FORZA Life

At the moment I am sandwiched between three cell phone conversations. Each one equally interesting. Kevin is patentiently enduring the Indian induced annoyance that is Dell tech report. Christina is juggling all those camp prepareing calls that the deadline deams important while Dan sits across her table doing the same for a Canadian camp. This slight insanity leaves me with the predicament: Which one do I easdrop on? Who do I distract? And more importantly, who needs a backrub?

Olson Ripoff

Torn.

Ripped.


My heart set in two seperate worlds.

Or maybe I just miss this:

The life of Sheep

There are two passages of scripture that have scared the crap out of me the last two months. Both being found in Mathew and both being the words of Jesus. The first is that of the sheep and the goats found in chapter 25. This being where Jesus seperates the people into sheep and goats. The sheep being heavenly creatures and the goats the hellish creatures subjected to the eternal punishment prepared for Satan and his angels. The scary part is that both the sheep and the goats seem suprised to be seperated into their chosen catagories. Jesus states that he was fed when hungry, was given a drink when thirsty, was provided clothes and shelter as a stranger, and was visited when sick or in prison by the sheep and was ignored by the goats. They both reply by asking when they did this. Jesus' answer, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

Everytime I come across this passage I am left pondering my place among the sheep and goats. Am I a sheep because I happily empty my pocket or hand away my to go box to each reaching hand in the street? Or am I a goat because I never actually feed those who are hungry? I walk away as soon as the hand off is made. I assume that my buck thirty eight will enter a cup that will accumulate enough change for a Big Mac. I assume that my smile and eye contact is pleasing enough. I assume I have done my job. Is this enough to please Jesus? And of course, I can't invite strangers into my suburban home because it isn't exactly mine and they never enter my suburban land. I donate my clothes to salvation army. Is that enough to please Jesus? Or does it even matter considering that I shop at Goodwill myself?

I also have to ask, who is Jesus refering to when he says, "these brothers of mine?" Does he limit charity to only Christians, or is 'a brother of mine' simply a human? Are the goats suprised because their charity doesn't count or because they never came across a hungry Jesus?

The next passage that haunts my sleepless nights is Mathew 26:24-25. It reads, "Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it...' " I try to lose my life, but I often find myself trying to save it like the drowning child who grasps desperately at thin air looking for an arm to pull him up. Is this really losing my life or is it searching for a comprimise as if to say, "Here you go God, I'll give you my life, but these are my terms."

Jesus died on His cross. How can I die on mine? I often wonder, how big is the cross? How much must I endure in order to consider my life lost. Jesus defeated death with his resurection. No task I can accomplish. It is Him who lifts me up as I try to subject myself to His will.

"But who ever loses his life for me will find it."

To Quote St. Augustine

"To whom am I narrating all this? Not to thee, O my god, but to my own kind in thy presence--to that small part of the human race who may chance to come upon these writings. And to what end? That I and all who read them may understand what depths there are from which we are to cry unto thee. For what is more surely heard in thy ear than a confessing heart and a faithful life?"

I take steps daily, that's how I walk. One foot in front of the other. I usually know where I'm going, but most the time I'm not sure why. Sure there's the pacing, which is always a problem. And the unfimiliarity of crowded rooms. I can walk a room full of twenty freinds and have no idea where I should stop walking. When my feet tire of that cherade I resolve to standing. Heck, I'll even sit if there's an empty chair. Maybe even smile and start up a conversation. I usually just drift from wall to wall. One foot in front of the other. Pacing without a clue why.

My specialty is finding a spot near the back, just close enough to take in the whole room. But not too close as if taking up the whole room. I'll lean back in my chair and inhale the laughter. Possibly even throw out a punch line, usually ignored, if I know most everyone. Which I do.

It's goal setting time

I'm doing it. It's official. As soon as I'm done reading The Screwtape Letters, probably tomorrow, I will read all of the bible. Cover to cover, aiming for chronological order, with an understanding of what it is I'm reading. That last part might make the minor prophets difficult, but let's see what happens. To make matters worse I'm aiming to slam this bad boy down in three months. Believe it or not, I have the time.

Life

They say life begins at thirty, or forty, or some middle aged moment when one stumbles across some sort of epiphany. That awe inspiring moment when you finally get it. "It" of course being so ambiguous that there really isn't much room for error. They say that your twenties are spent figuring out who you really are. Awkwardly walking through the daily routine hoping for discovery. Sipping on coffee cups or puffing at cigarettes, enjoying moments of depression and loneliness with pen in hand. Our whole life is in front of us and we stall. We haven't figured it out yet. We don't get it, and we won't for another ten or twenty years. That's what they tell us.

Is it possible they could be wrong? Do we delay the epiphany? Are we afraid of it? I am convinced I won't have to spend a decade staring at my watch before tasting whatever this life thing is. I am convinced that life has already begun. Life began at four when I bought my first popsicle and tried as hard as could not to bite at that melting hunk of ice. Life began the first time I held hands with a girl and she didn't pull away exclaiming, "This game is stupid, Miss Weaks, boys are gross!" This being no insult considering girls were equally disgusting. Life begins everyday, even if it begins with that annoying alarm clock buzzer. Life begins with the windows down on the freeway. Life begins when someone sneaks up behind you and you are forced swallow your heart and scream like a school girl. Life begins at birth, or conception, or somewhere in between depending on where you stand in the whole life/choice debate. Life begins when you can finally take off your shoes, wear your flip flops out at night, lose your breath laughing, or crunch leaves as you walk. Ladies and gentlemen, life has already begun. Why are we stalling?