Video Killed the Radio Star

You know what else? The Internet killed books and newspapers.

You know what else after that? Facebook killed the blog.

I'm not joking. Ever since I jumped on the social networking bandwagon, I have been worthless as a blogger. I can't get focused. I sit down to write and nothing comes. Occasionally my brain will rattle off something halfway decent to use as a beginning but then I rewrite the passage one hundred times over thus rendering it a hollow shell of its previous form. I allow my mind to wander from what I'm doing and end up surfing the web only to read blogs that are regularly updated because their bloggers have a devoted attention span that lasts longer than a millisecond. Or...I GET ON FACEBOOK.

hahaha...what stupidity.

By the way, Facebook is open in another window as I write this entry...I am a sick, sick person...and I know it.

I have a friend who is a writer...not a "writer" like me who simply jots things down to help process them or blow off steam. No, he is an actual writer. He has published books and, I believe, has more in queue awaiting publication. I mean, you could go - right now - into a bookstore and buy one of his books. You could search on Amazon and find one of his books. AMAZON!!!! Someone I know is a published author. Someone I know writes books. A lot of my friends read books but this is the only one to write one. To write one. *sigh*

I find this amazing.

I also find it to be a little sick and ridiculous. Not because he has written one but because he was able to write one. He must exhibit an inordinate amount of self-control and focus to do this. I sit down to write a blog post and I can't stay focused at all - I am able to exhibit absolutely no self-discipline.

In fact, I told B. the other night (on the way home from the store - at which he bought me a new MacBook Pro (that I am totally obsessed with) because our other laptop had repeated viral issues and because he loves me and I love him (even more than I do this computer - but the gap is narrowing)) that I would be able to do so much more blogging now that I can take my laptop with me.

"I do well," I said, "when I can go places and sit just by myself and completely focus on what I want to write...and this will help me do that." And he said, "Hmm, you think? This could be the thing, huh? Well maybe you'll write a book."

He really wasn't being facetious, rather, he was being supportive...offering me a viable option that I never entertain. Although he was also making that comment because he had just bought me a new MacBook Pro (which I love) and he was banking on a heavy duty back rub upon return to the house.

Anyhow, my response to the writing of a book was this: "Boo, I'd take my own life if I had to write a book. Do you know how long it takes me to churn out a pointless blog post?! No, I can't see me ever writing a book, but thank you for the support. By the way, I love the computer!"

Alright, so writing a book is something I will never accomplish which means I'll stick with blogging. Except blogging is also just as tedious, for me, some days as I'm sure writing an entire novel is for my friend. Now what do I do?

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Let me log on Facebook to get my mind off it and I can come back refreshed and ready to go.

Oh hey look, my friend from high school is pregnant again - and with a girl this time. Aww, I know she's excited especially since she has three boys. I'll send her a little note.

Oh my word, I can't believe the way my former students write on here. Did I do nothing for them during those grammar lessons. This is just embarrassing but it might make a funny blog entry

Hmm...I didn't know we were mutual friends with her. How in the world do they know each other?!

3 friend requests...interesting. Aww, B.'s cousin, of course I'll add her; she's so sweet. Hmm...I don't know who you are but we have mutual friends. Let's see who those people are. Nope, I still have no idea who you are. We'll just take a peek at your profile info and see if...aaaand, no. we will not be friends. Oh, haha, this is nice. Can't really see me accepting a friend request from someone I used to date...especially when you were such a tool before we stopped dating. But I do like the fact that you're coming to find me...HA!

You know, I should blog about Facebook and how addictive it is.

Hahaha...oh my word that's one of the funniest pieces of flair - it is so something she would have on her wall. Ooh ooh pictures. So that's the guy she's dating. Oh he's cute. She looks happy.

Oh yeah, I need to update my status...wait, no I don't wanna say it like that...it should be third person. Man that is so annoying when people make their status updates in first person. Your name is at the beginning of each status so why would you start your sentence with "I"?! Do these people actually talk this way? "Jane Smith I am writing a paper and my friends should call her so we can all go out after I finish." Ugh.

I gotta get back to my blog.I want to write but it feels like there's nothing to write, What is going on? Oh, it's Thursday, I need to submit a Throwback. This is so much easier than the play list on the blog. Maybe I should change the format on my blog and just make it about music...*sigh*...I don't know.

******************************************************************

And just like that, I've lost two good hours that could've been spent polishing an entry for this blog. But in the midst of all that nothingness came a pretty poignant status update that was a very sincere reflection of how I was feeling at the time AND a really great song that I thought others would enjoy and wanted to share. Isn't that what I try to do with this blog? The problem is that it takes too long...and I have no one to blame but myself. I need to reign in my thoughts too often using this medium, but with Facebook, I don't need to do that - unless I want to write a "note" and who wants to do that? Notes take too long to write. No, Facebook is meant for brevity, at least in content shared not time spent on the site. Blogs are endless, if you want them to be. There are friends of mine who have wonderful blogs and their posts are so meaningful...but they're also short. That's the awesome thing, the absence of length doesn't diminish the entry. I want that.

Donald Miller's most recent book, A Million Years in a Thousand Miles, is a great memoir about how he chose to essentially re-write his life. He explores the notion that we are all living a story and some of us have really interesting stories that make people want to know more about and in which they want to become an active participant...the way we do when we see a really good movie. Then there are other stories being lived that aren't worth the price of admission, so to speak. And throughout these personal essays, he's asking himself (and ultimately prodding the reader to ask the same of him/herself ) "Is the story of my life interesting and if it isn't, how can I change it?"

Some attempts he made at making a better story or new things on which he embarked were intense life-altering things; but others were rather small things that simply ended up having a large impact. Much like the concise blog posts from my friends, the size of the post may be small but they end up leaving such a large, profound impression. And too often, my lengthy and cumbersome entries lose the intended meaning, and even I'm no longer interested...which is sad because I wrote it, after all.

So, perhaps Facebook isn't the evil I initially thought it to be. Don't get me wrong, it is still a supreme waste of time and brain power, but perhaps it's like a reset button...for me anyway. Maybe the next time I log on to write a blog post and get derailed by Facebook, I should see it as my internal writer alerting me that my story is becoming uninteresting and lengthy and tiring.

I need to edit, because it's about quality of words not quantity.

Yes, I need to edit.

First, let me check my News Feed.

Silent Night

One of my favorite people in life is a man named Jim. He was my high school choir teacher and he was amazing. Actually, he still is. He continues to teach students and share his love and talent for music and I can tell you those are some of the most fortunate kids in the educational system.

When Jim was teaching, and I use that term loosely because it never felt "teachy", his enthusiasm for music was evident. It really just felt as though he was chatting with us about something he really loved to do. He'd share little bits of his life and personal insights and he gave us an unbelievable amount of respect. In fact, for all the love and respect he had for music, he showed us that much and more - which is no easy thing to do when you deal with high school students all day.

An extremely vivid memory I have of Jim's class was a story he told one day of piano lessons. He said that when he was younger he took piano lessons but he never enjoyed them. He would often enter them begrudgingly and give a half-hearted effort when playing...until one day, he'd had enough. He told his mother, at last, that he didn't like playing the piano and felt no more need to practice. In fact, it would be just fine with him if he couldn't play the instrument any longer because he simply didn't want to. His mother very calmly obliged. She pretty much said, "If that's what you want Jim, ok."

And that was the end of that. Literally.

He used to play beautifully but he grew tired of the talent God had given him and didn't want to use it for the purpose it had been given him so he asked God to remove it and that's exactly what God did. Jim will tell you, and demonstrate if you like, the lack of piano playing ability he now has. Sure, he can hunt and peck and quite frankly play better than the average person, but he can no longer play as he did.

God essentially told Jim to use it or lose it.

I think about that all the time - at random moments. What in my life is God telling me to use or lose?

Oh, yes - I know...it's my voice.

I'm not saying, nor am I even remotely implying, that I am a great singer...and that's ok. What I am saying is that God gave me my love of music and my desire to sing but I don't give back to Him. For a whole host of reasons that Satan puts in my mind, I choose not to use the gift God has given me.

Today, God brought this to my attention, yet again. Except this time, there was a different feel to the message. It had a sense of finality to it, much like I imagine it did when Jim said he was finished with the piano. Our church had the honor of hosting the King's Brass during our services today and these men are fantastic. At a few points during the evening service, our choir accompanied the musicians and they also had the congregation join too. This was beautiful but made me sad...for two reasons.

One:

I used to be a member of the choir but allowed myself to withdraw from it. At first it was because I got lazy then it was because I had begun going to a bible study that was offered during the same time as choir practice. And while this was true and while I did glean a great deal from the bible studies, I also used that as a crutch. The entire time I went to bible study, I wanted to be singing. I felt I should be singing, but I didn't.

Two:

I have laryngitis. I know, I know it's great for my husband that I can't talk. Hahaha...blah. But it sucks for me...because I can't sing. Not even in the car by myself all quiet and stuff. Nothing. It's awful. I have no idea how Milli Vanilli did it.

So tonight when the choir sang...songs that I knew and could sing (quietly to myself) with them...I couldn't sing. And when the King's Brass would ask the audience to stand and sing hymns with them...I couldn't sing.

This blog entry is covered in irony, right? Every other time I could sing, I didn't want to do so. Perhaps I was lazy or bored. Maybe I didn't feel like I could be useful to God by singing praises to Him when my spiritual relationship with Him was in such disarray. Whatever the ridiculous reason...I didn't sing.

Now, here I was longing to sing and feeling like a part of me was missing...and I couldn't sing.

Then I thought of Jim...

...and piano lessons

...and ultimatums we make with God

...and loss - of ourselves, blessings, closeness to God

Then I felt God essentially say, "If that's what you want, ok."

And that sounds great, right? It's very freeing to think that I can do whatever I want...if it's what I want. Wow!

Think again.

U2 said it best:

You hurt yourself /You hurt your lover /Then you discover

What you thought was freedom was just greed

Hmm...I don't sing because I don't want to; so I am therefore being greedy with a gift that I don't deserve. I'm being selfish with something that isn't even mine. Do you get how ridiculous that is? I don't sing, which ultimately hurts me because I'm not doing something I love to do. I hurt God because I am essentially taking a blessing and throwing it back in His face. Then after all is said and done, I realize I'm just a greedy little monster.

MY VOICE IS NOT MINE...IT DOESN'T BELONG TO ME...and yet I act all territorial with it.

That has to change.

********************************************************************

"So are you going to change?" he asked.

"The million dollar question." she replied.

"Yeah." was all he said.

More than Wonderful

I'm about to go all Sophia Petrillo on ya...

Wait, you do know who I'm talking about, right?

Estelle Getty, tiny little white-haired lady (actually her hair was brown and she wore a wig because with her real hair she didn't look old enough for the character), played mother to Bea Arthur's character Dorothy Zbornak...The Golden Girls?!?!?! Phew...ok, just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. Well, I reference her because she did something in practically every episode of that show that I'm going to implement now.

Whenever one of "the girls" needed a life lesson or advice, or because she just wanted to, Sophia would tell a story from her own life that (hopefully) related to whatever it was the other women were facing. And she always started her stories with this phrase: "Picture it...Sicily" and then she'd say what year it was and move about her story. I suppose it's much like what they used to do on Star Trek with the whole "Captain's Log/Star Date" thing but I was never much on the sci-fi thing. Plus, William Shatner was just creepy. I see syndicated episodes of that show now and wonder how in the world it was ever aired. Have ya seen the "pants" that man was wearing on that show?! Those things were spray-painted on they were so tight which is a completely inappropriate viewing experience when you're only 8 years old...actually, it's inappropriate at any age. And people thought Elvis was a heathen - yet this man gets an entire television program devoted to him. And i don't care what anyone says, there is no occupation where pants like that are necessary...not even in space. Oh, and let us not forget his strange. way. of. speak. ing. doyou. under. stand. what. I'm. saying. toyou. Spock.

Ugh. The upside to that show was, of course, Lt. Uhura with her go-go boots and the equivalent of a masterlock in her earlobe. Awesome!!!

Aaaand it happened again...I let my thoughts completely take control of this post. I must circle the wagons back again to get my bearings.

Ok, ok...Sophia - storytelling - go!

Picture it: Chattanooga, 2009

It was a typical school morning, which means the girls and I were probably running late, which also means there may have been a gas station run for granola bars and bananas for breakfast. No matter, we were in the car and there was music playing. Ordinarily the girls ask for "The Larry Songs" which is their way of asking for Veggie Tales music and that's fine. I have no problem with that because I do love my lips and I am a pirate who doesn't do anything. However, on this morning, I flipped the script on my young lasses. The night before I had the urge to dig up some old worship music...and by old, I mean the eighties. Well, one of those selections was Sandi Patty's live album, More than Wonderful...an album I played relentlessly throughout my junior high school years. In fact, even though I've always enjoyed singing and started really young, it wasn't until I heard Sandi Patty, specifically this album, that I really began to entertain the notion that my love of and for singing could be something God gave me for a reason.

All of this brings me back to the morning drive and the title song to that album, which happened to be playing at the time. Sandi sings it with Larnelle Harris and together they offer to God one of the most sincere songs of worship I've ever heard.

And all of that is great and sweet but here's the real gem.

H. is sitting in the backseat bawling her eyes out. Huge crocodile tears accompanying gasps for breath. What followed is one of the sweetest and convicting conversations I've ever had with my daughter.

(Me): "H. what in the world is wrong? Why are you crying?"

(H): "I just...just..."

(Me): "Well, sweetie what is it? Just tell me why you're crying."

(H): "It's just that this song is so beautiful and about Jesus and I just can't stop crying."

I don't even think there are words I could type to explain the feeling I felt that morning. I thought about what H. said all day long. When was the last time I was that moved to tears by how beautiful God is? When was the last time a song really made me stop and reflect on how wonderful God is? Sure, I could sing every word to that song...and do, but when was the last time I simply sat and let God sing to me?

She's five now and her faith is probably stronger than mine.

5 year-old faith...wish I had it.

Draggin' the Line

Taking my sweet time to finish entry drafts = 3 overdue posts from the blog list entered all at once.

FAIL

Under the Milky Way

I suspect that your kitchen counter, like mine, has a larger-than-should-be-allowed-by-law bowl containing Halloween booty. More than likely that high fructose treasure chest is the result of your darling children pillaging the neighboring houses. But perhaps not...maybe you simply overbought, anticipating mobs of pint-sized vultures soliciting your doorstep for sweets when only a few actually arrived. Or perhaps you overbought knowing you were guaranteed to only entertain a handful of children and wanted something to snack on while watching "Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin" - whatever, I'm not here to judge. Anyhow, the point is we all have a ridiculous amount of candy in our houses.

Well, last night while watching ESPN, I visited the little mecca of dental disasters in the kitchen (just as I had the night before - don't judge me) and realized that I had chosen the best candy...period.

I don't mean I chose the best candy for the neighborhood kids, because I actually didn't choose candy at all this year. But let's be clear, I also didn't become that slightly off-base woman in the cul-de-sac who gives out bananas and leftover pantry items...you know who she is. Rather, I chose things like mini granola bars, teddy grahams, oreos and fruit snacks. Sure I thought the kids would like the alternative to the typical candy but I confess, I was also thinking of me. If anything was going to be left in my house staring at me and my gumline and my waistline, I wanted it to be something I could feel slightly good about. Plus, I knew the girls would be bringing home the usual.

So, I was fumbling through the candy bowl last night and realized that I had chosen the best candy...to eat...ever, in the history of candy. What is it? I'm so glad you asked because I'm going to tell you - but only after I set the scene.

Our Sunday School class and others within our church are reading a book by Donald Miller titled: Searching for God Knows What and it is spectacular. Among the many concepts Miller discusses in the book, there is one of particular interest called "The Lifeboat Theory" in which he essentially says that individually and as a society we are all attempting to secure our place and ensure our worth within that society and the rest of the world (the lifeboat), respectively. So, in pop culture terms, we don't want to have our torch extinguished or have a hot German model kiss our cheeks and tell us "Auf Wiedersehen"...although for some, that last one might not be such a bad way to go.

I get this concept. I agree with it and, unfortunately, I perpetuate it. And while I understand that subscribing to this way of thinking only robs us of the joys of true connections with others and, most importantly, a deeper relationship with and understanding of who God is; I also think there is a place in our lives for the lifeboat approach. And THAT is where the Halloween candy enters the picture.

Whether you realize it or not, there is a hierarchy of candy and, quite frankly, some candies don't measure up and need to be thrown overboard. Read and learn kiddies so you don't continue this nonsense next October.

Halloween Candy - Lifeboat Edition

1. Non-descript black and orange peanut butter(?) candies

If you hand these out you belong in one of three groups:

• A. You are over 70.
• B. You hate children.
• C. You are over 70 and you hate children.

Nothing good has ever come from these and nothing ever will...stop it.

2. Triple-layer, Neapolitan flavored coconut candies

Strawberry, vanilla and chocolate were only meant to accompany one another in the divine vehicle known as ice cream. I like coconut as much as the next person, but this is where I draw the line.

3. Butterscotch discs and Starlight mints

Look, I realize that you can purchase approximately one million of these for around $4 but you should know that you're being labeled the "cop out" house from now until Doomsday peddling this crap. Leave the circulation of these candies to the pros: franchise "All-American" restaurants and your grandfather's canasta buddies.

4. Mary Janes

I don't even know what these are. I know they're old and the packaging is creepy...all yellow, black and red with the words "Mary Jane" written on it. It's very Flowers in the Attic to me and I don't like that image with my candy. Don't get me wrong, I love and have Mary Janes...in my closet...because they're SHOES. Under no circumstances should a candy be named after a wardrobe accessory. It's sort of like that scene in Ratatouille (it sounds like "rat" and "patootie"...ratpatootie!) - it just doesn't conjure up the best image. Especially when I consider the only other example with which I am familiar for the term - and let me just say that if the candies are made of that, then we're going to have a nation full of elementary kids with glazed eyes who talk like surfers and have constant munchies.

5. Generic Tootsie Rolls

Do I really need type anything else?

6. Sugar Babies

I have only one question: Who's your daddy? Exactly...leave the heavy lifting to him. Sugar Daddy is one of the best but Sugar Babies are just a travesty. Get with the program.

7. Smarties

You'd be better off handing out a ziploc filled with baby aspirin...actually, that's exactly what you're doing.

8. Dum-Dums

The name really says it all here. When you are in the aisles looking directly at the awesomeness that are Blow Pops and you opt for Dum-Dums, well you have officially crowned yourself King/Queen of all things ridiculous.

9. Jolly Ranchers

These are sooo junior high circa 1988. There are enough good "throwback" candies to reintroduce into circulation and these are not the ones.

10. Candy Corn

Yeah...I said it. This is, without question, the worst Halloween candy ever created. I know some of you will get all up in arms and say I'm not a Halloween candy purist but you have all been drinking the Trick-or-Treat Kool-Aid and your minds have been deceived. Regardless of its promising shape (who doesn't want to eat a candy shaped like a dicot) and its Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor triplex of pigment and the fact that when you eat a handful of them with peanuts it tastes just like a PayDay (to which I say: GO BUY A PAYDAY) - despite all of those things, this candy is just awful. The flavor is so sweet it makes Pixi Stix seem like a straw full of salt and the consistency inside is such that it feels like you're eating a liquid make-up applicator. And the "Harvest Corn" that replaces the orange color (seen only on convicts performing roadside trash pick-up - and Tennessee Vols fans) with a dirt brown hue is just plain sad.


For those reasons, candy corn must be removed from the candy lifeboat as it has been loitering in a space reserved for more worthy yummies.


Honorable Mention:

Milky Way, Three Musketeers and Baby Ruth

There is absolutely no reason for any of you to be here.

Why?

One word: Snickers.


And yes, Snickers is the best candy in the history of candy...ever.

Doesn't Remind Me

Well over a year ago, a wonderful friend (essentially family) told me to read a book. That's funny...because telling me to do something is never the way to go. It will, in fact, result in unbelievable irritation for me and disappointment for you because I never take kindly to being told to do something; however, she and I have the type of friendship where this is tolerated...sometimes. We share a mindset for much of the same music, literature, etc...so I am slightly more willing to oblige her when the need arises. That is, until this book.

The book to which I reference is Christian fiction - a genre that rarely appeals to me and this particular bit of Christian fiction was so far off my radar I wondered if this friend of mine could even really be called a friend at all. I mean this book was so not me. From the picture on the cover to the setting of this book, nothing about it held even an ounce of appeal for me. Why in the free world would she suggest this to anyone...not the least of whom being ME?!?! And so, upon beginning this literary masterpiece, I was filled with dread and a pre-emptive sense of boredom. What a great way to start the journey through a 400+ page book.

Whatever.

I read 5 pages.
I will say it proudly and without any shame: I. read. five. pages.

Whatever.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when, to my disbelief and disappointment, this book was again recommended to me. In fact, let me re-create that moment for you...


(*): You should read the book ___________by___________ and don't judge the book by its cover - seriously.

(A): I own that book.

(*): Did you read it?

(A): I started to but got about five pages in and said, "umm, no" and never picked it back up. Maybe it just wasn't the right time of my life or something but it just didn't have an impact on me.

(*): Read it. I'm serious. Start tonight and read the first 50 pages and I guarantee you won't be able to put it down.

(A): Well, perhaps.

(*): No, trust me - that book changed my life. Read it!

(A): Ok, fine...I'll read it.

(*): I'm serious.

(A): I said: ok...I'll read it.

(*): Good.


You can almost feel the dread and overwhelming sense of boredom dripping from the page, right?
Awesome.
Whatever.

Reluctantly, I began this book. No, wait - first I had to find the book. I would've had more success looking for a needle in a haystack with a map written in sanskrit and a blind guide. Bottom line: I had absolutely no idea where that book was. I found The Tibetan Book of the Dead (which I did purchase and read for pleasure - most of it) and The Devil Came on Horseback (which you should certainly read about the horrific state of affairs in and the brutality toward the people of Darfur) but I could not find the recommended reading. Certainly at this point I figured I'd just have to purchase the thing for a second time, which would have been both ridiculous and irritating to say the least - but then, suddenly, I found the book.

So, I finally began to read...and I read five pages. In fact, when all was said and done, I had read well beyond the five pages and finally landed in the middle of page 54. How did this happen? I completely lost myself in a book I had no intention of reading and was, dare I say, ravenous for it. I couldn't wait for the next opportunity to read this book.

The next day (*) made an off the cuff comment: "So I guess you didn't read the book." To which my response, and I confess it was a bit snippy and defensive, was: "Actually yes, I did...why would you assume I didn't?" and (*) retorts: "Because I thought you'd have mentioned it." I ended with: "Yeah, well I did and I really liked what I read. I didn't anticipate enjoying it as much as I did - so I suppose that means I'm at the right time of my life to be reading it."

Whatever.

Actually, to my amazement, I felt no dread or boredom, whatsoever, during the entire reading process because I did enjoy the book and was looking forward to reading more as soon as possible. However, in the absence of the aforementioned feelings of dread and boredom, the onset of new emotions crept in and had, by my estimation, intended to stick around. The biggest feeling was familiarity.

Granted, the main character in this book was female, a trait which I clearly share. But she also had some crazy almost inconceivable stuff happen in her life. Let's just say that if she were travelling DELTA, she'd have had to pay for the extra baggage she brought to the terminal. Believe me, I've got that too. But the most bothersome bag of all she carried was the one holding her coping mechanisms - I have one of those bags. Again, I don't have all of the gadgets she had but I have a few and they're heavy and not the kind you talk about at parties. I realize how that reads...but hang in there and steer your mind back where it belongs.

Anyhow, as I continued reading this book I was struck by how much I couldn't get enough of this woman and her life and how she handled (didn't really handle) things but couldn't figure out why this interested me so. However, I now know the reason was the sense of familiarity with things in the book. In the midst of delving deeper into her "thing" it caused me to wander back into my past and explore the way I handled things then (didn't handle things) and how I handle things now (don't handle things now). Do ya see the trend here?

I began making a mental list actually - I know it's shocking that I'd make a list - of all the things I could focus on to get my mind off those things from the past which are bleeding into the present. Seriously...ANYTHING that doesn't remind me of that stuff: the people, feelings, hurt, ugly truths, disobedience, disrespect, disillusionment, etc...would be a welcomed change.

I asked for anything to take my mind off those things. I begged for certain people, places and things to be removed from me so as not to be reminded of that stuff.

You know what did happened? Nothing.
None of those things were removed and they continue to keep my mind hostage.

You know what didn't happen?
I didn't give up on the book. Even though it was a bit painful at times, I read it in it's entirety...in four and a half days (no easy feat while pulled in two different directions by two very different children). I even passed the book to my Mom who, well, let's just say she's a member of a book club but has chosen not to read the books. I mean, she's incredibly intelligent and enjoys reading but has even less time to do so than I. Yet, surprisingly, she read this book in slightly more time than it took me and is even recommending it for her book club.

I only mention I finished the book because I'm struggling with it - (the book, not the fact that I finished it)...and the things within it's pages. It stirred up stuff, crap actually and who likes to be reminded of crap in their lives? Why is it that even when we feel like we've paid our dues and new leaves should/have been turned over - why is there still a moldy imprint of the previous leaf underneath?

It's the baggage. I need a change -maybe there are things I can fill my bags with that won't remind me. I could unpack and start over because I don't mind unpacking if when I re-pack I can fill it with what I choose.

Wait...isn't that what got me here in the first place? And isn't that why I'm standing at the baggage claim watching the same tattered, smelly, luggage I've carried for years go round and round and round like an endless 45 playing "He Stopped Loving Her Today"? You know, that's a great song but sad. Although if you're going to be sad and depressed while staring at the trash in your life continue to parade itself right in front of you, wouldn't that song be apropos?

I think maybe I should just leave this luggage here and go buy new bags.

Surely that'll work...right?

Actually, no it wouldn't. No matter the bags I buy, there will always be little loose seams or holes through which the crap will inevitably leak. In other words, there'll always be crap and it'll never go away, so what do I do? Ultimately, I wish I could just get away from these bags...like as far as the East is from the West.

I realize, as did the character in the book, that I need new bags. I need those bags that Christ talks about having - the ones that we want to keep with us and never part with because they don't remind us of past things. The bags that have more than enough room for ourselves and all that we think is important - even if we don't know why we think it's so important. The bags that have the cross-shaped lock making them as secure as Fort Knox. The bags that smell like Febreze, and are the most beauftiful shade of white. The bags that come complete with new luggage tags that read: "THIS BAG BELONGS TO MY CHILD: FIRST CLASS". The bags that require no extra fees at check-in because God's already footed the bill...and not just for these bags but any I may pack in the future. The bags that can be mine if I will only drop off the other crap bags at His terminal.

Those new digs certainly sound nice and considerably less cumbersome than my current set, so why am I so hesitant and protective of my other bags? Why will I not let them go?

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

If you haven't seen the movie Seven Pounds then stop reading now because I don't want to influence you in any way before you see it.

It's been quite a while since I watched it but I haven't forgotten anything about it. My reaction to the plot, characters and story progression remains very real and close to the surface. I was emotionally exhausted after watching it, sitting in tears and speechless. It's worth noting that B. was in very much the same condition...and this is a man who has only been teary at two movies that I can recall: Rudy and Gladiator. Anyhow, he and I discussed the film at length when the the stupor wore off and we could once again form sentences. And from that discussion a question was spawned.

While it's possible for a Christian to perform the same act Ben Thomas did in the movie, is it possible for a Christian to watch that movie and embrace his actions?