There are certain mile markers along the road of life that let you know that your generation is about to leave the fast lane and take the first exit into history.
The shows "Family Matters" (that Urkle show), "Fresh Prince of Bell Air," "Roseanne," and "Full House" are now common fare for Nick-at-Night, the late-night programming of the popular children's television station.
I love this song
I could not do without Thee
O Savior of the lost,
Whose precious blood redeemed me
At such tremendous cost.
Thy righteousness, thy pardon
Thy precious blood, must be
My only hope and comfort,
My glory and my plea.
I could not do without Thee,
I cannot stand alone,
I have no strength or goodness,
No wisdom of my own;
But Thou, beloved Savior,
Art all in all to me,
And weakness will be power
If leaning hard on Thee.
I could not do without Thee,
For, oh, the way is long,
And I am often weary,
And sigh replaces song:
How could I do without Thee?
I do not know the way;
Thou knowest, and Thou leadest,
And wilt not let me stray.
I could not do without Thee,
O Jesus, Savior dear;
E’en when my eyes are holden,
I know that Thou art near.
How dreary and how lonely
This changeful life would be,
Without the sweet communion,
The secret rest with Thee!
I could not do without Thee;
No other friend can read
The spirit’s strange deep longings,
Interpreting its need;
No human heart could enter
Each dim recess of mine,
And soothe, and hush, and calm it,
O blessèd Lord, but Thine.
I could not do without Thee,
For years are fleeting fast,
And soon in solemn oneness
The river must be passed;
But Thou wilt never leave me,
And though the waves roll high,
I know Thou wilt be near me,
And whisper, “It is I.”
The coffee shop worker that came by the table a couple of nights ago was only answering a question about my friend's particular cup, "Well, it's one of our imports from Brazil, if that's what you mean. It is a medium roast so the actual bean flavour isn't extremely bitter, but there are some nice blueberry undertones that supplement the overall bouquet; that and the ground hazlenut and nutmeg. We've got another from northern Africa that tastes similar, but it is a darker roast. We've got a pot on if you'd like to try..."
The lot of us just sat there nodding our heads in opaque assent. When the clerk left we just stared at our cups in silence until we could eventually chuckle over how well he knew his coffee. Incredible.
I've been trying to neatly wrap my mind around the idea that God loves us. Without change. Without equal. Without fail. The difficulty is tragically ironic because I've grown up with all the Christian jargon and Sunday School lessons necissary to equip one for a tidy recitation of passages and elizabethan phrases on the topic. I think I just want boundaries. I need places in my thought where I can realize that I've reached the north side of God's love and follow the fence rails around the entire perimeter. Unsettlingly (and at the same time with much comfort) I realize that I can't. Maybe it is the untangableness of it that makes me truly appreciate the ways in which God actively loves in my life (the broad gammet of provision, correction, teaching, and second chances).
Today I got a second chance at something that I'd totally given up on. For years. Incredible.
Comfort comes to me in the understanding that my heart's incomprehensible deceitfulness doesn't change the inexplicably high degree to which God loves me. And keeps on loving me. Even today.
I got one of those really well designed GAP jackets during one of the after-Christmas-sales and it suits me well.
I'm going to miss it when the weather changes, though, because I keep tons of stuff in it. I've got my medicated chapstick, pencils and pens (a trusty gel pen sits in the inner pen slot of behind the right breast of the jacket), various reciepts, my cell phone in its very own cell phone pocket, the real estate for other people's stuff, emergency fork, gum, gum wrappers, chewed gum wrapped in gum wrappers, the list goes on forever. I can't transfer all this stuff to my trouser pockets because it will make my trousers bulge and that is definitely not attractive.
My dad once picked up a man-purse one spring, though he won't call it that. It works well for him. I guess. He claims that it is his camera case. In a way it's okay because dad spent enough time in Europe to get away with it. I think that there are some lines I can't quite cross.
I think that I'll eventually try to live a more simple life. I can live with a single pen in my pocket and a pencil in my ear. A few of the old navy trousers have cell phone pouches within the pockets. I've heard that some chapsticks come on lanieards that you wear around your neck...
new place: Hot Java
They carry "Harney & Sons" original blend tea, which is one of my fav's. I've not found another trendy cofee shop that carries it. And they have a t-shirt on the wall that says, "friends don't let friends drink Starbucks." Viva la révelution!
What if you took a fresh look at how the Bible treats the word 'fellowship?'
I had always thought of fellowship as something involving shepherd's pie and lemonade from a tap. But if you read I John 1 you will discover a different definition. Fellowship is a noun, not a verb. It is a group of people who connect themselves about a common purpose or object. That object might be a book, a ring, a business, a school, a country club, a 1968 cadilac, or Christ. John says that our fellowship with God is a relationship. Our relationship is made stronger when we confess our sins, the things that are hurting our relationship with God, and ask forgiveness, forging a stronger relationship with our Creator. There are two main results of "walking in the light" like this. First, our fellowship will manifest itself in the way we live (like the way old married couples start to look alike). Second, our relationship with God strengthens our fellowship with each other. In other words: our love and relationships with fellow believers can be only as strong as our relationship with God, who is the object of our fellowship. So if we want to strengthen the church the answer won't necissarily be to schedule another pot-luck, but to draw closer to our Savior.
I challenge you to read through I John 1 and truly analyze the greeting and the syllogisms that John constructs.
Gramee made the best gravy. I don't know how she did it. Every time that we had meals at her house we'd slather the stuff all over whatever we were eating — even simple white bread. But, like most culinary miracles, the gravy was a family secret that wasn't passed down in time. All we know is that she sifted her flour.
So, for the sake of sharing something awesome, here is the pesto recipe that my family has adopted. The instructions are easy to follow. The hang-up may be the prep time. We usually spend a saturday making several batches and then freeze what we don't eat right away in ice cube trays for later. They preserve well for about a year.
1 cup (8 little plastic containers) Basil leaves (minced)
4 cloves Garlic (minced)
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
salt & pepper
throw it all in a cuisinart until you've got a thick, chunky paste. We like to have it on triscuits but you can put it on a nice bed of angel hair pasta or whatever.
In reference to a post on this blog on the 29th of the previous month:
I drove by that place again. Someone bought one of the cars. There's hope.
So I'm driving around town today seeking a little leather journal for a friend as I tune in and out of random radio channels; I choose to listen to a song after a funny commercial where Harry Connick Jr tried to sell me a wireless plan.
Well, the detail from that monster sentence that we'll focus on today is the song. I have to admit that country songs start out pretty well. I like the sound. Then they inevitable start into some kind of lyric. It is shortly after the second stage that the song falls apart. The singer began by conecting a few earthly joys to heaven: "if heaven were a tear it would be the last one," etc. Well the song fell apart at:
"If heaven were a town it 'uld be my town,
On a summer's day in 1985..."
Whoa! What was so romantic about the 80's? Movies were atrocious, the boufant was in vogue, people wore leg warmers (I was told that they came back for about two weeks at the end of last year, that's far too close for comfort), and the show "Growing Pains" was considered good prime time. It just feels like the 80's are too near a past to write nostalgic songs about that decade. It makes me feel old. I hope the singer lived in a town that time forgot in a more romantic period.
I wonder when people started writing songs about the 50's and whether baby boomers bought the albums.
on a more random note, did you know that if you are going to refer to the ninteen-sixties that you should write it "60s" and not "60's?" There's a little bit of literary etiquette for your day.