March 1st: Self-Injury Awareness Day

Please say a prayer for all of the Self-Injurers in the world today, that they may find healing, peace, worth, and release from their addiction. I know I did... Praise God.

Don't keep silent.

Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

One Girl Revolution

One time, when I was being maybe-overly-opinionated, as I can be at times (what can I say? I'm a Goodwin) someone said to me, "You shouldn't try so hard to change the world."

... I decided it would not be wise to heed their advice.

Smart Girls Still Believe in Love

I have repeated this phrase over and over to myself after reading the book, "Dating Mr. Darcy" on Christmas of 2005. As many know, I loathe Valentines day with a passion, but I do not hate love. It is tradition for me to wear all black, watch sad movies, listen to old Country music, and even pin a felt broken heart to my shirt on this "day of love", and so I did today-- with only one difference.

I walked down the stairs in my all black outfit, and threw my arms in the air, proclaiming, "HAPPY SINGLES AWARENESS DAY!" to my younger sister. I was stopped by my mother who informed me that my sister was not happy to celebrate her singleness. I wasn't really surprised at this. She is 16, after all, and being pure is never popular, and it is rarely easy-- especially when all of your friends are obtaining "hot" boyfriends, and you've only had a couple that you regret (trust me, I understand this perfectly.

"At least your prince won't find you kissing a frog." I reassured her.

I decided to show her the "exception" to my Singles Awareness Day garb-- I pulled up my black pant leg to reveal pink and white plaid socks. I then repeated my motto;

"Smart girls still believe in love."

" It seems I've come to a realization. Despite the fact that I hate Valentines Day with a passion, it is no reason to be Anti-LOVE. Love is not evil. It's not something created by corporations to rake in the big-bucks. It's not even a fantasy. It's real, it's committment, it's responsibility, it's commanded by God, it's an attribute of God... and for someone to deny this beautiful gift under the pretense of bitterness is surely as close to a grave sin as one could ever come.
So, today, forget about all of the stupid people you've dated and all of the wrecked "love stories" you've experienced. Forget that love has become something shallow in our society-- something that's been torn up and thrown away so many times that we've begun to hate it (ironic.. we hate love). Forget about your need to be UNfeminine. Smart girls still believe in love.
Smart girls still embrace the beauty of a possible future romance, and they realize that romance isn't what defines them. Smart girls love everyone fiercely, and they make every effort to portray love ina an honorable, graceful way. Smart girls dig smart guys who honor them and treat them with respect and Godly admiration EVERYDAY of the year, not just on February 14. THAT is love.
I'll say it again...
Smart girls still believe in love." (February 14, 2006)

Contrary to popular belief, it is perfectly acceptable, and actually often BETTER to be single. Don't let the idiocy of Valentine's Day get you down if you are single.

Also, if you are currently in the love of you life and 100% convinced that you're RIGHT where you should be, CONGRATULATIONS, and may God bless the love you're experiencing. :)

I may hate Valentines Day, but I'd be stupid to hate love.

-Jessica

Things That I ABSOLUTELY adore

Since I posted all of my pet peeves, I thought I'd make a list of some of the things I really, really love. Here goes..

- The fact that God is a rescuer
- Rain storms
- Fruit snacks
- Old movies... the overacted, underrated black and white ones.
- The Temptations
- Art... visual manifestation of human passions.
- MY FAMILY. If you know them, this does not need explanation-- but I'll explain anyway.
- My daddy's smiles-- there are different ones for different moods. I especially love his mischievous smile :)
- My mommy's chocolate chip cookies... they taste different every time.
- Anthony's geek moments... there are too many of them to count.
- Mark's completely random sense of humor.
- The fact that Christopher HONORS me... he doesn't just love me.
- Amy's uninhibited laugh, outrageous smile, and ability to trust and love people.
- The books of Isaiah, Lamentations, Romans, and Jeremiah. Biblical poetry-- mmmm.
- Finding God amidst sorrow, and realizing that that is all too often right where He belongs-- because it's right next to you.
- Laughing until I cry.
- Words... all words... every kind of word.
- My friends.
- The fact that my puppy mopes when you mope and tries to cheer you up when you cry.
- The fact that my bunny is more obedient than my puppy-- and he throws fits and stomps when he's mad... okay... I just love my bunny.
- Springtime.
- Warm sweaters
- Chivalrous men
- Color
- Contrast
- My best friends, Abbi, Ian, and Teia--
-Abbi, my sister, who loves unconditionally and speaks truth into my life. I want to be like Abbi if I ever get to grow up.
- Ian, who stretches my mind and challenges me to think outside of my emotions, and who can just goof off and talk about monkeys and hippos and all sorts of useless things.
-Teia, who just plain challenges me. Without her, I'd probably be some agoraphobic psycho. :)
- I LOVE being single.
- I love my nephew... for so so so many reasons. :)
- I love writing... it's cathartic.
- I love reading... it's therapeutic.

Things That Bug Me a Little

When in doubt, write about your pet peeves.

So.. okay... I really can't stand when you're in a public place with someone, and you spend a lot of time in close proximity to them, and when you get home you SMELL like them. That drives me absolutely insane.

I also can't stand it when Christians jump down a non-Christian's throat with a bunch of theology and philosphy that isn't even relevant to any conversation being held-- it's like they're just looking for something to argue about, instead of trying to inform someone of their religion or what have you.

Static-electricity
REALLY cold weather
Catching a cold
watery-eyes
Days when you feel absolutely massive
giant reading assignments

loosing an assignment you should have turned in two days ago, and finding that it's NOT, in fact, saved on your computer

realizing there really IS something wrong with how your mind works.

Going shopping with your brother who is more picky than you are... or your sister... or your mom.

Wearing high heals, forgetting that you walk around a college campus all day.

Trying to write a great paper that turns out completely incoherant by the second page.

not being able to sleep
people asking "What's wrong?"
retail customers
decided ignorance
extremist thinking
materialism
myself

When I'm trying to sleep, and my blanket is upside down, or the seam of the blanket is not near my head.

When I can't concentrate.

When I really want coffee, but I forgot my wallet at home.

Overbearing profanity.
illogical debaters
people who can't just define the issue
socks that fall off
shoes that are just a little bit too big

I'm a little irritable, methinks.

SARCASM

I love it when you can feel people pushing you out of their lives-- When you know that you don't really matter to some people anymore, or when you know that they value something so immaterial more than their four year friendship with you.

I love it even more when I can lay awake at night and pinpoint the moment in my life that brought about all of the complexes I've formed in the past five years. I love that I know exactly what is wrong with me, and where it all started.

But what I really love is the fact that I can't do anything about it.
It will never change.

I love that I'm so incredibly selfish about so many incredibly stupid things-- that I can look at someone's pain and say, "They're so selfish.", even though I'm the selfish one. I also love that I'm pretentious and critical. I love that I can spew out advice and admonishment because I so obviously know exactly what other people should be doing, but then I forget that I did it all, too-- I just chose a razor instead of a bottle, or a cigarette, or a joint.

I love that, through all of the things I do, I end up doing to God the exact things that I can feel people doing to me-- pushing Him out of my life while claiming His grace, and waving in His face something so immaterial that I idiotically value more than my friendship with Him.

L'imposteur

CLEANTE: Brother, I don't pretend to be a sage,
Nor have I all the wisdom of the age.
There's just one insight I would dare to claim:
I know that true and false are not the same;
And just as there is nothing I more revere
Than a soul whose faith is steadfast and sincere,
Nothing that I more cherish and admire
Than honest zeal and true religious fire,

So there is nothing I find more base
Than specious piety's dishonest face--
Whose impious mummeries and hollow shows
Exploit our love of Heaven, and make a jest
Of all that men think holiest and best;
These calculating souls who offer prayers
Not to their Maker, but as public wares,
And seek to buy respect and reputation
With lifted eyes and sighs of exaltation;
These charlatans, I say, whose pilgrim sould
Proceed, by way of Heaven, toward earthly goals,
Who weep and pray and swindle and extort,
Who preach the monkish life, but haunt the court,
Who make their zeal the partner of their vice--
Such men are vengeful, sly, and cold as ice,
And when there is an enemy to defame
They cloak their spite in fair religion's name,
Their private spleen and malice being made
To seem a high and virtuous crusade,
Until, to mankind's reverent applause,
They crucify they're foe for Heaven's cause.

Tartuffe, Moliere

Evolution of the Poetic Concept

I love to write poetry. Period. As I become more and more educated in literature-- both traditional and contemporary-- my perception of what is "poetic", or even "artistic" changes so often. The first semester of college was spent trying to perfect poems of meter, rhyme, and traditional form. I even tried to write a sonnet once...

Stretching out Your hand as if it were rain
You chose to touch my dark and sordid face.
What motivation! Still, my mind refrain
From choosing to run this long, horrid race.
And lo, my heart [still mute] will reprieve this;
That I may remain living while still dead
And I shall refuse to live in true bliss.
Still my soul would surely choose this instead,
To cast away its cares or simply cope.
For there must be some unfeigned way to
Live in full peace and to know sincere hope--
To love and be loved by One who is true.
How lost in Your wonder is my small mind!
None have I known, compared to Your kind.

Last spring semester, I read a lot of ee cummings. A LOT of ee cummings. I annotated. I mimicked. I came to love the idea and challenge of controlling words without meter or rhyme. The abstract structure of American poetry in the 1950's caught my attention, and I decided to try to work on this beautiful idea. Here's one of my favorites...

dancing, like ballet
across the surface of the sea,
like air
the art of you sculpts fragile memories
like cool marble stone
in a still quiet museum.
all around, the people
bustle away
while you, like the sun
rise and fall,
creating your masterpiece.

I think I am slowly evening out my style, and I am extremely excited.

Last night, I found a poem by a Palestinian-American poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. Her use of language and control of tone and atmosphere astounds me, as well as the power of her imagery.

"Making a Fist"

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

-Naomi Shihab Nye

I have read and heard many of Nye's poems in the past week, and all morning before church, I had two lines of poetry in the style of Nye that would not leave my mind: "I never knew what my house looked like from the highway/nestled in the earth, and life, and willows." So, after I sat down before the service (and through the whole thing, I admit), I began to write it down. But... how do you finish a pome like that? Where is it supposed to go from there? I added line by line all morning, and I ended up writing this;

I never knew what my house looked like from the highway
nestled in the earth, and life, and willows
with a creek bubbling behind and six cars parked in front.

I've always wondered if it looked like home from a mile away
filled with the truth, and smiles, and singing laughter
with tears behind us and bright hopes ahead.

But I realize, it's not about what it looks like on the outside
not earth, not willows, not six cars parked out front.
It's about living out the smiles.
It's about singing out the truth.

This semester, in all four of my literature courses, I hope I can take away even more ways to refine my poetic concept. I'll share with you all the poetry I write, even if it scares me to death to let anyone see it. You all encourage me. You inspire me, and inspiration is the best kind of poetry... it IS poetry.

Check it out

http://www.myspace.com/unvoicedthebook

Final cover art is on there.

I need YOUR help.

Okay, so... I'm a couple of edits away from self-publishing my first novel. However, I need to figure out some stuff with the cover art. I have some mock-ups made with stock photos (I'll be taking my own for the actual cover), and I need to know what some people think of the ones I have so far. SO... out of the three designs below, which would you most likely pick up/buy/look at to read in a book store?

1)

2)

3)

It will be a 6" by 9" book. The story is about a 17 year old girl that struggles with self-injury... if that helps you get a feel for the book at all. Of course, the back cover would mimmick the front in style and colors and such-- and it would be a lot more polished and professional looking. Whaddya think? Any opinions would be awesome... just be nice. haha

-Jessica

Rescuer

A very late night conversation with a couple of my friends on New Years Eve/Day inspired me to write this post. It's something I don't talk about nearly enough.

I was “saved” at the age of three. I loved God, and I knew who he was, even if I was young. I wouldn’t quite say that I understood the saving power of who He is, though. It took a lot more than a prayer to teach me that. I had a great Christian education, and was well versed in Scripture and Christian doctrine. I could debate theology with anyone, and still appear extremely intelligent for my age.

But, when I was 13, my family moved out of state and then moved again when I was 14. By this time, I was seriously doubting my beliefs. Maybe “doubting my beliefs” isn’t the right way to put it. I still knew God, and I knew how He could provide for my needs, but so many things in life seemed so much more logical than He did. Because so many illogical things had happened in such a short time before this, I thrived on and sought out practicality, logic, minimalism, strictness, and reason. What eventually came of this was in no way logical, though.

I don't remember a lot of what happened in my life between the ages of 14 and 16, but I remember that they were very dark days for me. I was very depressed. I began to punish myself for not being able to be happy, for trusting people I shouldn‘t have, for doing something stupid at youth group, or even for getting a bad grade. At first, it was only skipping meals, scratching at my arms, and running myself down all the time. The first manifestation of it all that I can remember was at a performance of Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker". My brother asked why my arm was scratched, and I told him fearlessly that I had done it. He jokingly called me "Cutter", and never brought it up again.

That was just the beginning.

It quickly escalated to punishing my body through exercise and under eating. At one point, I was eating one small meal a day and exercising for a little under four hours a day. I would fill up on coffee and diet soda, or I would manipulate my metabolism so that I wouldn't even get hungry at all. What I couldn't do by swimming laps, I'd make up for in walking or stay up working out in my room. I lost about 70 pounds the summer before I began my junior year, but even that wasn't enough-- I wasn’t enough. So I continued to push myself. I would hitch rides to the local rec center when our home pool closed for the year, and I started walking to friends houses and Bible study regularly.

Even though I was consistently controlling my body, I started cutting myself when I was 15 years old. It started with thumb tacks and mechanical pencils, and eventually I was using razors and even knives if I could. I never thought I would come clean, but when I made the choice to tell my youth leader about my habit, I knew that I had to tell my parents. I didn't want them to find out about it through anyone but myself. A little after my 16th birthday, I had my parents and myself convinced that I wasn't going to cut anymore, but I soon fell back into it. This was worse. I never used anything but razors or knives, and the cuts seemed to last longer and go deeper each time. I saw people who had been into cutting at my age, who were then in their 20s, trying to raise families and have careers-- the baggage that self-harm left was unbelievable, and I knew deep down that I could very well have been on that road. So, I pushed people away because I didn't want to have to explain myself to them-- but really, it's because I didn't want to face myself when all was said and done. I didn't want to end up in a psych ward. I didn't want to end up constantly unstable, and facing more mental disorders than I could even fathom. I lived a seemingly double life. I led youth group and worked with non-profit organizations, all the while destroying myself for some unvoiced reason-- a reason I couldn't even find words for.

After six more months of battling with myself and my rage (as well as with my parents, who found out about one of my relapses because my little sister saw a cut on my arm-- ironically, it is one of the only scars visible on my arms to this day), I finally realized how far I had gone. It occurred to me one night, at a bon fire, that it wasn’t okay for me to bleed instead of crying, or talking to someone about what I was feeling. It wasn’t okay, regardless of my weight or pants size, to starve myself or obsess over how I looked. I also realized how futile the pursuit of control was. At least, it wasn’t at all worth the price I paid for it.

I had ruined many relationships in my life. My friends were hurt. I spent many nights on the phone with my three closest friends (what good friends they were, even if I wanted desperately to get away from them)-- it wasn‘t rare for them to be crying or yelling or both. My parents couldn't trust me, and with good reason. Sometimes even now, if I have a scratch on my arm, they‘ll ask about it, which only reminds me of how much they deserve to hold my trust (as well as what a blessing it is for me to hold theirs after all I put them through.) Worst of all, I had injured my relationship with God in a major way. By cutting, I stood in His face and told Him that He wasn’t good enough to sooth my pain. By starving myself, I told Him that I didn’t trust Him enough to make me beautiful.

A few weeks after the last time I cut, my family moved again. God showed me how incredibly good He is. In the town that I moved from, my reputation was ruined. I couldn't be considered a stable, healthy girl anymore, and I didn't want to live in that manner in the new community I would have to be a part of. God pretty much got in my face and said "Straighten up, I’m giving you a second chance."

The second chance came. I’ve been able to come into contact with others who are coming out of the depths and darkness of self-harm. I still struggle with all of these things. Mostly cutting, and the feeling that I need to punish myself. But now, I know just how much I need God, and how willing He is to let me start over. It is so much more than a blessing-- my second chance. To be able to shine, even if I’m not quite there yet. To be able to smile again (which I've been told I never stop doing-- Praise God! What else is there to do, really?), and more than that-- to be able to cry again. To be able to stand up and say, “I’ve been there, and I know for a fact that you don’t have to be.”

But more than anything, I am forever grateful that my God is a rescuer. He is MY rescuer.

"We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They will listen to us... because we have been here." - Betsie Ten Boom

"Does anybody know how I feel? Sometimes I'm numb, sometimes I'm overcome. Does anybody care what's going on? Do I have to wear my scars like a badge on my arm for you to see me, I need release. Do I have to scream for you to hear me? Do I have to bleed for you to see me? 'Cause I grieve, you're not listening to me. Do I need to scream? Has anybody seen what's been done? Where was my defense? No one heard my protest. The eyes of God were watching me. It's time to make my peace, let it go and be released so I can breathe again. I'm on my knees I've been marked, set apart, but I'm cut so deep and afraid of the dark. One drop of blood from the hole in Your hand is enough to heal me and make me stand. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream for Him to hear me-- Don't have to bleed for Him to see me. 'Cause I'm clean, He is listening to me. I don't have to scream. I don't have to bleed .'Cause I'm clean, He is listening-- And I don't have to scream." - ZOEgirl, Scream

Maybe someday, I'll have something inspiring to say.

"I think we've all missed the point.
This is our one life to give."

-Parallax View

Far, Far Away

Staring at the shoreline, wishing for some hope, the weight of empty fishing nets is more than twisted rope. And underneath stern faces, they wait with baited breath with broken hearts from hoping while casting out their nets. See the figure on the shore-- He speaks his words like plain men sing. His hands they still have holes in them. Glory to the King! Can you hear the bells are ringing far, far, away? Can you hear the voices singing far, far, away? And Peter was a liar-- a traitor just like me... and Judas was a hypocrite, and Paul a Pharisee. When truth can be so distant, and hope evades our reach... Peter swam across the water and found it on the beach.

-Five Iron Frenzy

Things I've learned

Friendship is not something that is built on what I have in common with someone, but what we've been through together.

"Home" is rarely ever locational.

Singing Patsy Cline's song, "He Called Me Baby" will sooth any sort of pain or discomfort.

There is nothing more heartwarming than your German Shepherd puppy climbing on top of the dining room table before Christmas dinner.

Some people are really immature-- try not to be like them.

React. Don't act up.

Smile.

Thou my best thought, by day or by night.

"In Christ Alone"

Stewart Townend, Keith Getty

In Christ alone my hope is found.
He is my light, my strength, my song.
This Cornerstone, this solid ground--
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace!
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease.
My Comforter, my All in All--
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe.
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.

'Till on that cross as Jesus died
The wrath of God was satisfied.
For every sin on Him was laid.
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain--
Then bursting forth in glorious Day,
Up from the grave He rose again.

And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost it's grip on me.
For I am His and He is mine--
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.

No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
'Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.

The Passing of Arthur

As many may know, I left my previous church in May. I had no idea why God had placed within me the discontent I knew. I had reasons for disliking the specific church, but it was a strange feeling. Except for not taking part in communion, I felt absolutely no guilt in not attending a church. I didn't know where God wanted to lead me next, but I knew that whatever it was absolutely had to require three things.

1) Reverence and Respect for the Sacred. I did not want to attend a church where the main focus was to "get something out of it." I had a huge problem with songs and sermon that did not in any way glorify God, but rather demeaned Him in one of the most insulting ways-- by ignoring His depth and Heart in order to appeal to the masses. I was even irritated by the smallest things-- people clapping for the worship band, guitar solos in the middle of a beautiful, theologically inspiring hymn, and so on.

2) An Attitude of Compassion Toward the Lost. In my last few years at this church, I do not believe I came across more than one professing Non-believer. The one Non-Believer I knew was a dear friend of mine who eventually left the church because her small group leaders would not accept her "punk" lifestyle. They attempted to give her a make over, in which they wanted to replace her spikey green hair (which looked fantastic with a black and white polka-dotted dress) with something more normal, and her safety-pinned, hand-made clothes (which she now SELLS) with something more tame. Her appearance, however, was not her heart-issue, but the church and it's supposed youth leadership failed to recognize that... and they lost her. They lost her.

3) A Wise and Discerning Use of Resources and Influence in the Community. It is a common-known fact amongst youth groups in this area that, if you want to get a big church to involve themselves in one of your events, you certainly do not ask the church I previously attended. Not only were they introverted, they were egotistical. What kind of church, that has such enormous potential and resources, gives it all up for a minimal territory and a bad reputation within the body of Christ?

I never could have imagined what God had in store for me. Not only did He place me in a body of believers who share my heart and convictions about the second and third concerns I hold, He also directly addressed the first concern by placing me in a denominational tradition of reverence, abstinence, and charity-- three of the things that I value most in the world.

I was more than excited about the Missionary Church. More than I even let on, really. But the idea of casting off all traditions and building it all back up by Scripture alone sort of shook me a little. I never really voiced it, but still I looked for solace in trying to allign with far more traditional religious views. Nothing seemed right. However, two things have come up in the past week that have completely changed my mind about seeking out more traditional worship.

The first thing happened when I was surfing Myspace, and I came across an old, old friend of mine. I'm talking... we were best friends when we were 12. He wanted to be a Christian Apologist. I wanted to be a writer. For a while, he really wandered away from the Church. We lost touch a lot during this time, but I know God had his heart all along. He is currently going through much of the same thing as I am-- struggling to find something true and real in the mess of religious monopoly in the world. While I am participating in a derrivative of the Organic church, he is a part of the Emergent Church. Anyway-- There was one word on his entire site that just jumped out at me-- "Sacred." He said it over and over again-- as if it were something that needed to be notice and applied. This caught my heart, and has been there ever since.

It wasn't completely tied together, though, until today when I read "The Passing of Arthur," a poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson about the death of King Arthur.

After Modred nearly kills Arthur, Sir Bedivere returns Exalibur to the Lady of the Lake, and then has a final discussion with Arthur about the future of the kingdom. Bedivere is horrified-- he is the last knight of the round table, and he realizes that it would be foolish and dangerous to carry on chivalry and knighthood without King Arthur or the precepts used to form Camelot, but he refuses to give up his status, his traditions, and his lifestyle as a knight. The era of knighthood is gone, and Arthur recognizes this. In consoling Bedivere, he said this;

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge;
"The old order changeth, yeilding place to the new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world."

It then dawned on me-- Even if all of the traditions and customs I had loved so dearly had been good in their own time, they are a hindrance to the things that God wants to accomplish in the world-- and this will eventually corrupt the world beyond repair. Everything changes, especially religious expression, but it yeilds place to the new. This new movement I am participating in is not traditional, but God does not call us to worship with tradition. He calls us to have reverence for what is sacred. It may not be perfect, and we may not know exactly what it will look like, but it is becoming more and more clear to me that True Vine Missionary Church is certainly one of the many ways that God has decided to "fulfil himself in."

Some Updates

Just thought I would let you all know about some stuff I just changed. I got a new counter, though it isn't working well right now-- or at all. :-) At any rate, you should check it out, it's a pretty neat concept for a counter.

Also, I switched some stuff around on my sidebar, so if you want to, it's much easier to check out my friend's blogs, as well as some of my other favorite sites.

Finally, I added someone to my friends' list-- "The One and Only Shotgun" This guy is nuts-- in a good way (sometimes :-)), but he has a fairly interesting blog, mostly about politics and religion. I've been corresponding with Shotgun for about a year now on SecretMotive.com, and he has been quite a character, and an interesting addition to the now-dying forums on there.

As for my other friends, I have a lot of them on the list. If you read this, I know you well, and you want to be listed on my friends list, just let me know (or if you're listed, and you DON'T want to be!) I do realize that there are only men on there for now. I am constantly searching for female bloggers, so check back periodically to review my list.

Other updates:: Only 2 more pages of my American Lit. Final... PRAISE GOD.

Where I'm Published

I recieved a comment the other day inquiring as to where and what I published. So, here is the link:

Associated Content

There you go!

Random Find

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Glorious

I have something I want to say here, but I have a feeling it is going to come out sort of messy, so bear with me. I promise I won't go a long way for nothing. Sunday night, my best friend, Teia was able to come into town. We decided to attend Mosaic (a local church's college service) for the first time since July (the last time she was in town. Mosaic is sort of a tradition of ours). While we were there, we sang a song called "My Glorious". I have always loved this song because of personal implications, but it set wheels turning in my head.

The song's first verse is simple and fairly uninspired (as far as Chris Tomlin songs are concerned.) But, the bridge is where I really started thinking;

And all You ever do
is change the old for new
People we believe that

God is bigger than
the air I breathe
The world we'll leave
God will save the day
and all will say
My glorious!

A few times around in the song, I was reminded of something I posted on my old blog back in September of '05:

I was reading Brennan Manning's book, "A Glimps of Jesus: The Stranger To Self- Hatred" the other night, and I had an epiphone. In the book, Manning explains that one of the greatest causes of self-hatred amongst Christians is legalism. Now, I know I hate that word. Really, I do... because people overuse it, and they think that any sort of restriction put on a Christian by the word of God is "legalism". However, Manning was referring to opressive religious practices that have no scriptural base. He said that legalism isn't the biggest problem for Christians; the biggest problem for Christians is that we fail to let Jesus Christ be who He truly is in our lives. That got me. Man, that got me.

I think, as Christians, we tend to let our views of Christ levitate toward one extreme or another, either all-loving, or all-judging. But we forget that His love and His justice go hand in hand. They work together to cultivate in us an incredible spirit and closeness to Him. We stunt that so often. We invite in His love, but we aren't willing to face His judgement and correction-- or we live in fear of rebuke, and we never get to see the Christ that holds out His arms to us in love. We miss the point so much... I miss the point so much. God created us so that we could glorify Him, but we can't glorify Him to our fullest unless we allow Him to work in every part of our lives with every part of who He is.

Think about that.

How big would our lives be? How drastic would the change be? How righteous could we become, how beautiful could He make us if He, in His fullness was involved in our lives completely?

Now that you have this in your mind, and you probably agree with me so far-- ponder the question: as a whole Church, are we letting GOD be WHOLLY involved? How much of what we do in a church service is man-made and underived from scripture? How much of it has been created with the mentality of "We have to make this work", and the implied notion that the Holy Spirit will NOT work without our help? Now, think about how transformed His Church could be if we just let Him take the wheel-- If we let Him be the Potter, instead of turning Him into simple clay. He changes old for new. He saves the day. He's bigger than a four point sermon. He's bigger than a cliche worship chorus. He's bigger than liturgy. He's bigger than any tradition. He's bigger than festivals, or coffeehouse themes, or Christian bands, or any other form of ministry that WE try to execute instead of letting Him. How golrious would the Church really be if we just let Him use us, instead of us exploiting Him?