Thursday, June 13, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Agape
"I go by Alice," I thought he said.
He combed his long brown hair with slim fingers.
A pervert?
A transgender pervert?
If he had talked to me, could I have looked into his eyes? Could I smile? If he held out his hand to me, could I take it? Could I tell him that I was glad to meet him? Could I be a friend to him, despite his sinful status? Could I, honestly?
Why does the idea of a man pretending to be a woman make it hard for me to show kindness and Christ-like love? Why is disgust, horrified disgust, the only feeling that surfaces? If it were a divorcee, a swindler, a hypocrite, I could still pretend that it was all okay. I could deal with it in my own way. I could treat them as humanity. I have done that already. But a pervert? What would I do?
I am sheltered.
I cringe at being in a world where I have to deal - to live with - to work with - sinners. I want to hide. I don't want to let them touch me. I know it isn't right; so how do I show love despite that?
I have already had to act lovingly to those who are not saved. I have had to be around people who are living in immorality, people who are hypocrites. It's hard to show love, but it's something I can't think twice about. I know I must, so I do. But a pervert.
I got to let go of the disgust. Let go of the horror. I got to be grieved at their sin, but not let that overflow to their personage. I got to show - no, even further than that - feel love for them.
How?
I don't know any formulas; I don't even have any plan for how I will do it once I'm out of my sheltered box. I don't know. But I do know how my response should be. I do know that I won't be able to change people (only God does that). I do know a lot of people won't listen to me. I do know that Christ's love through me will work miracles. I do know I won't be able to keep silent about the Love of my life. I do know that I must embody Christ and showcase His brilliant light. I do know what love is. And whoever the person, I must show it.
Hi. I'm glad to meet you. For real.
You know, I don't hate you. I love you, because you are worth so much. Can we be friends?
He combed his long brown hair with slim fingers.
A pervert?
A transgender pervert?
If he had talked to me, could I have looked into his eyes? Could I smile? If he held out his hand to me, could I take it? Could I tell him that I was glad to meet him? Could I be a friend to him, despite his sinful status? Could I, honestly?
Why does the idea of a man pretending to be a woman make it hard for me to show kindness and Christ-like love? Why is disgust, horrified disgust, the only feeling that surfaces? If it were a divorcee, a swindler, a hypocrite, I could still pretend that it was all okay. I could deal with it in my own way. I could treat them as humanity. I have done that already. But a pervert? What would I do?
I am sheltered.
I cringe at being in a world where I have to deal - to live with - to work with - sinners. I want to hide. I don't want to let them touch me. I know it isn't right; so how do I show love despite that?
I have already had to act lovingly to those who are not saved. I have had to be around people who are living in immorality, people who are hypocrites. It's hard to show love, but it's something I can't think twice about. I know I must, so I do. But a pervert.
I got to let go of the disgust. Let go of the horror. I got to be grieved at their sin, but not let that overflow to their personage. I got to show - no, even further than that - feel love for them.
How?
I don't know any formulas; I don't even have any plan for how I will do it once I'm out of my sheltered box. I don't know. But I do know how my response should be. I do know that I won't be able to change people (only God does that). I do know a lot of people won't listen to me. I do know that Christ's love through me will work miracles. I do know I won't be able to keep silent about the Love of my life. I do know that I must embody Christ and showcase His brilliant light. I do know what love is. And whoever the person, I must show it.
Hi. I'm glad to meet you. For real.
You know, I don't hate you. I love you, because you are worth so much. Can we be friends?
A Note about my Cello....
My cello nationality ought to well known on this blog, but it seems that I have not seen fit to mention at all my affiliation with it. Well, I shall inform you that dear Celler (pronounced: cheller) is doing quite well, and we were practicing Camille Saint-Saens' The Swan just moments ago. Celler said to tell my stalkers that I am such a bad cellist that I am not even worthy to play his honorable strings, but I told him sternly that he oughtn't be so haughty; his strings were but the cheep ones sent along with his chinsy body. "You were made by a machine," I told him, "Don't be so proud of yourself." Of course, he was totally offended. I felt bad for insulting him so, so I displayed how pleased I was at his un-squeeky-ness (which was remarkable, seeing how out of practice he - ahem - we are.
We decided that it would be good if I made it a point to practice together every day. "Yes," he told me. "You have been leaving me in my case much too long. See, I even have dust on me!" Of course, he was being utterly rude by insinuating that I neglect him. I should think he knows how busy I am, but no. He loves to remind me of all the hours I spend practicing the piano, and I would almost think he's jealous of that old box of strings.
Even so, he is right. I ought to practice more. I am not one fourth as good as I would wish to be, so I really need to work hard. Someday I will get lessons, and though I am not there yet, I will practice diligently till that day. Besides, just getting a teacher won't make practicing much easier!
I must make a habit of practicing....
We decided that it would be good if I made it a point to practice together every day. "Yes," he told me. "You have been leaving me in my case much too long. See, I even have dust on me!" Of course, he was being utterly rude by insinuating that I neglect him. I should think he knows how busy I am, but no. He loves to remind me of all the hours I spend practicing the piano, and I would almost think he's jealous of that old box of strings.
Even so, he is right. I ought to practice more. I am not one fourth as good as I would wish to be, so I really need to work hard. Someday I will get lessons, and though I am not there yet, I will practice diligently till that day. Besides, just getting a teacher won't make practicing much easier!
I must make a habit of practicing....
A Belated Bit....
I hadn't mentioned it, that post describing Sunday's church service. I hadn't mentioned how riled I was because of something the preacher said. I have heard this quite a few times, and it never fails to incite me to anger. That they would have such confidence in their belief, even to mock any other way. That they would mercilessly condemn those who do not agree. That they would make it a first teaching in their religion, and believe God will reward them for it.
It's really quite shocking. If you are not familiar with the belief, you would be surprised - to say the least - to know that this denomination makes this belief one of the strict deviding points from other groups.
"We believe the New Testament church worshipped without instruments, and that is how we choose to worship, too."
That is how one church nearby puts it on their church bulliton. But it goes deeper than that. Though I know of, and have even met, a good amount who would not condemn anyone for using instruments in worship, there are also a good many die-hard non-instrumentalists. They are strong in their beliefs, and this is why they think so.
In several scriptures - Ephesians 5:19 ("Speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord") and Colossians 3:16 ("Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord") are examples - it is mentioned that we should sing. They use those scriptures, and a few others (that when I actually heard them for the first time used in that context, I was utterly shocked that they were being used to promote Acapella worship) to prove that it is un-scriptural to use instruments.
In this particular sermon, the preacher deviated from his subject slightly to expound on this subject. What exactly he said, and the tone he used, and the response from the people sitting in the pews nearly made me sick.
He called on one of the men to read a scripture for him. I think it was the Ephesians one, chapter five, verse nineteen. So the man called upon read it out loud. The preacher, talking in a very loud voice, if not shouting, (okay, well they don't have a microphone, if that's any excuse) emphasized each word; "Speaking - not blowing [such as with a trumpet], not pressing down [piano] keys, not banging [a drum], but speaking....." -then to the middle of the verse- "singing; not strumming, not plucking strings, not playing an instrument, but singing."
Amens rang out. They really believe this. This is them. They like to be affirmed.
Very well. If you want to believe that way, do so. I guess you would say, too, "It says singing; that means no clapping, no tapping your foot, no humming, no whistling, no nothing. Don't go beyond what is written, eh?" It is foolish. I cannot believe that they are so convinced. And it angers me that they lead so many astray in this belief; that they indoctrinate those who are not wise enough to resist it. Those who do resist, and leave for lack of acceptance, are spoken of in pitied tones, "So-and-so loved the world too much. Let us pray for him, that he may be enlightened." Indeed. Over my dead body.
It's really quite shocking. If you are not familiar with the belief, you would be surprised - to say the least - to know that this denomination makes this belief one of the strict deviding points from other groups.
"We believe the New Testament church worshipped without instruments, and that is how we choose to worship, too."
That is how one church nearby puts it on their church bulliton. But it goes deeper than that. Though I know of, and have even met, a good amount who would not condemn anyone for using instruments in worship, there are also a good many die-hard non-instrumentalists. They are strong in their beliefs, and this is why they think so.
In several scriptures - Ephesians 5:19 ("Speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord") and Colossians 3:16 ("Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord") are examples - it is mentioned that we should sing. They use those scriptures, and a few others (that when I actually heard them for the first time used in that context, I was utterly shocked that they were being used to promote Acapella worship) to prove that it is un-scriptural to use instruments.
In this particular sermon, the preacher deviated from his subject slightly to expound on this subject. What exactly he said, and the tone he used, and the response from the people sitting in the pews nearly made me sick.
He called on one of the men to read a scripture for him. I think it was the Ephesians one, chapter five, verse nineteen. So the man called upon read it out loud. The preacher, talking in a very loud voice, if not shouting, (okay, well they don't have a microphone, if that's any excuse) emphasized each word; "Speaking - not blowing [such as with a trumpet], not pressing down [piano] keys, not banging [a drum], but speaking....." -then to the middle of the verse- "singing; not strumming, not plucking strings, not playing an instrument, but singing."
Amens rang out. They really believe this. This is them. They like to be affirmed.
Very well. If you want to believe that way, do so. I guess you would say, too, "It says singing; that means no clapping, no tapping your foot, no humming, no whistling, no nothing. Don't go beyond what is written, eh?" It is foolish. I cannot believe that they are so convinced. And it angers me that they lead so many astray in this belief; that they indoctrinate those who are not wise enough to resist it. Those who do resist, and leave for lack of acceptance, are spoken of in pitied tones, "So-and-so loved the world too much. Let us pray for him, that he may be enlightened." Indeed. Over my dead body.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Baby Talk
I have many pressing things tonight, the least of which is a blog entry, but seeing as I will forget this dear conversation with the Littlest One, I should take care to record it.
We started out by talking about Donny Yodel. "Do you know where she is?" I asked her.
"Yah. Donny fwy 'way. Go up in aw- aw- AWRpwane an fwy far 'way. Fwy up to Daddy."
To Daddy, is it? For quite awhile she has called Jesus Daddy. And she already told me she thought dear Donny was dead. But that she flew up to heaven in an airplane?
"Yah. Go up in sky, fwy up to Daddy."
"When is she coming back?"
"Ohh, ten day."
Meaning to correct her, I asked if she knew Donny would be back in about two weeks, about fourteen days.
"No!" Was her reply. "I say ten day!!"
I proceeded to ask the little princess if she knew what Donny and Daddy were doing.
"Ohhh, eat berries." She furrowed her brow and peered upward. "Let me see. There aminals. Pwetty puppy, howrse, an - an - wow yion!!" (Her 'l's are 'y's.)
"Do you ever plan to go to see Daddy?"
"Fwy up in awpwane, see Daddy."
"What will you do with Him?"
She looks at me, her undisguised bliss almost hiding a brief look of bewilderment that seemed to say, what, don't you know?. "Daddy pway wif me!" Of course. Jesus will play with her. I should've known better, but I had to ask,
"Play what?"
"Pway puppy wif me!"
I didn't leave it at that. "Who's gunna be the puppy, you or Daddy?"
"Daddy pway puppy wif me!"
Needless to say, that was that.
I thought a moment.
"Do you like dragons?"
She thought a moment.
"No. Dra-yee meem!"
"Ohhh. No, really? I know nice dragons."
She hesitated. "Ah have purple dra-yee."
"Oh really?"
"Purple dra-yee nice...." She held it in her hands, cradeling it lovingly. "Meem dra-yees tum, blah' meem dray-ees." Black. When she makes that certain cut-off sound with her tongue, I know she's cutting off consonants. It almost makes her sound like she's saying 'blaht'. "Blah' dra-yee tum, I fight! Det my sword, fight dra-yee! Dra-yee get sword, too! We fight! Tut, tut, tut, tut, bam, bam, bam, bam, yah, yah, yah.... I fight, I dead all meem blah' dra-yee. My purple dra-yee fight. More dra-yee tum, all blah' dra-yees. Poor white dra-yee, is your dra-yee. Is dead. Meem dra-yee kill poor white dra-yee. Oh, my poor purple dra-yee. Purple dra-yee dead, too. Meem blah' dra-yee kill purple dra-yee. So sad." She had the saddest face on ever. "I make holes, bury meem dra-yee. Bury wow dra-yee."
"You mean you're burying them?"
"Yah!" Her voice was distainful. "They dead!"
Poor dra-yees. I should've known the play would turn out a little lopsided. Not exactly what I expected, anyway. Poor dra-yees.
We started out by talking about Donny Yodel. "Do you know where she is?" I asked her.
"Yah. Donny fwy 'way. Go up in aw- aw- AWRpwane an fwy far 'way. Fwy up to Daddy."
To Daddy, is it? For quite awhile she has called Jesus Daddy. And she already told me she thought dear Donny was dead. But that she flew up to heaven in an airplane?
"Yah. Go up in sky, fwy up to Daddy."
"When is she coming back?"
"Ohh, ten day."
Meaning to correct her, I asked if she knew Donny would be back in about two weeks, about fourteen days.
"No!" Was her reply. "I say ten day!!"
I proceeded to ask the little princess if she knew what Donny and Daddy were doing.
"Ohhh, eat berries." She furrowed her brow and peered upward. "Let me see. There aminals. Pwetty puppy, howrse, an - an - wow yion!!" (Her 'l's are 'y's.)
"Do you ever plan to go to see Daddy?"
"Fwy up in awpwane, see Daddy."
"What will you do with Him?"
She looks at me, her undisguised bliss almost hiding a brief look of bewilderment that seemed to say, what, don't you know?. "Daddy pway wif me!" Of course. Jesus will play with her. I should've known better, but I had to ask,
"Play what?"
"Pway puppy wif me!"
I didn't leave it at that. "Who's gunna be the puppy, you or Daddy?"
"Daddy pway puppy wif me!"
Needless to say, that was that.
I thought a moment.
"Do you like dragons?"
She thought a moment.
"No. Dra-yee meem!"
"Ohhh. No, really? I know nice dragons."
She hesitated. "Ah have purple dra-yee."
"Oh really?"
"Purple dra-yee nice...." She held it in her hands, cradeling it lovingly. "Meem dra-yees tum, blah' meem dray-ees." Black. When she makes that certain cut-off sound with her tongue, I know she's cutting off consonants. It almost makes her sound like she's saying 'blaht'. "Blah' dra-yee tum, I fight! Det my sword, fight dra-yee! Dra-yee get sword, too! We fight! Tut, tut, tut, tut, bam, bam, bam, bam, yah, yah, yah.... I fight, I dead all meem blah' dra-yee. My purple dra-yee fight. More dra-yee tum, all blah' dra-yees. Poor white dra-yee, is your dra-yee. Is dead. Meem dra-yee kill poor white dra-yee. Oh, my poor purple dra-yee. Purple dra-yee dead, too. Meem blah' dra-yee kill purple dra-yee. So sad." She had the saddest face on ever. "I make holes, bury meem dra-yee. Bury wow dra-yee."
"You mean you're burying them?"
"Yah!" Her voice was distainful. "They dead!"
Poor dra-yees. I should've known the play would turn out a little lopsided. Not exactly what I expected, anyway. Poor dra-yees.
A Sermon from Sunday
Since it is a Sunday, I feel like my blog post should have something in regards to Christianity. I hope thee likes my recountanance of what happened today at church, mine stalkers.
We all voted to go to the church in K___, since normally they have a meal afterwards every first Sunday. (We were sadly disappointed in that regard; seeing as next week they are planning a church picnic, they decided not to have a fellowship meal this time.) We got there in good time, and the service began. With the start of the opening hymn, I knew this would be another predictable - and hilarious - assembly. Oh, they weren't trying to be funny. Not at all. And if I laughed, they would've been offended, no doubt. It's just.... well, when you start singing "Number twenty-five, brother! Twenty-five," with the tempo equaling thirty quarter notes in a minute - sometimes slower to account for times of extra feeling.... and when you add to that a booming preacher voice behind you adding a "Well, now" between each couple of words.... "Sweet hour -" "Well" "-of prayer -" "well" "Sweet hour -" "well" "-of prayer, thy wings -" "well" "my consolation bear" "well" ...... Do you get the point? If you think it out in your mind, it sounds mighty funny, but I don't think you stalkers could really have much success at imagining it up. It's a mighty singular experience.
The next song was better; the metrenome equaling about forty-five in a minute instead of thirty. I was extremely impressed; the song after the sermon was so good, I think it was actually around 130!! That means about two quarter notes in one second! I was very happy to see the church actually do such a good job at singing a little faster. Especially since the last time we were here, me and my sisters made a terrible mistake in the singing. We started out thinking the song leader was going fast, and when we realized they were still on the third note while we were halfway through the first line, we almost died laughing. Of course, we had to laugh silently, because no one else thought that funny. It wasn't. I was rather mad at them for singing such a lovely song so slow!
But enough about that. I shall recount what I remember of the sermon - don't worry, it should be pretty factual. I took notes.
Dear Brother Mark got up there, aheming and aheming the whole way up to the pulpit, where he announced how glad he was to see us all - "Amen, brothers?"
"Amen!"
After that, he told us in no uncertain terms that - "Ih'm a-gunna [he's a black preacher, you know, and his accent, though hard to discern, is fantastic.] not rush through things, okay? I'm gunna give yah'all a good dose of this Word!!" *big Bible slapping noise* Then he went on to preach his sermon, and the next quote I jotted down was - "An' that scripture came to my mihn', and I thought, 'Wow! That is just so good!' Now, there's that scripture somewhere - ah, yes!" *picking up a sheet of paper and peering down at it* "I jot this down awhile ago." After a bit more of stories and rabbit trails, he told the man sitting half-way down the aisle, "Yah there, brother Curtis? Ah, good! Ih'm a just so happy to see you here! Sevah-ral times Ah come, Ah don't see you, I feel like I miss you something big! I feel like, yah know, like you're mah sidekick! So will you turn to Fust Timothy chapter ___. Go ahead and staht reading, please."
Brother Curtis did.
"Now you wait raht there, brother!" Now to us; "You hear what he said, huh? Go ahead, brother!" Now, we went from scripture to scripture in such a fashion. I do not know how they all were connected, but I'm sure they were, somehow. Now let me copy down how specifically one passage-reading turned out.
Br. Curtis: "But you have carefully followed -"
Br. Mark: "Yeah?"
Br. Curtis: "my ... persecutions -"
Br. Mark: "Hear dat?"
Br. Curtis: "afflictions -"
Br. Mark: "Yes?"
Br. Curtis: "which happened to me at Antioch -"
Br. Mark: "Don't go too fast, now, brother!"
Br. Curtis: "...what persecutions I endured -"
Br. Mark: "Amen!"
Br. Curtis: "And out of them all -"
Br. Mark: "Now wait a second! Out of what?"
Br. Curtis: "Out of them all."
Br. Mark: "That's right! Out of them all. Go ahead."
Br. Curtis: "The Lord -"
Br. Mark: "Who?"
Br. Curtis: "The Lord -"
Br. Mark: "That's right. And?"
Br. Curtis: "delivered me -"
Br. Mark: "Hear that?!"
Br. Curtis: "All manner of -"
Br. Mark: "Hold right there! You hear dat? All! A-L-L! All! Not only some. Go ahead, brother."
Br. Curtis: "of doctrine."
Br. Mark: "Hear dat? Not doctrines! Devils have doctrines, plural. Like, if you don't like this doctrine, you can have that! Or maybe you like this doctrine! Like at Burger King; 'Have it your way at Burger King!' No! Doctrine, singular. Now go ahead, brother Curtis."
........
That is how all scripture readings proceeded. Quite an interesting tradition, think ye?
Then he told this story. I thought it quite interesting, though I do not know where it fit into his sermon. I shall copy it here.
.....
"I wuz in school one day, and I heard on da intercom - 'If you're walking, stop walking. If you're talking, stop talking. Because I AM the principal!' An' I stopped walking. I stopped talking. I was talking, but I stopped talking......[He continued about how the voice of the principal just made his stop right there in the hallway... etc. etc., but then went on to say the principal was no nice guy, either. As he said;].... "Ah... back then everybody could get ya. You know how they had them big ole paddles; boy, they could warm your butt! You weren't safe anywhere! You went home, your parents could get ya. At school, your teachers could get ya. You're creeping about in the back yard, the neighbor could get ya, too! Now, it's like - 'Oh, don't hurt them!' Anyway, got to get back on topic. But y'all know what I mean, amen?"
I never heard such an off-topic story. Especially in a sermon. Have you? I will be eager to hear any stories my stalkers have to offer.
We all voted to go to the church in K___, since normally they have a meal afterwards every first Sunday. (We were sadly disappointed in that regard; seeing as next week they are planning a church picnic, they decided not to have a fellowship meal this time.) We got there in good time, and the service began. With the start of the opening hymn, I knew this would be another predictable - and hilarious - assembly. Oh, they weren't trying to be funny. Not at all. And if I laughed, they would've been offended, no doubt. It's just.... well, when you start singing "Number twenty-five, brother! Twenty-five," with the tempo equaling thirty quarter notes in a minute - sometimes slower to account for times of extra feeling.... and when you add to that a booming preacher voice behind you adding a "Well, now" between each couple of words.... "Sweet hour -" "Well" "-of prayer -" "well" "Sweet hour -" "well" "-of prayer, thy wings -" "well" "my consolation bear" "well" ...... Do you get the point? If you think it out in your mind, it sounds mighty funny, but I don't think you stalkers could really have much success at imagining it up. It's a mighty singular experience.
The next song was better; the metrenome equaling about forty-five in a minute instead of thirty. I was extremely impressed; the song after the sermon was so good, I think it was actually around 130!! That means about two quarter notes in one second! I was very happy to see the church actually do such a good job at singing a little faster. Especially since the last time we were here, me and my sisters made a terrible mistake in the singing. We started out thinking the song leader was going fast, and when we realized they were still on the third note while we were halfway through the first line, we almost died laughing. Of course, we had to laugh silently, because no one else thought that funny. It wasn't. I was rather mad at them for singing such a lovely song so slow!
But enough about that. I shall recount what I remember of the sermon - don't worry, it should be pretty factual. I took notes.
Dear Brother Mark got up there, aheming and aheming the whole way up to the pulpit, where he announced how glad he was to see us all - "Amen, brothers?"
"Amen!"
After that, he told us in no uncertain terms that - "Ih'm a-gunna [he's a black preacher, you know, and his accent, though hard to discern, is fantastic.] not rush through things, okay? I'm gunna give yah'all a good dose of this Word!!" *big Bible slapping noise* Then he went on to preach his sermon, and the next quote I jotted down was - "An' that scripture came to my mihn', and I thought, 'Wow! That is just so good!' Now, there's that scripture somewhere - ah, yes!" *picking up a sheet of paper and peering down at it* "I jot this down awhile ago." After a bit more of stories and rabbit trails, he told the man sitting half-way down the aisle, "Yah there, brother Curtis? Ah, good! Ih'm a just so happy to see you here! Sevah-ral times Ah come, Ah don't see you, I feel like I miss you something big! I feel like, yah know, like you're mah sidekick! So will you turn to Fust Timothy chapter ___. Go ahead and staht reading, please."
Brother Curtis did.
"Now you wait raht there, brother!" Now to us; "You hear what he said, huh? Go ahead, brother!" Now, we went from scripture to scripture in such a fashion. I do not know how they all were connected, but I'm sure they were, somehow. Now let me copy down how specifically one passage-reading turned out.
Br. Curtis: "But you have carefully followed -"
Br. Mark: "Yeah?"
Br. Curtis: "my ... persecutions -"
Br. Mark: "Hear dat?"
Br. Curtis: "afflictions -"
Br. Mark: "Yes?"
Br. Curtis: "which happened to me at Antioch -"
Br. Mark: "Don't go too fast, now, brother!"
Br. Curtis: "...what persecutions I endured -"
Br. Mark: "Amen!"
Br. Curtis: "And out of them all -"
Br. Mark: "Now wait a second! Out of what?"
Br. Curtis: "Out of them all."
Br. Mark: "That's right! Out of them all. Go ahead."
Br. Curtis: "The Lord -"
Br. Mark: "Who?"
Br. Curtis: "The Lord -"
Br. Mark: "That's right. And?"
Br. Curtis: "delivered me -"
Br. Mark: "Hear that?!"
Br. Curtis: "All manner of -"
Br. Mark: "Hold right there! You hear dat? All! A-L-L! All! Not only some. Go ahead, brother."
Br. Curtis: "of doctrine."
Br. Mark: "Hear dat? Not doctrines! Devils have doctrines, plural. Like, if you don't like this doctrine, you can have that! Or maybe you like this doctrine! Like at Burger King; 'Have it your way at Burger King!' No! Doctrine, singular. Now go ahead, brother Curtis."
........
That is how all scripture readings proceeded. Quite an interesting tradition, think ye?
Then he told this story. I thought it quite interesting, though I do not know where it fit into his sermon. I shall copy it here.
.....
"I wuz in school one day, and I heard on da intercom - 'If you're walking, stop walking. If you're talking, stop talking. Because I AM the principal!' An' I stopped walking. I stopped talking. I was talking, but I stopped talking......[He continued about how the voice of the principal just made his stop right there in the hallway... etc. etc., but then went on to say the principal was no nice guy, either. As he said;].... "Ah... back then everybody could get ya. You know how they had them big ole paddles; boy, they could warm your butt! You weren't safe anywhere! You went home, your parents could get ya. At school, your teachers could get ya. You're creeping about in the back yard, the neighbor could get ya, too! Now, it's like - 'Oh, don't hurt them!' Anyway, got to get back on topic. But y'all know what I mean, amen?"
I never heard such an off-topic story. Especially in a sermon. Have you? I will be eager to hear any stories my stalkers have to offer.
Incoherant Ramblings from Saturday
Saturday happened to be the day I took an SAT test. I wasn't nervous at all, though I did notice a lot of the other students acting jittery. Sez I, "What's the use? No one is really noticing you, anyways." So I just wasn't nervous. And I did feel better being NOT nervous than I would'a felt if I WAS nervous. I advise that plan for other test-takers. Since it really ain't much to worry about - for goodness' sake, it's just a test! - and being nervous makes you more embarressed and selfconscious, making yourself look worse than usual. So just be yourself.
It was kind of funny. I always have the best time watching public schoolers. I didn't miss out this time, either. Homeschoolers are more intelligent, thinks I, though it often seems like someone's less intelligent when they're in a big crowd, so that isn't true across the board. Because I know some public schoolers that are intelligent. And I made that discernment when they weren't in a large crowd. But when you're in a large crowd of public school students, it's kinda fun to watch them. See, they act like public schoolers. Not that I don't; I don't know how public schoolers act. But - although they share some human abilities with us homeschoolers - they mostly act predictable. I was very glad to see this group more subdued. They were so, I deduce, because most of them weren't from that school, so they didn't know eachother all very well. And as I assume you know, familiarity makes 'em all pretty comfortable. (That explains that part.)
Now, as I should get on, I shall share two small misdemeaners of The Public Students - as I stood in line, I heard one ask another, "Wait, is 'P' before 'E'?" In the alphabet, of course. I did not ridicule her. Of course. What do you take me for? The other was simply that at least two in my classroom had extreme trouble writing out a sentence they were told to copy in cursive. I don't think they knew much more than their signitures in penmanship. Though mine isn't the neatest, I can scribble along pretty jolly well. So I did find it a bit funny - and pitable, though mind you, I don't dislike them for it - to see them struggling so to write out the sentence. One guy in the back with a geeky looking face, a grizzly chin and square glasses (and a girl-friend) was bending close over his page, his hand painstakingly scratching out each letter. Poor guy.
I had a bit of trouble with a toilet in the Ladies room. See, there was a toilet that just kept flushing and flushing and flushing! I decided I should tell the teacher - a lovely, young little thing named Desiree. Of course, she needed me to repeat it several times. I don't know if she was just shocked at hearing me announce such a thing as the toilet just flushing and flushing and flushing, or if she truly didn't hear. So I told her as loud as I dared (Come on! The whole class was sitting in their seats, and no doubt they all heard!), and she laughed - "Oh, those toilets do that! They just flush and flush till Kingdom come!" So I went to my seat, after thanking her majestically. Really. What was I to do? And I can't say I trust them public school students. Who knows, I bet they laughed about it together at that 'dumb homeschooler'. Oh well. -.-
The test itself went well. She - the teacher, of course; the little Desiree - said we are not to reveal any information about the test /under pain of death/. I don't know if she was serious or not. Since she looked it, and only one or two of those brave gentlemen in my class giggled (imagine that!!) I wasn't sure. I think she might have. Killed us, I mean. She had the kind of earrings that made her look like she could do it. Yeah... I'm kind of thinking that she could easily track me down... I wonder when she'll try to find me. Do you think I will survive tonight? Maybe.... ^_^ Things don't look too bright.
The afternoon passed quickly. The Papa picked me up and we went to CiCi's (good excuse to go out to eat, ya know?). It was uneventful, except I noticed two odd signs. We sat near the out-and-in-going door. When two rather over-sized people walked in, I noticed a sticker on the door that said "Cici's is the MOST HEALTHY men's Restaurant in L_______" (Caps added) I had to stare a minute. Okay, so by what standards is a PIZZA place a 'most healthy' place to eat? Boy, I guess our standards are getting really low. And... people aren't really staying very healthy, are they? I don't think these 'healthy' restaurants are doing much to keep the public healthy. What do you think?
The other sign I saw said "Unsweet Tea." Is that just me, or does that feel wrong? I think it ought to be /Unsweetened/ Tea, if you don't mind. It isn't as big a deal - Unsweet tea is better for the overweight public than Not Unsweet Tea (Normally known as Sweetened Tea.)
After that, we traveled down to the college I will probably be attending, come time. The Papa didn't like it as much as he originally thought he would, but as it was his idea, anyway.... ^.^ It isn't a bad place. I could go there four years. I have to look at things like coffee shops and rustic hide-aways. If the coffee shop looks like it could be something I could sit in and play cello for an hour or two, perhaps it's a go. If the hide-away is a good fit for me, and ipod and a book, I think it could work out. Otherwise... if there's no hide-aways, no nice cafe's.... It just doesn't work out.
Of course, seeing my Papa's history in baseball - and his great love for the sport - we had to stay and watch the end of a highschool baseball game in the college's baseball field. They weren't that good, if you could pardon me for saying so. There are some that make you feel really good, how good they are. The others are just.... mediocre. Not to be offensive, or anything. But it is true.
It was kind of funny. I always have the best time watching public schoolers. I didn't miss out this time, either. Homeschoolers are more intelligent, thinks I, though it often seems like someone's less intelligent when they're in a big crowd, so that isn't true across the board. Because I know some public schoolers that are intelligent. And I made that discernment when they weren't in a large crowd. But when you're in a large crowd of public school students, it's kinda fun to watch them. See, they act like public schoolers. Not that I don't; I don't know how public schoolers act. But - although they share some human abilities with us homeschoolers - they mostly act predictable. I was very glad to see this group more subdued. They were so, I deduce, because most of them weren't from that school, so they didn't know eachother all very well. And as I assume you know, familiarity makes 'em all pretty comfortable. (That explains that part.)
Now, as I should get on, I shall share two small misdemeaners of The Public Students - as I stood in line, I heard one ask another, "Wait, is 'P' before 'E'?" In the alphabet, of course. I did not ridicule her. Of course. What do you take me for? The other was simply that at least two in my classroom had extreme trouble writing out a sentence they were told to copy in cursive. I don't think they knew much more than their signitures in penmanship. Though mine isn't the neatest, I can scribble along pretty jolly well. So I did find it a bit funny - and pitable, though mind you, I don't dislike them for it - to see them struggling so to write out the sentence. One guy in the back with a geeky looking face, a grizzly chin and square glasses (and a girl-friend) was bending close over his page, his hand painstakingly scratching out each letter. Poor guy.
I had a bit of trouble with a toilet in the Ladies room. See, there was a toilet that just kept flushing and flushing and flushing! I decided I should tell the teacher - a lovely, young little thing named Desiree. Of course, she needed me to repeat it several times. I don't know if she was just shocked at hearing me announce such a thing as the toilet just flushing and flushing and flushing, or if she truly didn't hear. So I told her as loud as I dared (Come on! The whole class was sitting in their seats, and no doubt they all heard!), and she laughed - "Oh, those toilets do that! They just flush and flush till Kingdom come!" So I went to my seat, after thanking her majestically. Really. What was I to do? And I can't say I trust them public school students. Who knows, I bet they laughed about it together at that 'dumb homeschooler'. Oh well. -.-
The test itself went well. She - the teacher, of course; the little Desiree - said we are not to reveal any information about the test /under pain of death/. I don't know if she was serious or not. Since she looked it, and only one or two of those brave gentlemen in my class giggled (imagine that!!) I wasn't sure. I think she might have. Killed us, I mean. She had the kind of earrings that made her look like she could do it. Yeah... I'm kind of thinking that she could easily track me down... I wonder when she'll try to find me. Do you think I will survive tonight? Maybe.... ^_^ Things don't look too bright.
The afternoon passed quickly. The Papa picked me up and we went to CiCi's (good excuse to go out to eat, ya know?). It was uneventful, except I noticed two odd signs. We sat near the out-and-in-going door. When two rather over-sized people walked in, I noticed a sticker on the door that said "Cici's is the MOST HEALTHY men's Restaurant in L_______" (Caps added) I had to stare a minute. Okay, so by what standards is a PIZZA place a 'most healthy' place to eat? Boy, I guess our standards are getting really low. And... people aren't really staying very healthy, are they? I don't think these 'healthy' restaurants are doing much to keep the public healthy. What do you think?
The other sign I saw said "Unsweet Tea." Is that just me, or does that feel wrong? I think it ought to be /Unsweetened/ Tea, if you don't mind. It isn't as big a deal - Unsweet tea is better for the overweight public than Not Unsweet Tea (Normally known as Sweetened Tea.)
After that, we traveled down to the college I will probably be attending, come time. The Papa didn't like it as much as he originally thought he would, but as it was his idea, anyway.... ^.^ It isn't a bad place. I could go there four years. I have to look at things like coffee shops and rustic hide-aways. If the coffee shop looks like it could be something I could sit in and play cello for an hour or two, perhaps it's a go. If the hide-away is a good fit for me, and ipod and a book, I think it could work out. Otherwise... if there's no hide-aways, no nice cafe's.... It just doesn't work out.
Of course, seeing my Papa's history in baseball - and his great love for the sport - we had to stay and watch the end of a highschool baseball game in the college's baseball field. They weren't that good, if you could pardon me for saying so. There are some that make you feel really good, how good they are. The others are just.... mediocre. Not to be offensive, or anything. But it is true.
Healthy Reading
What do you do when your small sister begins reading health books after a long period of rebelling against understanding anything using letters? Listen, I guess, and find the humour.
"KOALA! Guess what this says! It says we can't leave food too long in the frigerator, cause it loses all or, well some of its Vite-a-mihn SEE!"
"KOALA! Listen! It says, 'Good posture makes you feel better, grow well, and have straight bones.' See, Koala, how you're supposed to sit? Shoulders back, stomach in, head straight, feet flat on the floor, and your back all the way back on your chair. See?"
"KOALA! This book says that most cereal has lots of sugar in, and that's NOT healthy! We should eat more healtier cereals."
"KOALA! Do you know that 'brown or whole grain cereals are better for you than white'?"
"KOALA! If you eat fats and oils, you stay more warmer! It says it. Fats and oils makes our bodies warm!"
"KOALA! If you eat too much fats and oils, it stores them in your body as FAT! It says it in this book! And I believe it!"
"KOALA! If the fat stores in your body, you have to do more work to get rid of it."
"KOALA! It says 'Here are some good manners, "Come to the table when you're called, say please and thankyou, and thank God for your food."' And do you know that we should keep our napkins on our lap?"
"KOALA! You'll never guess. This says that our body RELAXES when we sleep! We should go to bed at a good time so we can get enough sleep and our bodies can get strong and healthy."
"KOALA! This books said that we shouldn't eat right before we go to bed, or it messes up our di-GES-chun. And did you know that we shouldn't gobble down our food all at once? If we eat it nice and slow, then we're healthy!"
This Little Vibrant One finished off her reading with following the list of excercizes in the book. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten - other leg! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten - other leg!"
"KOALA! Guess what this says! It says we can't leave food too long in the frigerator, cause it loses all or, well some of its Vite-a-mihn SEE!"
"KOALA! Listen! It says, 'Good posture makes you feel better, grow well, and have straight bones.' See, Koala, how you're supposed to sit? Shoulders back, stomach in, head straight, feet flat on the floor, and your back all the way back on your chair. See?"
"KOALA! This book says that most cereal has lots of sugar in, and that's NOT healthy! We should eat more healtier cereals."
"KOALA! Do you know that 'brown or whole grain cereals are better for you than white'?"
"KOALA! If you eat fats and oils, you stay more warmer! It says it. Fats and oils makes our bodies warm!"
"KOALA! If you eat too much fats and oils, it stores them in your body as FAT! It says it in this book! And I believe it!"
"KOALA! If the fat stores in your body, you have to do more work to get rid of it."
"KOALA! It says 'Here are some good manners, "Come to the table when you're called, say please and thankyou, and thank God for your food."' And do you know that we should keep our napkins on our lap?"
"KOALA! You'll never guess. This says that our body RELAXES when we sleep! We should go to bed at a good time so we can get enough sleep and our bodies can get strong and healthy."
"KOALA! This books said that we shouldn't eat right before we go to bed, or it messes up our di-GES-chun. And did you know that we shouldn't gobble down our food all at once? If we eat it nice and slow, then we're healthy!"
This Little Vibrant One finished off her reading with following the list of excercizes in the book. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten - other leg! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten - other leg!"
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