Because I Just Can’t Wait Till December

Beliefnet Belief-o-Matic

So I stole this off of Brandon’s page.  I’m not quite the blogger that I used to be, so sorry about all that.  Special apologies to Andrew, who helped me set this thing up.

Anyway, I did the whole Belief-o-Matic quiz, and the results were about what I would have guessed about myself, with the exception of the #1 spot.  Here are the Top Ten listings.

1. Orthodox Quaker 99%

2. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant 96%

3. Eastern Orthodox 93%

4. Roman Catholic 93%

5. Seventh Day Adventist 92%

6. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormon) 63%

7. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants 62%

8. Orthodox Judaism 59%

9. Hinduism 55%

10. Islam 54%

I read up on the Orthodox Quakers, because I was a little surprised that they were numero uno.  I think it’s because I don’t freak out about certain things as much as your conservative Protestants and I’m not too hot to trot on war all the time.

I’m not really sure how you can be higher in Hinduism than Islam when you’re a monotheist, but the survey isn’t necessarily canon.

You can take the test too, if you like.  Maybe you’ll be cool like Brandon and Jim, and score high in the Seventh Day Adventist category.

Attention All Those Raised in the South

After doing extensive research (including interviews with New Englanders and North Midwesterners) I have discovered what winter is like up North.  I have recovered the following footage.

This is what kids up North do all during the winter.  We were right to be jealous.

The Tale of Brandon Milan (Slighty Exaggerated)

Let me tell you about a man who used to walk on the red hills of this fair land. Now these events happ’n’d long ago, afore you was a twinkle in ya daddy’s eye. When I was a young man, I knew a fella named Brandon. Some folks say he come across the ocean from It’ly on account o’ his last name bein’ Milan. Them people all is fools with no skills o’ pronunciation. Ev’one has good sense knows that the “I” in Milan is said like ya eye that ya see with, an’ the “lan” ain’t all drawed out.

No, Brandon came from out o’ the woods in North Caralina. He was raised by a would-be momma possum who had none to call her own. That’s why he could always sleep a-hangin’ upside down by his legs. When I knew him, we was livin’ in South Caralina’s upstate, goin’ to school at the same place I was. Brandon always had a beard. He started growin’ it when he was around five or six years old, an’ got tired o’ shaving. He also foun’ out that it had its benefits, havin’ a beard. Kep’ him warm in the wintertime—why I once saw him nurse a chipmunk back to health in that beard. Poor thing got separated from his family an’ like to froze to death. Brandon bein’ the kind-hearted soul that he was took that chipmunk and snuggled him in that beard like a momma cradles her little baby. That chipmunk lived in Brandon’s beard a month, with us all feedin’ him almon’s and peanuts and finally scampered off just as happy as a lark.

Brandon and I, we was pals, ya see. We used cart off inta the woods to go explorin’. There wasn’t too much to find out in the woods those days, most ever’thing had already been discovered. Ever’ now an’ again our expeditions would pay off. Once, we came upon an old bridge, we had heard of it in a rumor that floated around the school. It was supposed to be hawnted by some Indian braves or something’. Well, we couldn’t find nothin’ hawnted about it, so we decided to sit aroun’ have a pipe an’ wait till dark to see if anything happ’n’d. ‘Round about ‘leven there came up a rain storm like I haven’t seen since. The crick under the bridge rose up so high that a dog coulda passed under it without getting’ his back wet. We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t get under the bridge, or we’d be washed out to China or California, but we was gettin’ soaked to the skin a-standin’ out there in all that rain. Brandon says to me, “Well, I reckon we’s already perty well soaked, might as well just set here an’ wait for it to pass.” So we plopped down in a mud puddle and commenced to discussin’ the doctrine o’ justification an’ imputation o’ righteousness an’ what was that ole boy from Englan’ sayin’ the ‘Postle Paul said differnt.

All o’ a-sudden the rain stopped. We thought that was a-sight strange, but we figgered ever’thing was alright an’ started to head on back. Well, right about then I let out a whoop, cuz I was standin’ face-to-face with a man wearin’ warpaint an’ a feather head-dress. He was sayin’ somethin’ I couldn’t understand, but I got smarts enough to know it weren’t nothin’ too frien’ly. Brandon started sayin’ somethin’ back to the man, I tried to get him to shut up: we didn’t need no more trouble than we was already in. But the man an’ Brandon seemed to get on right nice after a minute, an’ before I knew it, the Indian chief had a few more o’ his friends around, and they was tellin’ jokes like old cronies at a bar after work. Turns out Brandon had been on the translation committee for the New Cherokee Standard Version of the Bible, an’ he spoke Cherokee just fine. I couldn’t understand a word of what was goin’ on, but soon Brandon told me it would be alright an’ the Indians was gonna show us a short cut out o’ the woods back to the school. We made it back alright, though we was still perty wet an’ muddy from the rainstorm. We turned to thank our new friends, but they was gone without a trace. We don’t know if they was that good at disappearin’ in the woods or if they was somethin’ else completely, but we never did run into them again.

You’ve probably also heard that Brandon married the princess of Cold Mountain, and that is true. I know ‘cause I was there when that happ’n’d too. Leastways, the princess was named Leah, an’ she come from a good fam’ly that was also from North Caralina. They didn’t do no nonsense, though. In fact, her daddy once threw a black bear half a mile on account that the bear had been rude an’ wouldn’t tell him the time. Brandon married Leah on a temperate day in October o’ Oh-Six. Well, ‘twas to been a temperate day, but it lead into a cold, cold night. The weddin’ was to happ’n in an outdoor chapel on the side of a mountain, with the vows bein’ said right at sunset. But the bridal parade to the chapel took so long, the sun was long gone before Leah could walk the aisle. Now Brandon’s men was fine on account o’ we all had on jackets for our formal attire, but Leah’s ladies was a different story. It got so cold that the bottom of the thermometer had to break out in order to continya to be accurate, and the girls all had icicles hangin’ off their noses an’ out o’ their hair. The preachers (yes, there was two) made it quick an’ after some singin’ we made our way out o’ there just after midnight. It’s a good thing they got used to the cold, ‘cause it weren’t too long before they up and moved to Canada.

Ya can still find some folks who ‘member Brandon and Leah when they was here. ‘Course I suppose some o’ us is getting’ in a fix to move too. Yep, last I heard from Brandon, he was a musk ox rancher. He raises ‘em, breaks ‘em, and sells ‘em off to be work animals for other folks livin’ up there on the tundra. Leah was learnin’ ice skatin’. I heard she can practice in her backyard, whenever she wants ‘cause the ground’s froze all the time. Brandon said she could do a double front flip and land on her feet, an’ if she could master a triple, she might qualify for the Canadian National Ice Stunt League. I wish you’d been around to know ‘em, Brandon and Leah. They’s good people, and they just don’t make folk like that anymore.

The Newest

I finished this one just a few minutes ago.  It reflects my study as of late and my renewed desire to follow Christ though I fail often.

My aching heart
my hurting heart
throbbing with the restoring pain
of Jesus Christ with a putty knife
scraping out the death and rot
my healing heart
my beating heart

How long, Jesus?
It feels endless, Jesus
When will I no longer fight myself?
Will my struggle ever lessen?
Will You strengthen me in this war?
Stay with me, Jesus
Remember me, Jesus

Mighty God.
Eternal God.
Though You speak from the whirlwind
I have rebelled, I have marred Your image
Please welcome home this unworthy child
Merciful God
Gracious God

Loving Father
Forgiving Father
I am flippant and cynical
scowling with a furrowed brow
restore my childhood faith and glee
Knowing Father
Delighting Father

Broken Savior
Maimed Savior
forsaken by the Father
ransoming my wayward life
resurrected and alive forever
Living Savior
Reigning Savior

My human life
My vaporous life
teach me obedience
for Your own name’s sake
that You will be glorified in Your holiness
in my redeemed life
in my joyously forfeited life

Whistler, Sugar

I said a few words at my granddaddy’s funeral on Wednesday.  I’ll go ahead and say that I’ve never felt less worthy to stand on a platform and speak.  I wear a belt buckle that says “Death Before Dishonor,” but my granddaddy lived that more than I ever have.

I’ll never see someone wash their hands in a kitchen sink without thinking about him.  He always went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink when he would come home from his service station.  Don’t ask me why that’s always stuck out to me in my mind, but it has.

I miss him greatly.  He was a gracious man.  I have a second cousin who was married 5 times; in our conservative Southern family, this was obviously a hot topic.  Whenever anyone wanted to bad mouth my cousin, Granddaddy wouldn’t have it.  She was his niece, and no one was going to mess with her.  My granddaddy was like a shepherd to his family and friends.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that he reminds me of Christ.  God.  I’m looking forward to seeing him again, Alzheimer’s-free.

Skip

Atlanta lost a legend yesterday afternoon.  Our beloved Braves announcer, Skip Caray, passed away in his sleep.

Skip was the son of the famous Cubs announcer, Harry Caray.  He wasn’t quite the household name that Harry was, but he was well known to anyone who ever watched or listened to the Braves play baseball. 

Skip was with us in the 80s when about the only person we could really field worth remembering was Dale Murphy.  He saw us through to 1991 when the Braves had their epic worst to first season resulting in a trip to the World Series.  He screamed in anger with us at Kent Herbeck’s underhandedness (if you are a Twins fan and know what I’m talking about and disagree, we will fight) and he wept with us at game 7 when Lonnie Smith stopped in the baseline to watch where the ball went, costing us the championship. 

Skip made the most famous call in Atlanta Braves history (yes, more famous than when Hank hit #755) when Sid Bream made that slide into home plate during the 1992 playoffs against the Pirates.  Sid outran a ball thrown by Barry Bonds to score the winning run and take us to the World Series again.  “BRAVES WIN!  BRAVES WIN!  BRAVES WIN!” was what every man, woman, and child (staying up way past their bedtimes even in the stricktest of homes) heard coming through the speakers of their TVs tuned into TBS.  Though we blew the series again in ‘92, Skip stuck around and was finally rewarded when he got to announce the Braves’ victory in the 1995 World Series. 

Recently, Skip experienced some health problems that kept him from travelling with the Braves, and he could only announce home games.  Despite their recent performace, Skip was still faithful to Atlanta right until the very end. 

Skip, we’ll miss you buddy.  Your voice will echo in the head of every Atlantan for a long, long time.

Oops

So I haven’t written in almost a month.  Sorry, folks.

I’ve had a few posts I was working on that just weren’t flowing quite right so they’re sitting in limbo right now.  Perhaps they shall see the light of that binary cyberspace sun one day, but that day is not this day.

I thought about posting my zombie attack escape plan for Greenville, but I can’t have all the locals around here using up my resources.  I’ll go ahead and say this: if the zombies do attack, you get one phone call.  If you don’t answer, I’m not coming to help you.  You had also better judicious in your gathering of materials to fight off the hordes, everyone will have to pull their own weight, you know.

Something of some value will be posted here (fairly) soon.

Why So Serious?

I was rolling down the road listening to “You Could Be My Yoko Ono,” and I had a thought:  the past couple of months have been rife with heavy situations.

For once in my life, I’ve wished I was 17 again just to be back at play rehearsal with the other theater kids.  “WHERE’S MY GONZO HEAD?!”  Doesn’t mean anything to you (I’m hoping that’s not some vulgar slang somewhere, we just made it up), but when I thought about that a few minutes ago, I laughed out loud.

I’m not saying I haven’t had good times recently, not at all.  My day trip to Charleston was most excellent.  There’s just been a lot of serious discussion and not enough laughter and silliness.  I’m not thinking that I can recreate past times because that’s not really possible.  One can’t recreate past events, but one can make new memories.  It’d be impossible to recreate the Graduation Pact of ‘02 anyway.

“Recreate” three times in three sentences?  This is really bad writing, malchicks.

I’ve got MxPx pulled up on iTunes, and I’m thinking about going to see Kung Fu Panda.  Who’s game?

UPDATE

So I didn’t go see Kung Fu Panda; Daniel, Eric, and I went and saw WALL-E.  It was excellent, and it featured my buddy from A Mighty Wind (whose name escapes me at the moment).

Blogs, Stand-up Routines, and Further Examination

I’ve been keeping up with the Internet Monk, Micheal Spencer, for about a year now. I’ve got him on my blogroll, and I think you should check him out. He generally says things that I’ve been thinking, and he says it better than I could have ever articulated it. He also has a tendency to admit when he’s wrong; I could learn from that.

At any rate, Micheal did a little tribute to George Carlin on the occasion of his death that ruffled a few feathers. He basically said that Carlin had some pretty observant things to say, and there was more truth in his act than there has been in a lot of sermons out there in evangelical Christianity. That may have been a bit forward, but I’d have to say that was an interesting point.

I know Carlin is responsible for helping to make comedy not so family-friendly, and that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Whether or not you want to check him out is your decision; you’re an adult. I’d rather listen to George Carlin do the Hippy Dippy Weatherman than Todd Bentley talk about kicking old people in the face to heal them from diseases. Carlin was a very observant man, and he had some pretty interesting critiques of life in these United States. He also had some particularly biting things to say about religion.

I know the cool thing to say is “It’s against my relationship to have a religion” and that’s fine, but (Christians, Christ-followers, whatever the buzzword is) to listen up and not write off the critiques against us, particularly the hypocrisy that mars us all.

I think we need more voices within the Church to be this observant, and once again, examining. The Reformers were good at that, and they said some fairly biting things about what was going on in their day as well. I wonder if they would look like preachers or if they would look more like stand-up comedians in our day. That’s all speculative, and maybe I’m just trying to be edgy and cool. I mean, we’re trying to be family-friendly and keep things at some ideal status quo when we’re divorcing at a higher rate than all those people who are trying to destroy our families.

We’re serving a loving God incarnated in Jesus Christ, but when my church did a Q & A series, the #1 most asked question was “Why are Christians so mean?”

We love our enemies and turn the other cheek, but everyone needs to carry an assault rifle.

It’s good to be united when we’re attacked by terrorists, but when it’s election time, we better be wary of that guy with the crazy name who keeps up with all that unity talk. After all, unity led to the bloodiest war in the history of the United States.

Now I’m just griping, so I’ll stop. A mule can kick down a barn door, but it takes a man to build one.