The Christmas tree is up. So is my sugar level. I’ve eaten enough sweets to plunder every Wal-Mart in the Southwest. We know that Christ is the main word in “Christmas,” but I think the suffix, “mas” must mean “celebration by the inhalation of all that is unhealthy for human consumption and would otherwise kill two thirds of the population of Earth” in Latin. It must be.
So we gorge ourselves for Christ’s sake, do we? We can’t help it. It’s in our genes. At least we try to fit it all in our jeans the week we return from Christmas Break, but it tends to hang out. That’s the effect of one more round of M&Ms I found at the bottom of my stocking. And the toffee I made for just the occasion. And the Russian Tea and ham my mother has conjured up in the kitchen for, what else?—Christmas feasting. The cajillion snack size (isn’t that term ironic?) Hershey candy bars I’ve consumed do not help either. My stomach growth isn’t a problem I want to discuss. Although that belt I received last year for Christmas did seem a bit bigger than what I’m accustomed to. I mean, you would think Goodwill ought to be stocked up from all the clothing donations I am so generous to give after the holidays.
Poor old Santa! He’s been alive for hundreds of years, right? He has had to suffer through hundreds of Christmases and the delicacies that are attached to the season. I’m sure it seemed enjoyable at first, but now look at him! He’s so bloated, he can’t even use the front door! He has to come down the chimney!
New Year’s Eve isn’t much better. I haven’t the time to recall staying up until way past midnight fattening myself up, celebrating the coming of another year in which I can again attempt to loose weight. I mean, we have to have a reason for resolutions, right? The tradition of New Year’s resolutions must have sparred from the Early Christmas celebrators’ need to loose weight after gaining ten pounds over the holidays and to be rid of the uncomfortable bloating feeling.
But this year is going to be different. From now on, and throughout this Christmas, I will try to control my eating habits and I will resist my urge to fill my bloodstream with chocolate. I will eat healthy! I will not return to my habitual holiday gorging nature! Heck, I’m even doing a little workin’ out. Trying to build a fire builds up a real sweat. It’s worth it, though. When I sit down to a nice warm blaze with my bowl of M&Ms and toffee, I know I am already on my way to good health and fitness.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Our fan-based society
A few weeks ago, after my duties of finishing my homework were complete (namely reading a few poems for my English class) I discretely made my way to the campus computer center. I was minding my own business, walking on the concrete path laid before me, some cyber fritting on my mind. I was ready to go and relax and vegetate on a few forums of which I find myself a part, when I noticed a girl coming down the path that would cross mine. I thought little of it as my mind wandered as it often does. Interesting, I noticed, was the fact that she was slowing down as I drew closer to the crossing. Interesting, also, was the fact that she continued to look at me. Weird. Keep going, keep going. I walked to the crosswalk keeping my gaze ahead.
“Excuse me.” Uh-oh. I turned to her. “Have you voted yet?” she asked sweetly—for homecoming king and queen I presumed.
“Uh, no actually, I haven’t yet.”
“Well then, you should vote for me—Nancy.” She reached into the plastic “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” bag she was carrying, rummaged through, and pulled out a Dingdong lollipop which she promptly handed to me.
“Uh, okay.” I took the ridiculously small sucker and without further ado, walked on, reveling in my survival victory. It was then that I realized something that got me to thinking. I remembered being bombarded in the “CUB”—or Campus Union Building for all you un-college-lingo-savvy people (of which I formerly counted myself)—earlier that week when I was headed down to the coffee shop to work on my business class project. Tables lined up on each side of the walking area. Creatures behind the tables screamed at me as I passed.
“Vote for Celina!” “James needs your vote!” “Have you voted yet?” And so on and so forth.
I find it interesting that I can be inundated by these followers of candidates, and that they are considered normal, but those of us who want to tell others about Christ are considered freaks and fanatics. They can spread their love for whomever, but I cannot tell them about what Jesus has done for me and how much I love Him.
We, as society, have become so “toleration”-frenzied that we fail to realize that there can be no true form of toleration. If you can’t tolerate my intoleration of someone’s beliefs, then doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose? If you fail to see your fanaticism while mine is deemed abnormal or strange, why do you harp on tolerance?
We are all fanatics of one thing or other. Actually, fanaticism is a privilege of freedom. In a Communist society, one’s devotion and fanaticism is already chosen for him—it must be the government and, mostly, the despot controlling that government.
Be glad that you are able to call me a fanatic and that you can be one yourself. That means the ideals of freedom are still prevalent. They may soon be taken away.
So, what’s your fanaticism?
“Excuse me.” Uh-oh. I turned to her. “Have you voted yet?” she asked sweetly—for homecoming king and queen I presumed.
“Uh, no actually, I haven’t yet.”
“Well then, you should vote for me—Nancy.” She reached into the plastic “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” bag she was carrying, rummaged through, and pulled out a Dingdong lollipop which she promptly handed to me.
“Uh, okay.” I took the ridiculously small sucker and without further ado, walked on, reveling in my survival victory. It was then that I realized something that got me to thinking. I remembered being bombarded in the “CUB”—or Campus Union Building for all you un-college-lingo-savvy people (of which I formerly counted myself)—earlier that week when I was headed down to the coffee shop to work on my business class project. Tables lined up on each side of the walking area. Creatures behind the tables screamed at me as I passed.
“Vote for Celina!” “James needs your vote!” “Have you voted yet?” And so on and so forth.
I find it interesting that I can be inundated by these followers of candidates, and that they are considered normal, but those of us who want to tell others about Christ are considered freaks and fanatics. They can spread their love for whomever, but I cannot tell them about what Jesus has done for me and how much I love Him.
We, as society, have become so “toleration”-frenzied that we fail to realize that there can be no true form of toleration. If you can’t tolerate my intoleration of someone’s beliefs, then doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose? If you fail to see your fanaticism while mine is deemed abnormal or strange, why do you harp on tolerance?
We are all fanatics of one thing or other. Actually, fanaticism is a privilege of freedom. In a Communist society, one’s devotion and fanaticism is already chosen for him—it must be the government and, mostly, the despot controlling that government.
Be glad that you are able to call me a fanatic and that you can be one yourself. That means the ideals of freedom are still prevalent. They may soon be taken away.
So, what’s your fanaticism?
Monday, September 11, 2006
In remembrance...
Two Trees Were Felled
He looks from his mountain one late summer morning, looking about the land. In the forested northeast corner near a soft smooth canal, he gazes, heartbroken. It sorrows his heart for in a few hours two trees will be felled.
Trees so tall they tower over the land, icons in a world wrapped with green Life flowing through every leaf and drip of sap as the bees busily tend to their work. A tear falls from his eyes for in a few hours two trees will be felled.
The whole wood goes upon its affairs unaware of the tragedy soon to strike. Their monotonous hum rings in the ears of the watcher as he silently waits. For he knows that in a few hours two trees will be felled.
Malicious men wait in the fringes plotting the demise of the wood. Men waiting for the moment when they will strike a blow and destroy themselves. For it is certain that in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He is filled with sorrow as they plan the slaughter of the life in the two trees. He knows their devices yet he pities their souls for they themselves will be destroyed When, in a few hours two trees will be felled.
The devastation of their acts will cause the forest to awaken out of its slumber. He knows that retribution will flow against the men and that the forest will rise For in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows that these acts will give the wood the courage to stand against these men. He knows that there are those in the forest who are ready to give of themselves. Because in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows that the forest will return to him and believe in him again. But he knows after a while, some will once again return to their complacency. As in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows before it is all going to happen and what will eventually come of it. He knows the pain it will bring to many who will desire for life instead of death. In a few hours two trees will be felled.
Why, if he knows, does he wait and not prevent the anguish it will cause? How can he sit on the mountain and watch patiently as the calamity of man continues? For in a few hours two trees will be felled.
No one can say why he waits, ponders, and allows the actions of men below. We may never know until we are up on that great mountain with him. Long after the terrible hour that two trees were felled.
Malicious men wait in the fringes plotting the demise of the wood. Men waiting for the moment when they will strike a blow and destroy themselves. For it is certain that in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He is filled with sorrow as they plan the slaughter of the life in the two trees. He knows their devices yet he pities their souls for they themselves will be destroyed When, in a few hours two trees will be felled.
The devastation of their acts will cause the forest to awaken out of its slumber. He knows that retribution will flow against the men and that the forest will rise For in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows that these acts will give the wood the courage to stand against these men. He knows that there are those in the forest who are ready to give of themselves. Because in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows that the forest will return to him and believe in him again. But he knows after a while, some will once again return to their complacency. As in a few hours two trees will be felled.
He knows before it is all going to happen and what will eventually come of it. He knows the pain it will bring to many who will desire for life instead of death. In a few hours two trees will be felled.
Why, if he knows, does he wait and not prevent the anguish it will cause? How can he sit on the mountain and watch patiently as the calamity of man continues? For in a few hours two trees will be felled.
No one can say why he waits, ponders, and allows the actions of men below. We may never know until we are up on that great mountain with him. Long after the terrible hour that two trees were felled.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Opening statements
Welcome, all! You can tell that I haven't done much to my blog. But Let it be known that I will try to work on it as I go. I am currently attending college, thus there may be long intervals between posts. Don't worry, I'll try to keep you happy if you'll stay entertained.
Keep it up!
Keep it up!
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