I hadn't addressed my use of time, my priorities or my personal responsibility and self-discipline. I've asked God to show me manhood. To bring Godly men into my life who can shepherd me into manhood. Most importantly, I was shown God's love for me.
A few months ago, my Dad and I began planning a trip. It was nothing big; just a quick reunion in St. Louis, Missouri for an extended weekend. We agreed to check schedules and ended the call with the agreement that he would call back the next week. He called me six weeks later. I shook it off as I have many times before, forgiving and trying to understand that we're all trying to get over that whole 'fall of man' thing. Then the realization came one evening while I was asking God to show me those things, as mentioned above, that I hadn't addressed in my life. In a quick progression of thought, I realized that all of my behavior, all of my spiritual progress, all of the approaches to Christianity that I had taken (and there have been several) were based in one wholly irrational, deeply subconscious decision that I had made.
I had been accusing God of being like my earthly Father.
For eight years, I had been infinitely afraid that God would not call me. I had been afraid that God would not be proud of me. I had been afraid that God would try to impress me with how he's better than me. As a result of that fear, I did everything I could to make Him proud. . . to be accepted as a “good and faithful servant.” (Matthew 25:21)
Let me be clear, this was not an issue of “faith alone” or some pharisitical obsession with earning heaven by my deeds. No, this was an honest faith journey. I desired – and still desire – to find the unblemished face of God. It's just that my motivation, the way in which I brought my walk to fruition was driven by this need for acceptance. My devotion was built upon the foundation of the fear that God would mistreat me like so many men – themselves, victims of the world – have lied to me, abandoned me and failed to love me truly.
But now, with the help and love of Godly men, I have learned to allow God to love me unconditionally. I have learned to allow myself to accept Him and to let Him be perfect. Most importantly, I have learned that I have to do no more than live to make him proud, to earn his love.
In that moment described above, having read the words of John Eldredge, I came to a realization as clear as any mountain stream. In that moment, I knew. . . I knew that I knew. . . that the boy had been left behind and the man was emerging, forging forward into the wilderness. Most men can point to salvation or re-birth as the turning point in their lives. For me however, I believe that time will prove this moment as the most significant in my life. The moment when the man's primal desire for purpose, for “fill[ing] the Earth and subdu[ing] it,”(Genesis 1:28) full of the freedom and power of God's love overtook the boys desire for comfort, acceptance and worldly success. Though, in my mind, this step was taken in an instant, it's been a long journey to get here.
In High School, I found meaning and identity in my musical talent. I played the trombone, showed early promise and thus found myself highly involved in band throughout my middle and secondary education. Add to that every teenager's interest in rock and roll and fame and I found myself joining a Christian rock band at the age of sixteen. What was several guys having fun eventually grew into a serious, and occasionally profoundly effective ministry. Between 2000 and 2005, we criss-crossed the Midwest, developed mission statements, conducted bible studies, prayed, played and introduced a number of young people to the freedom and peace of Jesus. While I no doubt enjoyed the fun and fame, those years were years of great spiritual growth for me. I found a religion that made more sense than my mother's and learned that that was okay. I learned the nature of salvation when I promised God my life. I learned the value of perseverance, hard work, practice and most potently, the importance of trust, friendship, accountability, good counsel and the dangers of blindly offering or knowingly ignoring these.
Following the termination of this ministry (and concurrent completion of full-time undergraduate studies), I made good on my promise to God to study His word and truth as fully as possible. I dove into the task of peeling away layer after layer of dogma, inherrited doctrine, mistruth and misapplication of truth so that I might discover the essence of God and his relationship to me. On my own, I studied theology and thought from the Early Church Fathers, Augustine, catholic scholars of old and Thomas Aquinas to Protestant thinkers and the Emergent blogosphere. All that I found was that I couldn't understand God. He's that good. So, I delved into the history of religion. If I can't understand God, perhaps I can understand man's relationship to Him. I studied the philosophies of Socrates, Aristotle and Plato, Descarte, Kant, Nietzsche and other Christian philosophers, among them my favorite, Michel Henri. I studied anthropological and mythological writers such as Joseph Campbell and Jonathan Z. Smith as well as the religions of the world, the way in which men have manifested God throughout the millenia of civilization. Through all of this, I developed a strong and definite sense of God, myself, my family, mankind, the world at large and the varied and complex relationships that tie all of it together.
But until recently, it didn't matter. I was unable to live it. It is only with great certainty, faith and confidence in God's development of me to the point of becoming a man of God and his commission that I explore, create of and pursue his glory in my life that I now move forward to apply for admission to the Master of Arts program at Asbury Theological Seminary.

Happy birthday America!

"We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States"

In the mess and confusion of politics, world events, anti-war protests and made-in-china-junkstores (Walmart), I often tend to forget what it's all about. Inalienable rights of man. What a serious statement that man, as a creation of God, has rights that are inseperable from him. Among them, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

It's not about a great country, democracy or the world's peacekeeper.

It's about the rights of each individual soul. Thomas Jefferson wins.

The use of the word "ought" above has always penetrated deep into my heart. Jefferson uses "are" to declare the position. But, he doesn't stop there. He uses "ought to be." Regardless of any war's outcome, it cannot be taken away from us that we ought to be free. It is what is right, what is divine, etc. Jefferson wins again.

I don't really have much else to share tonight, I just noticed that I needed to put something up this week and this has been on my mind today.

I've been reading The Last Oracle by James Rollins. Rollins often finds strange but true scientific phenomena and meshes them with historical, cultural, mythical or religious phenomena to create cohesive stories. . . conspiracies, etc. This book addresses the abilities of autistic savants. It touches on (as Rollins has done previously) the genetic experimentation of the Nazis and then moves on into communist Russia for the development of the plot. Some crazy stuff, and, as Rollins says, the truth is more often than not, stranger than fiction.

I'm also finishing up Wild at Heart, a book I've written on previously. By now, Eldredge is just kind of wrapping things up, putting in the obligatory call to action and boring me to death. I would like to review the first few chapters though, as I think my perspective has shifted considerably as a result of reading it the first time. This book has truly helped me grow. As a side note to that, God's timing is impecable. Just as I'm reading this book, considering this wisdom, applying it to my life, searching my soul, the one man in my life who has taught me the meaning of manhood, who has consciously passed on manhood (as Eldredge calls it, initiation), dies. I hate making claims like this, but it feels like a true turning point in my life. The shift from boy to man is completing. I yearn to fight the fight before me.

Love,

The Revolution

The Old Man and the Sea

I just finished reading Ernest Hemmingway's The Old Man and the Sea. To say it was phenomenal would be an understatement.

For those who haven't read it, the old man goes far out to sea - farther than he's ever gone - and catches an enormous, 18 foot marlin. The marlin drags him across the ocean for two days before the old man finally reels him in. As he sets sail for home, the defeated behemoth in tow, he realizes that the wounds of the fish have attracted sharks. After a third day of sailing and having defeated dozens of sharks with nothing more than a stick, he arrives home to find that the entire fish has been eaten by those sharks.

What's beautiful is that it doesn't matter. The victory was in the fight, not in the prize. I absolutely love this story.

I identify very clearly with the old man. I feel right now as though my big fish, my dreams, are 100 fathoms in front of me, dragging me out to sea and it's all I can do to hold on for the ride. Hemmingway says it several times throughout the text, that a man is created for the fight. He adapts, he suffers, he fights. "A man may be destroyed but can never be defeated." (paraphrased)

In the end, the man dies (not stated explicitly, but. . . whatev). This is not sad. Just as it's not sad that the fish was lost. Though utterly destroyed, the old man was not defeated.

I refuse to be defeated.

I don't know where God is taking me, but I resolve here and now to grasp that line and hold it fast until I find out.

I'm feeling encouraged.
Thanks for listening,
The Revolution

Maybe we could all learn something at Delphi

γνῶθι σεαυτόν
"Know Thyself"

The first words of advice given to any person entering the temple of the oracle at Delphi.
Before any true growth may take place, before any purpose can be fulfilled, before anyone may be taken seriously, one must know himself.

Certainly an even greater, more potent division than saved-unsaved or Kingdom of God v. Kingdom of Man, the separation between those who have truly and clearly faced themselves, with all wounds and deficiencies in tow, and those who have not ventured into the depths of the soul, with it's many and storied aspects, defines two very different approaches to life and two very different outcomes.

I have determined that it is the difference between those that I will trust and those that I will not. In the words of John Eldredge, "I don't trust a man who hasn't suffered; I don't let a man get close to me who hasn't faced his wound."

Those who find it sufficient to see thier wounds. . . see their deep, ingrained troubles. . . those that were probably given to them, a prize of heritage. . . and turn around as if they might be buried in a grave next to those inevitably abandoned hopes and experiences of bygone days, are cowards. They will never affect this world positively.
My Grandfather did this. He was a good man, a Methodist minister. He did countless good for his communities, his region, the poor and destitute, etc. To my knowledge, he never faced his wounds. He never faced his father. I cannot accept that all of the good he did in service balances out the 7 divorces, 7 affairs that he and his children went through. I cannot say, with full belief, that he affected this world positively.

I don't want to be like that.

I want to go more into the soul. What makes me who I am? Is it my fault? Does it matter? Aaron's opinoin: Whether nature or nurture, we are who we are because of other people. We are given freewill and may adapt, change, reposition, but who we are, the issues we deal with, is a result of other people's actions, personalities, genes, etc.

The only fault of mine would be to be that coward who turns around at the site of such overwhelming baggage. (why is it overwhelming? Because it was created by the multitudes and burdens only one man. . . )

Aaron's opinoin: There are those who do see their problems and understand them implicitly, yet find meaning in the blame. "If it is not my fault, I do not have to worry about it." WRONG. We must carry our baggage, there is no escape. The blame doesn't matter. The baggage does.

I have heard far too many sermons preaching that Jesus will take your baggage and your burdens and lighten the load. THAT'S NONSENSE!!!!! Jesus never, EVER promised to make your problems disappear. IF HE DID, HE WAS WRONG. Guilt, maybe. Temptation and sin, maybe. Worry and discouragement, maybe. Self-esteem problems, maybe. . . for now. Your deep-seeded wounds and baggage. . . the kind of stuff that affects your personality and every action. . . NO. The baggage matters, THE WOUNDS MATTER!!

In closing, deal with your shit or leave me alone (excuse the french.) I don't ask that everyone be perfectly healed and on their way, but only that we all be in the process of discovering, addressing, healing or making use of our wounds.


Love,
The Mother F'n Revolution

Fighting Fire With Fire

I'm not sure which makes me happier. . .
that I have further proof of my conspiracy theory regarding google
or that I'm using google property to disseminate said proof.
With that said, up yours google!

Please read the following story. What google gets away with is unbelievable. . . and it's all made possible by the american public. . . financed by greedy @#%#!&$%~~@*!(.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=558177&in_page_id=1770

The Unspeakable Words, Part I

The following piece is something I cooked up the other day. It is incomplete, as I hope to delve into the list of words that I shall compile and reasons why they should not be used if one is to hope for effective communication regarding religion and a life including God.


As I develop my personal approach to religion and the study thereof, the inconsistency and inadequacy of words has become an increasingly obnoxious obstacle to expression and more importantly communication.
My respect and passion both for classic thought and culture and for the science of words leaves me with a very classical interpretation of words based primarily on their root forms and historical purposes (as I may know those to be). Thus, the word ‘exclusive’ to me indicates primarily a predisposition to exclusion.

That is to say that an exclusive entity is one that does not accept or recognize people, members, customers, etc. based on a certain set of criteria (i.e. certain churches neglecting people with tattoos or piercings).
However, the more common associations to this word might include special or glamorous qualities. These are positive connotations possibly stemming from such contemporary uses as modern marketing suggestions which, ironically, aim to convince regular people of their potential to be included in extravagant or elite lifestyles (such as an exclusive resort or restaurant which, although typically catering to a certain demographic based on clear criteria is not in actuality closed to people not meeting those criteria. A middle class individual can get into an "exclusive" resort or restaurant provided she is willing and able to pay the fee).
I have struggled extensively with such issues of semantic miscommunication of ideas. In my experiences, one might be in the midst of a fantastic conversation on the mysteries and even glories of God but by simply speaking the words “salvation”, “personal savior”, “church”, or “sin”, the connection and influence one may have built with a fellow seeker will instantaneously be lost. Such words, in a post-evangelical movement America are automatic circuit breakers in the electrical current that is God-seeking conversation.

And so, just as language itself evolves to better enable successive generations to communicate effectively, so too must our religious vocabulary evolve.

This process, similar to that natural process observed by Charles Darwin, is twofold.
First, most words (that is, all words not covered by the second part below) must adapt. Just as all species adapt to their ever-changing environment, so too must we redefine the meaning and uses of words as our society’s experience with these words alters the interpretations of ideas defined through them.
Second, words that are no longer useful or able to exist as they presently exist in their current environment must face extinction if unable to suitably adapt. I have, as a result, resolved to cease the use of such circuit-breaking words as are described above.

To be continued. . .
Love,
The newly-devolved Revolution

The Myspace Files. . .

I've just finished transfering my pertinent blogs from myspace (http://www.myspace.com/iheartdennycraine) to this site. Therefore, all blogs preceding this one were originally posted on myspace. I felt that they would add perspective and contribute to the picture of my growth by being included in the archives of this site.
I apologize for any troubles in reading these copied and pasted articles as some formatting doesn't transfer.
Thanks,
The Revolution