In my last post I failed to place content into context. Why am I writing blogs pertaining to my failures? Well, I’m quite convinced that Christians spend a great deal of time masking and burying their weaknesses and sin so as to slip incognito into a world of self-glorifying perfectionism. If we’re truly honest with which truths Christianity is founded upon, It makes little sense to pretend our lives are hunkey dory. It's founded on the same principle that people wear make-up. It's adhering to made-up guidelines that create a product as artificial and unrealistic as the morals that support them. "Perfect skin" seems to be the pursuit of most Christians, including myself. And I have totally fallen for this lie. As subversive as I try to be, on the inside, I'm terrified of what most people think. I would even go so far as to say that any rebelliousness I put forward is, in itself, the concealer I use to hide this big pulsing ZIT.
In writing these blogs I hope be exposed. On Derek Webb’s album “The House Show” he talks about how the best thing for any of us is to have our deepest, darkest sins broadcasted on the 12 O’clock news. My goal is that I can start to believe that Jesus is the Gospel and not Bill. Through this, I hope that I would be able to cultivate enough evidence to show myself that I need perfect love. Not just the affection of people close to me; their love is exhaustible; they, in the end, will not know how to love me.
I hope to recognize that, in the scheme of all things, someone as proportionately insignificant as I would need something bigger than the universe to appropriately tend to my fallacies. Talk about being a mooch.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Proof of my ridiculousness. Exhibit B
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Proof of my ridiculousness. Exhibit A
For the past month I, along with a select few in North America, have been glued to FIFA's World Cup. Being someone who doesn't know much about the family heritage, It has been a great deal of fun watching the Netherlands play. Looking at the players and seeing their build, they reminded me of my dad and uncles who, although were never in that good of shape, resembled them quite well. Not only were there family look-a-likes but they were an awesome team to boot, making it to the finals.
I have surely gained a good deal of pride for my background while ascertaining more of a cultural identity. While creeping towards the finals, after knocking out Brasil, I shared with God what I was going through, that I was really happy in gaining what was lost through my family's immigration
to Canada 50 years ago (or so). I then asked the Lord if he could help the team win the Cup, thinking that “Hey, he wants to know what I desire”.
Not exactly what happened; right? After a dirty game, Spain wins with a disputed offside goal. At first I wasn't upset, I tried to stay calm and collect. However, after an hour or so I soon became more and more angry. At one point I seriously wanted to single-highhandedly take on a gaggle of Spaniards, oh, if you didn't know; Dutch people have tempers. In my silent brooding the Lord then spoke. If I were to put this feeling to words it would be to the effect: “Bill, I hope you're mad; it looks good on you because when you prayed for a sporting event you neglected all the suffering and pain going on in my world”.When God speaks to someone in Tokyo he speaks Japanese; when he speaks to me he's facetious .
I don't believe that my renewed “Dutchiness” is sinful. It was in completely abandoning some of my most fundamental views on who Jesus is and what my relationship with him is for. I managed to migrate myself even more within myself. One of the most grace-filled moments of the past month has been when God called me on my bullshit.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
To completely bring a close to my Robot binge, here's a Haiku.
Void of datum
the Android way of living
Ctrl alt delete
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Death Row Righteousness (title pending)
There's a wanted sign outside the door,
issued by the lying lord.
He holds a charge, recompense is my head,
and he will not stop until I'm dead.
The funny thing, admit I must,
my trail would be truly just.
I've lied, I stole, I've taken life,
so introduce my neck to knife.
In pursuit of gold and fame,
those behind me are scared and maimed.
I farmed the weak and broken souls,
and harvested more crimes and tolls.
But the penalty has been absolved
through unjust courts my sin dissolved.
His dying words, evil diminished
when he proclaimed that “It is finished.”
As a fugitive I can clearly see,
how my crimes don't match my liberty.
Free and roaming, life is shocking,
because I was nothing but a dead man walking.
This is a really good song.
I Need Love
Karla Adolphe
Verse:
You're building a city out of widows and love
You're building walls out of orphans and tears
You're building a city and you call us your own
You're building a temple and you're calling us home
Chorus:
Open up those city gates let the King come in
It's been so long since we've seen Him
I need love, gotta get some love
Sing a new song bang your drum do what you have to do
He's coming now and He's looking for you
I need love, gotta get some love
Verse:
You're building a body from flesh and bone
We know it was broken but now it's made whole
You're building a city and you call us your own
You're building a temple and you're calling us home
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Time is money.
Allow me to illustrate the premise. It's a weekday morning and you step inside the local convenience store for a cup of coffee. It's already brewed and you're in a hurry just like everyone else in the world; you love coffee. Along with other busy-bodies like yourself, tending to the immediate urges so quickly quelled by the service of the establishment, you aptly fix your drink to your specifications and make your way to the store clerk. However, there lies to a horrifying and ire-inspiring sight. At the front of the line an elderly women pulls out the envelope full of unchecked lottery tickets from her purse and, one by one, hands them to the clerk to investigate the numbers for a winner. One by one! The self-checking lottery machine lies to the side of the counter, it's the elephant in the room, a lonely,dejected, degraded elephant. The line behind the wrinkled treasure hunter accumulates more and more of innocent and efficient members like yourself, waiting in limbo as one by one her results are tallied and her money granted, paid with the very minutes of your very life. Don't you friggan hate that!?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Butt prints in the sand
One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.
But then some stranger prints appeared,
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?"
Those prints are large and round and neat,
"But Lord they are too big for feet."
"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait."
"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith, you would not know.
So I got tired, I got fed up,
and there I dropped you on your butt."
"Because in life, there comes a time,
when one must fight, and one must climb.
When one must rise and take a stand,
or leave their butt prints in the sand."
author unknown
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Mustela Putorius Furo
This is a recent project from my English class. I got a B- but I thought I would post it anyway.
Mustela Putorius Furo
I was being called. Like the beckon call of a yodeler vocalizing from the Swiss Alps. This sort of thing always happened during of times stress, the kind of stress that feels like you have a monkey on your back....an overweight, stinking, screaming monkey. Within my first couple steps through the door I suspected the usual outcome but I had no idea of how I would arrive. Like travel by plane, you know where you're departing from and you know your destination but you know nothing of the flight plan or if the pilots are actually sober but this is what it's like when you visit Petland. I once learned that small, furry creatures feast upon stress like Velociraptors feasting on a young Atlascopcosaurus. Kittens, Puppies, Bunnies, and Birdies were all on display in their respected species. However, all their stress-sucking talents had been siphoned before. Prior to almost losing hope, there lied the Ferret pen. The therapeutic, playful presence of ferrets is like a constant in the universe and that obese, putrid, yelling monkey was sucked into a black hole thus ushering in the sobriety and peace that only a fuzzy little ferret can give.
As if I haven't posted something for a while!
I'm at school right now, but the moment I get home, I'm posting my latest project for English.
Your Lamewad,
Bill
