tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67667839967097809732024-03-14T01:07:06.372-05:00Common Grace DiasporaFrom 1998 to 2008, CGM had the honor and privilege of coming alongside a small band of brothers and sisters who were hungering to "read" and "ride" the wind within the context of authentic community. This page is to provide a space for them to compare their notes on the journey with those who have learned a similar lexicon of grace.Common Grace Ministries—http://www.blogger.com/profile/15152214996410469849noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-68699307073057289202012-01-21T15:59:00.002-06:002012-01-21T16:00:33.666-06:00Moving Through the Room of JelloDear God;<br />moving within a new place is hard<br />even if i believe i'm supposed to be here<br />we're to be here<br />i am afraidAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-58179632857273557922012-01-02T21:39:00.000-06:002012-01-02T21:40:01.141-06:00Leaving (not on a jet plane)Dear God...<br /><br />It's a new year but the newness began last year. You've definitely set me on a more narrow path.<br />So many words spoken into the atmosphere. (I don't believe words go away, they fly around in the air. We don't see them, but their effect is continuing.)<br /><br />December 2 was 'go day'. Blessing, Blanky, & 3 girls, compelled to move on a road less traveled with little to 'go' with. Our plans were not Your plans (how funny is that?).<br /><br />We left in dark rain on a Friday night; it stopped long enough to walk the streets of Hot Springs Arkansas. We left that state under torrential swallowing land rains. Car slip sliding across bridges as we crossed into Tennessee. 18-wheelers washed the car as they passed. It rained all the way to North Carolina. A much needed place of rest.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-1005925013088828432011-12-31T12:17:00.001-06:002011-12-31T12:17:57.332-06:00Resign, Resignation, Moving Onresign |riˈzīn|<br />verb<br />voluntarily leave a job or other position; leave, hand in one's notice, give notice, stand down, step down; leave, vacate, stand down from;renounce, relinquish<br /><br />Dear God it’s me, your daughter—again. <br />“No good byes, farewell or dinner parties, or wonderful conversations over meals. Leave.”<br />How to explain that to the people I know? Not…can’t<br />I have the audacity to believe the compelling within my gut pushed me from comfortability onto a road unknown but not first traveled.<br />"Go out from your country, your relatives, and your father’s household to the land that I will show you." God spoke those words to Abraham. He I am not.<br /><br />And so without traditional so longs, farewells, auf wiedersehen, good-byes the Ford Focus Zx3 was packed. Harvey, my brother, helped us by taking things that wouldn't fit in the car (larger, but smaller, than believed).<br /><br />What was I to tell people? "God told me"? There are times I don't even know if I do hear Your voice. Our conversations are unique. So, I prefer not to talk about something that doesn't make sense in the natural (when I'm being obedient to the compelling from the spiritual). All I have are the dreams of places to go, highways to drive, and a fellow traveler.<br /><br />Dear God, thank you for taking care of us so far. There's so much to tell; too much for this blog. Tomorrow, from the same hotel, part 2.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-56286529825155721262011-08-11T14:21:00.000-05:002011-08-11T14:21:44.641-05:00i sit in my puffy chair<div>and finger ergonomic bumps</div><div>to do my bidding</div><div><div>rearranging </div></div><div>sights and sounds
<br />to go
<br /></div><div>my way
<br />to be
<br /></div><div>my truth
<br />to save
<br /></div><div>my life</div><div>
<br /></div><div>30 second </div><div>byte-size slices</div><div>of schizality
<br />coming
<br />fast, furious
<br />shimmering, shaking
<br />snaking, sliding,
<br />deceiving
<br />distracting
<br />denying
<br />but not delaying
<br />my own
<br />digital
<br />demise
<br />one
<br />dot
<br />at
<br />a
<br />time...
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div>Martin Hironagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16588574977643741605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-67282227900600791142011-06-21T09:49:00.002-05:002011-06-21T09:53:38.130-05:00George MacDonald Quote of the Day...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><a name="GODS_FAMILY" id="GODS_FAMILY"><p style="margin-top: 0.75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.75em; ">From the man who comes to know and feel that Power in him and one with him, loneliness, anxiety, and fear vanish; he is no more an orphan without a home, a little one astray on the cold waste of a helpless consciousness. (The Hope of the Gospel, God's Family)</p></a></span>Martin Hironagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16588574977643741605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-73721371239194754612011-06-21T09:45:00.001-05:002011-06-21T10:01:09.163-05:00Living TruthI am glad that Jesus didn't point to something other than himself, like a book or a tablet or a scroll or any object around him, and say, "That is the way, the truth and the life." When he referred to himself as the Truth that told me that the ultimate truth is not a purely abstract, mental concept. Truth wasn't something to wrap our minds around but our hearts. In other words, Truth is not a proposition but a Person. Here in this divided world, we can express a truth without living it. In heaven, where all is tried by the fire of God's presence, only those who are living truths will be able to stand the heat. There can be no duplicity. Only true integrity (wysiwyg) will be able to bear the "weight of glory."<div><br /></div><div>Reel it in to the present</div><div>I am a man divided</div><div>I think truth</div><div>I fondle lies</div><div>wysiNOTwyg</div><div>I smile outside</div><div>Only God knows what's going on in the inside</div><div>who can deliver me from this perpetual state of duplicity?</div><div><br /></div><div>case in point:</div><div>last Thursday I cut down a large diseased section of our fig tree</div><div>I left two branches for my son to help carry to the front sidewalk</div><div>My son tells me that he can't lift them</div><div>They are too heavy for his pencil-thin arms</div><div>I ignore him because I've got more important things to do</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day the large trash truck is coming</div><div>I remember the two limbs</div><div>I run out, grab them, and haul them to the front sidewalk</div><div>They feel light in my hands</div><div>I remember my son's words</div><div>"They're too heavy for me, Daddy"</div><div>He lied.</div><div>I confront him at the breakfast table</div><div>Humiliating him in from of his mother and sister</div><div>He starts to cry</div><div>He stops eating</div><div>I justify my anger by saying I want him to know that he's stronger than he thinks he is!</div><div>My wife tells me that I only want to prove that I'm right</div><div>She knows me well</div><div>But I ignore her and drag my son out to the front yard</div><div>To make him prove that he is wrong</div><div>He sees the two branches that I've separated from all the rest of the limbs</div><div>He says Those aren't the branches!</div><div>I say Those are the branches!</div><div>We play several rounds of ping pong</div><div>I am the stronger, better ping pong player</div><div>He carries the limbs to the sidewalk with some effort and says</div><div>These aren't the limbs!</div><div>The ping pong whooshes pass me</div><div><br /></div><div>I try to help him see the truth</div><div>All he can see is an angry father who is more concerned that he is right</div><div>He calls me a liar</div><div>I shout at him and tell him to go to his room</div><div>I face his mother who looks at me like I'm a stranger</div><div>She has to teach him for the rest of the day</div><div>And I've just ruined it for her</div><div>What do I care? I'm right! I know the truth! </div><div>THOSE WERE THE LIMBS!</div><div>She tells me that I have to face the weeping angel in the room</div><div><br /></div><div>I go and stand before his door</div><div>Lord have mercy on me</div><div>Give me the words to say to help my son see that I'm right</div><div>I walk through the door</div><div>There is my son</div><div>A Tempest</div><div>Rocking</div><div>Weeping</div><div>My heart skips a beat</div><div>I forget my wrath for a second</div><div>I forget the truth I was going to whack him on the head with</div><div>He says he wants to talk to mama</div><div>He wants to share his side of the story</div><div>I say she's not the judge</div><div>He can share his side of the story with me</div><div>He knows I already know his side of the story</div><div>And he stands condemned in my eyes</div><div>But he braces himself</div><div>He says those weren't the same limbs</div><div>Maybe a kid in the neighborhood came by and took it</div><div>I look in his eyes</div><div>I don't see a desperate criminal trying to weasel his way out of a crime</div><div>I see a little child desperately wanting to be believed</div><div>Wanting to be loved</div><div>I say do you really believe those aren't the limbs?</div><div>He nods his head</div><div>I breathe</div><div>The moment of truth</div><div>Ok, son, I will believe you</div><div>Even though my mind tells me that those are the same limbs</div><div>I will choose to believe that you believe they aren't</div><div>I know that there are many things I've done in life that were or weren't true</div><div>But only Jesus will be able to sort them out for me</div><div>And when that happens, it will not be a day to mourn</div><div>but a day to rejoice</div><div>To see our lives the way He sees them is freedom</div><div>And life</div><div>And love</div><div><br /></div><div>It was like watching the sun rise in my son's face</div><div>the rain vanished from his eyes</div><div>he smiled</div><div>he couldn't believe what just happened</div><div>there was no condemnation</div><div><br /></div><div>Next thing I knew he was happily helping his mom water the garden</div><div>The Day wasn't ruined</div><div><br /></div><div>yes, i know what some of you are thinking</div><div>i just reinforced his propensity to lie, to get away with it</div><div>maybe i did, maybe i didn't</div><div>but you know, </div><div>i wouldn't be surprised </div><div>if an angel were holding those limbs down, </div><div>making them immovable</div><div>just to test me</div><div>sort of like Balaam's Ass who saw the angel</div><div>and in the end ended up saving Balaam's ass</div><div><br /></div><div>or maybe my son did try to move them</div><div>but because they got caught on something</div><div>and because my son has asperger syndrome</div><div>and therefore is easily distracted</div><div>he really couldn't move them...</div><div><br /></div><div>What is the truth?</div><div>The truth is Jesus was with my son when he tried to move the limbs</div><div>and I wasn't</div><div><br /></div><div>If I had been with my son</div><div>The way the Truth chooses to be with me</div><div>I could have saved him and myself from much madness</div><div><br /></div><div>Lord Jesus Christ Son of God have mercy on me a sinner!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Martin Hironagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16588574977643741605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-71631872431772375732011-04-12T20:03:00.000-05:002011-04-12T20:04:00.301-05:00I've Got People!Dear God, it's me - again;<br />You wrote in your chronicles (i believe the 14th sentence in the seventh chapter)<br />if your people, called by your name...<br />you have got people<br />and we are learning (still) <br /><br />well today, celebrating you giving me another year to breathe<br />i was reminded - again<br />i got people down here on this earth<br />and am humbled by their happy words<br />(yes Eugene, i am laughing)<br />words of love<br />placing hope within my heart that Your Body might just get it after all<br />one person at a time<br /><br />and so to my people here to Guam to Tennessee<br />and all the places in between<br />your words plucked my eyes<br />remembered your faces<br />smiling mouths open<br />blessing me<br />reminding me<br />of conversations around plates of food<br />sharing beliefs and doubts<br />and more of the same<br />reminding me that i miss you all<br />and have no idea if we'll ever meet again<br />the joy is that we have met<br />spoken<br />laughed<br />cried<br />done a small part of life<br />together<br /><br />and those are stepping stones into my new year<br />i never believed i'd live to be 50<br />passed that milestone<br />i have to tell you<br />it gets deliciously better<br />with God mixin' it up!<br /><br />and God and i continue to look for Him in AmericaAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-53538960936266565882011-03-19T08:46:00.002-05:002011-03-19T08:48:52.429-05:00My Dreams Haunt Mei awoke crying & speaking<br />"oh God"<br /><br />i'd had a warring dream<br />the details are not important here<br />but within this dream - human on human horror<br />and there were children<br />helpless children<br />at the end of this dream<br />i was holding a little boy<br />hugging my face<br />"tank you" came from his mouth<br />i held him close and began crying<br />crying for the pain of the place <br />crying out<br />"oh God, oh God, help us"<br /><br />i awoke and thought<br />through my tears<br />how far are we away from that human on human horror<br />where children are...<br /><br />dear God, it's me - againAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-65860418460371743922011-03-15T00:04:00.000-05:002011-03-15T00:05:08.295-05:00A Better Way to Speak My Heartthis evening i had the unfortunate experience of speaking from an emotional place of historical pain<br />it let me know that i still have personal pain over the way i'm still treated because of the color of my skin<br />it's unfortunate that the racial divide of our nation's been minimized to the comfortable definition of 'capitalism'<br /><br />dear God;<br />how do i let you live through me when i keep getting in the way?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-48910864309869696702011-03-08T22:06:00.000-06:002011-03-08T22:06:43.599-06:00The Work of My HandsIs leaked into my eyes<br />
when I am blinking myself awake.<br />
A list of divine<br />
tasks,<br />
some as simple as washing a dish<br />
an application mailed in<br />
an assignment explained,<br />
a phone call, encouragement<br />
for the weary,<br />
a meal served,<br />
hands washed<br />
and words written down,<br />
pictures taken,<br />
hope reigned in, <br />
and just like that, just like that,<br />
the sun is already setting.<br />
My magic tucked in around me<br />
underneath the home-made quilt<br />
keeping me warm,<br />
my hands numb,<br />
my eyes,<br />
my eyes closed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07111623610725767645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-71664005692608333142011-02-25T18:40:00.004-06:002011-02-26T14:13:16.280-06:00I've Got A Question For You...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLfuWlOnA0J5_kFebDV32mZVq6dO_ogMbkhq0wbBb0gp9hADbrUZ1_sMjlJ2wUjUd8LU9qD5Cyq1rV9S4Yk5RJtbr3w48ObkkTJ6VMwlqxFv8H8IZlx-nFGPKu7YYs3Igiqtsl4zWW8c/s1600/dark+water.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLfuWlOnA0J5_kFebDV32mZVq6dO_ogMbkhq0wbBb0gp9hADbrUZ1_sMjlJ2wUjUd8LU9qD5Cyq1rV9S4Yk5RJtbr3w48ObkkTJ6VMwlqxFv8H8IZlx-nFGPKu7YYs3Igiqtsl4zWW8c/s200/dark+water.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577788856671304994" /></a>i recently asked a friend the following question: imagine you're in a pitch dark somewhere. you don't know yet where you are because you can't see anything, but you can hear and feel something. and then it begins to dawn on you: you're in water because you can feel its cold wetness and you can hear it swishing around your hands, arms, and legs. on the heels of this realization comes an ominous dread: because your feet and arms aren't coming into contact with anything other than water, you could be in the middle of the vast ocean with thousands of miles between you and dry ground. you shout out "help! anybody there? help me! i can't stay afloat much longer!" there is no reply. not even an echo of your own voice. you begin to swim madly in all directions. who knows? maybe you're simply treading water in a large pool... or maybe a sandy shore is just a stroke away...dread turns into abject fear. you begin to thrash about reaching for something, anything to keep you from going below the surface—below the surface: your body shudders involuntarily in response to the unnerving thought. the theme from jaws "duh—dumps" in your frantic brain. needlelike pain begins to shoot through your arms and legs as lactic acid brickifies every sinew in your extremities. suddenly, just before you sink helplessly below the liquid darkness, you grasp something. without thinking you wrap your arms around it and hang on for dear life. ok, now comes the question: what's that thing you find yourself clinging to? <div><br /></div><div>i won't tell you what my friend said but i will tell you this: the first adam, when he found himself treading water in the darkness of the fall, held onto himself and an inadequate leaf-shaped flotation device, and we, his progeny, have been following in his footsteps (wake?) ever since. the final Adam, on the other hand, when he found himself in an even hairier and darker situation, against his feelings, against all that his senses screamed at him, entrusted His Spirit into the hands of the Unseen, Unheard, Unfelt One. there's been only one who's been there and done that, and so he alone is uniquely qualified to take us on the journey from darkness into light.</div>Martin Hironagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16588574977643741605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-11828310217978888772011-01-17T19:58:00.001-06:002011-01-17T19:58:15.182-06:00No Rest for the Wearyweary |ˈwi(ə)rē|<br />adjective ( wearier , weariest )<br />feeling or showing tiredness, esp. as a result of excessive exertion or lack of sleep <br /><br />tiring, exhausting, wearying, fatiguing, enervating, draining, sapping, wearing, trying, demanding, taxing, arduous, grueling, difficult, hard, tough<br /><br />Dear God, It me - again;<br />How do I get myself trapped within spaces, within walls, that try to define me and I still don't know the full understanding of who I am? How?<br />I want people to like me, chose me, love me (a person-pleasing spirit) and that is not healthy. It sits low within me and comes out when I least expect; don't like it at all.<br />I know it because my inner voice speaks "careful...careful", but my mouth engages and a lie speaks. <br />"I'm well, thank you."<br />"It's good to see you." (accompanied by the back patting hug)<br /><br />And within my mental landscape I war with myself another day questioning whether I am loved for just me and not what someone can get out of me or without me giving away my soul.<br /><br />There's so much to tell and so much to write; but then I'd have to bring things I don't want to remember forward.<br /><br />Dear God, thanks for listening.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-31132291068525230052010-12-10T18:50:00.000-06:002010-12-10T18:50:57.085-06:00Pieces of other PeopleI carry pieces of other people around. I have treasured you in my heart, or saved a note or card or trinket or I have written words from your mouth on scraps of paper-receipts, church programs, business cards. These might be some of those words:<br />
<br />
<b>Warriors Know</b><br />
<br />
<br />
What is Peace between God and Man?<br />
<br />
The time is at hand--<br />
through the blizzard of troubles<br />
we wrap our injured flesh around You.<br />
<br />
Warriors know zeal is not circumstantial.<br />
What keeps you captive?<br />
A multitude of unknowns?<br />
<br />
The answer lies in what you are wanting. In the starving.<br />
<br />
Provide the sacrifice-whole. Shalom.<br />
Overwhelm the temple of today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07111623610725767645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-73053572985689599022010-11-29T20:46:00.004-06:002010-11-29T20:57:24.885-06:00MusingsI stood at my stove eating sea salted potato chips, the fat kind, and tearing pieces of cold chicken from the bone, one chip at a time in my left hand and one tear of chicken breast with my left hand. I kept eating, just kept eating; thinking "I should stop eating these chips, the salt's not good for me, it makes me blow fish puffy". But I kept eating; crunching loudly, my ears hurt. Within this me swirl, I recognized the sadness wasn't going away. I stopped eating.<br /><br />There's lots going on within me, around me, and food is my hiding place (except for lima beans, they look like little fetuses). I keep thinking it will all get better--soon. It doesn't get better and I'm not going to be beamed up to the star ship Enterprise (my view of biblical rapture) in the near future. Life doesn't get better when it hurts. Food comes as close to a magic wand and no magic wand poofs the bad out of existence. Ans so I fight the desire to eat and eat and eat some more.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-19868602371171226162010-11-01T00:03:00.001-05:002010-11-01T00:07:23.088-05:00Re-engaged<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Adam, a friend of mine, stood above the table looking intently at a script of mine that I've heavily revised in pencil. Meaning, he was attempting to decipher mucho handwritten gobbledygook while I looked on hopefully. We hadn't looked at the script since the last time we shot at my Grandma's where Adam's car was vandalized and burglarized.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Right before he picked up the pieces of paper, as he tried to convince me to add a few shots here and there for continuity sake, he took a deep breath and said, "Just trying to re-engage."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> The word struck me. My life has been full of re-engaging lately.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Traumatic events have forced me to re-engage with my extended family even when I want to run. Like Jonah, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">anywhere but </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Ninevah</span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">,</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Lord, especially when your revered Grandma is the Queen.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Chris and I are re-examining our hearts about our adventure on the bus, with home schooling and our current job situations. I have re-written our budget, re-taken my head shots and re-vamped my resume. I am re-reading the Bible with my children and re-learning basic Spanish.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I am working with a group of teens every Monday night, re-learning to be a facilitator and not a dictator.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> But the thing I most want to re-do is ignite. To not just get a glimpse of the vision, but to be consumed by it. I like being consumed. My major deadly sin is gluttony. If God doesn't consume me, something or someone will. I must remain ever watchful, because when I am consumed without God involved, I am careless and messy and fruitless.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I don't want to go there again.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> To consume means to use up while consummation means to be complete. I am being used up and completed at the same time. There is no divine countdown for some sublime vision, I know. I see a piece of the vision every day. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> This is what Jesus looks like in me today. I wonder what he will look like in me tomorrow? Okay, so I didn't do such a hot job living out Jesus today. God's mercies are new everyday. We'll start again tomorrow.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Right now, the vision comes mostly as a still small voice. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Don't give up. Be diligent. Don't give up. Be diligent. Don't give up.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> This means so many things on a zillion different levels, but it's enough of a vision to keep me going even though I don't feel the consuming fire to do so. Good thing I'm stubborn. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> Leave it to God to use my flaws to get me where he wants me. Re-engaged and kindled.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07111623610725767645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-25014952128007753442010-10-30T09:34:00.001-05:002010-10-30T09:40:16.817-05:00Selective Hearing Delay Disorder (SHDD)<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div>shigeko had been asking me to change the door knobs of the master bedroom and bathroom for sometime. my selective hearing delay disorder (SHDD) kept me from fulfilling the request until, somehow, a crack in my thick skull got wide enough for me to finally respond. I went to the local hardware store, bought the knobs, returned home and replaced the defective knobs with the new ones. </div><div><br /></div><div>done deal, right? not quite. you see, the first knob went in just fine, but the second knob, due to the poor craftsmanship of the cookie-cutter housing fellahs who installed the original knobs, didn't. long story short: i had to chisel a hole in the door jamb so that the bolt of the new knob would line up with it. needless to say, the work looked like sh#@*! when shigeko got home, here's how the dialogue went:</div><div><br /></div><div>"So what do you think?"</div><div>"What's that?"</div><div>"That? Oh, that's what the cookie-cutter guys did..."</div><div>"I don't think so. That hole looks new...and ugly."</div><div>"What's so ugly about it?"</div><div>"Do i need to describe the obvious?"</div><div><br /></div><div>And from here it was all down hill.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, why don't you do it next time?"</div><div>"Next time i'll hire a professional."</div><div><br /></div><div>needless to say, with that last sentence from my wife, all the blood rushed out of my brain and into my face—my proud, sullen, arrogant, "that's not fair" face. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Ok, then why don't you hire a professional to fix the gate in the backyard!" </div><div><br /></div><div>you see, i was also asked to fix the dilapidated gate in the backyard some time ago, but due to SHDD i had just started on that project as well. well, just as the words were released from my mouth, i had a slight conviction that i was going down the broad slippery road to destruction. no more words were exchanged between the two of us. i just stood there on the apex between the flames of heaven and the flames of hell. fortunately for me, by the sheer grace of God, i chose the flames of heaven—i prefer being saved as by holy fire instead of the outer flaming darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.</div><div><br /></div><div>i knew what i had to do. since I had the materials and tools to begin work on the gate, i would do that and would purchase the stuff to patch up the terrible knob job at another time. so, i went into the garage to get the necessary tools to fix the gate. after plowing through a mountain of junk (since moving from our swiss avenue office, my garage has become the storage unit for all the stuff from the office), i found what i was looking for and pressed the garage door button to close it. the next instant i unexpectedly heard a loud "boom!" for some reason, the garage door became a living demon of twisted arms (i.e., the rails), disheveled scales (i.e., the lopsided, sections of the door itself), uncoiled sinews (i.e., the lift cables) and hideous decayed teeth (i.e., the rollers) both hanging and falling from their greasy sockets. i stood before the beast unable to move. how could the Lord allow this monstrous failure to assault my life on the heels of the door knob fiasco? For an instant i felt like unsheathing my sword (i.e., grabbing a sledge hammer) and commence in the utter destruction of the fell beast with all my pent up rage. but something stayed my arm. was it fear? no, i was fearless in my wrath. whatever it was it began to spread throughout my person and i soon found myself laughing at myself. it was a joke and the joke was on me...no, the joke was me. just as with the knob, my fault found its source in viewing the source of my worth in the work of my own hands and how that work was perceived by myself and others. the Lord, God love him, was unwilling to nurse my madness by allowing me to go from one state of insanity to another without making me see my folly. rather than pouring ice on my heat, he poured gasoline on it in the form of a garage door monster run amuck. yes, i chose the flames of heaven the first time, but was it truly my choice or one simply out of habit? the second test revealed that it was the latter. </div><div><br /></div><div>"ok, Lord, i see my fault. forgive me for my foolishness. forgive me for measuring my worth by the work of my hands. now let the work of my hands, come failure or success, find their worth in the work of yours. i'm not sure how or if i can fix this fell beast, but i will try one step at a time." and so i tackled the beast, and within an hour or so, miracle of miracles, i pushed the garage door opener and up rose the door without a hitch. later on i told the story to shigeko (actually, it was more of a confession) and she laughed with me at the Lord's humorous way of humbling and uplifting me at the same time.</div><div><br /></div><div>pray that the Lord would continue to knock the SHDD out of me and replace it with his humility and grace.</div><div><br /></div><div>mh</div><div><br /></div></span>Martin Hironagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16588574977643741605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-20711974940121100022010-10-25T21:54:00.001-05:002010-10-25T21:54:59.103-05:00Today I Read SomethingToday I read something I’d like to share. John 13:14, if then, your LORD and Teacher have washed your feet, you too ought to wash one another’s feet. (NET Bible)<br /><br />Share because I’m perplexed at what I’m experiencing within our church culture. I use our because I too am included. Also, when Nehemiah prayed to God for Israel, his people, in their effort to rebuild Jerusalem’s walls, he didn’t pray, those Israelites have sinned against you; no, he said, I am confessing the sins of the Israelites that we have committed against you. I digress; please forgive.<br /><br />We are colorful church-going folk. All the colors precious in God’s sight and contemptible within our own insidiously separate within our we’re going to do church our way buildings on Sundays and other days of meeting. I do not know if that makes us Christians—followers of Jesus. If we are, we should be shamed by our evident disrespect and contempt for each other, our employers, and those we call pastors. Church hopping when we get our feelings hurt or don’t like what we hear shows contempt. Disrespect of our employer, as we demand time off for church, get paid what we’re worth, and don’t do the work—shame.<br /><br />Jesus did things that were truly menial and commonplace. Jesus got down on his knees, took a basin of water, and washed dusty dirty feet and wiped them with a towel. Can any of us use a towel like Jesus? Towels and dishes and all the menial life tasks reveal what each of us are made of—with shameful quickness.<br /><br />It would seem with the entire God talk happening as we lounge on the job and gossip in church, we’d understand that our ministry opportunities are not selected by us. They are selected and engineered by FatherSonHolySpirit God. Oswald Chambers’ comment slices; the characteristics we manifest in our immediate surroundings are indications of what we will be like in other surroundings. If any of us believe we will perform as required when we get to our mission field while behaving spagglley (sloth, pride, anger, greed, gluttony, lust, lying, envy) within our workplaces or churches, we are sorely mistaken.<br /><br />We display rebellion, disobedience, gossip, and disrespect; and, enjoy our racist gospel. I am amazed at our belief we actually expect our pastors to cow tow to our whims and desires. Our church culture is in general disarray and unkempt. We are sloppy in our responsibilities and this must change because of who we are (or say we are)—followers of Jesus.<br /> <br />We’re held to a higher standard, not subject to philosophical or theological debate.<br />If we do not do the running steadily in the little ways, we shall do nothing in the crisis. Go Oswald!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-35162949702543053352010-10-15T20:22:00.001-05:002010-10-15T20:22:55.140-05:00Nothing WorksNothing works for me when I’m rundowneyesburningkneeshurt tired—nothing. Not cookin’, juicin’, readin’ my gottamakeyoufeelgood devotion—nothin’. And I hurt on the inside with words I can’t find within my vocabulary lost in the winds of my mind; stuck and can’t come out. So I just sit in my blue chair and watch Babylon 5 on my computer and get lost in an unreality confused about its own god and think about prayer and fasting and reading my bible and not being able to answer the question about how I’m doin’ and what’s goin’ on with me and all that other mess. But to survive I’ve got to go through my room of jello and hope it doesn’t gel and I get stuck in the pain position—no movement, just stopped still.<br />But I’ve put these words on paper; incomplete as they are…Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-42641891826398560812010-09-15T09:38:00.000-05:002010-09-15T09:39:07.889-05:00Todayi was listening to someone speak and i heard the phrase<br />"i believe god's told me..."<br />i've heard that phrase before<br />sometimes i've used it<br />god-naming<br />little "g"<br />letting God know we've used His NAME in vain<br />the christian way<br />little "c"<br />letting Jesus know we like He's following us!<br />dear God!<br /><br />so, as i was listening<br />i stopped listening<br />let my mind absorb words thrown at it<br />(with great speed)<br />stopped thinking<br />became still<br />silent<br />except for the music softly wafting through<br />the feces cloud sprayed within my car<br />(did i write that?)<br /><br />my mind concluded<br />no, we do not trust God<br />do not hear the voice of God<br />through our voice screams<br />god-naming what we want Him to do within our lives<br />not listening because we can't hear<br />through life-noise of striving for gourmet food, desired shelter, styled clothing<br />not what He wants for us<br />not what YOU want for us, for me<br /><br />Dear God<br />you do not say a lot of what we say you've said<br />"god said _________________" fill in the blank<br />i have heard, i think, the voice of God<br />and i'm alone<br />in silence<br />waiting<br />my journey and no one else<br /><br />more to comeAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-73609249734966082822010-09-14T21:45:00.001-05:002010-09-14T21:45:43.191-05:00I am NOT My OwnDear God;<br />after much ado about nothing<br />i sat in my chair of meditation and<br />meditated on this<br />nothing that happens outside of me, myself, and my<br />is of any concern to me<br />because you've got my back<br />(i'm still not sure what that looks like, but i believe it)<br /><br />i'm a genuine ET <br />and i'm phoning home<br />do i trust you to answer when i don't hear your voice?<br /><br />i ramble as i muse across my keypad<br />thoughts cascading<br />torrential downpour of letters lost between keys<br /><br />i'm not my own and that means that i don't want to be seen<br />i want Father Son Holy Spirit God to manifest within & through me<br />and when i get in the way that cannot happen<br />lately i've been in the way<br />and music brings me back to you<br /><br />and i remember i trust you <br />dear God i trust only you<br />and believe you've got me through the falling letters<br />rambling from my fingersAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-36649059071420923492010-09-01T21:04:00.001-05:002010-09-01T21:04:45.468-05:00"I Don't Know"a phrase that says so little and<br />screams so much<br />i don't know what i'm doing <br />most of the time<br />don't feel "together"<br />words falling from my mind<br />miss my glass-quilled pen<br />and crash upon the floor<br />i watch them blur through my tears<br />dear God<br />i don't know much<br />and i'm glad you know a whole lot moreAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-89732102340993474362010-08-29T16:27:00.000-05:002010-08-29T16:28:02.721-05:00SundaysI'm supposed to know how to feel through my pain<br />I'm supposed to know how to do so much<br />because I'm older<br />but life doesn't recognize age <br />when pain's administered<br />calculatedly desired to take my breath away<br />and dear God<br />you're invisible through it all<br />help me to remember that there's more to my life<br />than the flesh I'm wearing.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-60267186613574098762010-07-31T18:29:00.003-05:002010-07-31T18:50:26.687-05:00Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00408664654968666957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-16804080097582556182010-07-30T04:03:00.005-05:002010-10-25T23:18:02.858-05:00Quixotism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrYyCqnFW6MdBv_yQpdX_LFHfW9NnPZt_Qrjh6Ir3hcV8M9MwSw1WPbNEX2z4CbWJP2GDxmsxG_FRQqZXwPcmOYfm9ZA1b1ttzkSj0z-v_LTEgPl3_t_VNgNGp_DOTlrYCHwUKiTvtfOh/s1600/Don+Butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrYyCqnFW6MdBv_yQpdX_LFHfW9NnPZt_Qrjh6Ir3hcV8M9MwSw1WPbNEX2z4CbWJP2GDxmsxG_FRQqZXwPcmOYfm9ZA1b1ttzkSj0z-v_LTEgPl3_t_VNgNGp_DOTlrYCHwUKiTvtfOh/s320/Don+Butterfly.jpg" /></span></span></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"> After dinner with friends, I stood in the bathroom at the Asian Buffet and stared at this picture on the wall and giggled. For some reason, I thought about my tenth grade English teacher who asked me if I had read the book after every report I turned in and the senior English teacher who knew EXACTLY what every poem meant--how boring, to know everything.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I thought what a silly girl I was to be standing in the bathroom at a buffet laughing at butterfly wings and Don wanting to fight such soft things. I thought about how I always want to slip a butterfly wing in my mouth but don't because it'll ruin 'em and to lick a dead butterfly wing seems akin to necrophilia-pestophilia if I may, but I love pesto...insectophilia...yeah.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> So, I just imagine their wings feel like the skinniest part of the hibiscus petal on my tongue-cool and membraneous, and maybe the taste is papaya-ish if those are words, and even if they aren't. And then I think of all that color, like fireworks in my mouth, and wonder if fireworks have a taste other than gunpowder, and which one would taste the best. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> I want to open my mouth and have a thousand butterflies rush out--an insect/firework geyser. I want to film it and see what it means.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07111623610725767645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6766783996709780973.post-75139009007792522322010-07-25T18:36:00.001-05:002010-07-25T18:36:38.614-05:00Beingordination |ˌôrdnˈā sh ən| - a ceremony in which someone is ordained<br />ordain |ôrˈdān| - appoint, anoint, consecrate, install, invest, induct<br /><br />Today, today, today, i am speechless before God<br />know nothing and rely on Him for every thing<br />...Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1