Yes, I consider myself a capable and smart young adult. I say this not out of pride, but becasue I believe most people should feel confident in and of their own skin and should hold their head high when in public. This past week, however, I have found the anamolies to this theory. It has seemed that all of the world's strangest, wildest, dumbest, and mentally distrought humans have surfaced to float around on the top like curd for a while. I have very little hope for humanity after this week of communicating with the general population. I left a status update on Facebook the other day signaling my distress and my good friend John sent me a comment saying, "The more the people in this town hate you... The more that you should be assured you're a real human-being." To that, I say right on, John... Right on. Please, peek with me into the insane and vile mess of things our lovely population has beheld this week.
When you call on the phone, at least have a reason to call. If you don't have a reason, then leave me alone, leave all of us alone, because this is what normal people dub as annoying. Example: this week, it was my duty to partake in the reception duties of the law office I work for, a great and respectable law office with some collegues who I admire and respect I might add. However, the likens of the people who call with cases ranges from completely normal to downright insane and impossible. It is these crazy bandits who must tell me their entire life story and then some with a case we don't even handle. "Um, yeah, I got injured when my boss threw a paper in my direction and it gave me a papercut and I think I have a vitamin K deficiency from it so is there a way I can like make money off of that?" To that, I would like to respond, "Yes, money so you can afford the medication you should be on." Now don't think this is out of the ordinary. Granted, I have never actually had someone call about that specific incident, but one of these days, I am sure I will.
I always figure I am an edgy person, with specific ideas of my own and an edgy personality. Then I meet some of the people who walk in the firm and realize that I am nowhere near the edge; some people live in a cottage on the edge where they only go out in the day every once and a great while. At least they ground me and allow me to realize I'm not too insane. For instance, I begin my job the other morning answering the phones. Right off the block, first call of the day, was a person looking for someone who was unavailable. I tell them they aren't there. "Ah, well what's your name?" I tell them. "Kyle? Mmmnnmmm, Kyyyylllleee... Hmmmnnmmm... (heavy breathing)...click" Speechless. I have no idea what to say, and it only got crazier from there, trust me.
What about the naked psychic man? He was especially weird and strangley memorable. I usually don't like going into the locker room at the gym since most of the men in there are over 65 and usually naked. But, in order to swim laps, I have to walk through there and I do it much like walking through a mine-field: I close my eyes and run, hoping for the best. No dice this time, however. Here he comes strolling up, in his naked, awkward glory, and begins talking to me about how he could see into the heavens and witness dead people all the time. Of course, his nakedness only aided to his credibility. Then, walking over closer to me, much to my horror, he began, "peering into my aura," which I am proud to say is clean as whistle, apparently, and also reminds him of the 1983 Tampa Bay Buckaneers, a sad time in football indeed.
I don't make this stuff up, because if I could even conjure up half of the insane things I have had to deal with in my lifetime, I would be one troubled kid. Along with the rest of the working force of this beloved country, I wake up on Mondays and contemplate murdering all of the people with inane, retarted remarks made throughout the day. In it's original context, Monday literally means "day of the moon;" in Christian countries, it means "the day after the big game." But to me, Monday means, "run away, as fast as you can, because I might go postal." We all have these days, the days marked "BEWARE OF ME." Obviously, some people are just downright insane and have these days all the bloody time! I hold no grudges obviously....... Anyways, these times never cease to make us pull out our hair and make our spine cringe. As Phillipians 4 encourages, though, "Rejoice in the Lord always... because the Lord is near," which is the Biblical equivalent of, "5 o'clock is almost here and you can go home from a long day at work." You will only have to endure the crazies for just a tad longer. So hang in there, because I can garuntee two things:
1) I feel your pain; a man STANDING NEXT TO THE ENTRANCE just now asked me the way out of the office! The air vent you moron! Gah, they just don't stop, do they? Oh and...
2) The peace of God, which transends all understanding, will guards your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. -Phillipians 4:7
So here's to surviving the workweek, and the week in general. Lord knows we need it; they don't call it a concrete jungle for nothing. Sometimes, it feels like some of these mental patients come from the actual jungle. But, here's to getting through this thing with some sanity, because even if you only have one nerve left, just know that some people lit their nerve on fire a long time ago... you are ahead of the curve.
KB
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Executions
When I saw this article, I immediately knew I was going to write about it. I have no idea what drew me to it, but something within the body of this article, the subject blew me away. You can read it for yourself at http://www.cnn.com/2009/CRIME/07/20/texas.execution.witness/index.html and I urge you to do so. If you don't, which I understand you may not (you lazy reader you), then in short, it tells the story of a man who has witnessed over 315 executions in the state of Texas, more than any other reporter, prison worker, or reverend in the nation. The article talks about other men who have held a candle up to the macrabe record and how the experience has radically shifted their ideaology to being against the death penalty and the strong protest they hold against it today and all the hot water they boil with their furvor today. This man, however, is different.
He holds no grudges against what he has seen. His employers have offered him therapy and counselling, and he declined them all. It turns out this is just one small aspect of his job at the Associated Press in Texas. In fact, he holds no specific opinion about the death penalty and usually flat out refuses to discuss the issue. Then why does he go to them? As he puts it, "I would hate for the state of Texas to take someone's life and no one be there." Simple. Uncomplicated. Indisputable.
And yet, few have such standards. I was watching a reality TV show where several individuals were forced into confinement and forced to live off of only the things they could find and forced to barracade themselves in a fortress- just like ever other reality game show on primetime. Later on in the show, after the original group was established, more contestants were introduced at random, without previous notification. The original group flipped out at the newcomers, ranging between beliefs of shunning them to sheltering them. Then, in the middle of this chaos and confusion, one of the less gutsy contestants opened the doors to the fortress and allowed them passage in. The group was outraged. They yelled. They screamed. They cussed. This poor guy was getting his head caved in with condemnation. When asked why he did this without the other's consent, he pathetically whined, "Because I couldn't leave those poor individuals out in the cold without food and shelter! It's just not right." Now what you might find as an act of selfless valor, I find as stupidity and humor. He risked everything for these strange people, allowing them to come in without knowing them, without even talking to them for long, and without the groups OK. Of course, this new group was eternally grateful, blah blah, it ended up for the better- whatever. Yet if this same man were in his suburban home, or driving to work in his car, would he have the same heart, or would the fact that he is now also pain and alone and homeless have aided to his compassion? Was it condtional or indisputable? Was it compassion or a hardened belief of his? Was it because he wanted to or needed to?
Here is what I am getting at- what if selfless giving is not about what we feel we should do or even want to do. What if selfless givng is all about the feeling that we need to do something. Why should we feel pity and compassion on those in need when we ourselves, suburban home or not, are just as morose and in need as those we give to? The early church had nothing to do with the format we follow today. It had no sermon, they rarely read from the scriptures since the Canon was not developed. They simply met and encouraged each other and blessed each other with giving whatever, whenever it was needed because they realized they were just as needy as anybody else on this planet. To them, it wasn't a question of comfort or desire, but it was a fact that they were compelled to help because together, nothng could tear them down.
I think we often fail to realize man's inhumanity to man. We deject the heros until we need them. We uplift the unrighteous right up until they cause harm. We refuse the rejected and give to the already blessed. Inequality is impossible when it is paraded around like a fad or a blame instead of a way of life. We also fail to realize that sometimes the most in need of our support are the ones who give the most. On behalf of all the selfless givers out there, I speak out and urge us all to band together and insure that their fight is not fought alone. They need just as much as the rest of us- we are all desperate, whether we realize it or not. In fact, all people need our compassion, including ourselves.
So just like a man who shows up to executions, let us face the shadow of the valley of death and dying with a heart that will refuse to look away. We will look upon every injustice and every misconduct and give of ourselves in every way possible not because salvation is our underlying premise, persay, or we feel that it would be a good thing to do, but because we find that we must not look away. Let us not leave any person, whether worthy or not, whether kind or not, whether beaten, rude, crass, evil, malice, or vile, let us not leave one person alone in the face of judgemet. We all deserve nothing. Yet one man hung on the cross and instead of simply being there for us, he actually took on our execution in return for love. So here's to learning what love is, even if it breaks our hearts at times. Here's to never leaving someone alone to face the chair by themselves. Here's to what love really looks like.
KB
He holds no grudges against what he has seen. His employers have offered him therapy and counselling, and he declined them all. It turns out this is just one small aspect of his job at the Associated Press in Texas. In fact, he holds no specific opinion about the death penalty and usually flat out refuses to discuss the issue. Then why does he go to them? As he puts it, "I would hate for the state of Texas to take someone's life and no one be there." Simple. Uncomplicated. Indisputable.
And yet, few have such standards. I was watching a reality TV show where several individuals were forced into confinement and forced to live off of only the things they could find and forced to barracade themselves in a fortress- just like ever other reality game show on primetime. Later on in the show, after the original group was established, more contestants were introduced at random, without previous notification. The original group flipped out at the newcomers, ranging between beliefs of shunning them to sheltering them. Then, in the middle of this chaos and confusion, one of the less gutsy contestants opened the doors to the fortress and allowed them passage in. The group was outraged. They yelled. They screamed. They cussed. This poor guy was getting his head caved in with condemnation. When asked why he did this without the other's consent, he pathetically whined, "Because I couldn't leave those poor individuals out in the cold without food and shelter! It's just not right." Now what you might find as an act of selfless valor, I find as stupidity and humor. He risked everything for these strange people, allowing them to come in without knowing them, without even talking to them for long, and without the groups OK. Of course, this new group was eternally grateful, blah blah, it ended up for the better- whatever. Yet if this same man were in his suburban home, or driving to work in his car, would he have the same heart, or would the fact that he is now also pain and alone and homeless have aided to his compassion? Was it condtional or indisputable? Was it compassion or a hardened belief of his? Was it because he wanted to or needed to?
Here is what I am getting at- what if selfless giving is not about what we feel we should do or even want to do. What if selfless givng is all about the feeling that we need to do something. Why should we feel pity and compassion on those in need when we ourselves, suburban home or not, are just as morose and in need as those we give to? The early church had nothing to do with the format we follow today. It had no sermon, they rarely read from the scriptures since the Canon was not developed. They simply met and encouraged each other and blessed each other with giving whatever, whenever it was needed because they realized they were just as needy as anybody else on this planet. To them, it wasn't a question of comfort or desire, but it was a fact that they were compelled to help because together, nothng could tear them down.
I think we often fail to realize man's inhumanity to man. We deject the heros until we need them. We uplift the unrighteous right up until they cause harm. We refuse the rejected and give to the already blessed. Inequality is impossible when it is paraded around like a fad or a blame instead of a way of life. We also fail to realize that sometimes the most in need of our support are the ones who give the most. On behalf of all the selfless givers out there, I speak out and urge us all to band together and insure that their fight is not fought alone. They need just as much as the rest of us- we are all desperate, whether we realize it or not. In fact, all people need our compassion, including ourselves.
So just like a man who shows up to executions, let us face the shadow of the valley of death and dying with a heart that will refuse to look away. We will look upon every injustice and every misconduct and give of ourselves in every way possible not because salvation is our underlying premise, persay, or we feel that it would be a good thing to do, but because we find that we must not look away. Let us not leave any person, whether worthy or not, whether kind or not, whether beaten, rude, crass, evil, malice, or vile, let us not leave one person alone in the face of judgemet. We all deserve nothing. Yet one man hung on the cross and instead of simply being there for us, he actually took on our execution in return for love. So here's to learning what love is, even if it breaks our hearts at times. Here's to never leaving someone alone to face the chair by themselves. Here's to what love really looks like.
KB
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Beauty is What Beauty Does
Pictures are an awkward thing. Some believe that a picture plucks part of your soul away from you when it flashes at you. Others think that a picture can paint a thousand words. I think that pictures are a lovely keepsake to remember the good times in your life. Any angle you look at it from, pictures are a powerful, yet awkward thing, and here's why.
I took my senior pictures this past week. I am no model (however I have been offered a runway job... long story) but I assumed that the pictures went well. The photographer posed me in front of a myriad of different places and flashed a bunch of pictures. While we did this, I couldn't help but wonder if we put way too much flack on models for their shallowness and stupidity. I learned something, though, in the hour of picture taking I attended- modeling is not just easy, but involves nothing more than one's own beauty and fleshly desires. It is a piece of cake with very little involved in the process so yes, they are shallow primadonnas.
However, here I was, taking these pictures. I was really excited about taking them because it would make me officially a senior in high school and plus, it isn't something you get to do every day. While we were outside taking pictures around town, the weather started to grow dark and eerie and the wind started to pick up. I thought, "Great, the beauty of the day is gone and now my pictures are going to turn out shoddy because the stupid weather is picking up." Ah, but I was wrong. You see, the wind that was blowing out of control and the stormy skies above only allowed the photographer to paint a better picture with her camera. She used the scene to make the pictures come out with more drama, more pizazz. She used the wind that was fighting against us to better ourselves.
Now as a writer at heart, I was reminded of a bunch of other stories like this one. If you want to hear my favorite version of this story, go to (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpKmFuOpshk). It is a long story, but worth the 8 minutes. If you don't decide to check out the video, let me just sum it up by saying that you'll find my story not unlike others stories. But the point of this post isn't to state something new, but to remind us all of an important lesson in loving life.
Life's perspective isn't created by the circumstances around us, but by the eyes we choose to look out of them. I wonder how many times we have issues in our life where we just cannot see the beauty of it. I have heard many people refer to these moments as storms in their life, which always catches my attention. I love storms. I think rain is magnificent, lightning is gorgeous, thunder is powerful- I just love a good storm. It made me realize that we can choose to look with our own eyes and see the destruction and chaos of our situations, or we can look out of the eyes of the photographer and see the art thereof. Now, if you know me, you would know that I am the worlds most pessimistically cynical optimist, and I am not asking you to put on a smiley face and get on with your day. Instead, I dare you to look back and see the painting in a fuller, more broad scale. Paintings aren't always so cheerful and brightening as we may want them to be, but they always have a way of showing how tasteful the artist was when they painted the picture.
Some of the greatest pieces of art are pictures of sadness or pain. However, the most beautiful of scenes history has ever given us was upon the hill of Golgotha, upon a splintery, wooden cross. It wasn't fun, happy, rejoicing at the time, nor what the onlookers would have painted. But it was beautiful and that was the point. So here is to your week. May you look through the camera of the master artist and see the beauty in the storm.
KB
I took my senior pictures this past week. I am no model (however I have been offered a runway job... long story) but I assumed that the pictures went well. The photographer posed me in front of a myriad of different places and flashed a bunch of pictures. While we did this, I couldn't help but wonder if we put way too much flack on models for their shallowness and stupidity. I learned something, though, in the hour of picture taking I attended- modeling is not just easy, but involves nothing more than one's own beauty and fleshly desires. It is a piece of cake with very little involved in the process so yes, they are shallow primadonnas.
However, here I was, taking these pictures. I was really excited about taking them because it would make me officially a senior in high school and plus, it isn't something you get to do every day. While we were outside taking pictures around town, the weather started to grow dark and eerie and the wind started to pick up. I thought, "Great, the beauty of the day is gone and now my pictures are going to turn out shoddy because the stupid weather is picking up." Ah, but I was wrong. You see, the wind that was blowing out of control and the stormy skies above only allowed the photographer to paint a better picture with her camera. She used the scene to make the pictures come out with more drama, more pizazz. She used the wind that was fighting against us to better ourselves.
Now as a writer at heart, I was reminded of a bunch of other stories like this one. If you want to hear my favorite version of this story, go to (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpKmFuOpshk). It is a long story, but worth the 8 minutes. If you don't decide to check out the video, let me just sum it up by saying that you'll find my story not unlike others stories. But the point of this post isn't to state something new, but to remind us all of an important lesson in loving life.
Life's perspective isn't created by the circumstances around us, but by the eyes we choose to look out of them. I wonder how many times we have issues in our life where we just cannot see the beauty of it. I have heard many people refer to these moments as storms in their life, which always catches my attention. I love storms. I think rain is magnificent, lightning is gorgeous, thunder is powerful- I just love a good storm. It made me realize that we can choose to look with our own eyes and see the destruction and chaos of our situations, or we can look out of the eyes of the photographer and see the art thereof. Now, if you know me, you would know that I am the worlds most pessimistically cynical optimist, and I am not asking you to put on a smiley face and get on with your day. Instead, I dare you to look back and see the painting in a fuller, more broad scale. Paintings aren't always so cheerful and brightening as we may want them to be, but they always have a way of showing how tasteful the artist was when they painted the picture.
Some of the greatest pieces of art are pictures of sadness or pain. However, the most beautiful of scenes history has ever given us was upon the hill of Golgotha, upon a splintery, wooden cross. It wasn't fun, happy, rejoicing at the time, nor what the onlookers would have painted. But it was beautiful and that was the point. So here is to your week. May you look through the camera of the master artist and see the beauty in the storm.
KB
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Breaking Point...
I have no clue how many of you actually read this blog, but I appreciate the dedication you have for it. It is really nice of you. But I think I have hit a breaking point as I write this tonight. It is a breaking point of frustration and amazement. I'm frustrated that things have been rolling just the same dadgum way for years and years and amazed that nothing has been done to solve our problems. So here are the uncensored, unadulterated, pure words of the world's biggest, most sarcasticly positive cynic.
What has your life amounted to? You who sit here and read this? Are you vegging out to primetime TV and enjoying yet another pre-cooked chicken breast tonight just like you have for years on end? Where the heck have you ended up that is so much more important than the issue that really lurks over your life- that you have yet to make your mark in this world? I have preached a number of messages from the heart and a number of heart-felt, emotional talks that have fallen on deaf ears that will no more do any of the things I suggest than they have before. My sermons consist of the unoriginal peptalk of the century, urging the listener to take a stand in a sitting world. But they don't! They don't even come close. They don't even care enough to figure out just what the heck life is all about let alone doing one iota of the things a genuine human being would ever do. I have yet to see a living, breathing human being, one who is not afraid of emotions or love or independence or simplicity or complexity. I have seen the same people walk the same street doing the same thing on the same day with the same attitude as they always have. Even as I sit here and write this, how do I know you will take a stand for anything you believe in, let alone anybody read this in the first place. I don't, but I don't write this for you; I write this for someone greater.
I hate the shallow talks of girls who no more find themselves a brain than they do sense enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with an adult. I have yet to see an adult who doesn't carry on like a child and throw fits at their own little pet peeves. I have yet to see a Christian walk the streets without either a Bible in their hands to subdue the evil or a gun in their hands to crucify the hypocrite. I have yet to see a member of a congregation do something rebelliously right, like taking in the sick and poor LITERALLY, and stand for something other than the tempo of the songs and the wafers of communion. I hate how there are only a handful of people on this earth who have something going for them, such as a life worth living and remembering. God, I wish I never end up a statistic on a page or a column in an obituary with nothing to prove my existence. I wish at least one person would hear the cry of a man and tend to him, to hear the call of the sick and wish them well, or to be the person it was all about in the first place- the Son. How I long to have every denomination and church dissolve and we revert to the basic and true way things were in the beginning of this whole mess. Don't follow me yet? I'm talking about being true to something grand. I'm saying... I'm saying... be someone worth living.
Look, whatever, this is just a late night rant. But if you've read this far, then know that I don't joke around. I wish and long for this world to know what a true believer looks like. I long for Christ. I... long... for... love... and I dare you to give it.
KB
What has your life amounted to? You who sit here and read this? Are you vegging out to primetime TV and enjoying yet another pre-cooked chicken breast tonight just like you have for years on end? Where the heck have you ended up that is so much more important than the issue that really lurks over your life- that you have yet to make your mark in this world? I have preached a number of messages from the heart and a number of heart-felt, emotional talks that have fallen on deaf ears that will no more do any of the things I suggest than they have before. My sermons consist of the unoriginal peptalk of the century, urging the listener to take a stand in a sitting world. But they don't! They don't even come close. They don't even care enough to figure out just what the heck life is all about let alone doing one iota of the things a genuine human being would ever do. I have yet to see a living, breathing human being, one who is not afraid of emotions or love or independence or simplicity or complexity. I have seen the same people walk the same street doing the same thing on the same day with the same attitude as they always have. Even as I sit here and write this, how do I know you will take a stand for anything you believe in, let alone anybody read this in the first place. I don't, but I don't write this for you; I write this for someone greater.
I hate the shallow talks of girls who no more find themselves a brain than they do sense enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with an adult. I have yet to see an adult who doesn't carry on like a child and throw fits at their own little pet peeves. I have yet to see a Christian walk the streets without either a Bible in their hands to subdue the evil or a gun in their hands to crucify the hypocrite. I have yet to see a member of a congregation do something rebelliously right, like taking in the sick and poor LITERALLY, and stand for something other than the tempo of the songs and the wafers of communion. I hate how there are only a handful of people on this earth who have something going for them, such as a life worth living and remembering. God, I wish I never end up a statistic on a page or a column in an obituary with nothing to prove my existence. I wish at least one person would hear the cry of a man and tend to him, to hear the call of the sick and wish them well, or to be the person it was all about in the first place- the Son. How I long to have every denomination and church dissolve and we revert to the basic and true way things were in the beginning of this whole mess. Don't follow me yet? I'm talking about being true to something grand. I'm saying... I'm saying... be someone worth living.
Look, whatever, this is just a late night rant. But if you've read this far, then know that I don't joke around. I wish and long for this world to know what a true believer looks like. I long for Christ. I... long... for... love... and I dare you to give it.
KB
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Who Let the Dogs Out?- Please Return Them
We got a new dog. Well, not yet anyways, but give it a week and that thing in our back yard will have a cutsie leash and collar and be with us forever. I dub him to be called Tyson, after Mike Tyson. He came to us a stray and reminds me of the fighter my sister and I have named him after. He is missing a chunk out of one of his ears and is a big, black fighting dog with a heart of gold. My mother likens the name Rip. To me, this possesses zero orginality and one hundred percent cliche'. My father likens the name to be "it" since he really doesn't want to keep another dog, thus detatching himself from any emotional connection whatsoever. I don't blame him, however his defiance is futile. My mom loves the dog and if momma ain't happy... But since my sister and I have no say in the dog since we are leaving for school shortly, my father has no backup in this one; thus we'll have a new dog by friday.
I don't hate dogs, don't get me wrong. I love them. Some of them. Ok, so I'm rather picky about them but I like them far more than cats. Cats were once worshiped and never got over the attention. Anyways, there are three awesome dogs in this world- Great Danes, Huskies, and Boxers. Chiuaua's are the Devil's personal guard dog. Everything else falls in between these extremes of breeds on the scale. The one in our backyard happens to lean more toward the awesome side rather than the Devil's side. But we already have two smelly mutts of our own. One of them, Sport, well, he's pretty cool. He came to us a stray as well and grew on us and so far, while not possessing much intelligence, is a great dog. Jackson is my sister's dog. Lord knows why we bought him since my sister was heading off the college anyways. Nobody but my sister likes it, and I mean nobody. We, rather me, calls him the gay dog. Why? Because he prances around like a poodle, gets bows in his hair at the groomer, and wears plaid and likes it! Beyond that, we've owned a space cadet Doberman, an evil, overweight Wire Hair, and an old, blind Boston Terrier. We also owned a rabbit for some time until that evil Wire Hair ate him. Obviously, my track record with pets is sub-par.
The interesting part of this latest escapade has been watching my parents fawn over this new dog. I left for a week long conference in Atlanta right as Tyson showed up. My parents are the kind of people who will never be without a dog as long as they live and complain about having them when they do. My sister and I both called it right before we left as well- we have another member of the family. Ironically, it's the dogs that find us, not the ones we find that make the best dogs. The ones we find are usually weird, annoying, or gay. And it's this fate that draws us to love man's best friend even more.
Some things in life, we set out to find. Other things in life, we are found by. The good, the bad, and the ugly all conglomerate around our everyday lives and gives us things we don't need, want, or demand yet odly help us appreciate the very existence of life anyways. These aren't just spontaneous bursts of randomness or coincidence. They are beautiful brush strokes painted by a caring yet mind-boggling God. As the cliche' passage tells us in Roman 8:28, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." The glory of life is in the spontanaity of God's pre-written plan. We have no idea who or what will find us nor what we will find on our journey. It's a lot like watching a spider web being formed. Each strand is crucial to the strand before it for the structural soundness of the web. Some strings never touch, though, and others touch only at the very end of the web, but each is vital to the web as a whole. Likewise, there are things in our life that don't make sense or seem totally random. However, without them, our lives would not be complete and other's lives would not be complete. Each and every one of us is here for a beautiful reason- to build upon a structrual soundness of our web.
So here's to all the amazing, mind bending, odd things that cross your path every day. Make the most of it, live along side it, build others up, and enjoy how life drops just enough lemons off to either make you sick or make lemonaid. Here's to all the strays in life that find their home in the most unsuspecting places, whether those strays be you, me, a friend, or a mysterious black pooch sitting on our back porch as we speak.
KB
P.S. If you have a suggestion for a name to call this thing, it would be much appreciated if you left it in the comments below. Just pick anything but "Rip." I refuse to call him that.
I don't hate dogs, don't get me wrong. I love them. Some of them. Ok, so I'm rather picky about them but I like them far more than cats. Cats were once worshiped and never got over the attention. Anyways, there are three awesome dogs in this world- Great Danes, Huskies, and Boxers. Chiuaua's are the Devil's personal guard dog. Everything else falls in between these extremes of breeds on the scale. The one in our backyard happens to lean more toward the awesome side rather than the Devil's side. But we already have two smelly mutts of our own. One of them, Sport, well, he's pretty cool. He came to us a stray as well and grew on us and so far, while not possessing much intelligence, is a great dog. Jackson is my sister's dog. Lord knows why we bought him since my sister was heading off the college anyways. Nobody but my sister likes it, and I mean nobody. We, rather me, calls him the gay dog. Why? Because he prances around like a poodle, gets bows in his hair at the groomer, and wears plaid and likes it! Beyond that, we've owned a space cadet Doberman, an evil, overweight Wire Hair, and an old, blind Boston Terrier. We also owned a rabbit for some time until that evil Wire Hair ate him. Obviously, my track record with pets is sub-par.
The interesting part of this latest escapade has been watching my parents fawn over this new dog. I left for a week long conference in Atlanta right as Tyson showed up. My parents are the kind of people who will never be without a dog as long as they live and complain about having them when they do. My sister and I both called it right before we left as well- we have another member of the family. Ironically, it's the dogs that find us, not the ones we find that make the best dogs. The ones we find are usually weird, annoying, or gay. And it's this fate that draws us to love man's best friend even more.
Some things in life, we set out to find. Other things in life, we are found by. The good, the bad, and the ugly all conglomerate around our everyday lives and gives us things we don't need, want, or demand yet odly help us appreciate the very existence of life anyways. These aren't just spontaneous bursts of randomness or coincidence. They are beautiful brush strokes painted by a caring yet mind-boggling God. As the cliche' passage tells us in Roman 8:28, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." The glory of life is in the spontanaity of God's pre-written plan. We have no idea who or what will find us nor what we will find on our journey. It's a lot like watching a spider web being formed. Each strand is crucial to the strand before it for the structural soundness of the web. Some strings never touch, though, and others touch only at the very end of the web, but each is vital to the web as a whole. Likewise, there are things in our life that don't make sense or seem totally random. However, without them, our lives would not be complete and other's lives would not be complete. Each and every one of us is here for a beautiful reason- to build upon a structrual soundness of our web.
So here's to all the amazing, mind bending, odd things that cross your path every day. Make the most of it, live along side it, build others up, and enjoy how life drops just enough lemons off to either make you sick or make lemonaid. Here's to all the strays in life that find their home in the most unsuspecting places, whether those strays be you, me, a friend, or a mysterious black pooch sitting on our back porch as we speak.
KB
P.S. If you have a suggestion for a name to call this thing, it would be much appreciated if you left it in the comments below. Just pick anything but "Rip." I refuse to call him that.
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