Jimmy Needham's message to Union

I was nervous: it was the third time I had talked to the guy and I hoped he didn't think I was some kind of lunatic fanatic. Finally, I decided to use the journalist card.

"Hey, uh, I'm the editor of the Clo--uh, school newspaper here, and I was wondering if I could get a few quotes?" I held my breath.

"Sure," he said as I breathed out in relief. "Let's go to the green room."

I had forgotten what I wanted to ask him, so I quickly formulated a question to buy time. Thankfully, he took out a bag of Teddy Grahams.

"All that singing gives me the munchies," he said and tore into the bag. He looked at me and offered one, and I shook my head no. I was planning to go to Buell's place for cinnamon rolls later and I've been attempting to work out with some frequency.

I still couldn't remember the question, and I hadn't worded the new one just right, so I made some small talk on guitars and music and even offered him some southern chicken from my house. Then I remembered what I wanted to ask him, but my new question seemed better.

Jimmy swallowed. "Okay, shoot."

"Okay, if you wanted to leave Union with a message, other than the one you just gave, what would it be?"

He stopped chewing, looked down at the floor, and breathed in deeply. Then there was silence for a couple of seconds.

"When I first heard the good news, I was caught in legalism. I wanted everything to be just right, and if I failed, I felt like it was the end of the world. Now, being a parent twice and over the years, I have learned that God likes my baby steps.
"I love my baby's steps, and I hate it when she falls, but I understand that she can't run yet. God is the same with me; He wants to see me running eventually, but He's not in a rush. He loves my baby steps.
"So what I would tell Union is, remember that God likes your baby steps. He likes to pick you up when you fall. He loves your baby steps."

I thanked him and walked away. Jimmy Needham had just preached to me twice in one night.

Because "Jesus" is a verb, not a noun

I agree that the Bible is to be read constantly and studied and searched thoroughly. If nothing is done to carry out and share what we learn, let me tell you this: you can summarize the Bible in "love." Now go and practice it.

Alex Haley's Roots...not quite, though

I had already begun to feel alienated in my hometown.

However, as they say, you don't know what you have until you lose it.

I came to the US at the age of seven. I lived in the same town up until I came to Lincoln for college, but I still went and spent any vacations I could back in that little ol' Texas town.
So for all intents and purposes, Keene was my hometown: where I grew up, had my first crush, broke my first bone, made friendships that I still hold dear, and became a sort of celebrity--appearing in the newspaper almost weekly for four months out of the year in my singlet and short running shorts.
I know those streets forwards and backwards. I ran them virtually every day for six years. I accumulated enough mileage on my legs and those paved roads to go to California and back. I can truly say I know those streets.

After high school, it didn't feel the same. All my friends had gone and I no longer ran so devotedly.  The place was full of people I did not know.

Still, it was home. Somehow.

Now that my parents found a job in a city five hours away, I know that I will very rarely ever again go back to that speck on the Texas map. What's more sad is that I never got to say good bye to the house, to those streets, to my school, to the few friends still there.

While I am a Guatemalan and will always be proud to be from there, my roots are in Keene. If I went back to Guatemala I would have no friends, and I would not know the streets.

Same in the new place. I do not know ANYTHING.

I remember talking rather prophetically to some friends about how life goes on. I said during that interchange, "I don't plan on living in Lincoln, but I can see myself living here if I got a job or something like that."

Now, I see that Lincoln is my new home. I don't really like the sound of that, but it's the only place where I have friends. The only thing that is missing is my family.

Needless to say, I've been homesick--the move has aggravated it, because I won't return--and I've been missing my mom's hugs and cooking, my little sister's inside jokes, my brother's insanity, and my dad's late night chats.

I feel very sad, but not really. It's a hard thing to express.

From Good 'Ol Diogenes

One original thought is worth a thousand mindless quotings.

A Day in the Life. . .

Not in any way similar to the Beatles song of the same name.

This school year, the days blur into each other because they are connected so closely. It's really a hard concept to grasp, but then again my brain is always thinking in ways I can't explain well, so here goes.

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday I wake up roughly at 10:30 in the morning. While this may seem like sleeping in to most people, most people don't go to sleep around 3:30-4ish in the morning. I do all the necessary hygiene procedures and (maybe) grab breakfast. If I don't have milk, I probably won't eat breakfast.

Then I head to my office and check my emails for anything that might be of pressing importance. Usually, there are a couple late articles and pictures I read through. Then I head to class.

After classes, I usually head to my office and depending on the day I do different tasks.

Being Clocktower editor means that I had to do the following:

Interview and hire staff. Call and preside over weekly meetings, coming up with an agenda of issues that have to be addressed and any information that may be pertinent, usually running for 30 minutes and maybe more. Read through all the articles, send them to my editors and wait for them to come back to me so I can do further edits. Make sure pictures are taken and submitted with the articles. Keep up with the social networks (of which the traffic has increased 600% since I came in--not to brag or anything) and oversee the layout process. Send the layout draft to proofreader, proofread it myself, send the final proof for approval to my sponsors, and submit the final proof to the press. Then I have to collect old issues, count them, package them, and write down any change in readership. Pick up printed issues and organize them for distribution. Oversee the distribution in two of the five places the issues are placed, and distribute them in the other three. Since I am a part of ASB, it also means I have to attend weekly meetings and help with the Saturday night events. Repeat the process.

Then I do homework and usually find time to read a bit for leisure or get some Decaf Guatemalan coffee from the Mill.

I'm telling you, the Thursday night worships really help me refuel, and now see the importance of attending Wednesday meetings in the future. Playing music also helps, but I have to do it with other people.

When I'm finally home, it's usually 11:30. I read a bit, and try to go to sleep. I have a hard time falling asleep so I get ahead on homework (I haven't had much homework the past couple of weeks due to going ahead) and toss and turn in my bed.

Then, I do it all over again.

"It's sad. . ."

One afternoon, I was walking back to my house from my office. My friend Joe was walking towards the administration building, so for part of the way we walked together. 

We were both staring down at our phones, checking text messages and such, when Joe looks up and says, "It's sad, right?"

I wasn't paying much attention, so I said "What?" before I realized I knew what he said. "Oh, what's sad?"

"What technology makes us. Staring down at a phone all day." 

I smiled and humphed. "Yeah, crazy."

That's as far as our conversation went. He went into the building and I headed on for home. I put my phone away and decided to just listen. Try and see how many things I could hear. The wind rustling the leaves, the cars on the street, the footsteps, crickets, a couple of birds, the lawn sprinklers, some conversations, a grasshopper flying--all of a sudden, so much more became alive.

Epic dialogue from the horribly bad movie "The Dictator"

Why are you guys so anti-dictatorship? Imagine if America was a dictatorship! You could let 1% of the people have all the nation’s wealth. You could help your rich friends get richer by cutting their taxes and bailing them out when they gamble and lose. You could ignore the needs of the poor for health-care and education. Your media would appear free; but would secretly be controlled by one person and his family. You could wire-tape phones. You could torture foreign prisoners. You could have rigged elections. You could lie about why you go to war. You could fill your prisons with one particular racial group and no one would complain. You could use the media to scare the people into supporting policies that are against their interests. I knew this is hard for you Americans to imagine, but please: try!

I in no way endorse this movie, but this last line almost made it worthwhile. But it didn't.

I didn't want to get into this. . .

The last thing on my mind was writing a September 11 post, for many reasons. Especially since I haven't written anything in a while, this was the last thing I wanted to do my comeback with.

However, everyone in the school seems to be "remembering" September 11. So here goes my two cents.

I agree with the fact that the act was horrible, and that civilians should never have to pay the cost of an intellectual war as this one is. But what gets to me is the fact that the entire war on terror was based on the foundation of fighting fire with fire.

How hard is it to turn the other cheek? I have yet to experience a situation in which I'm forced to decide  between "justified" defense or turning the other cheek.

Judging by the way that entire nations' armies are mobilized all the time, it must be pretty hard.

I think it's important to remember to turn the other cheek. That way, we don't fall into the never-ending barrage of wounds that we have to "pay back." Getting even, as they say.

I like what Gandhi said, "An eye for an eye will just make the whole world blind."

Let's remember September 11, but let's not forget Darfur, Afghanistan, Iraq, Vietnam, racial inequality in all countries, Nepal, Myanmar, Tiananmen Square, both world wars, colonization and genocide against natives in their respective territories and empires, imperialism . . .

From the Extraordinary Mind of C.S. Lewis, V

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of the kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously - no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinners - no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat, the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.

C.S. Lewis: The Weight of Glory