12th Day of Christmas

ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, twelve drummers drummers.

These gifts are weird. I'm glad I'm not this guy's friend.

The twelfth day resembles the apostle's creed:

1) I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. 2) I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. 3) He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. 4) He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell [the grave]. 5) On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. 6) He will come again to judge the living and the dead. 7) I believe in the Holy Spirit, 8) the holy catholic Church, 9) the communion of saints, 10) the forgiveness of sins, 11) the resurrection of the body, 12) and life everlasting.

Got all that? It is the end of the song and symbolizes the completion of Christ's ministry on earth. But the song is missing something. I think it's on purpose.

Where's Jesus' birth?

Doesn't it strike you as odd that a song about the birth of Christ never talks about the actual birth of Christ? If so, then doesn't it strike you as odd that a holiday symbolizing the birth of Christ never talks about the actual birth of Christ, even in our own homes? We get caught up in the swing of the holiday, we overlook it. Far be it from me to turn this blog into a cliche' e-mail forward. But I think we celebrate it all wrong though. The fact the Jesus was born means something big to me- it means he was human!

My point in bringing it up is to challenge you to celebrate his birthday by doing something extraordinary. Throw a birthday party instead of a Christmas party! If celebrating Jesus' birth isn't your "religious preference," then I'm sorry, but I'm going to ask you to bite the wall. We Protestants and even the Catholics made this holiday about Christ, and we'll be darned if it is about anything but Christ. Why am I so touchy about this? It's because it's Jesus' birthday. It is not a time to give a yearly donation or have a church service made up of taking offerings. It's a birthday party. It's not a guilt trip holiday where we beat ourselves up over the issues in our life- what a terrible party. For one day in the year, it is a time where EVERYBODY is invited to celebrate the birthday of a great guy, a wonderful Savior, and God in the flesh. So for one day in the year, every person you see, treat them like you were invited to the same birthday party and you just wanna have fun. That's what Christ would have wanted- a bunch of people genuinely loving each other. So give Christ the gift he wanted you to give in the first place- loving to live life!

I pray you may be ACTIVE in sharing your faith so that you might know all the great things we have in Christ Jesus. -Philemon 6

KB

Merry Christmas!

11th Day of Christmas

ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, eleven pipers piping.

I am not extremely musically inclined, at least I think not. I understand those who are not so inclined probably didn't like the day about worship. That's fine. Not only do I understand that some people don't like to sing, I think there are some people who shouldn't sing at all. Throughout the history of sports, the national anthem has been butchered in so many ways it isn't funny- those are the kind of people who shouldn't think so highly of their talent. As for me, I have played a few instruments in my day, but I don't consider myself extremely talented. These eleven guys play music, pipe music to be exactly. They jingle and tingle their flutes all day long, alongside a bunch of birds and angry ladies in the Twelve Days of Christmas. They can actually play music and sound good, which is better than I could say I do. However, I have tried to learn a variety of instruments.

I once played in a fife band. Don't know what a fife band is? Me either. I just know it involved an angry, drunk Irishman and a lot of home schooled nerds like myself playing dorky instruments like the snare drum and the flute. It was cool for a while, but playing the snare drum doesn't always impress the ladies. I played the piano for years and have only lately begun to play it well at all. I play the guitar and actually have a few of them that are actually worth something. However, by no means do I claim to know all there is about the instruments I play. I can actually hardly fine tune the instruments. But I enjoy playing them; they help me zone out during a long and stressful day, so naturally I play them all the time!

The eleventh day stands for the eleven faithful disciples. They were the guys who followed Jesus through thick and thin and no matter what, they stood in faith that Jesus wasn't a crazy guy talking a whole lot of bologna. That would be a tough thing to deal with. I am sure they had moments during their journey with Jesus when doubts rose up about the validity of what the man did, as they enemy would have loved for them to think. However, they remained faithful, and for that, they were heavily rewarded.

We are all called unto God's kingdom, to follow his will. When we start that journey, we naturally have feelings of apprehension, of doubt. We aren't sure that what we got ourselves into was actually the real deal. When I started playing instruments, I had to be faithful. No Mozart is born the first time they are placed behind the keys. Overtime, they develop an ability to float along the keys and compose incredible works of art at the drop of a hat. It takes time though. Same with our relationship with Christ. I have seen too many people fall by the wayside early on because they didn't get past their doubts and trust fully. Doubt stood in the way. Maybe the eleventh day is about just that- overcoming doubt. Indeed, overcoming doubt is a component of faith, but it involves something that faith doesn't. Doubt reminds us that we are human, that we aren't in total control and have a hard time thinking anybody is in control of anything. But that's the call of the eleventh day, the same call of the disciples- the eleventh day is about overcoming doubt.

KB

10th Day of Christmas

ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, ten lords a' leaping.

Super weird.

Men who wear leotards cannot escape the stereotype of feminism in this day and age as they shouldn't. Men who wear tights are not considered manly. The expection is football. Those guys are tough, but I still admit, wearing leotard pants three sizes too small that make your backside look like cottage cheese is not a manly thing to do. They can beat each other up, just do it in jeans. I suppose some men find it fashionable. There is a whole following who likes to wear pants so tight, they risk a blod clot on a daily basis. If you ask me, I think it is dorky.

The tenth day resembled the ten commandments. These are the ones that Moses was divinely inspired to write by God on Mount Carmel, but the older readers will identify with Charlton Heston's commandments better. (By the way, a good way to tell if you are an old person- if you understood my pun, you are old. Sorry.) I am not downsizing the ten commandments, but often, in the secular realm, they are considered to be the "Thou shalt nots" of Christianity. AndI'm not saying God got anything wrong, I'm just going to say that the 11th commandment could have easily been "thou shalt wear pants." But no matter what the discrepancy is the commandments should be adhered to, including the 11th one, in my opinion.

Most of these Christmas days have hopefully made you all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm going to throw a curveball on this one. Hopefully today will challenge you as much as it challenged me. To me, the tenth day is about us following the voice of God, no matter what. It may not be fun but we need to. The Bible isn't a book of rules, but every command of God is commanded for a reason. They are there to help us, to make sure our lives don't get too chaotic. It would be better that we don't sleep around, committing adultry. It would be better that we don't hate and kill each other. It would be FAR better that men don't wear leotards in public. It is a good reminder for all of us. When God says something, we should do it simply because he knows more about our situation than we know about it. The tenth day is about following God's commands.

KB

9th Day of Christmas

ON THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, nine ladies dancing.

Broadway is not my thing. I hate musicals. The truth is, I have seen one musical and liked it- it was Spamalot. Spamalot, for those of you who don't know, is a farce of King Arthur based on the movie "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." Beyond that, I hate musicals for a couple of reasons. 1) The amount of jazz hands and spirited springs in their dancing is far from okay with me. 2) They get caught in your head. After Mama Mia came out at the movies, showtunes fans were singing ABBA like stagehands in a cheap Broadway theater. There is no way you can sing these songs and sound manly either. If you don't believe me, try singing something from West Side Story without snapping your fingers and trusting your hips.

These nine ladies are essentially their own broadway show. It's ironic that the author of the song wanted to give his love something that dances. Why? Because most people hate dancing. Dances today contain far too many wallflowers and dorks who don't want to be caught dead cutting a rug. The ones that do make it to the dance floor in this day in age perform what is called "B & G" (bumping and grinding- you can figure it out). Critics of this dance have called it "sex with your clothes on," which isn't far from the truth. The intentions of the dance are far from actually dancing. Every so often you will see a mosh pit. Real mosh pits look less like dancing and more like summoning rain from the heavens. The love of dancing for the sake of dancing is virtually lost.

There is a rogue group of us who still like it for what it is, though. Whether we can dance well is beside the point. It is that we love to dance. Music can make or break a day; you can tell a lot from the day by what music you hear throughout it. And for those of us who love to cut a rug and don't care what we look like, music is life. That is why worship is such an important part of our relationship to God. It expresses what is going on inside us better than words ever could. So if you hate dancing, then I urge you this week to try it. Your assignment is to dance in public at least once. Why? Because you will feel more alive than you ever have. The nine ladies dancing really resembled the nine fruits of the spirit (Galatians 5:22). Maybe the ninth day is asking us to show off our fruit via dance. The ninth day is about dancing. The ninth day is about worship.

KB

8th Day of Christmas

ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, eight maids a' milking.

I remember when I was in junior high school, my sister was a cheerleader. Her cheer team would band together and once a year, they would make tamales for the community as a fund raiser. Hundreds of tamales. Hundreds and hundreds of them. They would start in the wee hours of the morning, say 6:30, and work until 6:30 that night. Take it from me, it was the most horrifying process as women covered in flour would saunter out of the kitchen, their eyes turned demon-red from the hot chilis they were working with and their hair rising on end as the bun in their hair sagged down by their shoulders. It was one of the most unpleasant of memories in my childhood, one that will come up later in therapy. So when I hear eight maids were milking hundreds of cows, I laugh, because it reminds me of the scary, downturned faces of the women in that group.

The irony here is that the eighth day stands for the beatitudes, which are kind and holy attitudes which Christians were called to live by. Under normal conditions, eight ladies pulling on the udders of cows for hours on end would not only make them extremely cranky, it is kinda creepy to me. Who on earth looked at a cow and said, "You know, I think I'm going to suck on that thing and drink whatever comes out. There's no way it would taste totally nasty." I bet one guy looked at the wrong cow and thought he was drinking sour milk. I got news for that guy- it wasn't sour milk and it wasn't an udder and that cow had horns. Oops. Point is, there is only so much milking a maid can do before a maid goes mad- do the math.

The beatitudes are a call for us to live upright lives in the eyes of the Lord, to rise above carnal, evil desires and show God's love practically. But we don't always fulfill that call. I know that where I work, things can get a tad bit hairy and as a result, I get a tad bit cranky. I become agitated and irritated. I look nothing like the beatitudes found in Matthew 5:3-10. But these maids seem to like their job despite the cons of the job. They do it every day and they do it with joy. So maybe the eighth day is a call that we love what we do, no matter what we do, even if it isn't a fun job. The eighth day is about work.

KB

7th Day of Christmas

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, seven swans a' swimming.

You know those carnivals with the love boat rides made of giant swans? That was my first thought about this day. Swans are a regal animal, often associated with love and marriage. They form monogonous bonds with each other which is a fancy way of saying they tie the knot with a single partner for their lifetime. Translated into the song, the swans symbolize the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit (prophesy, ministry, teaching, exhortation, giving, leading, and compassion as seen in I Chorinthians 12:8-11). So what does a bird associated with love have to do with Holy Spirit gifts?

The idea that we use this gifts was what God intended for us. That we fulfill their purpose was the reason they were given in the first place- why would you give a gift to someone without the intentions of them using it? Whatever your religious convictions are about the extent of these gifts, may they be what they be. I am not trying to define them, I'm trying to encourage us to use them. That may sound like a contradiction, but if we at least start using them, it is better than not using them at all. Thus, the swan is simply a symbol of us using God's gift for the better. That we complete his love by using the gift he supplied us with. But this day isn't that simple.

If you look up the behaviors of a swan, you'll find something interesting. Lately, scientists have watched swans begin "divorcing" each other. They break their eternal bond with one another on purpose. Also, they have noticed that the swans that don't speak are prone to homosexual tendencies. This is a new thing for scientists and they are baffled by it because it goes against the laws of nature that have been the norm for thousands of years. The same applies with our gifts. When we don't use them or we simply abandon them, we find those gifts become a thing of the past, totally useless to anybody. It is not how Christians were intended to live. We were inteneded to use these gifts to the fullest. So the seventh day shows us something important, that we were given many gifts. So here's to the seventh day- using our gifts.

KB

6th Day of Christmas

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, six geese a'laying.

I have never and never will have the extreme pain of childbirth. Thank the Lord for the Y chromosome. I have seen my fair share of births on the Discovery Channel, but they are usually only 5 minutes longs and word on the street is that birth usually takes hours, if not days. I'm hoping that when my future wife gives birth to our child, TiVo-for-life will be invented and I could fast forward the event and go straight to when we are driving home. I'll keep my hopes up. I once saw a lamb give birth up close. All I remember of the the event was a lot of blood and a lot of screaming. I was pretty scared for a 3rd grade kid. That is my experience with pregnancy.
Now, let us multiply the event by six and have them giving birth around the clock. Granted, a bird lays an egg, but I'm sure it's not a pleasant process all the time, especially when we come by and fry the egg to make delicious omelets. Mmmmm, eggs. Some may think it's cruel, I think it's delicious. Anyways, these birds are on a 24 hour loop of giving birth. They constantly lay eggs rich with life supplying nutrients.

The sixth day symbolizes the six days of Creation found in Genesis. It accounts for how God gave six days dedicated solely to creation and making of life. And each day, we see life giving nutrients supplied by God instead of a goose. That creation has at times left scars from it's painful mistakes. However, God still loves his creation and dedicates all his time to watching over his creation, day in and day out. That is the purpose of the sixth day. To remind us that creation is constantly in motion and constantly watched over. So here's to the sixth day being about being creation. Here's to being loved by a Creator who loves creating.

KB

5th Day of Christmas

ON THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, fiiiiiivveeee gooolllddeenn riiinnnggssss. Finally, something that doesn't have feathers. We assume the rings are pure gold or at least 14K otherwise this lover is looking pretty stingy. Although, he got his love something that doesn't have to be fed and cleaned up after. He got his love something she'd actually appreciate. Or does she?

My father is involved with the jewelry business. Around the holiday, business picks up significantly. We see a number of lost men fall through the doors on the verge of a breakdown because he has no idea what to get his wife. In general, wives like things that sparkle. In order for a man to mess up a jewelry gift, he would have had to pick something so far from her liking it would be nearly impossible to get it wrong. The male species has been able to trump the odds, such as putting a man on the moon, and buying his wife a bad gift is no exception. And sure enough, December 26th sees men returning with their wives to get what they really wanted- they returned a toaster oven and got a diamond necklace. At least the wife gives him some slack since he at least attempted to get the right thing!

Symbolically, the five rings supposedly represent the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. Genesis is cool because it accounts for Adam and Eve, Cain and Able, and even the great Joseph and the technicolor dream coat, but the stories get old. Exodus is cool because it accounts for Moses leading the children of Israel out of Egypt. But after the 20th chapter, we find that all Israel is is a bunch of Jewish people in the middle of a hot desert, so they complain. The other three books are straight up boring. They have laws, accounts, a census or two. I would rather read Great Expectations backwards that read those three books in a day. In retrospect, these five books are anything but golden to the average reader.

But beneath them, we see a series of stories that are commonly overlooked. They are stories that, when put in context, are mind boggling. We just don't have the patience for them. We don't have the patients for a lot of things. There are things in this world we hate waiting for, like food and standing in line at the theater. But they are good things, we just choose not to see the beauty beneath them. So maybe the fifth day of five golden rings is just that. We must see the beauty of this world beneath its crusty outer layer and see the beauty that lies beneath. I think when we do, we won't see a world of muck and mire, but five golden rings. Here's to the fifth day being about the beauty beneath.

KB

4th Day of Christmas

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, four calling birds. Keeping in the tradition of birds, our lover here is starting to look like Alfred Hitchcock more and more. These are four calling birds. They call. A lot. They are loud. Very loud. And in all honesty, the amount of noise these small animals make is astounding.

If you have ever been around a parrot who talks, you know they sound like a politician. They say only what they've been taught and when they open their mouths, it is annoying and shrill. Four of these birds is more than enough to push the boundary of sanity. Bird names are always deceiving too. Whenever I had a friend who owned a bird, they called it "Sweetheart" or "Baby." Far from the truth. They acted more like "Squaker" or, in keeping with the politician idea, "Nancy Poloski."

If I got these specific four birds as a gift though, I would name them Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The fifth would be named Horatio but that is irrelavent. The original four stand for the gospels of the Bible- Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They are "calling" birds because they proclaim the name of the gospels. Normally, I would cringe at the warm feelings and church-y sound of this because when something is "churchy," it seems to diminish and water down the impact of something so powerful. But this time, I'll allow the church-y feel. It's Christmas.

In all honesty, these four books are shouted from the mountain tops all over the place. Churches have TV shows, outreach programs in colleges, youth groups for teens and tweens, Bible tracks- oh my gosh it is everywhere! As far as America is concerned, there is not a street corner that doesn't know something about the Bible or heard about Jesus. Heck, they same his name all the time, even if it's not in such a holy way. But they know about it at least. The reality of the situation is that nobody really knows the reality of how real it is. Lamen's Terms: Nobody really grasps all that Jesus did on this earth. These four books are a testament to what he did, but they aren't all he did. They cannot display his facial express or record his voice. They are only a small picture. But they call out every day. So, it is our duty to try and understand that magnitude. It is our job to grasp the reality of how great it is and was by living it every day. We must learn to be his facial expressions and his voice, or as the Bible says, his ambassadors (2 Chor. 5:20).

Philemon 6 says, "I pray you be active in sharing your faith so that you may have an understanding of every good thing we have in Christ." Being his ambassadors is a call to be a light in the things we do, not just the things we say. It is about trying to understand our Savior, our light. The fourth day is about understanding Light.

KB

3rd Day of Christmas

ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, three French hens. As noted twice before, the number of birds in the song is astonishing. However, much to the man's credit, hens are a practical gift. They lay eggs and provide good food, granted the lover in the song doesn't have a problem scraping up bird poo and decapitating a chicken. I have seen this practice on National Geographic a number of times and trust me, it takes a strong kind of woman to deal with that. The feathers, the blood, the crying, and that is coming from me just watching the chicken die!


As always, there is significance in the gift. The three hens in the song resemble that of faith, hope, and love- three principles found in the Bible under I Chorinthians 13. "And these three remain, faith, hope, and love and the greatest of these is love." I won't pull this translation apart simply because it is a good translation. Faith and hope and love are vital parts of the way we live in this world and they are three things we lack in this world.


Nobody lives with faith. When I hear people talk about government or politics, it is always with uncertainty and doubt. They have fear, not faith. Nobody lives with hope. There is a lack of hopeful people in this world. When someone has a desire to do something great with their lives, maybe like quit ther job and start their own business or go to work in the ministry, they don't do it because they are afraid to. They have no hope in greater things. Nobody lives with love. This is such a massive topic, but in short people hardly care about anybody but themselves. Nobody has trust in anybody but themselves. So maybe the third day is about living with what we don't have enough of and need more of. The third day is about living.


KB

2nd Day of Christmas

ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, my true love gave to me two turtle doves. Again, birds are a bad choice for any lover wanted to woo his love into their arms. However, the second day of Christmas offers an interesting animal anomaly- a turtle with a dove? How did that work out? Those are two creatures you don't normally see with one another. A turtle is slow. A bird is fast. A turtle is boring. A dove is schizophrenic. Why would anyone want to intermix those two? They are an odd couple.


It is said that the symbolic meaning of two turtle doves refers to the Old and New Testaments in the Bible. If that is what it means, then they have some very unique personalities. Why? Because the God of the Old Testatment was different than the New Testament God. The change was that he sent his only son to die so that we might have a direct line to God, not a sacrificial one.

As for the birds, they are both turtle doves, but they are different. My point is they are a pair that make up one. They are a couple that despite being odd and despite being far from each other in a lot of ways works out. Turtles and doves. Old and New. Peanut Butter and chocolate. Thing one and thing two. They complement each other. They work out to form one being, one entity. The two animals become a turtledove. Old and new- a Bible. Peanut Butter and chocolate- Reese's. Thing one, thing two- Dr. Seuss. Granted, they are an odd couple no matter how you look at it, but they are 1 gift, not two separate ones.


Relationships are like that. Opposites attract. Possibly, the second day is just that. It is about two radically different things working out. They meld together to create something that is one, but two. They aren't always perfect, in fact they never are. Husband and wives sometimes fight. Best friends can get on each other's nerves. Turtles and doves are nothing alike, but they meld together. But in the end, it all comes back to relationships. We are called to unite. To bind. To be two in one. Many people like to cut relationships off when things get bumpy. They don't like handling the pressure. But the second day is calling us to change that. It is calling us to accept our differences and get along. So here's to the second day- relationships.


And yes, I know that a turtledove has nothing to do with an actual turtle.


KB

1st Day of Christmas

This is a series of 12 stories leading up to Christmas, taken from the infamous Christmas song, 12 Days of Christmas. Be sure to follow them every day leading up to Christmas.

ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, a partridge in a pear tree. Thus starts a series of gifts that not only stink, but ultimately compile the longest song in Christmas history. In fact, anyone who knows the song knows that it contains six days dedicated solely to the bird. That is 23 birds. Now anybody who has had a bird as a pet knows that having a bird is the worst. They gawk, squawk, and poop us into a near suicidal state. That's why people have cats, to get rid of the birds. Dogs get rid of the cats. Owners beat the dogs for being stupid. The cycle continues.

The partridge on a pear tree is usually considered a symbol in this song. Some liken it to the story of Christ (the bird) hanging upon a tree (the pear tree). However, I'm not entirely certain Jesus like pears. I know he didn't like figs as seen in Matthew 21:18-22. I simply assume that he didn't like fruits in general, but that's a debate for another day. Others think that the symbolism was Catholics trying to teach the children a moral lesson through the use

of symbolism, but this is mostly a Protestant holiday, so I rule this out. Sure the Catholics had their share in contributing to the holy holiday, but we Protestants gave Santa a hat, reindeer, and a sled and the rest, they say, is history. Some whack-o's in the world might even think the symbolism has to do with the infamous Partridge Family, a popular family pop band who traveled the US in a colorful van during the 1970's. I'm not sure what Danny Bonaduce has to do with Christmas but I like this theory. It's very American.

In all purposes of writing this, here is my translation of the first day. Whoever is giving these gifts is the worst. I like pears, I'm not too fond of the bird, but at any rate I hardly consider a small tree a gift I want under my Christmas tree. In all good spirits, I think it has to do with how we act when we get those terrible gifts. You know when you get socks from someone, you give them that look that shouts, "Did you keep the receipt?" But it isn't in the gift we find our joy. It is in the giving. It is in the spirit of giving. So here's to the first day of Christmas- love to give.

KB

Welcome Santa

It's finally December, which means Christmas has finally reared its ugly head into our lives. Whether you like it or not, it is time for Christmas to begin, which means Santa will get fatter, Wal-Mart will grow bigger, and we will all grow more busy. It's a great American holiday.

Thanksgiving is somewhat of a forgotten child anymore. It's a bummer, but reality is Thanksgiving is nothing more than Americans stuffing their faces full of food, a tradition we do every day. So naturally, Thanksgiving has taken a backseat to the shadow of Christmas. The day immediately after Thanksgiving is filled with people willing to sacrifice themselves and small children to great deals and low, low prices. Black Friday marks the start of the holidays and it is a never ending supply of Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.

Today marks the start to my Christmas spirit and it started out okay. The office was bustling with the anxious holiday spirit, waiting to be let out for everyone to enjoy and I was the one to unleash it! Translation: I was supposed to put up our 9 foot Christmas tree by myself. No problem. I have enough Christmas joy in me to light up a city block, surely this will only make me more excited for Christmas to come! (Eh-hem)

The boxes containing parts of the artificial tree are located at the top of a very narrow staircase, past a line of stacked boxes with loose files, over a desk, and next to the air conditioning. It is a long journey. No fear, I was chanting Christmas carols and wearing my coat in spirit of the season, so the journey would be easy! Little did I know that the boxes are a cumbersome load and weigh an easy 30 pounds, but top heavy. No fear, I am a bucking young lad with vitality and strength! Little did I know that I was wearing a heart monitor, which is glued to my chest and it has wires running from them, wires which catch on the box on the way down the stairs and rip holes through my flesh. Hey, it's all part of the season though, right? Besides I was still happy, still singing carols, and excited for Baby Jesus' Birthday. Life was good.

An hour in to putting up the tree, life wasn't good. The tree was a monstrosity of Christmas lights, broken branches, and toppling, inner structure. Branches were literally held together with paper clips and screws jammed into the base of it. Twigs broke off and nested in my hair and my arms were scraped

and dry. I think if I even heard a Christmas song, I'd punch the wall. I flung off my coat long ago and

was now sweaty and gross. The lights in the tree were a jumbled mess that resembled Chevy Chase's Christmas lights. Christmas is now the worst. In total, it took me nearly two hours to put the tree up, nearly electrocute myself, and get the lights working again. Even at that, it was a shoddy effort at best. Defeated, I covered the front desk switchboard for a while, hoping that I could relax my mind from all the mess. First caller, off the block, was a guy who went by the name of "the Cuban" or something and claimed to be a madman. My Monday just never ends.

But, whether we like it or not, Christmas is upon us, and this sort of this is to be expected. Craziness and decoration malfunctions are in our future for the next month. Often, we get into "the spirit" of Christmas about a week before Christmas starts because that is when church services start up and a Charlie Brown Christmas airs on TV. But why do we start then? We have a whole month of stuff going on. Why not start now with a little extra joy now? Granted, we should feel like that all year, but this month, why not be a little more joyful than usual. It's Christmas, a time of joy, giving, and love. Lighten up.

KB

Publishing Excitement

Confession time. It's embarrassing, but I must admit that I've written a book. I know, I know, it's a super cliche thing to do and before long I'll probably be wearing one of those ridiculous French hats in all black and have everybody snap fingers when I'm done reading my dark poetry but don't get ahead of me. That will be when I'm a Psych major and have deep, philosophical garbage about everything. I'm not that crazy yet... I don't think. Truthfully, though, I finished my first book last week and now, I don't know what on earth I'm going to do.

I finished the first revision not long ago and decided early on that it is nothing more that mediocre for a first attempt. I'm proud of it though. In fact, I'm giddy. I was like a little kid who was anticipating their birthday party or something. I stayed up all night, tucked my head under the covers, turned on my flashlight, and dreamed of all the magical places I would go with my book. Honest to goodness, I had a book of Chuck Norris jokes that was roughly the size of my finished novel and I clutched to it, pretending it was my book and pretending to sign autographs. Yes, I am a Senior in high school, but that is beside the point- I was not being immature, I was giddy. In my mind, Sarah Palin's book would drop in the best sellers list and people would charge big bucks to pay for my autograph. Reality is, though, that Sarah Palin probably doesn't care about my po-dunk attempt at novel writing and in reality, it really isn't anything special.

This isn't the first time I've ever done something with my writing. In the fourth grade, I won a contest in which I got a short story I had written published in a book of some sort that probably ended up on the shelf of some good old American, Bible bet hippie in the Midwest. I was darn proud of it and I got a blue ribbon, which I promptly pinned on my blouse like I was being shown at a fair or something. Later, in the 8th grade, I did the same thing, but I was in junior high and in junior high the only things that concern kids are getting rid of pimples and talking to girls, so I had better things to be doing than flip out about winning a contest. By 9th grade, I finished my first short novel of sorts with a short story I had written the year before, but I think I locked it away and never showed anybody the story after I killed the main character off with a bayonet at the end. It creeped me out and so now, it lurks either on the bowels of my laptop or in some dusty folder in a drawer somewhere like a creeper. Tragic, huh? Finally, not but a few months ago, I wrote some play about an interrogation room and it had a film noir set up to it, but that too got pushed aside when I was finished with it. So as you can tell, I have a lot of time on my hands. I figured my only choices to fill that spare time up was either Star Trek or writing and obviously, for your sake, I chose writing.

But no, I really did it this time. The manuscript to my little book is sitting dormant on my computer, waiting to receive its due. Only the Lord knows what will happen to it and only He knows why I'm writing about it for everyone to see tonight other than the fact that I'm excited about it. I know the book might suck, but I don't care. I'm happy that I did it. This week got me thinking, after my grandmother just recently passing. I wondered what my bucket list would be like, what things I wanted to do before I died. Before, I restricted the list to grandiose things like skydiving, bungee jumping, white water rafting, and anything else that would make me crap my pants. But I realized that soiled underpants is not quite the legacy I want to leave behind should I leave this world any time soon. Instead, I found that getting excited about something is just as great of a thrill as anything.

I love watching people get excited about stuff. I think everybody does. People loved watching Tom Cruise drive a spike in his sanity over Katy Holms a few years ago. People like watching Conan O'Brian headline the Tonight Show and try. People like watching Trump fire innocent temps, the only thing in this world that gives that man any satisfaction aside from the occasional rogue, genuine hair follicle that makes it through his toupee. My personal favorite is Paula Dean on the Food Network. That granny can make sugar enriched food almost as good as she can eat it. As for me, I like to write, and even if it is crummy or even sometimes creepy, I do it anyways because I get excited about it.

I don't know what you are excited by but I'm sure you have something. I had a teacher who once told her classes that the only job worth having in this life is the one you love to do; getting paid to do it was a fringe benefit. So whatever it is you like to do, do it this week and don't let anyone stop you. Getting truly passionate about something is what loving life is all about and it is what the Creator loves to see his creation do. So here's to finding our true colors, as vibrant as they are, in whatever we do. If it is in talking to people, may you find the words to speak. If it is dancing, may you find your stage to prance on. If it is cooking, may you find the doorbell to my house.

As for me and my book, well, we're going to have a long journey I suppose. Maybe it'll get published or maybe it won't, I don't care. I just loved doing it. But who knows, maybe Sarah Palin will ask for my autograph one day.

KB

Grandmothers

Here is an installment in a series I write for my family. The series centers around the family and each facet of that family, from moms to dads to sisters etc. I dedicated it to my Grandmother, Alberta Jean Burkart, who passed away early this morning. I only wish I could have read it to her, but I know she's reading it in a much more peaceful place, a place that has a lot more Light. I love you Grandma, here's to you.

KB

Grandmothers:

the epic battle of her tender love to this world’s sinister hold

by Kyle Bullock

Grandmothers have a special way of solving the world’s problems. Part of their success is their diversity. Some grandmothers are edgy and hip, dying their hair and cussing at little league games. Other grandmothers are sweet and innocent, driving slow, baking pies, and cussing at little league games. Wherever your grandmother falls in this spectrum, every grandmother has a way of solving every issue one way or another. They are blessed with an incredible sense of compassion found also in mama bears and Oprah. They are sweet and gentle from a distance, but if you mess with them or their family, they’ll rip your heart out. And that is why grandmothers are the best.

As I mentioned, grandmothers are a diverse breed. They are worn with the years of life and all turn out a little different. But each can vanquish a problem no matter how big or small. Here are a few instances that a grandmother takes care of business:

FOOD: Every grandmother has at least one food they make in which they were divinely inspired by God to make. Most attribute the good old American apple pie to be a grandmother’s number one dish of choice, but this is not always true. They may very well have their richly blessed hands in something else, something subtle and yet elegant- like eggs.

True, it is hard to mess up eggs, but college kids and McDonald’s messes them up every day, so don’t think it’s something that can’t be done. The egg can be made into a myriad of divinely inspired meals; however, because my grandmother made them and I’m writing this essay, I’ll choose Deviled Eggs for the best egg dish on the planet. They are rich and delicate, not too thick and not too thin, with just the perfect amount of inside filling. But no matter how many times they show you how to make your favorite dish, it will never come out quite the same. Like watching a better version of Martha Stewart, you are dazzled by the presentation, but no matter what you do you will never make it quite like they do.

The best part about grandmothers is that they don’t know what utensils are. What is this crude instrument with prongs fastened to a handle? Use your fingers. Why cut your meat with a knife? Tear it to pieces with your hands like the ancestors of yore used to do. A spoon? What a funny name and useless product! Slurp your soup up like a beverage and for those with a harelip, use a straw. Maybe that is what makes their cooking so good. It isn’t tampered with the unnecessary utensil and filled with just the right amount of love.

MUSIC: Grandmothers and modern music go together like oil and water. They don’t. Frank Sinatra, Dino, the Chordettes, and anything that made its way through a fuzzy AM station in the car radio are the only things that survived in their world. Some grandparents might be cool with the 60’s and maybe even 70’s, but I have yet to encounter a grandmother who listens to the White Stripes or even AC/DC.

Don’t try to introduce them to new music either. It doesn’t work too well. You might be driving down the street when American Woman comes pounding out of the stereo system. You may even be dancing to it before long. Inevitably, Grandma will hear it.

“What on earth is this devil worship?” she asks.

“It’s American Woman, Grandma!” the kids reply.

“It’s devil worship is what it is. He’s just talking about sex. That’s all any of these hip kids sing about anymore with their baggy pants, always grabbing their crotch- sex.”

You cringe when she says the word “sex.” It’s like saying Beetlejuice three times or making a crude joke to your pastor- you just don’t hear those things! By this time, though, she’s starting in on the chorus.

“American woman… American woman…bleh. I can’t believe they put that stuff on the radio. You kids should know better because back in my day, the men didn’t do that sort of thing, they certainly didn’t grab their crotch, and all the men…” you change the channel and let it ride. No need to change her. Besides, you love her just the way she is.

Gospel music, golden oldies, and old Pentecostal preachers are their favorite stations. Spend an afternoon listening to your Grandmother’s radio station and you will find there are 14 variations of “Swing Low Sweet Chariot,” all which sport a banjo solo. If you want to melt the heart of your Grandmother, turn Frank Sinatra on and watch their eyes. It’s like watching them turn 20 again. Their eyes light up, their mouth turns a smile, and their shoulders relax. Whatever that man did way back when to melt their hearts still works today. And as you crank the oldies up, you see within their eyes a time when they were younger, and they were just as beautiful then as they are now. They have a point. Music today just isn’t as classy as back then- not by a long shot.

TECHNOLOGY: No matter how things advance in the modern era, technology will baffle the elderly. Statistically speaking, there is more of a chance that a meteor will crash into earth on any given day than there is a chance that Grandma won’t have a meltdown with technology. The main categories of concern are TV remotes, telephones, and new kitchen accessories.

You know when there is trouble afoot when you hear that indisputable sigh followed by a harsh cursing. “What the heck does this dang instrument do?” or “They don’t make buttons big enough”or“I can’t get this open.” You bow your head and head into the room to see what’s the matter. There will always be a need for technology to make bigger buttons, but even if the remote had three buttons the size of the TV itself, there will still be chaos.

“What is the matter Grandma?” you ask.

“It’s this dang soda can, I can’t get it open. The silly pop tab won’t undo itself.”

You smile. “Okay Grandma, I got it.” You pop the tab like it was no problem.

Flustered, she waves her hands around shouting, “Thank you, darling. These stupid cans just never do what I need them to. They didn’t use to be like this you know. Back in my day…” but before she can finish, she knocks over several cans which tumble to the floor. The pressure in the cans cause them to implode and coke spews from them like water balloons pile driving into spikes. You are covered with soda as are the walls, the refrigerator, the ceiling, the table, etc.

She looks up after the explosion, knowing she did it. “Well at least you have my soda still,” she comments as she grabs it from your hands.

Indeed, there are many more facets of a grandmother’s job that makes them who they are. They live in a time that is far from today. It can be frustrating, dealing with the issues that come up, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. Deep down, you wouldn’t change her because that is who she is. She is Grandma. No matter where you are or what you are doing, being around Grandma fixes everything. That’s her job, and she’s good at it.

Grandmothers are diverse. Some are spry. Some are calm. But all of them cuss at little league games. That is their job.

Dedicated to my Grandmother,

Alberta Jean Burkart

December 25, 1930- November 18, 2009

A Christmas blessing and a Thanksgiving in my heart

Civility and Toilets

Roswell, New Mexico is filled to the brim with bumpkin wingnuts that sport conservative, right wing views and Protestant, God-fearing ideas. We like the Second Amendment, steak, like Fox News, and most importantly, we like green chili. Green chili, for the two of you who read this and haven't step foot in New Mexico, is the manna from heaven that blesses the taste buds of any good, God-fearing American this side of Texas. It is divine. If you like red chili, get therapy. It's nowhere near Hatch green chili, and you're just too afraid to realize it. Leaving town and going anywhere besides New Mexico means we get Tex-Mex, a putrid blend of beans, meat, and soupy broth the rest of the country sadly calls chili. It's not. Period.

While on our trip to Denver, Colorado, my family had to forgo the privilege of having green chili for nearly a week, a feat very few, genuine New Mexicans can live through. We made the most of it, though. Denver is far more liberal than Roswell is (then again, Roswell makes Texas look liberal). This means they have artsy galleries and 5 star restaurant. This means they have stuff to do. This means, it's way cooler than Roswell, minus the chili. At any rate, our relatives in Denver deci

ded to take us out to a neat-o five star Mediterranean joint called Rioja for our first real brush with civility, with the exception of the midnight chocolate buffet on that cruise we were one one, if that even counts. We were apprehensive about it, mainly because we've never heard of a place that didn't give you the option of red or green. But, we were adventurous and tried it anyways.

It was incredible. Phenomenal, really. Never had we ventured beyond our realm of Roswell. I mean, the best restaurant in Roswell serves their food out of tin foil! The menu consisted of items we had never heard before and things we could not fathom! Our food was decorated with frillies and floundries made of sauces and vegetables. Even the bread was hard to pronounce. Is that a roll you're eating? No, that is roll with lemon zest and freshly squeezed citrus from the finest groves in all of freaking America! Is that lamb you're eating? Shazam! It's now a spotless, tender meat sautéed in the finest of wines and garnished with just the garnishes. Is that a garden salad to start? Ah, heck nah! It's a freshly plucked head of luttuce with a basil and vinegrette dressing and freshly picked vegetables to compliment harvested from the greenest of farms in all of Colorado. You get the picture. This place was swanky. This place was groovin. Best part, no tin foil.

Hardest part of the night, though- the bathroom. More technology went into making the bathroom state of the art than put a man on the moon. The toilet, for one, had enough flushing power to move a small calf through the common household sink with room to spare. The tremendous force of the flow cause me to scream and panic for a second, much to the annoyance of the restaurant's patrons. The sink resemble the ancient fountains of yore, found deep within the Mayan ruins, flowing from the basin to the roof in a spectacular display. I thought I was washing my hands in Caesar's palace. The air dryer for your hands was a blade of air that wiped the water off in one swoop. That was in freaking Star Trek 30 years ago people! The whole experience was quite extravagant and as I left the little men's room, speechless and in awe, I knew two things: 1) The guy outside the door waiting for me to finish was a little freaked out about my amazement and 2) I had to tell everybody back home that there is life outside this world because something from another planet HAD to have made that bathroom.

I dunno, maybe you've seen better, but I know that that bathroom was by far the craziest thing I've ever seen. I went back and just looked around again like it was a museum or something. Maybe it was the testosterone in me that got excited when it saw such a stellar bathroom, but I'm pretty sure if Roswell had that, we would sell people tickets just so they could check it out. But I learned something important. No matter how cool other places are, or how dazzling they can be, there is nothing like the feeling of being home. Don't get me wrong, I loved spending time with relatives and seeing an awesome game (despite getting attacked), but being in my own home is magnificent. Being with my family at home is one step away from heaven. Being with my family at home and we just get to sit around and talk until it is nearly one in the morning, making each other laugh, well that is heaven on earth. Heck, maybe the real heaven will be like that, just a bunch of us sharing stories and making each other laugh. Anyways, whether you have an awesome home life or just wanna get away from home, I challenge you to find your home, wherever it may be, and cherish every waking second in there. I also challenge you to find a better bathroom than I did. You probably won't, just by the way. So here's to home, wherever you may find it.

KB

How I Beat Up Women and Won the Game

Being a black belt in the martial arts, I have had my experience in fighting. I received my degree a few years ago, but I still know enough to take someone down and leave them there. Being in karate as long as I did, I sparred with people a number of times. But each fight was heavily regulated and we always wore pads, so it never really felt like real fighting. We were, of course, never supposed to start a fight and most of us didn't, we had more respect for it than that. I had heard of stories of black belts getting into real fights and had to fight their way out as an act of self defense. These people were gods in the karate universe, capable of showing the world the sort of power a black belt wielded and how little of it they ever abused.

I'm not sure if you've ever been in a fight that was unprovoked, but to me, it feels totally uncivilzed and for the first few moments that it starts, you lose grip on reality. When you maintain that grip again, you realize you must either panic or take control. My first ever fight happened in the 2009 N

FL football game in Denver Colorado when the Pittsbu

rg Steelers (my team), faced the Denver Broncos (my sisters team). Before I get there though, let me back up.

As a birthday present, our parents gave us a trip to Denver to

watch the big game. We had neither seen a pro game in real life nor been on a vacation in a while, so the trip was warmly welcomed. There we are, sitting on the 30 yard line, 2nd row seats watching the game, my sister and I blaring out our team's encouragement. Avid a Steeler's fan that I am, I w

as waving my

"Terrible Towel," a yellow towel that is the staple of a Steeler's fan and a necessity for any real member of the fan base. Needless to say, I was out

numbered by Bronco fans, however, there still remained a number of good Steelers fans around me who laughed about Kyle Ortin's facial hair and heckled the mascot. It was great being amongst my own.

During the second half, while I was waving my towel around, a particularly obnoxious group of Bronco fans began cursing at me, yelling obscenities that I will refrain from printing. The clan was composed of two drunk women who were clearly out of the league of their dates, Scientist Joe and Chemist Steve, whose wired-framed glasses only accented their pocket protectors. Obviously, alcohol was involved in their meeting each other, and this is no exaggeration, they literally were mega-drunk. I shrugged off thier gestures and watched the game maturely like an adult should. However, there comes a point when mature people, like the kind I try to be, come unwind.

As I was waving my towel in the air at one point, I felt someone reach out and grab hold of it. As I spun around to face my foe, I realized it was Blondie Numero Uno who was drunk enough to start a fight with ME! I began pulling my towel back, but she insisted that we tug of war. The angel on my should told me one thing: "Forget it Kyle, it's just an earthly item. Be a lover not a fighter and let her have it." The demon on my other should told me; "WHAT!? That is a special edition Super Bowel 40 Terrible Towel! Swing away, Ali!" I listened to the demon.

So there we are, playing a not-so-fun game of tug of war with my precious towel. Her friend, Bright Brains Brenda, jumps to her aid, hissing in my face. I look back down as these women, now resembling demonic creatures, dragged me up the bleacher, over seats and other people mind you! And my fellow fans, dedicated and true as they are, LOOKED THE OTHER WAY AND LET ME TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM! Losers. Luckily, my good friend, Peyton, grabbed me and began pulling me down. Now, the towel has been forgotten in the tug of war, and I have replaced it as the central piece being tugged at. I'm being jolted up and down the bleachers by these two dingwads and my friend like 19th century laundry on a washing board. Everyone around me ignores the fact that I am being torn to shreds here, but I didn't care- I wanted my bloody towel, and I finally pulled it away from the dogpile and back into my safe hands.

We exchanged a few words during the aftermath, some of them not so pretty, sat down, watched the game, and heckled back and forth during the end. Needless to say, the Steelers won the game... take that dumb ladies! However, being a black belt, I wish my first confrontation with an actual fight would have been more of like, oh, I dunno, Bruce Lee and less Three Stooges with booze. At any rate, I won and the towel is safely back home, ready for the next game. I realized something during those intense moments of being molested by two lunatic women, taunted by creepy scientist cradle-robbing men, ignored by my fellow fans, and aided by my brother- I am an AMERICAN! We don't get in kung fu crappin fights! We throw down fistacuffs in stadiums next to the ESPN booth! Dangit, that is what football is all about- beatdowns! Then again, I think the aim is to not become the football like I became, but at any rate, it's still red, white, and blue, ain't it? So here is to God fearin', freedom lovin, football crazed, crazy America! God bless the USA, God bless the 2nd Amendment, Texas, the NRA, cheesburgers, and GOD BLESS MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL!

KB

Guide on How to Deal With Idiots

I think I have often badmouthed the idiots in this world. Recently, my Facebook updates have included quips about stupid people and sarcastic jokes about people acting like immature goofballs. While every single one of those posts have a legitimate reason to be on there and every single one of those quips are rightfully excused, tonight, I have learned something. I have learned that everybody in this world is an idiot, especially me. I realized this driving home tonight as I yelled at another driver who cut me off and did 10 miles under the speed limit. I got angry and shouted, "You wingnut! What are you thinking you idiot!?" Ironically, I was praying right before I shouted this obscenity. God pulled at my heart and asked me a question.

"Why did you just get angry at that guy?"

"Well, God, he cut me off!"

"Yes, but you just called him an idiot and this afternoon, you made quite certain that you were going to avoid all stupid people while you were on your vacation, which starts today I might add."

"Okay Lord, but this idiot ran into me, not the other way around," I shot back witfully.

"Alright kiddo, but I think you might enjoy the number of complaints I get about your driving on a daily basis... would you like to hear some? I think the word 'idiot' is used in reference to you at least half a dozen times this week."

Silence on my behalf.

You see, I forgot during my tirade of anger this afternoon that I am just as much of an idiot as the rest of this world. In and of itself, that shows that I have no reason to have my life get bent out of shape to where my light shines a little less brighter than it did before. I might have reason to complain, I might even have reason to get angry, and I might just have the right to blow up at somebody who really did me wrong. It gives me no reason to sin, no reason to hurt someone back. So if I have done this to you this week or seen me do this, I apologize.

Story goes like this: A fella sues a store for a personal injury they received while shopping there. The court finds no evidence that it was a personal injury at all and suspect the man of trying to take money wrongfully from the owners. The man gets angry and sues the court. The higher court find the suit to be of no merit and so the man sues them. He takes it later to the US Supreme Court and when they tell him to get lost, he sues the United Nations for not keeping watch over their members. The UN tells the guy to bite a wall and so the guy sues God for created these silly people in the first place. When he goes to heaven, he demands from St. Peter (because who else would be standing at the gates?) a lawyer to represent him on trial in the suit. Peter replies, "Well, seeing as there are no lawyers up here (tee-hee), you will have to represent yourself, but I warn you- the opinion is bias. You see God is the Judge up here too, so you might have a hard time convincing Him that He is wrong!"

Get what I am saying?

We are all like that guy in the story sometimes and we tend to go off the wagon sometimes, taking care of business, kicking down doors and taking names. But why are we doing that when God, in his infinite wisdom, said, "When you call, I will answer. I will be with you in trouble and deliver you and honor you. With long life I will satisfy you and show you my love." (Psalm 91:14-16).

So here is to understanding that we ourselves are just as stupid as the guy who cuts us off. Here is to remembering what I decided to have inscribed in my ring- life is too long not to laugh and life is too short not to laugh. So here is to cracking jokes, having fun, finding hope, and loving life like God was really in control. Happy driving!

KB

Is God Bald?

2 Kings 2:23-25 ²³ From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" ²⁴ He turned
around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. ²⁵ And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria.

1) Wow... okay, crazy story. No, I did not make this one up, it really is in the Bible.


2) How in the world did 42 youths have nothing better to do than make fun of some prophet- kids, get a Facebook or something. And how did 42 kids get owned by 2 female bears?


3) Note to self: when you get to heaven, do NOT make fun of Elisha's hair/ lack thereof



4) Is God bald?


I know that is a crazy thing to say and don't expect this theory to pop up in any Theological Journals any time soon, although, I'm sure some yahoo is going to try and make something out of it. However, have you ever wondered if God took Elisha's side in this retaliation of the baldies as a result of his own lack of hair. Furthermore, this raises a question along the lines of, "Is there a rock too big for God to move?": Is there a head too bald for God to salvage? If so, we men might as well throw in the towel- if God can't do it, Rogain certainly won't help.


As I write this tonight, I am plagued with an unbelievable amount of, well, let's call them a technical term- "morons." These "morons" have undoubtedly irritated me and thrust me into a unequivocally grumpy state of extreme frustration. "Why have they done this", you ask, "and why have they made you use such big words this week?" Immaturity. Immaturity is the fuel that drives society into a state of entropy and straight up chaos. People never think and that, my friends, is how people make millions over McDonald's coffee spills.


What does this have to do with my theory of divine balding? Simple- when do you see a naturally bald head? On babies and older folks (sorry mid-life readers). A rule of thumb for bald people can be anything in diapers. In the case of these "older folks," they carry with them the experience of maturity. They know how to conduct themselves in society and how to treat other people- they act like adults. So I wonder if God is balding since He is an all-knowing, powerful being who created humanity and thus understands humanity better than anybody else. At any rate, I am excited since one day, we will get to sit at the feet of an all knowing, powerful being who is both fun and mature AT THE SAME TIME. Now, if you are reading this and don't believe in God or even have a hard time letting go of things in your life to let Him handle them, then I pity you. I sure couldn't do it. I mean, if God is willing to deal with these "morons" in our life, then why not let him? I just hope it doesn't take a couple of she-bears mauling a bunch of young people to get the message across.


So here is to letting a balding father take care of those idiots who insist on making us irritate. Here is to Elisha who stood up for all the baldies in this world. And here are to all you who are balding as we speak- I wish you luck with that, but really, it looks like all hope is lost.

KB

Dreams

Here is another video from At Wit's End. Enjoy it and let me know what you think! If you would like to check out my YouTube channel, go to http://www.youtube.com/user/KBatwitsend.

KB

Little Miss Sunshine

Image by carbonated via Flickr

Beauty isn't skin deep. I think we can all say we learned this lesson as young kids. Beauty is what is on the inside, not the outside that counts, right? I have a sister, a sister who is somewhat of a beauty queen. Don't get me wrong, she deserves it, but as a guy, I have had to sit through way too many beauty pageants and cheer competitions to be considered healthy for a man. Shamefully, I know the majority of cheers for the Gateway Christian Warriors and far too many fashion points for pageants.

With the advent of these beauty contests came the advent of the loss of male dominance in society. No, I'm not sexist. However, these pageants have recently drawn a crowd not looking at just physical beauty but brains as well! "Really?" you ask. No, not really. Most beauty pageants are sad displays of intelligence gone wrong and a blatant exploitation of the body to promote success. Could you image if men did this? That's like men playing football in dresses! Lord, I pray that day never comes. It's just not natural. In recent years, the beauty pageant has been portrayed in films like Little Miss Sunshine and the national broadcast of the Miss America awards. These media outlets have fueled the fire of beauty contests across the country like the death of Michael Jackson has fueled band wagons and bad plastic surgery.

I have witnessed this spectacle of beauty firsthand. Men, it's not all what it's cracked up to be. While beautiful women may abound, their lack of intelligence sucks most of the quality out of the air as you are subjected to two hours of "dancing" (more like flailing) and "speaking" (more like rambling). The questions are absurd and the answers are even worse. The whole business is rather dreadful and for a guy, it's utter torture. Obviously, I hate pageants. That is until my sister entered Miss Roswell. I sat through a series of awful performances which were called "interpretive dance" (I think they called it "interpretive" because I needed an interpreter there to tell me what the heck I was watching) as I awaited my dear sister's performance. While most of the contestants wore skimpy designer dresses or revealing outfits, my dear sister trotted on stage wearing a fat suit, a geriatric bathing suit, and a sunhat. She looked like the Angela Lansbury in a Victoria Secret magazine (see picture- Heather, you are much more beautiful than that!). She did a comedy routine about picking out swimsuits and the pain for women thereof and made the audience laugh and smile. She didn't have to look "sexy" or "stunning," she just looked comfortable as she was. I admire her extremely for stuff like this. I think they picked the right Miss Roswell, in my opinion that is!

Moral of the story is that beauty isn't the skin deep pleasures all around us, but it is truly how we have been taught- in the heart of the matter. I'm here to push that one step further, though. Beauty is in everybody, each person contributing to a little more beauty in this world. The truth is, beauty undergoes the same painful moments we all face. Beauty can sometimes feel ugly. I have seen great people this week, both man and woman, who are beautiful in their own facet of society yet feel bombarded by pain and misery. They feel hurt and alone- keep in mind this is the beautiful we are talking about here. Some are beautiful in the way they love others, some are beautiful in the way they encourage, and others are beautiful in believing in people, yet all will feel the pangs of life at one point. So I'm calling all of us muddy people to wipe each other off this week. Forgive, encourage, and uplift because we all need a little selflessness every once and a while. Those who feel ugly, give them assurance. Those who are stressed, give them relaxation. Those who are in pain, give them comfort.

So here's to putting a mirror in the hand of the beautiful and telling them they are loved. Here's to looking at a fat suit and seeing a crown. Here's to being a Little Miss Sunshine of our own.

KB

P.S. Football rocks, as do guns, the military, large explosions, and iron. Sorry, had to add something manly to even out the estrogen.

Small Groups Dance

Austen Radar, Alli Davis, Garrett Messer, Halie Harton, Cory Holm, and myself, dancing like maniacs at small groups. If you are a youth and wanna get more from God, I encourage you to check out a small group here in Roswell, every Sunday at 6 o'clock.

KB

Stress Relief

So the other day, my awesome mother found a book about fitness and health in regards to the body as a whole. Basically, it's the same diet book as all the other diet books out there, only with a different cover. Anywho's, she came across the chapter on stress where a test is given to see just how stressed out you are. One would answer questions about different situations in which stress would have been put on their shoulders and the like. If you scored 50-100, you were as cool as those beer commercials on the beach. If you scored 100-200, you had some issues, but otherwise normal. If you scored 200-300, you were stressed and needed a vacation. My sister scored in the 700's, my father in the 600's, and my mother didn't even make it to 400. Intrigued, I asked if I could take the test.

My mom asked me a few questions like "Have you had a change in core responsibilities at work?" (I said no but she put me down as yes), "Are you facing any relationship difficulties?" (I am currently single, hence sane, so no but again she put me down as yes) and of course "Have you been terminated from a position or had a sudden change in jobs?" (Apparently, in her eyes, I have. I work for the greatest law firm in the world and it is my first real job but she put me down as yes anyways.) You can see the trend with my mom here. She scored me off the charts and gave the three of us a strong lecture on how we need to chill out. In retaliation, we quipped about how she took the test for us and didn't let us take it on our own merit, so it was only fair that we do the same for her. Ironically, she scored nearly double when we took it for her... funny how this works, huh?

However, despite whatever some stupid test scores, we are still some stressed out people. Our family has had a lot of things going on that have turned a lot of hairs grey in the last 6 months. Stress locally has seemed to be on the rise lately with death, sickness, relationship struggles, and the like bogging us down. Things aren't easy now-a-days, I'm sure you would agree.

We have now come to the part of my blog where I usually put down a verse or life lesson in which betters one might better themselves as a Christian and/or a person as a whole. I might add a Bible verse or short quip. Today, I am giving it to you through a personal experience I had this weekend.

If you are stressed... buy a pumpkin. They are on sale at Wal-Mart for like $4 right now because of Halloween. Then find a blunt object, some open space, then BEAT THE EVER LIVING TAR OUT OF IT UNTIL IT IS A PULP! This method is both stress relieving and fun. We used a machete, baseball bats, and a golf club, but anything will do. Trust me, it's worth it. As far as the Bible verse, I'm still looking it up to see if I can find where Jesus did this in the Bible. In the meantime, HAPPY PUMPKIN SMASHIN'!

KB

10 Things That Should Not Exist

1) Scary Bathrooms: The kind that are usually found at along the side gas stations and are always dripping wet? Worst ones have cockroaches that you may not kill by stepping on them alone, they are that huge.

2) Gnats: You can't catch them to kill them, you just end up walking around, clapping your hands, and hoping they will go away. This is the same strategy most parents use on their toddlers.

3) Bad Hospital Gowns: We're on the verge of curing cancer but we still have to see the patient's butt? We need to prioritize our medical funding.

4) Creepy Medicine Commercials: What kind of downcast actor do they have to hire to admit they have these diseases and what kind of person is lazy enough not to change the channel when these embarrassing commercials come on? Answer to the second part- me.

5) The 21st Century Mullet: Billy Ray Cyrus got away with it 20 years ago. Nobody else does. End of story.

6) Bad B.O.: Deodorant shouldn't be a suggestion, it should be law.

7) Movies that Make Me Cry: Including The Notebook, Radio, Braveheart, and Weekend at Bernie's 2.

8) "I just wanna be friends.": Coming from a girl you've been going out with for the last 2 months, it feels like a lead pipe hitting you in the gut. Furthermore, think of all the money you could have saved had you just known this sooner...

9) Slow Drivers: Driving 40 in 30mph zone will get you a ticket. Driving 20 in a 30mph zone will get you kicked.

10) Dog's in People's Clothing: We already pick up their poo... must we really? Shameful...

The Heart of the Matter

The heart is a funny thing. It literally supplies the body with all the life giving nutrients it needs to survive the day. Without it, one would cease to function and cease all normal activity immediately. The appendix is the unwanted sibling of the organs; it has no known purpose except to swell up or something and explode. The tonsils are useful not only act as a lymph node, but also to cause sore throats and weeks of Jell-o consumtion. Even the brain acts as a vital tool to functioning in everyday life, yet, I've come to realize that fewer and fewer people use their brains. The heart, on the other hand, is something we cannot control. No matter how hard you try, you cannot force or stop a beat- it is all involuntary.

For me, this week, the heart has been a matter of concern. My mother has for years dealt with what is called Sick Sinus of the Heart, which is basically irregular beating of the heart. My Grandmother was admitted to the hospital this week because she suffered a series of small heart attacks in succession. My other Grandmother has had heart issues for years and is currently dealing with the doctors on this. I, myself, have been trying to overcome irregular beating and chest pains due to my heart. The tough part is, we, in and of our own consent, cannot control it, we can only diagnose problems or medicate a condition. It is really out of our control.

You know what I found out about heart problems, though? People freak. None of us with heart problems are that worried about it. My Grandmother got the news that she needed an aortic transplant- serious, life threatening surgery- and immediately scheduled a perm. "I need to look good if I'm going down! I'm gunna go down in style, sweetie!" Words of a wise woman. But people really freak out when I tell them I have heart troubles. Not that I don't like the prayers, Lord knows I need them. It honestly doesn't bother me though; no matter what happens, I know it's all in God's hands.

Anyways, with all this concern about something one can't control, I see a lot of fear too. I'm not downing on anybody who's been praying for me, please keep it up, but don't freak out! Moral should be that no matter what the problem, we should enjoy having a problem. For instance, I was having an echocardiogram done on my heart. Basically, this is when they spread jelly on you like toast and look to see if you have a heart. For all the skeptics out there, yes, I have a heart. I was surprised too. Then I had a stress test. They hooked me up to a bunch of wires like I were the bionic man and made me walk on an incline until I almost passed out. Apparently it was nurse training day, so I had about five other people in the room examining how out of shape I was. Boost to the ego. Finally, how about the heart moniter they hooked me up to for 48 hours that resembled a fanny-pack/walkman? This wonderful piece of equipment was glued onto my chest using crazy glue and industrial strength adhesive because I think I ripped the entire first layer of skin on my chest completely off when I removed it. The joys of modern medicine.

At any rate, I love what my Grandmother said- if I'm gunna go down, I gotta do it with a smile on my face. Not that I am going down, of course, or she is either, but point is, life is too long not to laugh, and life is too short not to laugh. This is a mantra I live with day after day and write about all the time, but at it's always good to reaffirm. It's not about smiling all the time, but discovering true joy. Finding true satisfaction, whether it be in the petty nuances of the day or the dramatic moments of the greater picture, that is truly living. That is the heart of the matter. So here's to figuring out your problem. I hope it's as fun as mine!

KB

***REVISION: I wrote this blog only hours before an acquaintence of mine passed away from meningitis. Kierra Lopez was only 17 years old. I don't claim to have close ties with her, but we were in several classes together and knew each other well. I remember the last time I saw her was just three or four days prior. She was dancing, full of life, and fun as always. When the news of her death hit, it was sudden and shocking. It helped me realize that life has no garuntees on time limits and throws curve balls at will. So if that isn't incentive enough to live life to the fullest, most joy-filled abilities, then I don't know what is. Proud to say, Kierra lived a life that resembled a joy-filled, blessed life every time I saw her. Kierra, you will always be remembered.

Time For My Close-Up

I have this theory about America. I believe that in a day and age where there are media connections instantaneously taking place world-wide, every person has exactly one chance to be on national TV. Some people use their one opportunity to wave like a goofball on Good Morning America. Maybe this is you. Others, like myself, have been only a few footsteps away from being on America's Next Top Model in Atlanta. Maybe you've heard about this. Still, there are others who have no idea that national television awaits them just moments away until they find themselves candidly on it. Maybe this is someone you know, say a relative you snuck onto America's funniest videos... not that I've done that with any of my relatives... except Heather...

Let's say this fame does await us around the bend- I wonder what it will do to us. Imagine, at any moment throughout the course of your day, what happens when a person barges in your life and gives you the opportunity to change the course of everything you call normal? What do you do when opportunity knocks on your door suddenly and asks you to make a decision, change it all now or leave it to history? Just think, if you go for it, then you have the opportunity to possibly be something great, but at what costs? What are the costs others have to pay for your own glory? Is it worth it? Have you ever had so many questions barraged toward you at any one setting???

At any rate it is difficult to even comprehend that level of intensity, until this week that is. I started thinking about just how grand something like that would be as it presented itself in the weirdest, most unique of ways. It's all quite a long story but the long and the short of it is, I started asking these questions and here I am writing about it. Anyways, let us imagine for a moment that I got on Good Morning America tomorrow or even better, Larry King Live's 50th season debut. Seriously, is it me or does he look more and more like he is a robot and less and less like a human being? Anyways, imagine if you were on one of those shows talking about your life, the things you would change in this world, and bantering about the latest groundbreaking news. Say you had this level of fame, how would you be different? I had to ask myself this question and firmly decided that I would be the different celebrity! I would be concerned with real matters like giving to charitable causes, working to keep public health up, and write my own magazine that would describe how to fulfill your life to the best of your ability- and then I realized I was describing Oprah Winfrey.

Image via Wikipedia

It was also then I realized I just described every Miss America contestant, every Oscar winner, every Emmy nominee, every reality TV show, and everything that has to do with anything concerning the media.

I like to think that the media means well at times. I'm sure they do and this week I was even able to meet some of these people who truly do want to make a difference in the lives of others. However, I know myself better than anyone and I know that my motives can be purely selfish. So I did some thinking and decided the kind of celebrity I should be. I don't want to be the one that has to have a TV show, a spot on Larry King, or even Good Morning America, however if the opportunity presents itself, I'd love to do all of those things. I don't want to be the celebrity who is concerned with charity and gives donations on a daily basis, however if I could, I think I would do both of those things. I don't even want to be the kind of celebrity who has his own magazine or writes cover stories that reach the nation, however that would be one of my greatest dreams-come-true. I think first things first, I need to be the kind of celebrity who gracefully talks to someone who needs encouragement and I don't need a camera there to watch me. I think I need to be the leader who gives not just charity, but part of my own well being to support and encouraged my loved ones and the people I respect as a token of gratitude, not an investment. I think I need to be the kind of celebrity who would act just as selfless on camera as he did off camera.

Moral of the story is, my dear reader, is that this world is full of our audience. May we realize that it shouldn't take a camera in front of our eyes to understand a whole world is watching and waiting to see what we do and who we are from day to day. So here's to living up that quota. Lord knows I fall short of it constantly but I pray I work towards achieving this selflessness more and more each day. Here's to learning how to be a giver when you're in front of a camera and when you are behind the scenes. Life is a stage show and we are running it 7 nights a weeks. And here's to those life changing phone calls you get and emails you might receive in your lifetime- may they be as unforgettable and memorable as can every be. For what is a memory but those moments in life that cannot be described by words...

KB