May 08, 2008
Antonyms
fear ::: belief
courage ::: sloth
action ::: choice
bondage ::: obedience
comfort ::: action
hope ::: depression
silence ::: love
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April 24, 2008
Interview Time
If you are the praying sort, you might pray that I will know clearly the Lord's will in this process. 2pm CDT.
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November 29, 2007
A Song For Counselors, Formal or Informal
In Introduction to Counseling class today while talking about the elements of counseling from a Christian perspective, during the "Discern Damage to Dignity" section, I thought of this song. It is a wonderful injunction to simply be with folk in whatever state they are in. Psychological counsel and Christian witness each, in different though sometimes overlapping ways, enjoin us to go further with people guiding them toward healing and wholeness, if the person is willing, but, hey, I can't think a better place to start than the willingness to simply "Sit down."
P.S. This is the original recorded version which has better lyrics than the video version in my opinion, lyrics which are very easy to follow in this video.
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September 16, 2007
Sweet Dreams
It only takes the tearing open of a packet of Sweet Dreams, as I did just moments ago, and I am instantly transported back nearly 20 years to the upper peninsula of Michigan and InterVarsity's Cedar Campus. I am an undergraduate, and the pine trees and close fellowhip and worship remind me and my brother of our boarding school. And my heart sings.
It is also a time characterized by the enthusiasm and hopefulness of youth, of catching a vision for the coming school year, of bringing Christ to the campus. It is idealistic and big. We work hard like corporate managers, filling up pages and pages with vision statements and plans and pinning up each sheet as we complete it on the wall around the room.
It is a remarkable picture to me now. Somehow, my life did not go down that path, of being immersed in full time ministry just out of college with InterVarsity or elsewhere. I think if I had been asked I would have strongly considered staff. But nobody did. Instead, it meandered through indecision and false starts, both educationally and personally.
Now, I am more interested in ministry occurring through the Church than the paraChurch. In fact, theologically, I believe that should be the ideal, but still I see a place for the paraChurch when the Church is not doing its job, and that certainly is often enough.
Still regardless of where I may work, whether in the church or a paraChurch ministry or in secular employment, I want to have that sense of expectancy again, of wanting God to act, even while being afraid that he actually might show up, of working hard in context of friends. Yes, that may be what the scent of chamomile, hibiscus, peppermint leaves, rose blossoms, spearmint leaves, spice, and orange blossoms may really be doing, piercing my soul with a sense of expectancy, long remembered, needing to be refreshed.
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July 09, 2007
Hard to Get
You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardened by the hurt
Do you remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread
Did You forget about us after You had flown away
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath
While You're up there just playing hard to get
You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then
Did You ever know loneliness
Did You ever know need
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on
And Your friends fall asleep
And don't see the blood that's running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You're up there just playing hard to get?
And I know you bore our sorrows
And I know you feel our pain
And I know it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained
And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I figured this, somehow
All I really need to know
Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time
We can't see what's ahead
And we can not get free of what we've left behind
I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret
I can't see how You're leading me unless You've led me here
Where I'm lost enough to let myself be led
And so You've been here all along I guess
It's just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get
-courtesy of Rich from the Jesus Record.
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July 02, 2007
Focus, Dassler-Son, Focus!
Oh, man, I need a Mr. Miyagi in all sorts of ways. However, just now I am having real difficulties in figuring out the fine tuning of my focusing. It looks fine when it is on the tiny screen at the back of the camera, but then fuzzy when I get it home. It is hampering me from getting accepted at this site, which I really am shooting for. For example, in the first two shots below, I missed nice cicada shots (even it it was a dead cicada that was posed) because the focus is slightly off. In the first mushroom shot, the focus is on the bottom when it should be on the top. I think I've got it right in the last one, though. The pictures look OK at this size, but its not good enough, eh? I guess it's back to "Wax on! Wax off!"
Oh, a late addition, which is close, but just not quite right. I have to tell you, fish are hard to catch (puntended).
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June 23, 2007
Fat Hobbit
It had been quite some time since he had been
On an adventure, and there was the fat
To show for that, and in his mind, unseen,
An equally fattish lethargy, that
Grew large and seemed to swallow everything.
But he had heard the holy songs of elves.
And longing grew to wander and to sing
Songs of those who've learned to forget themselves,
And in forgetting gain the Earth entire.
Farewell to constant comfort and to ease,
Not choosing, but to bear the dark and mire,
To see and be the light to truer peace.
How can such foolishness be all that's wished
For, to be, not less, but more hobbittish.
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June 18, 2007
Saturdays
Saturdays? Well, frankly, on Saturdays I fairly often have rather a saturnine disposition, particularly if I am tracking low already, and the day gets wasted, further contributing to the lowness.
The past two Saturdays have been much better, however. A week ago, the afternoon was brightened by going to an art show in which Safe, But Not Sound had a lovely piece and meeting with many friends. This Saturday was even more fulfilling, starting with a 5:30 am trip to go birding...sort of, followed by 5 hours of working in the hot sun pulling up grass by hand, rototilling, burning branches, followed by a one hour event photo shoot (my first professional one....kind of...it was for my cousin), followed by an hour of editing pictures. Even though my body was dead on its feet, the heart felt fine.
That was, I believe, because I was operating according to proper instructions, with the right proportions of work and rest, and hard work at that. Hey, the work might not have been so hard then, but it was there even before the Fall.
Here are some photos
Saturday, June 9th
Saturday, June 16th
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March 05, 2007
Visions of Speed II, with a Nod to the Book of James
I am shocked some times about how cyclical and regularly patterned my life is. Almost like clockwork it seems, at different points in the year, I get interested in very specific things or my body reacts in specific ways, whether it is becoming low for physiological reasons or wanting to get active. Sprintime for me encompasses both of these elements; the lowness can be profound (oddly after the darkness of Winter is over and not during), the desire to get active can be intense. Perhaps they are sides of the same coin.
Last year, I posted Visions of Speed, which chronicled my desire to crank it up. And then the year turned out to be a bust fitness-wise as I was sick for a long while in August. Well, I want the same things this year, to use the long summer days to run and bike and play, however, this year I will add a heart-felt, "Lord willing" to all of those desires, as well as prayers of thankfulness, which I should offer whether I am healthy or no, but which I am much happier to offer in soundness of body.
Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that." As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil. -James 4:13-16
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January 10, 2007
One Must Have Bread to Whine
Is this phrase true? I am in the process of writing a short story that has this as one of its themes.
In a related note, here is a description of the detective from P. D. James' Death in Holy Orders, which I read over the break and thoroughly enjoyed. It is a mystery with some theological components and even a bit of a romantic payoff. Not bad.
James’s detective is not at all the two-dimensional sleuth of most mysteries, a caricature composed of a bundle of idiosyncrasies. He is a self-effacing professional, secure about his position and happy to have aides make crucial, enlightening discoveries. When asked if he is happy, widower Dalgliesh replies: “I have health, a job I enjoy; enough food, comfort, occasional luxuries if I feel the need of them, my poetry. Given the state of three-quarters of the world’s poor, wouldn’t you say that unhappiness would be a perverse indulgence?”
It is the last bit of this quote that relates to whining, or rather it is about why whining is really pretty pathetic.
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December 31, 2006
New Year's Resolution
It is not that I may not try out some new ways of being in the nearly new year, but, regardless, I hope and pray that I come back time and again in the new year to the resolution expressed in this hymn. I do not like all of the new tunes for hymns; I do like this one.
Whate’er my God ordains is right,
Holy His will abideth.
I will be still whate’er He does,
And follow where He guideth.
He is my God, though dark my road.
He holds me that I shall not fall
Wherefore to Him I leave it all.
Whate’er my God ordains is right,
He never will deceive me
He leads me by the proper path,
I know He will not leave me
I take, content, what He hath sent
His hand can turn my griefs away
And patiently I wait His day.
Whate’er my God ordains is right,
Though now this cup in drinking
May bitter seem to my faint heart,
I take it all unshrinking
My God is true, each morn anew
Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart
And pain and sorrow shall depart.
Whate’er my God ordains is right,
Here shall my stand be taken
Though sorrow, need, or death be mine,
Yet I am not forsaken
My Father’s care is round me there
He holds me that I shall not fall
And so to Him I leave it all.
Oh, and the banner? That is a shot of the lovely blanket my sister-in-law, Dawn, made me for Christmas from Wallace tartan cloth she got all the way from Scotland. The banner is up in her honor and the honor of the Dog House ladies in in Pakistan with whom our family spent many a Hogmanay with haggis, Scottish dancing, and prayers and soup at midnight.
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November 12, 2006
Today I was a Little Bit Like Mary, a Little Bit Like Martha, and a Little Bit Like Warren Sapp...
...only not in that order. Sometimes I rather overbook myself on Sundays and this one was no exception. In fact, it was probably a little crazier than most.
This morning I woke earlyish, but not nearly early enough, to begin preparations for a tea time I had planned for after our night worship service and congregational meeting. It is all well and good to plan to make little sandwiches, but those little dudes take a long time to construct, particularly if you are doing them properly and trimming off the crusts, which, incidently, did make for a fairly decent breakfast. It was enjoyable to make my Mom's recipe for these little ground beef and homemade mayonnaise sandwiches. Just remember, though, mayonnaise is an emulsion and you can't rush your emulsions. Still, it all worked out and they tasted good.
Nonetheless, it all took a little while, and then some lost shoes and lost car keys and general unpreparedness led to really not being able to make our church's later second worship service either, and to guilt for missing church, particularly when I was preparing for a function to get church people together. And I was all dressed to go and everything. Groan! Later, a friend asked in jest if I was being a bit of a Martha. Perhaps so. It is no coincidence, I think, that with her naming that Martha Stewart turned out as she did.
Part of my need to get things done in the morning was so that I could play football at 2:00. Now you may rightly ask, "OK, Neil, so where are your priotities." But football, in the autumn on a crisp day, with guys who are going to lay it all out there, well, it is one of life's finer pleasures and it is hard to beat. And though I just took two Ibuprofen's and will feel every aching muscle and bone in the next few days, it was so worth it. I have been walking for fitness a fair amount over the past month and it was good to test a little of that newly acquired fitness out, particularly in pushing guys around when trying to get to the quarterback. And, OK I'll just say it, it was fun to surprise folks a little bit with some speed they don't think I will have being a bigger boy. And here's to becoming less of a bigger boy, but compensating with more speed so the pop will still be there. And there were some pops! today, including one where getting hit hard while shifting my footing made me do a complete backward sommersault. Oh, there was that one play where I kind of grabbed the quarterback's jersey instead of a flag and he just kind of came down. The only regret of the game? Master Huggins was not there, otherwise the intensity level would have been even higher. This was the Warren Sapp portion of the day, if you are keeping score at home.
Finally, I did get to be a bit like Mary too. Thank the Lord. I got to hear the last of an 8 part Sonship lecture series, and today's topic was on Spiritual Warfare. Some tough lessons, but good stuff. And then at the congregational meeting, there was a lovely worship time with songs by our own song leader and songs from a group from Liberia and one from Congo, followed by a meeting where we elected elders and deacons to help the chuch move forward. Good stuff.
Finally, the long awaited tea was also good with many good friends and much warm fellowship. And now an early night...well, it was early before I started this post, at any rate. And, finally, here's to a blessed coming week.
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October 30, 2006
Echoing Jimmy Chitwood
"I don't know if it'll make a difference, but I figured it's time for me to start playing ball."
More soon...
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October 09, 2006
Snippet-Imaginarily Overheard
"Man, honesty's a bitch."
"Yeah, maybe, but I think she's the helpful sort. You know, kind of like Lassie. She helps you get Home."
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August 14, 2006
Home
These are excerpts from a poem I once wrote:
home
is it where you hang your hat
or where your heart is...
i only know to travel is to yearn
and i am always travelling...
In reality, I do not travel literally much at all. I do yearn a lot for home, though. I am beginning to understand that while this yearning may be significantly met here on earth, I make the concept of home into an idol if I believe it can be fully met in any earthly context. This is a hard truth to learn and accept.
Nonetheless, after a very nice time in the home of my brother and sis-in-law with three wee ones, who at this moment as I write are nestled all snug, in comfort and the care of their parents, who in turn are nested in the care of the Parent of them all, it was good to get back to my home. More importantly it was good to realize that it is my home, and in just a few minutes I will go into my soon-to-be-unmessy room, turn out the light, and nestle all snug myself, in the palm of the same good hands.
________________________
Addendum
I dug up the poem from the post above, which was the ending to the long journey poem of which the first two bits appeared in Catapult not too long ago. This piece is about coming back to the U.S. after being away for a year. I have reworked it a little.
home
is it where you hang your hat
or where your heart is
or both?
what is this coming?
i do not know
feeling alien
amidst so much that is known
which pretends at newness
in these arms so long unknown
that i embrace in newness
of understanding
and finally
am i home?
i do not know
i only know
to travel is to yearn
and i am always traveling
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July 28, 2006
A Difficult Article to Publish
Dear readers,
The current issue of Catapult is entitled "Addicts Anonymous." You may wonder then why my article appears along with my name. It does so because I feel called to be a writer who reflects on life in ways that will foster deep, personal engagement with the Christian faith. And I do not feel I can do this effectively or truly without being vulnerable about my own joys and struggles. So, here is the link to my latest and most vulnerable piece to date.
Confessions of a fundamentalist librarian: On lust
You will notice that the comments on this entry are disabled, as I don't really want to discourse about this article in this environment. However, if you would like to discourse with me about it, in any manner, please do not hesitate to email me, talk to me in person, or to call me.
On a lighter note, my friend Rachel Hawley has written the feature article of this issue. Her piece, My addiction, is a well written, witty reflection about her addiction to NPR, with some serious reflections, though, on how we process (or choose to ignore) information and disagreement, with specific reflection on her experience in the church.
I think the entire issue is well worth reading and reflecting upon, but make sure to check out the thoughtful and care-filled editorial.
Finally, blessings on and Grace to you all.
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July 14, 2006
After Prayers, Lie Cold
I did like my line from the previous post, "I-have-just-had-my-soul-cleansed-and-the-sunshine-is-pouring-in," which describes the positive result of either repentance or having brokeness healed. A similar set of lines I like even better come from a C.S. Lewis poem:
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
-A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
This poem is from the book Poems, which collects most of Lewis' poems. When young Lewis' great desire was to become an accomplished poet. However, his style was even then somewhat dated and out of fashion, as T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound were then in vogue. Many of these poems are excellent though. It is true that many are more or less idea poems, and almost didactic or polemnic in nature, but some have some lovely images. And Lewis' keen insight shines in throughout.
After Prayers, Lie Cold
Arise my body, my small body, we have striven
Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven.
Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go,
White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow,
Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
-A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent
To weariness' and pardon's watery element.
Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death;
Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.
____________________
OK, I can't resist sharing one more.
The Apologist's Evening Prayer
From all my lame defeats and oh! much more
From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.
Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needle's eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.
_______________________
See, what I meant about wisdom!
I almost feel I should have prayed this after the discussion we had about abortion after house church at Blueberry Hill. Other times I have absolutely needed to pray it. Thank you, Jack!
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June 25, 2006
Fix
This Saturday I proctored tests all day. I often get contemplative when I do this and do a bit of writing. I did not write the following this Saturday, but found them in my notebook and reworked them a bit. They are not the most subtle bits of writing, but present some decent thoughts....
____________________
"Ain't it funny how we call it a 'fix' and it don't fix a thing."
____________________
Fix
it might be just rountine
like the seatbelt and the keys
turned to start the engine
the hand that reaches to the radio
is it to tune things in or out
and does that heat
that pain
that prayer
even have a chance to be remembered
in that constant absence of silence
that chills with coolness
whatever is it that you feel
______________________
silence
why is it that you fear it
and won't let yourself near it
is it because you'll hear it
the beating of your heart
the crying of your heart
the longing of your heart
it's in silence that he whispers
be still he says and know me
he died on earth to show you
the beating of his heart
he feels the aching of your heart
you are the longing of his heart
his love it cast out fearing
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June 16, 2006
New Blog to Get in Shape
This should add to the discussion some of us have been having about just how personal a blog can and should get. Enjoy.
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June 09, 2006
It's a Double Expresso, Grab Life by the Handlebars Kind of Day
...or at least that's the blog entry title I was thinking about this morning as I was drinking my little double expresso on the way to work today, taking small sips and swishing some of them around in my mouth so that some of the caffeine might be absorbed through my tongue and have a quicker route to the brain and because these things are so dang small and so expensive. The double expresso was somewhat of a necessity, though, because of going to Blueberry Hill with some friends last night on a school night for darts, Blue Moon, and watching some karaoke, which all was fantastic but made for a late bedtime.
At any rate, I was pumped this morning because today is the day I must begin my training for the MS-150. A month or so ago I told colleagues at work, in an off-handed way, that I would start training on June 9th, three months before my charity ride for Multiple Sclerosis, and they did not forget. They have been updating a countdown on my door for the past two days. Groan!
Needless to say, I am less pumped now as the effects of my late night have been kicking in all afternoon. Nonetheless, in about 15 mins it's off to home and to the bike.
If you have piles of cash about and want to support a worthy cause, check out my MS 150 pledge page (HINT: the online pledge form is in the top right hand corner) or you could just email me.
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May 14, 2006
Mother's Day Letter
Dear Mom,
Hi! Well, its been a while since I talked to you. I know I am not really not now either, but that is not important. It's been almost 11 years now and sometimes I feel I haven't grown a day since you've been gone. Of course I have, really.
Physically, that Bodenbach body that you always warned me I'd have to keep an eye on weight-wise has been doing exactly what you predicted. I remember your admonitions when I was a boy, "OK, Neil, that is your last cookie." On the positive side, though, Mom, I have the broad shoulders of a man, and the beard I always worried would never fill in has, and I grow it at least once a year. And when Adi and Virg and I are dressed up, I think we would make you proud.
Mom, I've grown relationally and spiritually too. It is funny that I've become quite the thinker. It would have been nice to know what you would have thought of that. You probably would have brought me back down to earth at times. Also, Mom, at times I really feel God is able to use me relationally to encourage and help people, and someday I may even find that I am supposed to be a pastor. I am not sure about that, though.
Despite all that growth, though, Mom sometimes I feel emotionally just like that boy of 16, needing you there to affirm me, to give me wisdom, to pester me about girlfriends, and to provide a lap I could sit in no matter what size I got to be. Also, a "khoe" affects no one quite the way it did you. It would make goose pimples rise on your arms....If none receive "khoes," different women do at times seem like "mother," though, in various ways. None, of course, could ever replace you, nor is that what I am seeking, but sometimes a word, a touch, or an action will remind me of the gap your absence leaves in my life.
Well, Mom, just a few more things. Dad has been great. He loved you and loves us deeply. Sometimes I have not appreciated him enough or cared for him well enough. Of course, things would be much different if you were still here, but I know, I know, I know that God knows exactly what He is doing, and I love Him.
I do not know if you are reading this over my shoulder or not, or, perhaps, I am there with you too reading, reminiscing, and rejoicing in God in the light of the Eternal Day.
Much, much, much remembered love, your former son,
Neil :)
____________________________
Judging from the number of years mentioned in this letter from the time of my mother's passing, this letter was written in 1998.
Readers, thank you all for indulging a rather emotional string of posts this past week. Blessings on you all.
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May 12, 2006
Mother's Day IV-Quotes and Quips
My mother grew up a straight-laced, Baptist girl (who didn't smoke and didn't chew and didn't go with boys that do) but ended life a Presbyterian, who was wont to take her family to Luthern church for Christmas Eve service (though she still wasn't much for smoking or chewing). Once, upon looking into the student lounge of our boarding school when my brother Virgil was in school, she remarked, "It's a den of iniquity!" Nonetheless, though she could be easily embarrassed by innuendo, she often rather relished a slightly bawdy joke, particularly if it had a medical angle.
On the embarrassment end, once she turned bright red when colleague at a hospital in the US remarked that she had to buy her son a G-string. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Norma," her colleague remarked, "It's for his guitar."
Her two favorite jokes were as follows.
*A doctor who was taking a rather a long time to perform a circumcision slipped as he finished. "It won't be long now," he said.
Only when my mother told this joke (and for the life of me I can't remember in what type of situations she would actually tell it), she would often muddle the punchline, saying instead, "I'll make short work of this." We boys would howl.
*The old rabbi was getting along in age and his life work was to be celebrated. The younger rabbis were at a loss as to what to get him as a present. Finally, they decided to make a gift for him, as that always seems to be more meaningful. There were several months before the party and so they decided to save the foreskins from all the circumcisions to make a wallet. For some reason, there were less than the usual number of circumcisions during those months and so there was not much material to work with. Upon receiving the gift, the old rabbi remarked that, "Yes, thank you. It is very nice, but it is rather small." To which a rabbi replied, "Oh, don't worry about that, rabbi. Just rub it softly and it will turn into a briefcase."
And I really can't remember when my mother would repeat that joke. For some reason, though, my extreme gullibility perhaps, my classmates convinced me to tell that joke to my high school biology class. Miss Robertson, a Scottish missionary teacher who could be gotten off topic for an entire double period listening to our complaints about boarding and who sometimes took it upon herself to give us some necessary sex education, was rather taken aback when I delivered it, uttering something to the effect of "Yes, thank you, Neil," as the boys who had put me up to it earthquaked with stifled laughter. And my only justification then, is my only justification now for posting it on my blog, "My mother told me that joke."
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May 11, 2006
Mother's Day III-Excerpts from an Essay
*My world began in a dusty corner of Pakistan in the relative cool of the winter. My childhood was normal, I suppose, if that statement can ever be made without being made an oxymoron in light of the varied and creative exploits of children. But it had its share of joys and fears and tears, and in the sense that every childhood seems to have each of these in some proportion, my childhood was indeed normal. Being normal, though, did not mean that it was not unique, and from the start it was apparent, though thankfully not to the mind of a child, that my life would be lived in various different worlds.
Mom was from Southern Illinois and Daddy from Pakistan. She was a nursing student in Boulder and he a psychology graduate student in Austin. And somewhere in the Rockies, in the dead of winter, the spark was kindled that would leap into the flame of a blessed life together on the steamy plains of Pakistan.
*If life were peopled with variety, its experience was varied even more greatly. The influences of East and West flowed into my mind as naturally as the tides and sought to mix into some common level It was Mom, really, who made of these parts a consistent whole. She worked creatively to maintain the American side of our heritage, giving Christmas and other holidays their traditional American flavor, while at the same time celebrating them with vigor in Pakistani setting as well.
Christmas meant stockings and stories and Christmas dinner and singing carols around the glow of the advent wreath as we contemplated the meaning of the season. Christmas also meant going to a plethora of dramas at local institutions; greeting the local carolers with traditional oranges and peanuts; watching the midnight procession to the church with its camels and candlelight; going to church, burgeoning with a perennial influx of members; then going home to have dinner with our extended family, with spicy curry and meatballs and rice. The differences were less like the two sides of a coin, than the separate threads of a tapestry, woven together into a whole, mainly because of the influence of Mom.
Her life testified to the understanding that all people were important. She worked countless hours at a hospital, but sill managed to teach me through third grade and my brothers through fifth and seventh, to provide a quality English education for us. She walked to work, an unthinkable action for even middle class people in Pakistan. Her route took her through often squalid streets, sodden with backed up rain water, and past the walls of houses patterned with drying buffalo chips, the fuel of the indigent. And when she saw need or a woman who would greet her, she would stop and talk, often bringing much needed medicines, to the effusive thanks of those who received them. At work, she would often roll up her sleeve to give blood when a patient's relatives refused to do so. Among our family in Pakistan and all others who knew her, she was loved beyond words. There were a thousand other things that I cannot begin to write about her, but simply stated, her life was a testament and a model which has shaped mine more than I will ever know.
*The crescendo of life a MCS came in my senior year. At the beginning of my senior year, a major part of my world was shattered before it totally shattered in July. My mother was killed in an accident. By some reports, four thousand people came to her funeral and the impact of her life became apparent. Life for me would never be the same. But go on it had to, as it always does, and grief and memories slowly eddied into the still backwaters of my mind as I returned to the busy-ness of school.
_____________________________
For the full essay, click here.
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May 10, 2006
Mother's Day II
It was somewhere along Highway 67 in the middle of rural, western Illinois on the way to deputation. It was just my mother and me in our 1976 yellow-green Ford Maverick. She had just learned to drive a few years earlier in her late forties.
Deputation was that traveling road show that career missionaries were compelled to perform to raise support, a show which seemed to call for humility amidst a retelling of one’s accomplishments, and which worked best when spiced with cross-cultural anecdotes and colored by fancy dress and displays, to become like animated missionary prayer letters. Mom was a great one for color and anecdotes, but not so much on the self-aggrandizement. She pretty much was straightforward, and the nature of her work as a nurse and nurse educator and her person itself did the talking.
She was telling me about her quiet times, about how she had been reading about King David and how God would not allow him to build the temple because he had been a warrior and shed so much blood. Reading the pertinent passages since, I think she was more or less right. She went on to detail the see-saw pattern of wicked kings and righteous kings in the history of Israel.
What the discussion served to do at the time was to cause an epiphany of the sort you only have as you are growing up, when some key concept of how the world works is made clear. “Ah, we can do something with the Bible other than just read its stories. We can find patterns and principles.” Other top ten epiphany moments for me include learning about the surface to volume ratio and how it impacts cell biology and learning about predestination, “We believe what?”
What I envy about that situation now, though, is simply the possibility to talk theology with my mother, to see what she thought, to understand, perhaps, why she thought it. On second thought, I don’t think it would matter what we talked about.
I love rural Illinois.
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May 09, 2006
Mother's Day I
There is a remarkable selfishness to youth. It is true we are a selfish bunch of beings throughout our lives, but in youth it is particularly hightlighted. In fact, perhaps one way of looking at development is viewing it as a process in which I become increasingly aware that others exist who are not me, that they are interesting and important, and that I have responsibilities toward them. In this view, the selfishness of youth is normal and appropriate, at least to some degree. It does mean, though, that we may miss out on knowing some pretty amazing things about the world and the people around us because we are simply not paying attention, we may not have the psychological or moral equipment to do so.
If we are lucky, we may get a chance to get to know, say, that classmate who we completely blew off in high school, or worse, who we teased mercilessly. I reflect in deep shame on how I teased a friend in Jr. High school simply to make myself look better. I think if I had been told off back then I would have cognitively known my behavior to be wrong, but it would take years for me to really know, to empathize, with what effects my words likely had on my friend.
When my mother died, amidst the early confusion and grief, a prominent thought in my mind as I rode the 7 or so hours to our home in the back seat of a van was, "I am now a sixteen year old who's mother has died." It struck me then and later as an incredibly selfish thought, that I would be concerned at that time of grief with how my life was going to be lived from there on out and how I was going to be viewed. I have long since given up telling others and myself how one "should" feel in a given situation, though. And if that is how I felt then, beyond the question of whether the thought was selfish or not, it was significant.
And it has been significant. To borrow a metaphor from Sheldon Vanauken, the book of my relationship with my mother was ended and was sent off to the Printers, as short and incomplete as it may have seemed. And what I was and am left with is the memories of my sixteen years with her and the recollections of my brothers and father and friends to try to piece together some things about my mother that I want to know now, that I did not have the desire or maturity to know then. What did she think about a host of things, especially concerning her faith? Did she struggle with pride? What did she think about marriage?
The point of all of this is not simply to get all weepy and emotional. However, these are real things, amidst a host of others, of which I am envious of those of you who still have your mothers. In this week leading up to Mother's Day, I am going to try to produce a couple of posts talking about mine.
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April 23, 2006
In Order of Appearance...Hello Quads, Hello Lungs, Hello Gluteus Maximus, Hello Hammies, Hello Headwind, Hello Coughing, Hello Satisfaction
First day back on the bike.
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March 27, 2006
Pride comes before....
...well, among other things, before dragging furniture behind your truck on the Interstate. But more on that later.
This past Saturday, my day was consumed with what a surprising number of my Saturdays are consumed with, helping someone move. This was Saturday moving day number three in this young year, and this coming Saturday it will be number four. My friend Dave says that if you brush back the hair from my forehead, you can read in big block letters, "SUCKER!!!" I like to think that there are more altruistic motives in play, but he may be on to something (though Dave is every bit as likely to say "Yes" to requests for help).
This past Saturday, I helped an Indian couple (dots not feathers) who are friends of mine move from Edwadsville, IL, on the northeastern end of the St. Louis metropolitan area, to Valley Park, which, well, is on the southwestern end.
I think one reason I am called upon to move is that I once drove a pick-up truck and I forgot to get this bumper sticker:
Not a big fan of that one actually, funny though it be. However, seeing as my license plate tag for "4 Aslan" on the old S-10 was lapsed, we soon discovered that trying to rent a U-Haul at 11:00am on Saturday morning is really rather a pointless exercise. Thankfully, my good friend Dan very graciously loaned me his truck on oh so short notice.
The rest of the day involved learning/remembering lessons in cross-cultural expecatations, which really should not have suprised me so much as my friends' culture is pretty much the culture of half of my blood. I was not really miffed, though, and settled in for the long haul ("hauls" to be more precise), and just dealt with discovering more tasks to be done than were intimated at the beginning of the day. It was helpful actually, because I do not think my friends deliberately dissembled, and it helped me understand my father better, who likes to do a job until it is done, no matter how late into the evening it might take. We have, together, worked through that one somewhat, but it was helpful to see that his motivation might be at least partially cultural.
At 8:30pm, after two trips to Valley Park, it was time to load the two couches, three chairs, and crib that my friends no longer wanted and which I was going to take to give to families in my church. I did not think it would be 9:30pm when I would be delivering them, but my friend Worku, who being from Ethiopia also understands eastern time schedules, thankfully, very kindly, agreed to meet me so I could deliver my load and free up the truck before Dan needed it back.
So, there I was on highway 70 very proud of myself for having worked hard all day and on my way to deliver couches for refugees. Moreover, I was so proud of my brilliant scheme of securing so much furniture on one truck. First, I laid down the cushions. Then the couches facing one another, so they made a wide bed, upon which I piled the three chairs and a crib, tying two chairs and the crib to the couches in the back of the truck. If you are playing along at home, you will notice that one chair remained untied. Surely it was heavy enough, wasn't it? I think one can be forgiven a lapse in one's knowledge about aerodynamics at 9:00pm on a Saturday night, after day's hard work, no?
My prideful reverie was brought to a sudden halt, though, as looking into the rearview something was bouncing behind my truck. I quickly pulled over to discover, that my unsecured chair, having discovered the aerodynamics of going 60 miles an hour on an Interstate, was nowhere to be found. The other two chairs had been dragging and bouncing behind my truck ala Messala in the chariot race in Ben Hur.
Thankfully, the traffic was moving in a steady stream and, evidently (which I later confirmed), no debris was left on the Intersate. Pressed for time, I put one of the bruised chairs back on the couches (and tied it down!). The other chair and the crib were placed carefully on the other side of the guardrail.
After all, after the crouchiness subsided, I was reminded of this helpful verse from Scripture:
"Suppose one of you had a servant plowing or looking after the sheep. Would he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, 'Come along now and sit down to eat'? Would he not rather say, 'Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that you may eat and drink'? Would he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.' " Luke 17:7-10
Now, there's a verse you don't here quoted too often.
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March 24, 2006
What a Piece of Work is Man...
Bill Shakespeare had nobler, less gendered attributes in mind as he continued this quote. Judging from other parts of his writing, though, he wouldn't mind me borrowing it to preface a quote from a recent email from a good friend:
I understand in some ways why the bible says to remain single. But it’s hard when I have God given testosterone and the need for intimacy. Darn the nuts and emotions.
Amen to that, brother. Piece of work, indeed!
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March 22, 2006
Visions of Speed
The name of this blog actually comes through the agency of two friends. One, before I would come to know him as friend, thought my last name was Dassler. The other friend, who has a penchant for giving his friends nicknames, began to call me Dassler shortly after we met. The "effect" part came in a pick-up, mini soccer game at a L'Abri retreat. Though I am no soccer wunderkind, neither the "wunder" nor the "kind" part, I moved rather faster than my friend thought I would be able to and scored some quick goals, and so he added Effect to Dassler, ala the Doppler Effect. And, thinking that was rather cool, I made it the name of my blog.
Even though it snowed here yesterday, I feel at the end of a winter's worth of hibernation, except this bear has not just been sleeping but "hibernating" Winnie-the-Pooh style i.e. with a well stocked cave. And we all know what happened when Pooh tried to leave Rabbit's house that one time.
Yesterday, on a 5+ mile walk through Forest Park and to the grocery store, I began to have visions of speed, not, mind you, of blinding, competitive speed, but of simply being able to move easily, freely, quickly.
So, the plan is eating better, walking, and cycing indoors, for starters. Then, hopefully, some time in the not too distant future I will be able to do all the things in the blurry images above, and do them with ease. And the ultimate goal? That would be this Autumn, and several Autumns to come, to play full-back, or half-back if I really get fit, for Covenant Seminary against the Lutherans. That will be sweet.
p.s. Careful readers will detect a double goal in the last paragraph.
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March 09, 2006
Band of Brothers II
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Some words for living in community.
The end of all things is near. Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray. Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. I Peter 4:7-9
A letter on instructions in love for the family of God from a spiritual father:
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. I Corinthians 13
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The seminary app did ask for a recent picture
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February 14, 2006
For St. Valentine's Day
Micro
Accompanying video Title and Registration. Cool.
He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3
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Macro
I will exalt you, my God the King;
I will praise your name for ever and ever.
Every day I will praise you
and extol your name for ever and ever.
Great is the LORD and most worthy of praise;
his greatness no one can fathom.
One generation will commend your works to another;
they will tell of your mighty acts.
They will speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty,
and I will meditate on your wonderful works. [b]
They will tell of the power of your awesome works,
and I will proclaim your great deeds.
They will celebrate your abundant goodness
and joyfully sing of your righteousness.
The LORD is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and rich in love.
The LORD is good to all;
he has compassion on all he has made.
All you have made will praise you, O LORD;
your saints will extol you.
They will tell of the glory of your kingdom
and speak of your might,
so that all men may know of your mighty acts
and the glorious splendor of your kingdom.
Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,
and your dominion endures through all generations.
The LORD is faithful to all his promises
and loving toward all he has made.
The LORD upholds all those who fall
and lifts up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all look to you,
and you give them their food at the proper time.
You open your hand
and satisfy the desires of every living thing.
The LORD is righteous in all his ways
and loving toward all he has made.
The LORD is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
he hears their cry and saves them.
The LORD watches over all who love him,
but all the wicked he will destroy.
My mouth will speak in praise of the LORD.
Let every creature praise his holy name
for ever and ever.
Psalm 145
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February 11, 2006
Hittite
At this moment I am at an InterVaristy conference participating as a small group leader in a track called World Changers dealing principally with justice issues. I am going to be blogging a more about my conflicted and changing ideas in this area and about my thoughts and feelings about being reconnected with IV.
Today, though, we were looking at the power relations in the story of David and Bathsheba, among other stories. So, in the meantime here is a reprint of a poem I wrote about Uriah a couple of years ago. It is a creative imagining. His real story can be found here.
Hittite
His heart was pierced
Long before the arrow found its mark
Bleeding to see the king
Who drew him from the sway
Of heathen kings
Meet him with glazed and hollow eyes
His spirit's burning fire
Drowned in decadence
He went to the feast
Given in his honor
Fighting his body's yearning
To sink into its softness
As he had fought the night before
To not yield to the sweet solace
Of a softer softness still
He choked down the wine
Offered
No, more commanded
Again and again and again
And struggled against its heaviness
That pulled him towards oblivion
He rose to go
Cheered on by his debauched lord
To lose his cares for the night
He cast one glance back
Then went with holy, sotted stumbling
Back to the palace door
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February 09, 2006
The good fight: Learning the art of war, learning the art of love
I have had another article published in Catapult. The editior has graciously made it the feature. I am excited.
The good fight: Learning the art of war, learning the art of love
Are you here from there? Welcome. Stay awhile. And as would any good Pakistani host, I'll make the tea and get the biscuits, the British, not Southern, kind.
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January 24, 2006
Band of Brothers
Nathan, Neil, Lloyd, Jesse
How good and pleasant it is
when brothers live together in unity!
It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron's beard,
down upon the collar of his robes.
It is as if the dew of Hermon
were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the LORD bestows his blessing,
even life forevermore.
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January 20, 2006
Way Cool Gift, But Snug-Back to the Bike
Plus...
...another new banner
...a new blog on the blogroll
...and a new link section hightlighting reviews
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January 14, 2006
The Silence of Adam-The Procrastination of Neil
Jeremy Huggins recently wrote a post referencing what he calls "the only marriage book I’ve found of any value," As For Me and My House by Walter Wangerin, Jr. His description prompts this post about what I consider "the only book on men I've found of any value," though I have not read widely in the genre. OK, I have not really read anything else in the genre, and really the only other book on men I want to read is Walter Trobisch's All a Man Can Be.
And I have not even finished reading The Silence of Adam by Larry Crabb and Don Hudson and Al Andrews, but I am already convinced of its excellence. I knew it was excellent before I even read it as it "kicked the butts" of both my brothers by their own admission. That is why it took me so long pick it up and is taking me so long (1 year plus) to finish it. Once you know, you gotta do something.
There are many excellent passages in the book thus far; a few good ones follow, which have wisdom that is often applicable to Christians of any gender. All of the books mentioned herein, I believe, can be purchased here.
Once we become Christians, our most important decisions are often made in the darkness, with only God's light. We must trust a God who often does not tell us exactly what to do. The Spirit more often whispers encouragement ("You can do it. I am with you") than directions ("Now go tell her this"). We must develop a relationship with Christ in which we come to know him well enough to behave just like he would, to sense what he would do, what he might say. We must honor our calling to reflect his habit of moving through darkness toward beauty.
God calls on men to speak into darkness that sometimes stays dark, even after we speak. We must not search for a flashlight to shine on the path. When we insist on knowing what to do in trying to achieve our goals, we are fire-lighters.
Lighting our own fires is a natural tendency in every fallen man. And that tendency is clearly visible, not only in the relational crises of life but also in our everyday style of relating. Men who routinely light fires rather than trust God reveal their lack of manliness most significantly in the way they engage other people, particularly women. It is to these unmanly patterns of relating that we turn in the next three chapters. (113)
Line up a hundred men. Watch them closely for one week. With only a little discernment, you will recognize one of two patterns in their dealings with people. Seventy or eightly men will be ruled by a passion called neediness. Something inside them needs attention. The chosen few on whom they deeply depend are required to think about them and treat them in a certain way. They are more than willing to do their part, to do the right thing, but their goal is always the same: to get something from another person...
The other twenty or thirty will be ruled by a very different passion. The passion that controls thier behavior, especially their behavior in personal relationships, is not neediness. Rather it is toughness: a proud, "I don't need you or anybody else: sort of attitude... (117)
Manly men release others from their control and encourage them with their influence. They touch their wives, children, and friends in sensitive ways that free them to struggle with their lonliness and selfishness and pain. Manly men nudge their family and friends to the same crossroads where they, as men, have found that trust or unbelief must be chosen.
Unmanly men require their friends and family to meet their demands. Men who move with control, anger, and terror deaden others into conformity or incite them to self-preserving rebellion. (119)
Ouch, are you sure I can't get some anaesthesia for this....
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January 01, 2006
San Antonio Polar Bear Club-Baptizo
There is one, the SAPBC that is. Wussily, they take their dip on New Years Day. Come on, it is San Antonio after all. Why not midnight at least? Tonight my brother ponied up and came through on a promise and stripped down to swim trunks and jumped into their San Antonio pool just after midnight. I, clad in jeans and t-shirt, removed my wallet and followed suit, regretfully forgetting that I also wear glasses, which had to be recoved on a subsequent, and much chillier, dip.
Michael Green in his book Baptism states that he will not re-baptize individuals who come to him as adults, thinking their baptisms as infants did not take as they were not volitional on their part. Instead he performs a ceremony for them to "remember the waters of their baptism." There is only one baptism. Amen to that, but I like the practice of the remembrance of one's baptism nonetheless. I need that kind of reminding every day, especially these days. So, I am using tonight's dip to remind me of my baptism, to let it wash away the old, sinful patterns of behavior and unhelpful thought patterns, and to let its shock remind me to seek the Holy Spirit of baptism in a new way.
Happy New Year and may God bless us all richly in the coming year. May His peace bleed from us to all the world.
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December 16, 2005
Catapult Magazine Article
I am very excited to currently have an article published in Catapult magazine, a publication which I reccomend to you. Click here to go to my article. While at Catapult, also read Jeremy Huggins excellent Template (Store for Future Use).
If you are here from there, Catapult that is, make yourself at home. Have a seat and read a bit. Or open up the cupboards and get a snack. I'll put the kettle on.
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December 12, 2005
Jesus is for Losers
Here are a couple of songs from that great modern prophet and bard, Steve Taylor, who has not made any songs with his biting wit and insight for ever so long. Here are a couple of gems for my edification, and yours if you need it. The first is just selections from the lyrics; the second is the whole song.
Click on the title to hear 'em. Click here for the entire album (and others). They rock; all of them figuratively, Squint literally.
Just as I am
I am stiff-necked and proud
Jesus is for losers
Why do I still play to the crowd?
Just as I am
Pass the compass, please
Jesus is for losers
I'm off about a hundred degrees
Just as I am
I am needy and dry
Jesus is for losers
The self-made need not apply
Just as I am
In a desert crawl
Lord, I'm so thirsty
Take me to the waterfall
Once upon an average morn
An average boy was born for the second time
Prone upon the altar there
He whispered up the prayer he'd kept hid inside
The vision came
He saw the odds
A hundred little gods on a gilded wheel
"These will vie to take your place, but Father,
by your grace I wil never kneel"
And I saw you, upright and proud
And I saw you wave to the crowd
And I saw you laughing out loud at the Philistines
And I saw you brush away rocks
And I saw you pull up your socks
And I saw you out of the blocks
For the finish line
Darkness falls
The devil stirs
And as your vision blurs you start stumbling
The heart is weak
The will is gone
And every strong conviction comes tumbling down
Malice rains
The acid guile is sucking at your shoes while the mud is fresh
It floods the trail
It bleeds you dry
As every little god buys its pound of flesh
And I saw you licking your wounds
And I saw you weave your cocoons
And I saw you changing your tunes for the party line
And I saw you welsh on old debts
I saw you and your comrades bum cigarettes
And you hemmed and you hawed
And you hedged all your bets
Waiting for a sign
Let's wash our hands as we throw little fits
Let's all wash our hands as we curse hypocrites
We're locked in the washroom turning old tricks
Deaf
And joyless
And full of it
The vision came
He saw the odds
A hundred little gods on a gilded wheel
"These have tried to take your place, but Father,
by your grace I will never kneel
I will never kneel..."
Off in the distance
Bloodied but wise
As you squint with the light of the truth in your eyes
And I saw you
Both hands were raised
And I saw your lips move in praise
And I saw you steady your gaze
For the finish line
Every idol like dust
A word scattered them all
And I rose to my feet when you scaled the last wall
And I gasped
When I saw you fall
In his arms
At the finish line
______________________________________________
Jesus is for losers like me.
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November 30, 2005
generally cruddy
when my blog began, many of the entries consisted of sections of an old manuscript of poems and meditations I put together in the early nineties called Ache for Eternity: A Journey in Verse. my writing from this time tends to be more naively sincere and less nuanced than my current writing, but still, nonetheless, often serves to encourage me with truth.
here is one of the few as yet unposted poems, which is quite appropriate as the past week or so I have been both body and soul sick, feeling sinful and ill and generally cruddy.
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Grace
On high mountain breezes or lowland gusts,
Even lowly crows can soar.
And these denied, the eagles are bust
And but weary pedestrians in the sky.
And so it must be with God's grace and love
And birdbrains like you and me.
Perhaps nothing is more graceful and beautiful than an eagle soaring on an updraft of crisp, clean alpine air with a backdrop of pristine snow covered peaks. It glides and dips and curves all with a smooth twist of its tail. A crow in such rarefied climes doesn't present nearly as much grace, but glides and dives with all the jerkiness and enthusiasm of whitewater rafters. Wheee!!! But for all its clumsiness and awkwardness, it soars nonetheless. Put both birds in the middle of a windless desert and the odds are even, each can only rise with the ungainly flapping of wings
When Isaiah wrote "Those who hope in the Lord shall renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles," the message is not that we will become eagles, but that hoping in the Lord will make us soar like eagles. Earlier in the passage he writes, "He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak." Several analogies spring to mind. I seldom feel like an eagle, my life seems more crow-like, with its many failures and shortcomings. Also, in the Church we are called to different service. Few are called to be the eagles, most are called simply to faithfully fulfill less glorious roles. In either case, in the arena of our personal lives with our struggles, or in the separate callings in the Church, the emphasis must always be on the sustaining wind of God's grace. We can choose to fly wearily in our own strength or choose to soar in the wondrous grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.
_________________________________
p.s. i have seen the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe...yeah, the new one. 
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May 10, 2005
For a Lapsed Blog....Some Lyrics from Waterdeep
Here are some fine lyrics from the band Waterdeep, which I have featured before on this site.
Hush
by Lori Chaffer
When you feel like the days just drone on and on and on
and you feel like the nights are quickly gone
and on the inside your heart is gaping wide
and on the inside you feel like no oneÕs on your side
well, I am
When you thought you could rest, but you found out you were wrong
And thereÕs another need another battle
another one more thing that comes along
and on the inside
you hear the fall but you hate the falling sound
and on the insideyou canÕt pick another broken piece up off the ground
well I know
CHORUS
Hush little baby donÕt say a word
DaddyÕs gone and bought you a great big heaven to rest in
HeÕs bought it with blood and put the seal in your heart
itÕll give you the hope you need to get up and start again
when all the things you thought you left behind are still hanging on
and everything you try to do right ends up all wrong
and on the inside everyone else seems basically fine
but on the inside even they wonÕt let go of the dead and cling to whatÕs alive
well I AM
Lonely Sometimes
by Don Chaffer
I woke up from a strange rain
And it was dreaming outside
I rolled over for the telephone
I thought IÕd call someone
Tell them I dreamed I had died
But I know that I was all alone
I just get lonely sometimes
I want someone to take away my grief
I just get lonely sometimes
I want to wake up in the morning with someone
Lying next to me who I can turn to for relief
I just get lonely sometimes
But I know I just need You
I probably slept in a bed of bitterness
ThatÕs why I woke up this way
ThatÕs probably why IÕm in this lonesome hole
I probably got to nee