A couple years ago, an older gentleman who has a very thick accent (and who now considers me a friend) came in the feed store and said to have a nice "'Arbor Day". I thought he meant something about planting trees.
It slipped my mind that the date was 12/7.
He jumped my case, asking what they teach in schools nowadays . . . For a while after, he wouldn't so much as acknowledge my existence. But he and i do share a friendship now.

In my defense, i did know what "Harbor Day" was then. Not quite as much from school (though i had read a lot about it in my curriculum) as from a video game called Medal of Honor: Rising Sun. I had memorized the names of the ships that were sunk that day from that game. I knew how many people were killed, even down to the minute the first Zero came in because of that game. All that was covered in history books, but it wasn't as easy to remember as it was when a guy was shouting in my virtual ear about which ships went down and when.

But this isn't a pro-video game post--i scarcely play them anymore (historical learning can be a lot easier when put into things like that, though).

This is just to remind people that real people died that day for you and i. Not characters in a game, not actors in a movie, but real flesh-and-blood people.

They gave their lives in service to their country and to their families. They gave their lives for our freedom. Your fathers, your grandfathers, your great-grandfathers; these men chose to serve this country to the fullest extent possible, some paying the ultimate sacrifice.
Thank God for them, and thank God for those who have served since and are serving now.

"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."

(this was written in OpenOffice, so the capitalization of "i" is autocorrected in many instances but not in the cases of "i've" or "i'm". Sorry for the inconsistency)

So, last weekend, a couple people I know saw me sipping from a Nos energy drink. Now, I only drink one a day, occasionally two.
It's a bad habit, I know, but it's the same as having two Cokes or Dr. Peppers as far as the caffeine content is concerned. Not really enough to harm me.
Apparently, there have been about a dozen or so people die in the last few years with their deaths linked to the 5-Hour Energy shots, and about half a dozen linked to Monster. Mostly heart issues. My guess is it's people drinking more than the recommended limit of 3 per day, and with preexisting issues. But I don't know for certain . . .
But to the point, when they saw me drinking it they said “You know, those are bad for you.”
Here's the irony. This was said by an ex-smoker. They don't smoke anymore, so good for them.
Then the other person there said they'd been linked to about fifteen people dying over the last few years. I thought this was funny because this was coming from someone who drinks religiously. To the point they're drunk practically every weekend.
Now, i'm not going to say that drinking them is less bad for me because they drink alcohol, but I was very tempted to say “Within that entire amount, how many people, drinkers or bystanders, have been killed as a result of your favorite beverage in the last forty-eight hours?”
But I held my tongue.

When buying one of those once, the cashier told me of the dangers of them and how a few people have died from them . . . This cashier works at a store about a half-mile from my house, so I pass by there quite frequently—she's often sitting outside smoking.
Again, not excusing my energy drink drinking, just pointing out the irony.

I should quit drinking energy drinks. And I probably will, but it will be my choice at a time of my choosing.

Why i hate football (and other professional sports) . . .

On Thanksgiving, there was apparently a very thick cover of fog on I-10. There was a 100-car pile-up, and two people were killed. It's sad that something like that happened on Thanksgiving. Two people's families will never celebrate Thanksgiving the same way again. With the way my mind works, it was hard to not put myself in the families' shoes and wonder how to give thanks when tragedy like that strikes (i hide things like that rather well). I know it happens all across the country on any given day, Holidays notwithstanding.

That doesn't seem to have anything to do with football, does it?
Well, here's the thing. That happened early in the morning. I didn't find out until after the Texans v. Lions game. People died, and they didn't interrupt broadcasting of people PLAYING A GAME to tell us that friends, neighbors--famil(y's)(ies'), father(s) and/or mother(s), brother(s) and/or sister(s), son(s) and/or daughter(s) had died. And a game couldn't be cut off for a minute to tell us?
Besides, after the game was over, it's not like they spent more than twenty seconds on the news to tell us that two people had died--twenty seconds . . . Couldn't spare twenty seconds in a three-hour sports match. That completely disgusts me.
Oh, yeah, and after that, there was an eight-minute special (in the "news", not the "sports") about how the Texans won their first Thanksgiving day game . . . Somehow, the fact that they won was twenty-four times as important as two people's LIVES.

So why is it that the "news" is more concerned with a game than it is with our fellow man's lives?
I didn't care for football (or other professional sports) before, but now i'm genuinely outraged and sickened by it. If you watch it and contribute to it being a higher priority to the general public than the lives of two people, thank you. Thank you for making me feel this way about it.
If this offends you . . .  Well, let's put it this way: if you contribute to what offends me and yet you don't care, why should i care if what i say offends you?
Watch your pointless games that mean nothing.
If you're an adult and watching it, it's a game. Being played.
(it's not very Christian of me to be this irate about something, but . . . I'm in the world, not of it. I'm not angry at people, i'm angry at the world and the way it is)

My two cents.
Don't like my opinion? Blogs are free. You can write your own about how it's just entertainment . . .

Red

So, there's this modern hard rock band called Red; one of my favorites. I'm all for in-your-face spirituality in lyrics like Disciple, HB, Theocracy, etc. offer, but Red purposefully teeters between the Christian and secular crowds, offering spiritual encouragement ("Pieces", "Not Alone", "Best Is Yet To Come"), often talking about being at war between our human and spiritual nature ("Fight Inside", "Death of Me"), reciting words of hope for those who feel hopeless ("Gave It All Away"), and anthems for the ones who feel alone ("Who We Are", "Faceless", "Feed The Machine"). Their goal is to encourage those looking for answers, to try and be a light in the darkness, and to attract as many as they can with a message inclusive to everyone, not just believers.

As said, i love when a band just throws it all out there, saying blatantly where they stand, waging war against sinfulness, pointing out the wages of sin; "We are the war against the sick and fatal fall of man, a hollow-tip to the notion of a Godless stand" ("A Thread of Light" by Demon Hunter). But it's nice that there are bands out there, like Red, who are appealing to a secular crowd, yet pray for and with their fans, take time for their fans, they spread the Word of God using the stage as a pulpit, etc. They hand out tracts at their shows, from what i've heard, which is impressive for a band whose latest album reached #1 rock album of the year on iTunes in preorders alone.

But i do have an issue with them; one, and one alone. I noticed it while listening to them in the car earlier.
They mention in some songs the grace and mercy shown to them ("Forever", "Start Again", "Pieces"). It's rather obvious, even to someone who's never opened the Bible, that they're talking about God. However, they don't write about forgiving others . . .

The song "Wasting Time"; "Don't even try, you're wasting time. Come back, i'll beat you down, and turn around--i'm fighting my way through you. Push you away, i'll never break; come back i'll beat you down, it's over now. I'm turning my back on you."
The song "Watch You Crawl" is a little more aggressive, gloating even, stating "I'll let you drown in your despair, now nothing can save you. I will fight until the end (get ready to collide), and i will watch you fall again (i'll bury you alive). You tried to bring me to my knees (you tried to take it all), now i will stand and watch you crawl. I'm still here, i'm still here, i'm still here, now i'm gonna watch you beg, beg, beg."

So yeah . . . That's my issue with Red. "Hymn For The Missing" and "Not Alone", however, are two of the most patient, loving, forgiving and beautifully written songs i know of. In "Hymn...", it's just so passionate; he's essentially saying "I don't care what's happened, I'm still here, still reaching for you, still longing for you to come back to me."
There's my music review for the day. All-in-all, there are a couple songs i skip by Red (though not for indecency or anything), but they are one of my favorite bands.

Courting, dating, going out, etc., what term(s) should i use?
I have issues with courting and dating, though i would use the terms "dating" or "going out with . . . " if i was in a relationship with someone.
"Dating" has a taboo among many Christians, especially conservative ones like myself, because many people have relations before marriage. That's not a practice i believe in, but society has gotten to the point where "dating" often means "sleeping with". Seeing as i don't have that ideal, and that i've never been in a relationship for that matter, that doesn't apply in my head. Since i've never been in a relationship, the terms are rather interchangeable to me, except "courting" . . . It stands apart. And not typically in an appealing way (i'll explain why). But if i were in a relationship, we'd probably be setting "dates" on the calendar for us to "go out", and that might mean from my house to hers, or from her house to mine, or even to go walk around town, in which case she or i would be "going out" to see the other on "dates" we've set.

The reason i would prefer those terms over "courting", despite taboo, is as follows:
Birds. Fish. Animals.
During mating season, animals strut, puff themselves up, boast about, parade around, show off, and so many other things that 1 Corinthians says Love isn't . . . In the mating season, when males are doing this, they are "courting" females. Often more than one at a time; as many as will have them. Not only that, but it's a temporary 'bluff', lasting only for a season. It's wooing the females into letting the males mate with them, then leave. Courting implies trying to win over the body and nothing more.
I'd never go out with more than one person, and never with someone i wasn't trying to win the heart of. Not only that, i would refuse to be boastful or prideful, or to show off--that's false advertising, especially seeing as i'm quite . . . Mild.

So no, i would not "court" a woman, but strive for her respect, do all i could to bring her honor, and try to elevate not myself in her eyes but rather herself in her own.

Basically, i'm putting personal taboos over society's taboos. I'm removed enough from society, it doesn't matter what society thinks anyways . . . Should we, the most conservative of Christians, let society's faults weigh in on what we term things, or should we go by our personal reasonings?
If we're to be in and not of the world, it shouldn't matter to us what they've lowered the standards of something like dating to; we're not them. We can still date without it being taboo because our personal convictions/standards are what we abide by, not society's.
So my personal reason is i don't want to call what i consider "dating" the same thing we call what animals do.

Triumph Over Tragedy pt. 2

The sound of a pained and exhausted inhale rang in his ears and he closed his eyes. The male nurse in the room lowered his face and stepped back, disappearing behind the opposite cloth barrier.

“Eu . . . gene . . . ?” a weak voice muttered.

He toppled forward, his face pressing against the speckled linoleum tiles on the floor, gasping for air in insufficient quantities.

“Eu . . .” the voice trailed off, being replaced by the sound of the respirator; the pump exhaled into her again, “gene . . . ?”

He squirmed and writhed about on the floor, wailing; “We were supposed to have another year!” he shouted, twisting onto his back to stare at the ceiling, “A blasted year! Not two hours!”

The nurse knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, somehow helping him regain his composure. Agonizingly, he rose to his feet and straightened his face.

“Eu—” the voice was cut off and sent into a fit of coughing and wheezing, “Eugene?”

The constitution of his face faltered momentarily, but was quickly reaffirmed. He took a long step forward and into her view. She never turned to focus on him.

“Terr?” he beckoned quietly.

Her face turned slightly in his direction and he saw her once-brown irises, now coated in a silver film, flutter back and forth, searching for him, “Gene?” she whispered back.

He turned to the trash bin and fell to his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach. He began slamming his forehead into the cabinet. The nurse urged him to stop, but didn't force him to until a trickle of blood began to stream down from his hairline.

He shoved her back and stood again, taking his wife's hand in his own, fingering her ring, and pulling it to his lips. He pressed a couple fingers to her temple and caressed the height of her face, down to her jaw.

"Triumph Over Tragedy" pt.1

“Oh, God,” he whispered, “How can this be? After all she and I have been through, after all our fights, after all our years together . . . How can You let it come to this?”

He waited for a response.

Nothing to break the silence except the softening hum of the engine as he eased off the gas, decelerating behind a tanker he was rapidly approaching. He sniffed hard and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“Why now? Why can't it be me? Why does it have to be her? Why does it have to be anyone? You're all powerful, can't You save her?”

He'd never been a praying man, but the worst-case scenarios always brought him to prayerful interrogation of God, sometimes to His knees. He never once heard a response. But as long as He believed in a God that was infinitely powerful to intervene, he had someone to blame.

“God? Are you there? Just let me . . . Let me hear Your voice, just this once. Please . . . I need You more than ever right now.”

The downshift and sequential rev of the engine was nearly deafening inside the stuffy cabin as he sped around the tractor.

“God, if You're all powerful and omniscient, then You can see her. Why won't you save her life?”

The grid of buildings grew visibly closer through the hazy evening sky, distorted by wet eyes. Many of the towers had already begun to glow, the tallest ones emitting a rotating beam of light from their peaks. They caught his attention momentarily. He'd soon be inside one of them, by his wife's bedside.

Can't see the forest for the trees, he thought.

Drugs; pro- or anti-legalization?

I'm against drug use because it's illegal, and a crime, and i am against crime. There are other reasons i'll state here as well.

First off, the most common reasonings in favor of legalization that i've heard have been 1) It's not up to the government to tell us what we can or can't do, 2) If it's not hurting anyone else, then what's the harm? 3) The only reason it's illegal is because the government can't track and tax the farming/use/sales of it, 4) It would reduce/eliminate the drug cartels, and lastly, 5) It would reduce crime, lower the amount of money going into the justice system, and increase our domestic product.

Now let me address these ideas;
1) It's not. No, that should be a personal conviction, just like beating the crap out of someone (refer to #2 for why i use this correlation) . . . We should know better than to do it. It should simply be common knowledge and instinct to not do things that kill us, just like with smoking and drinking. But no. There are millions of people who do things their body tells them not to.

2) Again, it should simply be common knowledge and instinct to not do things that kill us, just like with smoking and drinking. If it doesn't hurt others . . . That's the thing, though; it DOES. Just like alcohol and tobacco; alcohol claims 2.5 million lives each year. Those aren't just people who drink, but people whose judgement has been impaired by it. It probably takes less of most drugs to get someone 'buzzed' than it takes alcohol.
And smoking . . . I don't know how many lives that claims. Smokers aren't the only ones who get lung cancer from cigarettes; people around smokers do, too. Same thing goes for most drugs; the smoke/excess of them would affect others. That sense of logic is flawed and, sorry, downright stupid.
It would make drugs cheaper, so anyone could have them . . . That doesn't sound appealing to me, knowing that even more people would be intoxicated or under the influence of some sort of substance.

3) Sadly, that's true. It makes me sick to think that, if it has the same effects as alcohol does, that'd be another 2.5 million people worldwide if it was legal across the globe. And the government's only concern is cash. Revenue > lives. Lovely. It's depressing knowing that the government values you and i just a little less than money.

4) True. It would eliminate them, or at least reduce them. But then, once they were no longer running drugs, they'd run something else, just as has happened since boats were invented. It's human nature to want what we can't have. There have been smugglers since the beginning of countries' borders, and there will always be smugglers. As long as anything is illegal, they will run that product.
And i live just a few hours from the US/Mexico border, and there's said to be families of drug runners in Lake Jackson, a town about 15-20 minutes away from my home. I worry about alcoholics more than i worry about drug cartels. I would worry more about the influx of doped-up people roaming the streets (in vehicles, no less) if it were legal than i worry about drug cartels.

5) It would reduce crime. Personally, i think the best way to reduce crime is not to give in, but make the punishment so severe that it's no longer worth the risk of getting caught (why should criminals get access to the internet and tvs? Why is the American public paying for their luxuries? Why do the more vile inmates even get beds and chairs? It should be prison, not a stay at a fully furnished second-home). Like drunk driving--i think that should be attempted involuntary manslaughter . . . But that penalty does not exist and is only inside my head. Legalizing it for the sake of reducing crime is essentially surrendering morals because it seems the easy thing to do. It's not the wise choice, in my opinion.
And i understand that money used to have drug users arrested, tried, and incarcerated costs you and i both, but i would prefer some dopehead who can't see because so many of his brain cells have been burned out was sitting behind bars in his zombified state rather than piloting a 4,000 object traveling 60 mph past any combination of my spouse/parent/child/sibling/cousin/niece/nephew/grandparent/aunt/uncle/etc.

6) . . . If you have another reason, please message me on FB or Tumblr, comment on this, or send me an email at jos_h20@hotmail.com (please state in the subject it's regarding this blog or i probably won't even see it), and i'd be happy to discuss it.
If you're looking to argue, i'm not so naive as to think arguing online changes anyone's mind, so i refrain. If you want a legitimate conversation about it, though, just two people discussing it with reason, please do send me a message; i'd love to get more than the stereotypical reasons.

The Lord's Prayer (pt. 2)

"Give us this day our daily bread."

In another verse, Proverbs 30:8, the author, Agur, pleads for only two things, one of which is to have neither poverty nor riches. For in poverty, we may become thieves and "profane the name of my God," whereas in riches we will forget where our hope rests and where our blessings come from.
Not only this, i find the whole aspect of "daily bread" to be quite interesting. It's long been in my thoughts to always have a need, but not poverty. I want just enough, nothing more. I'd prefer a little less than enough rather than a little more, so i have to strive, i have to better myself, and i have to trust God wholeheartedly to provide.
But daily bread; the literal translation of that is "the bread of my portion" (in Proverbs).
Enough, nothing more and nothing less. Paraphrased, that could imply "give us this day [just enough so that we rely on You always]."
But we're not to live by bread alone, but by every word of God. The basics of this world, and the blessings of the spiritual. Adequacy here, and abundance in our soul . . . And our cup will overflow.
¹² 
"And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors."

I'm analyzing these two as the same line . . .
Forgiveness is something we have to strive for from mankind. We have to earn it. Jesus earned forgiveness of sins for us and gives it freely to us, all we have to do is ask.
But to forgive, that's not just an empty phrase. If we say we forgive someone, we should mean it. We should eliminate that wrong from our memory as best we can and live as though it never happened. In Romans chapter 10, it says "For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation."
Forgiveness is much the same way; to forgive, we must believe in the heart that we've forgiven, and by mouth we utter that the wrong has been washed away. It's an oath to not throw a past sin in someone's face after it's been said that you've forgiven. Jesus was God's oath to us that He'd not hold us accountable after we've been forgiven. By Jesus' blood, our 'debts' against God and man have been washed away. His blood is grace, and we're covered in it. It's not that He can't see our sins, it's that He chooses not to.

"And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one."

God does not tempt us to do wrong, so i've caught myself wondering why we'd ask God to not lead us into temptation.
But it's simple, really. In Romans chapter 1 (i'm using other verses to make my point a lot this go-'round), we can see where God doesn't lead people into wickedness, but 'gives them up to uncleanness'. Their hearts were darkened.How do you darken something? You remove the light. God is the light of salvation. He removed Himself from them, and left them to their own hearts' desires. Without a glimmer of God in our hearts, we revert to things that are unnatural, diseasing (not a word, but its intended meaning should be obvious), and crippling. They professed wisdom, all the while becoming fools. Their hearts became void of God's light.
Romans 1:29-32 says: "being filled with all unrighteousness, sexual immorality, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, evil-mindedness; they are whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, violent, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, undiscerning, untrustworthy, unloving, unforgiving, unmerciful; who, knowing the righteous judgment of God, that those who practice such things are deserving of death, not only do the same but also approve of those who practice them."See, this shows that it's God alone that keeps us from evil.
To me, "And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one" is much as a plea to have God continue to shine His light in our hearts, which will keep us from evil.

"For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen."

By Him, through Him, and to Him are all things; all things were made for His glory, and this is stating that all glory will be properly directed to Him. All power we may gain, whatever strength, ability, respect, honor, or place among men, it is His. He gets our glory, He gets the power appointed us by man, and His is the Kingdom that is established with such power.
The kingdom of God; this universe but a territory. His is the kingdom.
Forever. It's hard to think of something infinite with a mind as finite as ours. Let me put this in a finite manner: The Voyager I Probe was launched in 1977. That's 35 years ago. It's travelling nearing to 50km per second. Each breath you take, it travels the distance it would take you an hour and a half to drive. And it's been going for 35 years. It's 33 hours away at the speed of light. Now picture walking that distance. It would take millennia, and that's 1/265th of one lightyear. Our galaxy is 100,000–120,000 lightyears across. Now imagine walking that. There are galaxies billions of lightyears away . . . Imagine walking back and forth between here and one of them . . . Now picture it a thousand times. And that's a flash in the pan compared to God's eternal glory.
To Him is our glory, and our power (our all), and our kingdoms. Forever.
Amen: to be firm, confirmed, reliable, faithful, have faith, believe, so be it.

Grafted In Christ

This is something i realized at work the other day . . .
In the Bible, i'm not sure where, i believe it says we are 'grafted' into the Body of Christ when we receive the Holy Spirit. When Christ lives within us, He makes us one with Him, and we are no longer what we were, but rather grafted onto Him.

I want to go a little further into this; as most of you know, we have a flower/vegetable/fruit tree section at the feed store. The vast majority of the fruit trees we sell, and off the top of my head i can't think of any exceptions to this, are grafted trees. The rootstock has to be a hardy plant that's climatized to the area, and can endure the heat, the drastic changes from one day to the next, the droughts, etc. What that does is it sets the foundation for what's grafted onto it, so that its immunities and ability to endure is passed on to what is to be grafted. The rootstock pretty much surrenders what it naturally is so that something else can thrive as it would have.

Here's a brief summary of how to graft a tree; when the rootstock is still a young tree, it must be cut off about a foot or so from the ground. It is then split a few inches down the middle. A branch of the weaker tree, the one that would otherwise be fruitless, is usually (not always) dipped in a hormone that encourages root growth, then set down in the split of the rootstock, and then it's tied together so the rootstock can grow over the grafted branch and make the two into one . . .

The rootstock gives what is rightfully its own in exchange for the sake of the weak, barren and fruitless. It is cut off so that another plant, one that, if all was fair, would not be able to grow (or, if it did, it wouldn't produce fruit). The grace shown by the rootstock covers the faults of the grafted branch.
Not only this, there are trees that are grown in nurseries for the sole reason of being cut off so that the weak, frail tree could grow.

Jesus must be our rootstock. He was born to be cut off so that we could be grafted onto Him, so that He could grant us the life that we would otherwise not have, so that our branches may produce fruit. If we give ourselves to His sacrifice, and tie ourselves to Him, He will grow around us, and He will change us into something new.
He will root us in the spiritual, and grant us life in a place we could never dream of existing. We were made for Heaven, but humanity has fallen to the point that we've decided that we're born the the world.
We are unable to, on our own, produce fruit that is good.
Without a rootstock, our roots will rot and our fruit become bitter, or nonexistent at all. Being rooted in Christ through His sacrifice gives us the ability to, once again, produce a fruit that will satisfy, a fruit that will not rot or be bitter or unpleasant.
It allows us to be what we were made to be.

The Lord's Prayer (pt. 1)

I'm going to do a little bit of a dissection of The Lord's Prayer . . .

"Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name . . ."

Our Father. Meaning not just mine, but the Father of all who call on Him; the One who resides in Heaven, above all things. The One who spoke the universe into existence from Heaven, a place beyond this universe. To Him, the Creator, the One who allows us to be the children of the Most High God . . .

Hallowed; honored, revered, seen as holy. Hallowed be His name. His name, how we call on Him, it's a sacred thing, and to be used for Him alone. Jehovah, Yahweh, His name is Holy. Even the utterance of His name is not to be taken lightly.

"Your kingdom come.
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven . . ."

His kingdom come . . . This is praying that He establishes His kingdom here, among us. That the world become His. In a kingdom, there is the patriarch, then those who abide in it are the subjects. Praying that His kingdom comes is praying that mankind as a whole becomes subjects of the King of kings.
Praying that Heaven be made on Earth, that the world comes under His rule, and His protection. When a kingdom extends its borders, whatever it encompasses becomes the property of the kingdom. This is asking Him to extend the borders of Heaven. He's fulfilled His side of the blood oath; we must die to the world to live in Christ; we must lay down our lives in servitude to Him to fulfill our end of the deal.

His will . . . This is a really interesting part. His will . . . In another verse, it says something along the lines of all things working out for those who love God. That is His will. His will is for us to get up, and go out and change lives for Him. He is our Shepherd, we are the sheep. When one sheep goes astray, if all the other sheep are doing as they should, the stray will realize it's safer within the group that trusts the Shepherd.
Not only this, it's forsaking our own will, our earthly desires, and surrendering ourselves to God. We instinctively believe ourselves to know what's best for us, what we want to happen in our lives, and to want the simplest means of achieving those goals. But we're finite. And we can't comprehend the infinite, so it's hard for us to trust the One who is. But He has a plan for us all. His promise to Jeremiah about knowing him from before He formed Jeremiah in his mother's womb, that He had plans for Jeremiah to prosper and to be blessed; that does apply to us, too. It's our will that gets in the way of those plans and blessings. Leaving every aspect of our lives up to God is hard to do, especially when we see a way that seems painless and quicker, but God uses our struggles to our advantage. He teaches us patience, hope, faith, and contentment. We learn to appreciate what blessings He gives us at the end of our struggles.
His will is perfect. When working a puzzle, you need to see the front of the box in order to know what goes where. Try assembling a puzzle with the blank side of the pieces facing upward, and with no idea of where anything goes in the end . . . We need to trust that there's a big picture that we can't see, and that He knows what it is and can see where every piece fits independently of the others.

In Heaven, God has absolute rule, everything in Heaven cries "Holy", and praises Him. All those in Heaven succumb to His will, never doubt, never stray, never look away from the perfection that is our Father.
I'm not saying He's not all-powerful in this realm as well, just that He gave us, out of love, the freedom to follow Him or not to. He doesn't change our minds for us, He doesn't force people into a certain train of thought.
On earth as it is in Heaven means that we're crying out for all things and all peoples to, make themselves His. The only way for this to happen is for Him to change us first. With willingness, we can ask Him to change our hearts, and He will. By the transforming and renewing of our minds, so that "[we] may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God."
To have His kingdom come and His will done on earth as it's done in Heaven, the change starts within ourselves, not by asking others to change.
They'll know we're disciples of Christ by our love for one another . . . They'll see something in our lives they want to have in their own, and they'll seek it out. But still, we are commanded to go out into the world to spread His Word. And to let our light shine like a city on a hill that will not be hidden.

Not A Change of Heart

Across all the Abrahamic religions, one thing remains constant aside from God having created the Earth. That's Moses' righteousness. Islamics, Jews, Christians, Mormons, Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses; we can all agree that Moses was righteous in the eyes of God.

In Exodus 32, God was going to destroy the Israelites. He didn't because Moses pleaded with Him to spare them.
A mere mortal, a single man -in comparison to God, man is less than an insect is to us- asked God to do something differently, despite the fact God had already made up His mind. And He relented.
God, the One who confounds the wise even in His foolishness, the Sovereign, the Almighty, the All-Knowing; He changed His decision not because He's fallible--quite the contrary, he did so because He is infallible. Because He is love. And, because love is understanding, He listened to the plea of His child. He met Moses half-way because He loves.

I don't think God changed His mind or His heart. I think that, because God is love, He chooses to do the merciful thing, despite being infallible. Love is patient, love is kind. Love never fails.

But Moses, not standing up to God but standing up for what he believed, though it was contrary to what God had decided, was how Moses respected God.
Moses didn't dishonor God by asking Him to do differently. Moses was honoring God by doing so. Backing down and saying "Okay" when you feel someone might be in the wrong is dishonoring them. Saying "Here's what i believe, and it doesn't line up with what you believe" is actually honoring them.

If i was infallible, i would have no reason to listen to anyone else's opinion. But i'm a human--i am fallible, just like all of you who may read this, yet i still can't get out of my own train of thought to see things how another would. A fallible man with a finite mind set in what he believes to be an absolute is usually in the wrong. I'm usually in the wrong.
I want to learn to love, so i can understand things from another's perspective, even if i am fallible, finite, and absolute in what i have decided.

Vanity or Glory?

I've been working out for the last few weeks. Getting in better shape, building muscle, getting my heart beating a little better, stuff like that. A lot of the driving force behind it, to be honest, is appearance. It's altered my appearance, though very slightly, and that's not a bad thing. It's quite encouraging. It wouldn't be all too unappealing to look handsome and muscular and all that. 
Vanity.
Where's God in my reasoning?

It says in 1 Corinthians 10 that, whatever we do, we should do it for the glory of God.
If i'm working out to appear attractive, i’m not doing it for the glory of God, but for human/earthly reasons. That's wrong. That's as bad as the opposite end of the spectrum, gluttony, of which i've been guilty of so much it's not funny (i'm down to 200-205 from 245lbs)

Also, in 1 Corinthians chapter 6, it says that my body is a temple to the Holy Spirit. It’s referring to sexual sins; all other sins are outward sins, but sexual sins are inward sins. But despite the context it’s used in, our bodies are temples to the Holy Spirit. We should have them at their best for that reason.

Even if a church is purified because only those who have been made righteous attend (Romans 3 says none are righteous, but i believe that living in a pure way for God and having Jesus in our heart makes us righteous to God, because 1 Samuel 16 says that the Lord looks at the heart—if Jesus is there, He sees righteousness, not our sin; He sees perfection, which makes up for our imperfections) … 

Getting back on course, If a church is pure inside but has an exterior that’s not kept up, it’s hardly a shining light. It's not really shining if all the light is hidden within. It needs to attract the unrighteous to lead them to righteousness in Christ.

The body is a temple; we don’t paint graffiti on the walls of a temple. I’m not saying tattoos are a sin, because i honestly don’t have an opinion on them, but i’d never get one for that reason. We don’t put holes all over it and fill them with flashy decorations. Again, not saying piercings are a sin, just something i’d never consider.

We keep the walls of the temple clean and healthy, well maintained, and pure.
What’s more important than the walls is the structure. Keeping our body pure for God is the structure i’m speaking of. Without a proper structure, the walls prevail against little more than a breeze or a light shower. A storm would tear it down to its foundation; sand.

God's opinion of us doesn't change because of our appearance. 1 Samuel 16:7. It's man who sees the appearance of fellow man. God can cast out a handsome or pretty person and instead use someone who society has deemed unattractive. God sees us all as beautiful creations; His children. We are all beautiful to Him. It's society that messes with our heads and definition of beauty.
But to be an example, to bring glory to God, we should be encouraged to maintain our temples, and to keep them in as excellent shape as we can. God doesn't look at the walls--people do. To do our best to bring people to Christ, i think we should make ourselves more appealing to them. Not for vanity's sake, but for the glory of God.
Different means to the same end.
So many things can have the same end, but it's the reasoning behind it that changes everything. And so far, i've had the worst of reasonings. Vanity. Vanity. Vanity.

A simple matter . . .

I think I'm beginning to understand something.
There are always exceptions to rules. However, around rural areas, like the area I live in, people are generally Conservative and they fear God. I wondered why large cities have a lower ratio of Conservatives and/or steadfast Christians.
I've heard a theory about a lack of education. I disagree. I'm not boasting, just pointing out a fact, my IQ is about a third higher than average. There are smart people and not as smart people in both areas. It's not education. It's something more than that.
And I think I know what it is.
It's kind of simple, actually.
It's a matter of replacing things.

Look up at the countless stars every night, seven of which are planets, many are stars with their own planets, and so many more are galaxies with their own stars that have their own planets, and you can see evidence of God. Look up at an orange-lit, smoggy, light-polluted sky every night, and you can see evidence of man.
If you step out your front door in the morning and are greeted with nature, a blue sky, birds, flowers of every color, green grass, a fresh breeze, maybe even a rabbit or a squirrel, you see evidence of God.
If you step out of your front door and are greeted by a hallway leading to the exit of your apartment, or else a pallid expanse of concrete and cars, you see evidence of man.
If you plant a seed in a garden (not a flower box on your roof), watch it grow, harvest the fruit or leaves, and watch as the plant reacts to these things, you see evidence of God.
If you go to the store and shove your way past a few people to grab a couple pale, unripe tomatoes, you see evidence of man.
There's a pattern here. People in rural areas are more inclined to be greeted by God's creation wherever they go. They walk along dirt roads, or in small forests, along riverbanks, etc. They are surrounded by life. They are surrounded by an impossibly balanced ecosystem. They are surrounded by God.
People who live in or around cities, they live in man's dwelling. They're surrounded by what man has done to God's creation. Instead of looking around and seeing what God has made, they see what man has made of it.
This is my belief as to why more God-fearing people live in the 'country'.

Now as far as Conservatism, be it socially, morally or politically, I think they all stem from a common mindset: More with less.
For instance, around here, a Conservative likely has a garden, or has had one. They do so not necessarily out of necessity, but to save money and to be able to have a say about what's going into their food.
A Liberal around here does so because it's "fun", or to have a say about what's going into their food.
The difference here is a replaced reasoning.
A Conservative will usually have a garden for the reason of, well, conservation. Growing food because they need to, or because it will benefit them and their family in the long run. They do so because it's conserving and it's cheaper and it's natural. And also because you can see God's work and plan for food production.
A Liberal will usually have a garden as a hobby or simply because they can. Their gardens usually end up costing far more than it would've just to drive to the grocery store, because they're not trying to conserve, but instead, they're just wasting time and money on something fun. That's why a garden on the roof of your apartment doesn't count. It's not out of necessity. If it was, you wouldn't be living in an apartment like that, you'd be living in cheap housing (read: conserving).
A Conservative is, around here at least, typically one who makes due with what they have, cutting costs wherever possible, growing their own vegetables, raising their own animals to butcher.
A Liberal is typically the kind that sees chickens as animals that should be free (they should be--or at least happy), but to the point that they cry foul (or "fowl", if you will) when they see a chicken in a 4'x4'x4' coop.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with living in a suburban area, or being a Liberal or anything like that.
I just happen to identify with the Conservative lifestyle, seeing God's creation and not man's distortion of it, and it just 'clicked' today as to what causes the city people to typically be Liberal and the country people to tend to be Conservative.

Love . . .

Love . . . What is love (I'm not going to follow that up with "Baby, don't hurt me")? Some say a chemical reaction in the brain, others a feeling, etc.
However, I have another opinion. I believe love is everything, but is isn't everything . . . 

So, we know that it is, in fact, a chemical reaction in the brain; when certain synapses and hormones are produced, we feel 'love'.
Also, it is merely a feeling; those synapses and hormones and chemical reactions combine to cause an adrenaline rush upon the sight of the object of our affection. In other words, everything about us is 'heightened'. Our emotions, heart rate, sensitivity (physically and emotionally), mental state, respiration, strength, speed, everything is heightened to its peak because of that adrenaline rush.

Also, 1 Corinthians says it's patient; it waits without tapping fingers, without pacing, without sigh or groaning. It simply waits.
It's kind; it is being nice, generous and encouraging. Graceful. I could go on about grace, but I won't. Not this time. But it is kind in that it doesn't cause any harm, only good.
It does not envy; it doesn't want anything, or wish for wrong upon another. It brings peace and dissuades us from conflict. It doesn't make people think they need something they don't have.
It does not boast; it builds others up, doesn't say "look at me", doesn't step in front of people just to make its presence known. It lets them realize it through other means, such as the way it is kind.
It is not arrogant; it doesn't poke fun at others for not having it, doesn't try to make people envious--no, it encourages them to find love for themselves. It doesn't put others down.
It is not rude; it does not belittle anyone, it does not disinclude (that's a real word starting now) someone. It doesn't try to cause anger, and does not make others feel bad.
It doesn't insist on its own way; it encourages people to bring their own ideas to light, to embrace other ideas, disinclines one from being judgmental. It has open arms and an open mind, always saying "Let me know, let me in. You have a beautiful mind; express it. I want to know your thoughts."
It is not irritable; it doesn't get angry. It is at peace. It hears rude comments and ignores them. It leaves one happy and joyful. It is a sense of calm, always finding the positive things.
It is not resentful; it doesn't hold a grudge. If someone does wrong, it lets it go, forgives and forgets. It will not say "Remember when you did that one thing?" in an argument, but rather says "Remember when I did that one thing?". It embraces the idea of forgiveness. It doesn't demand people get even, but that they forgive. It bears the judgments and wraths of others, but does not retaliate.
It does not rejoice at wrongdoing; it doesn't cheer on those who are bitter or angry. It wards off sin. It doesn't tell someone that wrong is right. It does not contort or twist what is false into a half-truth. It is black-and-white, knows the defining line between wrong and right, and abhors the former.
It rejoices with the truth; it brazenly declares what is true and does not keep secrets. It is always honest, boldly so. It is made stronger with honesty and is fortified with the truth.
It bears all things; it is mocked and laughed at and scorned, yet stands strong. It meets these things head on and repays them with joy and still waits. It strengthens. It emboldens.
It believes all things; it trusts. It trusts because it itself is honest and true. It is a confidant when all others have turned away. It is faithful. It is precious. It is a child-like faith and adoration.
It hopes all things; it is naive. It is wondrously simple in the way it simply 'hopes'. It is positive and optimistic. It disinclines pessimism and a lack of faith. It wants and expects, but does not anger when all its dreams don't come true. It is courageous yet feeble in its hopes.
It endures all things; it sees unfaithfulness, anger, wrath, shame, and bears them. It hopes that things will always be positive in the end, therefore it holds on. It never lets go. Ever. It waits. And keeps waiting. It gets picked on, it gets overlooked, it gets forgotten and abandon, yet it holds fast. It never lets go. It never lets go. It will always be there. It will always persist. Nothing can satisfy it nor extinguish it. It gets strengthened by everything, but is not diminished by anything. It never lets go. Do you understand? It holds on for hours, days, weeks, months, years . . . And it never. Lets. Go. It stands through every storm, every trial, every ache, pain and hurt, and it comes out stronger. It endures. Forever. It waits. It always waits.

And no matter what we do, if we don't have love, it's all for nothing.
Love is everything. Love is life. Love is beauty. Love is strength, honor, hope, faith . . .  If we don't have all those things listed, if we don't refuse to do the things it refuses to do, all our life is forfeit. Nothing becomes of us. We live and we die and that's it. Ashes to ashes.
But if we love, we endure. We make a difference in the world, an anti-cancer. We brighten one person's day, they brighten another's. And through six degrees of separation, we can cure the planet of negativity . . . If we simply love. Like a spreading flame that keeps burning and consuming until every soul has been set ablaze with love.
The absence of everything is nothing. If we have no love, we have nothing--an absence of everything.
Love is everything.
In 1 John chapter 4, we find out something . . .  God is love. God is love, and love is everything. God is everything. Without God, nothing we do means anything at all. Without God, we become absence; we become nothing.

Show your love to the world. Be a disciple of Christ by being a disciple of Love. Let the world know that God is Love.

Steampunk

Been collecting junk to put together for my "Steampunk" outfit. I've got the gloves, the belt, a pocketwatch, various chains and straps, a gauntlet/wrist guard, boots, and an eyepiece (I wasn't expecting to get one of those, but it was on display for like $9, so I couldn't resist).
Working on getting better at sewing. I wanna try the sewing machine, but I'm not sure how to load the string, so I'm getting better at sewing by hand. I've got an old, worn, torn and half-faded pair of dark blue jeans that I'm going to cut up and use to accent stuff.
There's some stuff on ebay for not too much money that I want to get; vests, a suit jacket and some shirts that'd fit the 'future-Victorian' look I'm going for.

That's about all that's been going on lately . . . Mostly.

Ah, haha . . . I just realized that the main character in the last story I wrote (finished in June) doesn't even have a name! It's a dozen pages long, and not once did I mention him by name. His wife, yes, but only by a first name. No surname. It's written from a first-person perspective (a set of journal entries), but there's no introduction.

Working on new stuff . . .

Been working on some lyrics for the first time in ages . . . It's nice. It's a familiar niche for me. I miss it.
But not only that, a musical accompaniment to the lyrics has kind of slapped me in the face (yayy!). The chords are Esus2-Em, Am7-Am, D-Dsus4, Esus2-Em, Am7-Am, D-Dsus4-D-Dsus2. Simple enough, yeah? Might look idiotic, but it's pretty simple if you're into suspended chords. Seeing as how they add a sense of longing, and this song is called "Wanderlust" . . . Descending suspended chords it is.


Here is a link to what I've got of the song so far. If you have a Tumblr, let me know what you think. If not, please comment.

An introduction . . .

This is the story I just started working on; I'm going to have Michael's appearance similar to my own, though his personality will be far from mine. He's going to be a very cocky guy, gloating and proud. Confident in himself, boastful, and taunting. Usually, it seems that I can write a character just like me, or one WAY different . . . I'm going to try to capture a medium here, but it's unlikely that will happen to any extent.

A soft breeze entered the auditorium, rustled his hair and sent a shiver down his spine. The moment was finally here. There was nowhere else to go. Michael Tertian had evaded his pursuer to the best of his abilities, as he always did; it was his policy. It was the promise he'd made to her. In secret, though, he hoped it would come to this. He always hoped it would come to this. A shedding of blood, the beauty of the final breath being released into the air, the fleeing of a soul from its carnal binding. He treasured the act. There was an aesthetic appeal to it. It was something to be observed, to be respected, to be . . . enjoyed. The fear and the courage, the peace and the war of it all, he found it was truly a moment in which he was alive, seeing the life drained from the hunter, ironically, by the hunted. Why he was being hunted was no longer a question; all the dark-alley-types knew who he was. He had managed a reputation in the underworld of New Hildeport. The criminals, the mercenaries, the assassins, the bounty hunters and the Corrupted Rebirths all knew of him—most that could afford it even had a price on his head.

The rhythmic thudding and jingle of stalking boots followed the slamming of the door. As he stood on the stage, back turned to the entrance, he spread his arms as if inviting the duel. A wry smile crossed his face, his lips twisting upwards around the edges.

“'All the world's a stage', but I disagree . . .” he spun, his arms still outstretched, “I say the stage is all the world.”

A slender, almost feminine figure was approaching slowly, unimpressed. The way they carried themselves told him it was a male, despite its shape; tall, shoulders held high, straightened back, neck perfectly vertical, complete absence of sway in the hips, consistent and wide distance between the feet with each step, stepping flatly opposed to heel-first. A flat gray gas mask covered their face; the two vacant eyepieces seemed to absorb the light around them, giving the appearance of two holes in an otherwise smooth faceplate.

The pursuer's strides gradually grew quicker and longer until he was in a full-on sprint. He escalated the two-meter flight of steps to the stage in one swift motion and stopped just short of Tertian's reach. With a sudden jolt of his arms, two downward-angled sheaths extended and unfolded into scythe-shaped blades, one from each sleeve. Michael acknowledged the weapons with a short, approving nod and retrieved an antique, gnarled dagger with a golden handle and half-meter titanium blade from his belt.

He nodded once more, “You're the one following me,” he said, holding his hand out and signaling for the pursuer to attack first; “It's your move, babe.”

The two blades whistled as they sliced through the air towards one another. Bending backwards, Michael dodged them, but not so far away as to keep them from chipping one of the buttons on his vest. He straightened himself and swung the blade, which emitted a shower of sparks as it collided with the mask on his attacker's face.

“Tsk-tsk, you're not playing fair.”

He twirled the dagger around his fingers and narrowed his eyes before swiping away one of his opponent's swings. He turned the knife around in his hand so that the blade came out the bottom of his clenched fist and swung it frantically at the assassin's chest. He grazed the armor once, which sent out more sparks. He made three sudden steps backwards to avoid the blades that were swung in an alternating motion at him, nearly falling off the stage. He lunged forward and struck his opponent's hand, forcing him to drop one of the swords as it crashed to the cement floor in front of the platform they were fighting on. Another swing and he disarmed him altogether. He bent down and picked up the blade, examined the etching along the length of it, noticing the design was intended as much for blood-letting as for looking at. He dropped it to the floor where its twin already lie at rest.

With a crack of the knuckles, it was made obvious that his attacker wasn't giving up just yet.

“Spunky, aren't you?” Michael mocked.

One of the masked man's claw-knuckled gloves swung through the air towards Michael's face, deflected by the dagger. He raised an eyebrow and countered, but his strike was dodged by a fluid twist; his wrist was caught and crushed in the grip of his attacker, collapsing the nerves and loosening his hold of the blade he held. It fell to the floor with a bright sounding crash.

The wind from a metal-encrusted fist passing by his face at lightning speed momentarily chilled the sweat on his cheek. The sweat that was beading on his forehead began to trickle downward as he righted himself, managed a proper footing and steadied his breath. He felt his heavy pulse slow and begin to normalize before he lunged forward, catching his opposite figure about half-way up, doubling him over and taking him to the ground. The opponent hit the ground with a solid thud, Michael landing on top of him and forcing the air from his lungs as his shoulder drove into his chest and bent his ribs inward slightly before one of them finally gave way with a crack and a muffled cry from its owner.

He felt a metallic object, one of the sharp nodules at the knuckle of one of his attacker's gloves, pierce the right-hand side of his chest, returning the pain he'd just caused his enemy. A streak of pain shot out of his lower ribcage as the veins on his forehead protruded from the intensity of his scream. He spun onto his back and lifted himself to his feet. The blood from his wound staining the torn fabric of his neutral colored vest and the white dress shirt underneath. He stumbled to his right, grasped at the wound and looked at his hand, the blood trickling over his palm, down his wrist and into the ruffled cuff of his sleeve. Once again, he brought mind to the rhythm and depth of his breathing. The dagger he'd held before now lie beyond his masked attacker. He darted forwards and tried again to force his enemy to the ground. His opponent side-stepped him and extended a foot, tripping him. He barreled into the floor and slid forward and into the blade. He took it into his hand and held his other hand over the wound and lie motionless on the floor.

The masked attacker walked calmly and slowly towards him, seeming to be gloating over his triumph, though vaguely limping and embracing his side. His smooth mask, albeit unchanged, appeared almost smiling now, regardless of the lack of 'mouth'. Nearing Michael, he stopped beside him, tilted his head and let out a soft, repetitive rumble; a laugh. Michael fingered the carved handle of the dagger as the masked man lifted one foot off the ground, placed it on his back and began to slowly apply pressure until he could no longer breathe. The pain from the wound shot out in a bright pain like a flare. When he could no longer stand it, and the world around him was starting to fade into blackness, he worked the blade out from under himself and jabbed it deep between the assassin's Achilles tendon and ankle bone. As the man lost balance and began to fall forwards, Michael ripped the blade back and through the tendon itself; a deep red fountain came gushing from his foot as the crimson fluid splashed on the floor. The sight of stringy viscera dangling from the wound forced Michael to look away and wrench. The armored man collapsed on the floor, screeching and writhing about, reaching for his foot.

He regretted it not being a fatal wound. The thrill he'd been anticipating would not be his after all. He'd promised her he'd avoid killing if he could, even if that meant leaving an attacker incapacitated but still alive.

Michael stood and walked towards the door, the attacker still behind him writhing on the floor emitting a loud, shrill, although muffled cry.

He looked at his down at the nearly-black, red splotch around the tear in his vest and let out an amused grunt; “I need a new suit. Nice try.”

Going to try again . . .

I haven't updated this in ages, so it's probably a bit overdue, yeah?
Been kind of busy lately, I guess . . . Finished a couple short stories since I last posted, will post links once they're online. Going to try to keep this up a bit better, too. I'm going to need some rant space, and FB is not an option.

I started and finished a Scarecrow mask this evening. Took about a half-hour to get it scuffed up, sewn up, stitched up, scuffed up again, painted, and scuffed up some more. Also, it's got a draw-string in the back, so it's loose when it's first put on, then I can just reach behind me, grab the string, pull, and it's form-fitting.
Might try a Deadpool costume, too. That'd be easy and fun (red balaclava and black vinyl over the eyes).

I've no use for these, as I'm not geeky enough to go to Comic conventions, yet am geeky enough to want to make costumes.

Speaking of which, I'm going to put together my main character's costume from the story I'm currently working on. At present, his name is Michael, but I'm going to change that. It's a Steampunk-style story about a guy being hunted by, essentially, the entire underworld of the city/state. Black slacks, a white dress shirt with frilly sleeves, a gray vest, sometimes a trench coat over that, swat boots and suspenders. Not going to be too much to do, and most of that can be found on eBay for next to nothing.

Anyways . . . That's what's up lately.

Old F(r)iends...

I'm currently working on another story, this one of greater length but less meaning. It's based around a kid/man(depending on the chapter) named Kadota Haave. There are many Star Wars references spread throughout the story so far(see if you can find the one in this excerpt...). The storyline might be obvious to some people. I've been reading a lot of Richard Matheson's stories lately, so I'm sorta following that kind of line, as much as I try to avoid being influenced by other authors.
This section will, eventually, have a poetic message tied to it that links the chapters together and allows the story to flow a bit better. The title of this chapter implies something that happened before and happens later. In time, that's explained.

This needs revised, and it will be, again, in time, but I'd like to know if this is interesting at all? This isn't the main plot, just an introduction into the third chapter. The dog is a Pyrenees puppy named Teekay(was going to be named Leia, but Teekay seems to fit better). That will be expanded upon later.

So yeah, criticism and comments are always appreciated.

Old F(r)iends, Like Old Habits, Die Hard

1993

  On an exceptionally cold morning in December, a small, giggling child exuberantly bolted down the hall and into the living room. An exhausted, scruffy adult staggered behind, trying clumsily to navigate the narrow passageways. He growled at his plight; the walls were barely far enough apart for him to walk between, let alone run. In an effort to miss stepping on the dog, he stumbled and fell, hitting the ground heavily with his shoulder. The animal scurried away without care. The man looked up and saw the laughing kid watch him then turn the corner into the open room ahead. He stood and brushed the dirt particles and dog hair from his shirt and slacks.

  “He gets that from you, you know!” the man jokingly shouted over his shoulder towards the who was woman poking her head out of a doorway at the end of the hall.

  The woman laughed, “Nonsense,” she replied, “Come here, Sauro! Come to mommy!”

  The child reappeared from the living room in a blur, swerving just in time to escape the clutches of his father, and ran into his mother's waiting arms.

  “It's all in the delivery, Kad,” she said as she cheerfully swooped the child into her arms with a “swoosh”.

  Kadota folded his arms across his chest, “I tried that.”

  “Well odds are that you wer--”

  “You know what. . . Don't. Don't do that,” he interrupted.

  Puzzled, she inquired, “Don't do what?”

  “I don't want to know what the 'odds' are. You know how much I hate that.”

  She shook her head and patted her son's back, “Well, in that case, it's likely that you were angry when you said it. Sauro's a very sensitive child. He can tell when someone's even the slightest bit annoyed.”

  “Well can't he tell that running from me just makes it worse?”

  “He's barely three, cut him some slack.”

  “Wha—But—. . . You're the one that said he's psychic!”

  “Oh, shush. That's not what I said and you know it,” she shut the door in his face.

  He scoffed, “How dare you!” he shouted from the opposite side of the door, “You can't just shut me out like this.”

  The door opened. “Apparently not,” she said.

  Sauro pleaded for his father's attention.

  “Yeah, little buddy?” he asked as he knelt next to his son.

  “Mommy's right.”

  He roared, threw his arms up in the air and stormed out of the room and towards his bedroom. Nola could do little to refrain from bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. He had to admit to himself, as aggravating as it could sometimes be to have such an unruly child, his son's comments usually lightened the mood. As disobedient, with him at least, as his son was, he wouldn't change a thing about him. He was perfect, just like his mother. Life was perfect.

  He put his suit jacket on and slipped his work shoes over his socks and tied them, just as he'd watched his father do when he was younger. Memories of helping his father get ready for work always seemed to flood his mind when he was getting ready to leave. Comfortable memories; ones that made him feel like a little kid again. Those days were far behind him now. He was an adult now, responsibilities of his own, a family to support, and everyday issues he'd never imagined would coincide with raising a child. He had become his father in some many ways, yet so very different in others. He would never leave Nola. He made a lifelong vow to her and he intended to keep it.

  He went back to Sauro's room and hugged his son and kissed his wife as he did every day before departing.

  “Love you,” she said.

  He repeated her words back to her and walked towards the front door. He opened it and a flurry of icy wind and snow burned his cheeks and speckled his coat with white, glowing flakes.

  “Hun,” his wife called to him before he left, “you're forgetting your hat,” she said as she placed it gently on top of his golden hair and brushed the snow off his shoulders.

  “Thanks, Nola,” he said with a smile, enjoying the relaxing warmth of house more than before after he stepping into the cold and knowing he'd again return to it. H gave her another kiss on the cheek before marching back out into the cold.

  Yes, life was perfect.

New and upcoming story news....

I have published two stories through a site called Smashwords. Both of my stories are available for download, free of charge. You can download either or both in .rtf format for most reader programs(OpenOffice, Word, etc.), .txt, .PDF, and for various mobile readers as well(Kindle, Nook, etc.)

Click the image to go to the page in which this story is available for free download(link will open in new window)

 Click the image to go to the page in which this story is available for free download(link will open in new window) 

And as a bit of 'news', a third story is in the works. Outline complete, trying to skip 'drafting' it and going straight into the nitty-gritty as I've done before.
It can be expected to be finished sometime in March, perhaps April, if all goes as planned. The title is yet to be decided.

After some number crunching...

 According to the "World Health Organization"(WHO), Alcohol: Approximately 2,500,000 lives claimed annually(6,849/day).
 According to history books, Hitler and the Nazi regime: Approximately 1,000,000 Jewish lives claimed annually.
 9/11: Approximately 2,800 lives claimed in one day.

 That means that, Globally, alcohol is 2.5 times as efficient at taking lives as Hitler and the Nazis were at killing Jews, and 2.45 times as efficient as an attack as devastating as 9/11 happening every day of the year.
 4% of all deaths worldwide are caused by alcohol; so much money goes into finding a cure for cancer, trying to stop terrorist attacks, trying to find vaccines for AIDS, yet so many more people are killed by something readily and legally available to anyone twenty-one years of age.
 Why is the most efficient of those first three things not only legal, but glorified in society; to the point that some people are shunned if they do not participate?

An introduction...

I've been sorting an idea out in my head for a few weeks; the plot is loosely based on an idea I had before I even started writing; it was an idea for a movie.
It's not going to have much action and, unlike my previous short stories, it will have dialogue. It's the story of someone named Kadota Haave growing up in New Hampshire(locale may change to a place I'm familiar with, for the sake of describing places from experience). He meets a kid named Sarth at his eighth birthday party. The two become friends, inseparable even. Sarth, though imaginary, is always there for Kadota. When he has problems with women, Sarth offers advice or counsel. When he's got issues with his job, Sarth encourages him to try harder. It's pretty much a story of someone with a ridiculously intricate imagination and using it as a companion, of sorts.

And in case you're wondering, it DOES have proper formatting; copy/pasting doesn't keep that formatting, though.

Without further ado, here's an introduction to the main characters.

1977

Kadota Haave is a seven year old boy growing up in New Hampshire; the only child of two immigrants, his father from Finland and his mother from Sweden, Kadota is far from being an average New England kid. Extraordinarily sociable, despite being teased about his thick European accent and very pale complexion. With an extremely wild and vivid imagination, he is sometimes caught talking to himself by his friends and family. It was something he was supposed to have grown out of, or so his parents were told. His fifth birthday, perhaps halfway to his sixth, they were told, it would stop and that he'd grow out of it. It only became more frequent. Despite being an outcast at school by those who have seen him talking to himself, he's outgoing to a fault, willing to befriend any stranger than might cross his path. It worried his parents to take him to a grocery store for, if they turn their backs for more than a minute, he starts conversing with anyone and everyone in sight. Exuberantly happy as well, he invariably tries to cheer up anyone that's sad or frowning; once, even going so far as telling jokes at a funeral being held for a friend of the family.

Starting in February, his parents took him to a psychiatrist specializing in dealing with children of Kadota's “special behavior” as his parents put it. The weeks following caused a stress between them to finally come to a head; it had been there, under the surface but unspoken and not admitted consciously to either one. Dormant. But taking him to a shrink twice a week awakened that stress. There wasn't anything wrong with their child, he was just different. That's what they had said day in and day out. To friends, to family, to the school board; to each other even. This caused a regression for Kadota. The occurrences in which he was found talking to himself became more frequent. One time during Grace at the dinner table, he started mumbling to himself. He was excused by his father after his mother ran out of the room, face in her hands, crying out “Dear God, what's wrong with my son?”.

That was when they stopped telling each other that there was nothing wrong with him. That was when they stopped lying to each other. And to themselves.

He saw the psychiatrist on a biweekly basis until the week before his birthday, the seventeenth of October, his parents ceased taking him when they realized it had only made matters worse not only for Kadota, but for them as parents and as a couple. It pushed their relationship to the verge of collapse. They found a way to make it work, either for themselves or because they both knew deep down that, if they separated, Kadota would be so overwhelmed that he would never be able to support himself as an individual. It would destroy his mind and he would be taken over by his imagination.

The seventeenth came; he'd been begging for a sci-fi themed birthday party ever since his parents took him to see the first installment of a space fantasy trilogy in the cinema back in May. They agreed to it, regardless of their disapproval of the film's theme. The entire plot irritated them, but Kadota enjoyed it thoroughly; all of it. From the space ships to the laser swords, he cheered through and through, over the hisses of the other moviegoers shushing him. It was embarrassing for his parents trying to keep him from expressing his excitement about the film.

It was at his own birthday party that he'd meet who would become his best friend; a boy named Sarth. When asked where he was from, he said “somewhere else”. When asked about his last name, he shrugged and stifled an oscillating grunt. He was a strange child in comparison to others, but completely predictable to Kadota because this child, Sarth, it just so happened, was imaginary. Nothing more than another character invented by Kadota's mind; a world that's vibrant, joyous, hopeful, and far from ordinary or dull. Real—real enough—to Kadota, at the very least. Peaceful. Real life was never peaceful, but when he escaped into the deepest realms of his imagination, there was peace unlike any other. And freedom. Oh, how free it was in his mind. Freedom to do anything at anytime for any reason. Without necessity or boundary, without restriction or rule.

Finally...

At long last, I have finally finished the story I've been working on for over two months... Two months and a whopping fourteen pages, it was a debilitating, difficult writing effort. It was a very slow effort due to the need to use definitions of words to change the definitions of them(the robot being insane by, essentially, its complete sanity).
I need to go back through it and fix any errors, but it is finished as an entire story. And I couldn't be happier.