Aerobies are practically weightless frisbees that look a bit like one of Saturn's rings. They fly practically forever - literally a hundred yards with ease, and into the nearby lake if you're not careful. (Word to the wise... they don't float!) Once you've played with one, it's hard to go back to an ordinary frisbee.
Anyway, having enjoyed our regular Aerobie so much, I bought a triangular Aerobie boomerang on a lark one day. (It works, by the way!) Some time later, Luke (our 5-yr old) noticed it and asked what it was. I told him it was a boomerang. Armed with this knowledge, Luke instantly became an "expert." (I've seen this phenomena with adults too...)
So a few minutes later, Abby (7 yrs old) comes in and exclaimed, "Oh, you have a frisbee!" Luke was ready with an instantaneous scornful reply. "It's not a frisbee, Abby!" he said with words dripping in condescension. "It's a bingarray."
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Forgive Him. While He Lies To Your Face
A man betrayed my trust several years ago. He lied to me repeatedly, caused me great financial harm, strung me along... and to this day I am not free of the fallout from what happened. It was the financial equivalent of rape. I've still got the baby to show for it.
I was mulling over the nature of forgiveness yesterday as I burned several hours on some unpleasant work related to the "baby" born of that experience. While I worked I reminded myself again and again that Jesus was rather clear about the matter -- if I cannot forgive this person for what he did to me, then God will not forgive me my sins either.
When I got home that evening, I turned to my daily readings from the Book of Common Prayer, where I found (lo and behold) that the Gospel reading for the day was this very passage I had been mulling over. Here it is:
Matthew 18:21-35
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?"
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.
"Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him. Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.
"The servant fell on his knees before him. 'Be patient with me,' he begged, 'and I will pay back everything.'
The servant's master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go. "But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii. He grabbed him and began to choke him. 'Pay back what you owe me!' he demanded.
"His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, 'Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.'
"But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt.
When the other servants saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed and went and told their master everything that had happened.
"Then the master called the servant in. 'You wicked servant,' he said, 'I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn't you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?' In anger his master turned him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.
"This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart."
As I pondered the parable anew, several new thoughts came to mind.
First, I was struck by the fact that, two years on, I still struggle to forgive the man who wronged me. The bar is set high. (Did Jesus ever set it low?) I should have forgiven the man on the spot while he was lying to me. To say the case mildly, forgiveness is something I have not mastered yet.
Furthermore, I noticed a common thread of deception (of both self and others) involved in both my experience of a few years ago and here in this parable Jesus told.
The debt owed by the second servant is equivalent to the wages a man might make after working 100 days. That's not chump change. In promising to pay it all back, the second servant is quite possibly telling a bald-faced lie -- or something close to it. "Be patient with me," he says, "and I will pay you back." Yeah, right.
One of the things I didn't realize until now is that the first servant was probably being shrewed -- and not simply impatient. He was probably right in guessing he'd not be repaid. His problem is not a lack of patience. His problem is a lack of grace.
Moving on. The second servant may or may not have been speaking truthfully and/or realistically, but there is no such ambiguity where the first servant is concerned. In promising to repay in full, he was lying either to himself, to his master, or to both, and making a fool of himself in the process. A talent is a unit of weight roughly equal to 94 pounds. Did the first servant owe it in silver or gold? Depending upon which you pick, he owed his master either several million dollars or (no joke) several billion dollars. Let's assume it was gold - just for fun. 10,000 * 100 (rough calculation) = 1,000,000. One million pounds. 500 tons. 400 tons, if we round it all down. That is still twice as much gold as the 200 tons of gold India purchased a few weeks ago from the IMF -- for 6.7 billion dollars. "I will pay you back." Yeah, right.
And yet Jesus is comparing me to that servant. It's unpleasant to acknowledge, but the comparison is perfectly apt. My debt to God is unfathomably great -- and it increases daily. I become the third delusional servant if I think for a moment that, with a bit of work, I can get on God's good side. "I will pay you back, God." Yeah, right.
But notice what the master did for the first servant at the start of the parable. He brushed aside his pathetic, blubbering, delusional promise of repayment.... and he just canceled the debt outright! "15 billion dollars? It's ok. You don't have to pay it."
I guess at the heart of this parable are two lying and/or delusional servants... and one tremendously and unspeakably gracious master. There's a lesson or three there for me to remember for the next time I try to negotiate with God!
Firstly, where God is concerned, I have nothing to negotiate with -- so I can stop that game now. ("I cannot pay you back!")
Secondly, I do face a master who graciously forgives massive, massive debts. ("You will cancel my 15 billion dollar debt??")
Thirdly, the only thing that might interfere with this unspeakably gracious solution is if I choose not to be equally gracious toward those around me. ("Uh-oh... there's a hitch?")
Always a hitch. I must go and do likewise.
Yes, the man lied to me. Yes, the cost to me was great. But how does my loss compare to, say, 15 billion dollars? What that man cost me is like dust on the scale compared to what I owe God. Do I want to remember the mite of dust bitterly -- and for the privilege continue to carry my debt to God? Or do I want to wallow in the grace of my Lord -- so much so that I lose sight of what others owe me?
It seems a simple choice... an easy decision. But God, I'm not good at this. Please help me to forgive others from the heart.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Verbal Jousting
Prologue: We are driving to Texas this coming week for a Thanksgiving visit with family. The rest is almost self-explanatory, but it might be helpful to know that I monitor Andrew's intake of movies closely and, where the Lord of the Rings is concerned, he only gets to watch it with me, preferably after a dose of readings from the original books.
This is an exchange of emails I had with Andrew yesterday. Since he hasn't (yet) replied to my last email, I'd like to declare a tentative victory. That may be premature...
These emails are presented here virtually verbatim, though I have tidied up a few misspellings and cut the text down to the salient points.
Andrew: Hey, I nnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeddddd to watch Lord of the Rings (and can we bring it to Texas?)
Daddy: Absolutely, Andrew! we can bring all three books to Texas. I think it's great that we're on the same page that we should not be watching movies at a time when we're in town with relatives ya don't see every day. Hhahahahahhaha. No movies! I am so glad you see things the same way I do on that. hahahhaha
Andrew: “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three books to Texas.” Is what you say. What I say is this, “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three movies to Texas.” I really like my version better, don’t you?
Daddy: Ah, a young imagination. So wonderful to behold. And there is no better place for your imagination to remain than in your mind. Thankfully, the dragons and balrogs we imagine don't show up in the car headed to Texas, nor the movies you imagine I said we'd bring along. Hhahaha! I love you! (...too much to let you waste away your life in front of the idiot box...)
Andrew: Now, you know that the TV, which you refer to as an “Idiot box” is a lot more entertaining than his books. I like the “They are coming!" ... CLANG, CLANG, CLANG THUD…………BOOM…BOOM…BOOM…BOOMBOOM…BOOMBOOMBOOM...BOOMBOOMBOOM…SHING, SHING, Clang, Orcs! "Bar the door!" ROAR!!!! "They have a cave troll!” better than “The rolling hills rippled in the slight breeze and looked almost like they were breathing. The green was magnificent and Sam knew in his heart that he would always remember this sight.” So that is what I have to say to your “Idiot box” statement! HA!
Daddy: Ah, a very nice reply -- very creative. I bet you got that way because I kept you away from the idiot box. (There is a certain circularity to this argument that I think you will find it hard to unwind...) hahah HA!!!!
This is an exchange of emails I had with Andrew yesterday. Since he hasn't (yet) replied to my last email, I'd like to declare a tentative victory. That may be premature...
These emails are presented here virtually verbatim, though I have tidied up a few misspellings and cut the text down to the salient points.
Andrew: Hey, I nnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeddddd to watch Lord of the Rings (and can we bring it to Texas?)
Daddy: Absolutely, Andrew! we can bring all three books to Texas. I think it's great that we're on the same page that we should not be watching movies at a time when we're in town with relatives ya don't see every day. Hhahahahahhaha. No movies! I am so glad you see things the same way I do on that. hahahhaha
Andrew: “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three books to Texas.” Is what you say. What I say is this, “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three movies to Texas.” I really like my version better, don’t you?
Daddy: Ah, a young imagination. So wonderful to behold. And there is no better place for your imagination to remain than in your mind. Thankfully, the dragons and balrogs we imagine don't show up in the car headed to Texas, nor the movies you imagine I said we'd bring along. Hhahaha! I love you! (...too much to let you waste away your life in front of the idiot box...)
Andrew: Now, you know that the TV, which you refer to as an “Idiot box” is a lot more entertaining than his books. I like the “They are coming!" ... CLANG, CLANG, CLANG THUD…………BOOM…BOOM…BOOM…BOOMBOOM…BOOMBOOMBOOM...BOOMBOOMBOOM…SHING, SHING, Clang, Orcs! "Bar the door!" ROAR!!!! "They have a cave troll!” better than “The rolling hills rippled in the slight breeze and looked almost like they were breathing. The green was magnificent and Sam knew in his heart that he would always remember this sight.” So that is what I have to say to your “Idiot box” statement! HA!
Daddy: Ah, a very nice reply -- very creative. I bet you got that way because I kept you away from the idiot box. (There is a certain circularity to this argument that I think you will find it hard to unwind...) hahah HA!!!!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Life, Liberty, and Bring Me Some of That Happines Too
For most of my life, I found the book of Hebrews confusing and, frankly, a bit weird. It didn't make much sense. I read it from time to time, and all I ever seemed to reap from the effort was the vague impression that this book didn't apply much to my life.
Today I would put Hebrews in my short-list of must-reads from the New Testament, and for one simple reason (if not several): Hebrews exposes the dark rot that seems to permeate every nook and cranny of American life. Americans have bought into the notion that a life without suffering is a well-lived life indeed, and not a few of us seem to think anything short of that (a pain-free life) is a violation of some inalienable human rights. Life, liberty, and happiness. (As for that bit about pursuing it, isn't that making us work just a bit too hard?)
Now here is an odd twist to this journal entry. I just now went in search of a quote from Malcolm Muggeridge which I had in mind to share here. I eventually found the quote, but not before finding two others which in this context simply cannot be ignored.
Here's the first quote: The pursuit of happiness... is without any question the most fatuous which could possibly be undertaken. This lamentable phrase ''the pursuit of happiness'' is responsible for a good part of the ills and miseries of the modern world.
Amen. Malcolm, you're making me look like a plagiarist, but I swear I'd never seen this quote before in my life.
The 2nd quote is not too family-friendly (unless you're trying to start one): "The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and fulfillment."
Ouch! More on these in a second, but let's get down the original quote I originally set off in search of. Here it is: Contrary to what might be expected, I look back on experiences that at that time seemed especially desolating and painful. I now look back upon them with particular satisfaction. Indeed, I can say with complete truthfulness that everything I have learned in my seventy-five years in this world, everything that has truly enhanced and enlightened my existence has been through affliction and not through happiness whether pursued or attained. In other words, I say this, if it were possible to eliminate affliction from our earthly existence by means of some drug or other medical mumbo-jumbo, the results would not be to make life delectable, but to make it too banal and trivial to be endurable. This, of course, is what the cross signifies and it is the cross, more than anything else, that has called me inexorably to Christ.
These quotes capture well the essence of why I love the book of Hebrews, and why it makes no sense to American eyes, by and large. For those (many) Americans who treat orgasms as pretty much the end-all be-all of human existence, the book of Hebrews might as well have been written in Sanscrit. (And no, that's not a new font from Microsoft.)
Hebrews doesn't start to make sense until we start to treat the cross with the kind of desire, affection and reverence that we Americans normally reserves for sex.
Any takers?
Today I would put Hebrews in my short-list of must-reads from the New Testament, and for one simple reason (if not several): Hebrews exposes the dark rot that seems to permeate every nook and cranny of American life. Americans have bought into the notion that a life without suffering is a well-lived life indeed, and not a few of us seem to think anything short of that (a pain-free life) is a violation of some inalienable human rights. Life, liberty, and happiness. (As for that bit about pursuing it, isn't that making us work just a bit too hard?)
Now here is an odd twist to this journal entry. I just now went in search of a quote from Malcolm Muggeridge which I had in mind to share here. I eventually found the quote, but not before finding two others which in this context simply cannot be ignored.
Here's the first quote: The pursuit of happiness... is without any question the most fatuous which could possibly be undertaken. This lamentable phrase ''the pursuit of happiness'' is responsible for a good part of the ills and miseries of the modern world.
Amen. Malcolm, you're making me look like a plagiarist, but I swear I'd never seen this quote before in my life.
The 2nd quote is not too family-friendly (unless you're trying to start one): "The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and fulfillment."
Ouch! More on these in a second, but let's get down the original quote I originally set off in search of. Here it is: Contrary to what might be expected, I look back on experiences that at that time seemed especially desolating and painful. I now look back upon them with particular satisfaction. Indeed, I can say with complete truthfulness that everything I have learned in my seventy-five years in this world, everything that has truly enhanced and enlightened my existence has been through affliction and not through happiness whether pursued or attained. In other words, I say this, if it were possible to eliminate affliction from our earthly existence by means of some drug or other medical mumbo-jumbo, the results would not be to make life delectable, but to make it too banal and trivial to be endurable. This, of course, is what the cross signifies and it is the cross, more than anything else, that has called me inexorably to Christ.
These quotes capture well the essence of why I love the book of Hebrews, and why it makes no sense to American eyes, by and large. For those (many) Americans who treat orgasms as pretty much the end-all be-all of human existence, the book of Hebrews might as well have been written in Sanscrit. (And no, that's not a new font from Microsoft.)
Hebrews doesn't start to make sense until we start to treat the cross with the kind of desire, affection and reverence that we Americans normally reserves for sex.
Any takers?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
He never called it stupid
Life is difficult. We all discover this to be true. Yes, it's tempting to think that a few blessed souls have it easy, but a review of how things turn out for lucky (??) lotto winners ought to give us pause before we assume that our lives could become miraculously free of difficulties were situation X, Y or Z resolved favorably.
So, given that there will always be a situation X, Y or Z, how should we respond to them?
I, for one, easily get frustrated. As a case in point, I am now in the middle of a situation which has proved costly to me in terms of both time and money (to say nothing of the emotional toll). Despite all my efforts over the past year or two, I have yet to escape it. The situation lingers on, like an intrusive and unwelcome visitor in my home. I believe God allowed it to happen for purposes known to him, and I trust God with the matter. I have already seen some good things come about as a result of what I have experienced.
So far, so good. To be able to say these things truthfully is indeed a victory. But it's not a complete one. I know the victory is not complete because of the words which flow from my heart when the topic comes up in conversation.
In prayer, I work hard to find words that indicate trust and love. God is in charge of the situation, and can be trusted with it. With effort, I find that I am able to thank God for what he is teaching me and how he is shaping me through it. It's tricky business, but I am able to find these words and mean them -- when I'm chatting with God.
But my, oh my, how the wording sometimes changes when I give friends or family an update on this same matter. Suddenly from my heart well up words which bear not-so-beautiful testimony to another perspective which I also hold within me. The thing is "stupid." The situation "sucks." I'm "tired" of it. "How I wish I had never met so-and-so, who got me into this mess." "If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have done it!!"
The strange thing is, I am being pretty honest in both situations. I speak with God in one way, and am helped by the knowledge that he is omniscient, omnipotent and loves me too. Why bother complaining to God, that being the case? In the mystery of life, this is how God is choosing to grow me up. I know this to be true, so I may as well talk that way when I'm in a conversation with him.
But in conversations with other broken people like me, I so easily move into what we all do so well -- an attitude of complaining. And usually I can count on their sympathy, because we all find it easy to slip into the fallacy of believing that difficulties are evils wrongfully thrust upon our lives -- intrusions on the idyllic existence we thought we ought to have been given as a birthright.
Then there is the example of Christ Jesus. Search the scriptures and see. Jesus never called the cross "stupid." He never said his situation "sucked." Whereas our woes usually jump us from behind (or worse, are the direct result of our own screwed up decisions), Jesus' cross was ever before him, precipitated by our screw-ups (not his)... and yet he knowingly kept walking toward it. With a good attitude. We don't know all the exact words Jesus used, but it appears that he talked about his impending doom in a rather matter-of-fact way with his disciples. The strongest words Jesus had to say about the crucifixion he knew he would endure were that it was a "baptism" he was eager to see to completion. (Luke 12:50)
But to call those his strongest words on the topic would be to ignore his prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. (Luke 22:41-44) Wait a minute. Prayer? So... let me get this straight. Jesus' words about his crucifixion were most "godly" when he was talking to men... And his words on the same topic were most "human" when he was talking with God...
Mystery. A complete reversal of how I talk about my little crosses in life. I save my complaints for people, and my most pious words for God. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me, somewhere.
But one final reflection to add to the mix, making Christ's example for me all the more compelling and challenging.
When unpleasant realities intrude into my life, my worst words are always reserved for those who helped usher them in, and the words come most easily when the offender is a close friend or family member. It's that commonly understood reality -- we are often more polite to strangers than we are to our own spouses or siblings.
For stark contrast, look no further than how Jesus spoke about the cross. Not only did he keep a good attitude about it, but he also never held it over anyone. It's a bizarre image... a painting no one ever painted. Jesus never held his cross over anyone. Imagine how tempting it would have been for Jesus to say in exasperation, "You pathetic people -- I'm going to die a gruesome death, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have to do it! A little gratitude is in order here." But the gospels record no such bitter complaints.
Jesus didn't pop an attitude about the cross. He didn't complain to us about it. He didn't shove our noses in it. And when the burden was almost more than he could bear -- he talked to God about it. And he accepted it without argument or bitterness when God didn't take it away.
God, give me this gracious attitude for the crosses I bear in my life, which don't bear comparison to the cross of Christ anyway.
So, given that there will always be a situation X, Y or Z, how should we respond to them?
I, for one, easily get frustrated. As a case in point, I am now in the middle of a situation which has proved costly to me in terms of both time and money (to say nothing of the emotional toll). Despite all my efforts over the past year or two, I have yet to escape it. The situation lingers on, like an intrusive and unwelcome visitor in my home. I believe God allowed it to happen for purposes known to him, and I trust God with the matter. I have already seen some good things come about as a result of what I have experienced.
So far, so good. To be able to say these things truthfully is indeed a victory. But it's not a complete one. I know the victory is not complete because of the words which flow from my heart when the topic comes up in conversation.
In prayer, I work hard to find words that indicate trust and love. God is in charge of the situation, and can be trusted with it. With effort, I find that I am able to thank God for what he is teaching me and how he is shaping me through it. It's tricky business, but I am able to find these words and mean them -- when I'm chatting with God.
But my, oh my, how the wording sometimes changes when I give friends or family an update on this same matter. Suddenly from my heart well up words which bear not-so-beautiful testimony to another perspective which I also hold within me. The thing is "stupid." The situation "sucks." I'm "tired" of it. "How I wish I had never met so-and-so, who got me into this mess." "If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have done it!!"
The strange thing is, I am being pretty honest in both situations. I speak with God in one way, and am helped by the knowledge that he is omniscient, omnipotent and loves me too. Why bother complaining to God, that being the case? In the mystery of life, this is how God is choosing to grow me up. I know this to be true, so I may as well talk that way when I'm in a conversation with him.
But in conversations with other broken people like me, I so easily move into what we all do so well -- an attitude of complaining. And usually I can count on their sympathy, because we all find it easy to slip into the fallacy of believing that difficulties are evils wrongfully thrust upon our lives -- intrusions on the idyllic existence we thought we ought to have been given as a birthright.
Then there is the example of Christ Jesus. Search the scriptures and see. Jesus never called the cross "stupid." He never said his situation "sucked." Whereas our woes usually jump us from behind (or worse, are the direct result of our own screwed up decisions), Jesus' cross was ever before him, precipitated by our screw-ups (not his)... and yet he knowingly kept walking toward it. With a good attitude. We don't know all the exact words Jesus used, but it appears that he talked about his impending doom in a rather matter-of-fact way with his disciples. The strongest words Jesus had to say about the crucifixion he knew he would endure were that it was a "baptism" he was eager to see to completion. (Luke 12:50)
But to call those his strongest words on the topic would be to ignore his prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. (Luke 22:41-44) Wait a minute. Prayer? So... let me get this straight. Jesus' words about his crucifixion were most "godly" when he was talking to men... And his words on the same topic were most "human" when he was talking with God...
Mystery. A complete reversal of how I talk about my little crosses in life. I save my complaints for people, and my most pious words for God. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me, somewhere.
But one final reflection to add to the mix, making Christ's example for me all the more compelling and challenging.
When unpleasant realities intrude into my life, my worst words are always reserved for those who helped usher them in, and the words come most easily when the offender is a close friend or family member. It's that commonly understood reality -- we are often more polite to strangers than we are to our own spouses or siblings.
For stark contrast, look no further than how Jesus spoke about the cross. Not only did he keep a good attitude about it, but he also never held it over anyone. It's a bizarre image... a painting no one ever painted. Jesus never held his cross over anyone. Imagine how tempting it would have been for Jesus to say in exasperation, "You pathetic people -- I'm going to die a gruesome death, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have to do it! A little gratitude is in order here." But the gospels record no such bitter complaints.
Jesus didn't pop an attitude about the cross. He didn't complain to us about it. He didn't shove our noses in it. And when the burden was almost more than he could bear -- he talked to God about it. And he accepted it without argument or bitterness when God didn't take it away.
God, give me this gracious attitude for the crosses I bear in my life, which don't bear comparison to the cross of Christ anyway.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
In The Beginning...
...Was the Word. (John 1:1)
Worthy words to remember upon this inaugural blogfest. So many words out there, but it begins with the Word -- and ends there too. He is the Alpha (with apologies to those who thought they were) and the Omega too.
I have begun this blogspot for a simple reason. No publisher has yet paid me for my writing, nor has any offered to take it for free. I confess I have not tried very hard. In fact, it would be simplest to say I have not tried at all. But I do have to question the wisdom of all those publishers who never dropped by my house to gain my acquaintance.
In the meantime, I have found this blogspot website (yeah, that was hard) and decided to work off my literary itches.
Yes, I've got a few of those itches. Ideas and thoughts. That is the inspiration (some might question the word-choice there) behind my blog title. Someone else took the URL (uponreflection.blogspot.com) but by the frequency of his/her blogs, my tentative conclusion is that this person has not been reflecting on much of late -- not publicly, at least. I wonder if I will follow the same course. A few blogs into empty space, and then nothing?
But back to the ideas and itches. Now that I have taken the time to create this blog account, I don't want to blow all my money on the first shot, so I will sign out quietly and hopefully gracefully today, only to (perhaps) tomorrow begin with some reflections upon the Word. Jesus. He continues to amaze me, and it is for the sheer joy of reflecting upon who He is that I have even begun this little blog fun.
Worthy words to remember upon this inaugural blogfest. So many words out there, but it begins with the Word -- and ends there too. He is the Alpha (with apologies to those who thought they were) and the Omega too.
I have begun this blogspot for a simple reason. No publisher has yet paid me for my writing, nor has any offered to take it for free. I confess I have not tried very hard. In fact, it would be simplest to say I have not tried at all. But I do have to question the wisdom of all those publishers who never dropped by my house to gain my acquaintance.
In the meantime, I have found this blogspot website (yeah, that was hard) and decided to work off my literary itches.
Yes, I've got a few of those itches. Ideas and thoughts. That is the inspiration (some might question the word-choice there) behind my blog title. Someone else took the URL (uponreflection.blogspot.com) but by the frequency of his/her blogs, my tentative conclusion is that this person has not been reflecting on much of late -- not publicly, at least. I wonder if I will follow the same course. A few blogs into empty space, and then nothing?
But back to the ideas and itches. Now that I have taken the time to create this blog account, I don't want to blow all my money on the first shot, so I will sign out quietly and hopefully gracefully today, only to (perhaps) tomorrow begin with some reflections upon the Word. Jesus. He continues to amaze me, and it is for the sheer joy of reflecting upon who He is that I have even begun this little blog fun.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)