I am Stepping up...

Stepping up., originally uploaded by Christopher Rauch.  View the LARGE version

to the plate.
     In soooo many different ways. Dat's whats up. Tonight, on the Starbucks patio, I have coffee at my right hand, and a good cigar in my left. I have been in constant motion for days and tonight I have chosen to sacrifice a little sleep to get my bearings. I am taking stock. I am evaluating a few priorities and taking a personal inventory. 
     I have been accepted into the nursing program. It has taken me over three years to get here (really it's taken about eight... I needed a few years before I could even find the balls to listen to that quiet little voice in my head, and look at the picture I kept seeing...) When I began this journey, I wasn't even a high school graduate. Now, three years hence, I have graduated Magna Cum Laude from the Georgia Military College, and I am awestruck when I pause to consider the sheer enormity of what God has accomplished with an attention-deficit dyslexic who left home at seventeen without ever having learned how to live. I have a degree today, and I am engaged in seeking another one. I dream of one day being able to provide for a family, and impact my world in a positive way for the glory of my God. I also hope like hell that this is not entirely my idea, but my faith in this grows stronger with every miraculously opened door, and I have finally come to a place where I am at least a little bit comfortable with letting God handle his end and concentrating on mine. Concentration is not my strong suite, especially if I am distracted trying to handle God's business.
      As soon as I decided to go back to school, my dying marriage took a nose dive, and I ended up getting a divorce. As I was driving across town to have my wife sign the papers, I got a phone call. My father had died. The next forty eight hours were incredible, and I have never been the same. Depression seems to come and go, and returning to school after a twenty five year break has been indescribably stressful. I got more than a little crazy, and still have a difficult time remembering how I managed to get through school with the grades needed to make it into the nursing program at my college. Several times it seemed that someone else was in the driver's seat, and I am grateful. I have also become aware of how unlikely my success was, in the face of my lifestyle and attitude. The stakes are now much higher, both financially and emotionally. I really don't want to deal with the consequences of dropping this ball, and it has become important to come to clarity about my big picture, what I have been doing wrong, and what needs to change in order to pull this off.
     A little over nine months ago, I heard the clue phone start ringing, and when I answered it... it turned out to be for me. Whaddya know. The voice on the line basically said: "You're fucking up. Not only do I have a much better life prepared for you, but I have a job for you to do, and you're not doing it!"

     I argue with God often, (though he has yet to strike me dead, obviously.) This time, I took the divine asschewing without complaint. I knew I had it coming. I was miserable. I was wallowing in self -pity and had fallen into depression. I was drinking daily, and had returned to some old ways of thinking, which I've posted about earlier. In my anger and disappointment, my prayers became arrogant, accusatory, and infrequent. I began romantic involvement immediately, and began to take several hundred pictures a week. Anything to avoid dealing with multifaceted grief, grow the fuck up, and learn how to live. My life was a mess, and I was ripe for the divine wake up call. I had  gotten off track, to say the least. I am among other things, a mystic. Many of us pray. If the surveys are to be believed, even atheists pray, but as Andy Stanley says, a mystic is someone who believes God talks back...or talks period, I forget which. 
     C.S. Lewis tells us that God "whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, and shouts to us in our pain; It is his megaphone to rouse a dying world." My world was dying, and I heard the shout. I have, along with the every other living creature, experienced my share of pain. I have slowly, stubbornly learned to recognize the voice of my God in these instances, and further- have been growing ever more sensitive to the speaking and whispering. Still, he must shout at me from time to time, because, like D.L. Moody, the sensitivity to God's voice leaks out of me, through the many holes in my character.

     Anyway, I heard the message and made the decision to return to habits and disciplines that had brought me so far, and helped me so much in the past. I began to again seek personal growth, and the struggle to redefine and rebuild my life, this time with a commitment to surrender to God's design for the life of Chris Rauch. 
     Now, a decision is one thing, and for the most part, an indispensible prerequisite to intentional progress, but it is in the theatre of practical application that the rubber truly meets the road. In my resolve, I must answer the question: “How do I do this?" For me, the renovation of life is a process, and it begins with constructive action. I work out before I develop muscles. My inclination is to lose weight, develop muscular definition, and then start going to the gym, but things don’t work this way. I have to figure out what to do. To obtain knowledge I must go to those who profess to have it… and if I am wise, I will go to those professors who are actively engaged in ongoing practical application. The best hospitals are research hospitals, and the best universities are those that research the frontiers of knowledge. 
     Self-actualization, as defined by Maslow, is when the desire for fulfillment drives us to reach our maximum potential. When our life is lacking joy/fulfillment, this absence drives us to grow. So the question for me is "Who is busy today, taking practical action to reach self actualization? Who is doing the research?" 
     I find upon reflection that it is usually not the politicians, not the proponents of religious piety, and not the millions of couch potatoes that claim Oprah Winfry as their guru. In all of these cross sections of western society, those who actively seek personal growth are a tiny minority. Honestly, there is no demographic that that is not dominated by apathy, but there is a global community represented my members of all areas of humanity where the minority seeking to actively improve their lives reaches the point of statistical significance. This is the recovery movement. The Twelve Step Programs. It is the alcoholics, the addicts, the codependents, the gamblers, and the compulsively promiscuous, that are driven by the pain of their dysfunction, to apply spiritual principles in their lives and strive toward their maximum potential. These people with all their failings, are my teachers. 
     
     I'll post next on the twelve steps programs, and my take on how the steps operate, but it is late, and this post has gotten a helluva a lot longer than I intended. 


"Now, With God's Help, I Shall Become Myself" ~ Soren Kierkegaard.

   


       Good Night. :)

Imitating My Father.

This Is What I Do In the Bathroom..., originally uploaded by use2blost.     
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Love. Big, broad topic. Posted on it a few times...I'll try not to do it again for a little bit, so here goes:

     Love.
     The kind  patient thing. More important than the really impressive stuff, like speaking in angelic languages, or foretelling the future. Superior to faith and hope.  1st Corinthians 13 is probably the definitive passage on love. Paul explains it in detail. Paul doesn't mention (in this passage) that it's the only way to imitate God. The only way you can intentionally imitate God is by loving.
     Unless you can walk on water.
     Or sling together a space-time continuum, like our mascot.
     Imitating is not to be confused with resemblance. Imitating is better.  We resemble our Father, we are an image of him. There are things about you that are inexplicably beautiful, for this reason. Looking like Daddy is cute, but it's nothing compared to putting Daddy's hat on or grabbing Daddy's briefcase, and swaggering through the doorway, a tiny little voice intoning dadspeak over the shoulder as baby wanders off. That's even cuter. I guess that's my love angle. Imitating Jesus. Cuz I can do that. Some days I can even do it well.
    Often, I'm sadly lacking patience, kindness, spiritual fruitiness. I'm experienced at keeping track of your screwups, and of the times you've hurt me. Yadda yadda. I sometimes rejoice in injustice or the bad fortune of others...and I'm hoping y'all do too, or I'm even worse than I thought.
     I hope my failure to measure up to the standard I hold is a human condition, not a personal failing.

Perhaps agape sojourned here for 33 years, visiting from another world, the only place it occurs naturally. Perhaps love left a picture. Maybe we are just trying to sketch the photograph we have been given. Perhaps some of us sketch better than others.

    My love is bad. However, I can sometimes for a few moments, on a situational basis, imitate Jesus. I have these occasional episodes of shining excellence. I pull it off and you are amazed, or impressed, or converted. Andy Stanley talks about not having to ask a question, because he knew what his father was going to say, because he knew his father that well. There perhaps is a point where we reach an intuitive understanding of God's character (Only the tip of the iceberg...), and can begin to practice the imitation of God. This is probably where I should concentrate. Not on a bar set impossibly high by myself, my denomination, or the pulpit I sit in front of.
     There are I times when I know what he wants me to do. I can look back and spot these times. Practice lets me recognize them as they occur.Sometimes courage lets me seize the moment, sometimes fear drives me to scurry past it. As always, repetition promotes competency...and that other stuff, the spiritual fruit.

More about love @ Bridget's

About the photo:

I practice my hubris. I flex my chutzpah. This is my first attempt at staging a concept. Since it is the easiest room in the house to convert into a ghetto lighting studio, I do some strange things in the hall bathroom, but this takes the cake. I am hugely surprised...Twelve layers processed in PS elements, and Dynamic Photo. Everything except yours truly is taken from the Hubble website, and nope, I'm not wearing any panties!. I plan to post in a blog carnival thing on love and I've never done it before...the angle I intend to explore is love as an imitation of God....sort of  "in His image..." speculations. Thus, a visual pun.

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For the ghetto lighting group...I'm standing in my bathroom perpendicular to the mirror using onboard flash, which was evidently aimed right at my tattoo.

Stars In His Eyes,

Stars In His Eyes, originally uploaded by use2blost.

     Naivete in his heart.
     History and Political Science have been an embarrassingly rude awakening to me. I knew about slavery, of course, and you would have to have lived on the moon to not realize we took a big dump on the Indians. Somehow, I still thought we were fairly well behaved as a nation. It seems this is not the case. I realized we had migrated away from the vision of government our forefathers held, but I had no idea the level of blatant self interest voter apathy permits in our elected officials. I had never reflected on the truth that a selfish, fearful population is the one most easily manipulated. I find myself alarmed, but try to keep in mind I am like a emotional savant, with childish expectations of virtue, and a petulance born of growing up in what counts for poverty in the one of the most prosperous countries in the world. I find myself considering political issues, and wondering at a lasting solution. It seems to me, probably the best thing we could do to straighten out politics would be to eliminate the middleman. The selfishness of the general population creates more than enough chaos. We want what serves us best, and to hell with the other faction. This makes the American Public easy to manipulate, and the political machine, which to me seems to include business, government, and organized religion, grows in wealth and power by siphoning these off of the American people. Most of us seem to realize that the roofies has worn off...we even know who is screwing us. We just can't seem to reach enough lucidity to do anything about it. A platform of specific reforms would be lengthy, and probably impractical after the editing required to get a huge grass roots movement to all agree on it. Perhaps just a few things at a time, is the ticket. we could chisel away at the problem rather than specific symptoms. I think the election process needs to be more about competency than money, and the name recognition /media exposure the money purchases. So from now on, no reporting on elections. every candidate gets equal time, his voting record on past issues is published, and media coverage is limited to live rhetoric or debate. Please do not analyze the candidates for us. We wanna grow up and learn to do it ourselves (I feel like I've been asleep).
     I also think election campaigns should have a cap on spending. If we remove the need to compete for campaign contributions, the public interest will begin to have the same clout as the corporate interest, and citizens will be as important as lobbyists. And we pay them too much. Pay them less, and make them utilize public health care. They'll come up with a great plan, overnight. I promise. My little pea brain thinks this would completely change the political climate of America.

About the picture... I seldom go to the trouble to take a self portrait, but insomnia can take you out of your comfort zone. The right eye is A star similar to our sun that has exploded, and the left eye is The Orion Nebula, both taken by the Hubble Telescope and gathered from the Hubble website. Airbrushing them into my irises with Photoshop Elements, was the last thing I did after processing my mug. The HDR was done with Mediachance Dynamic Photo. I tried a little bit of burning, on my wrinkles, to add some mileage.

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as to lighting, this was taken in the bathroom with me sitting on the counter opposite the mirror, which has a fixture across the top holding 6 bulbs. for this shot, a couple of the bulbs are unscrewed. It definitely qualifies, so I submitted it to the ghetto lighting pool.

Cowards

The will to do the right thing, regardless of personal cost. This is the definition of Character given by Andy Stanley in his book, Louder Than Words. Being a Pastor, he adds, "as defined by God."

Character is the will to do what is right as defined by God, regardless of personal cost.

     -Andy Stanley
 
And then there is:

 You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.

     -James D. Miles

     According to Yahoo! News, Marcelles James Peter, 17 was charged with "rape in concert and sexual penetration with a foreign object." Yeah. Smile for the camera, Peter. The article goes on to inform us:

Peter's aunt, Monica Peter, said before Thursday's hearing that her nephew told her he was only a bystander and didn't participate in the attack. She said he didn't do anything to stop the attack because he feared "he would get his ass kicked."

     The attack lasted +2hours, and was witnessed by as many as 24 people. It was a high school dance. A 15 year old girl went to her homecoming dance and got gang raped. My first read of this this morning, brought forth a caustic, scornful disgust of my gender. Then an attitude of judgment, naturally. I confess to have given a 51% probability of guilt to these young men after the reading of a mass media document. How stupid is that? Of course this is one of those  "Blink" instances that I attribute to the adaptive unconscious. I figure the whole 'penetration with foreign objects' thing kinda eliminates the possibility that Peter was simply standing too close to the action, and a witness got confused. To be honest, that is simply a trackback to support a snap judgment I made. I convicted these boys, and their parents. Uh huh. I gotta deep conviction that if you are willing to gang rape a drunk chick for a couple hours in front of witnesses, you grew up in a shitty family environment. In the South we say "He watn't raised right."
     Now with a couple of cigarettes and some of my world-class coffee under my belt, my Inner Hypocrite is beginning to Hold Forth and I have expanded the list of guilty parties to include You. (OMG).
     Not You, my friend that I love, but You, western society. As a whole, we are not growing in Character.

Look at this. The Bystander Effect

Now look at this. The Milegram experiment

     Please, I'll wait.
     Interesting? Perhaps these are not simply psychological phenomena but fundamental problems with the human condition.
     Defects in the collective level of Character.
     The Heartbreak of God. (Whoah. Where did THAT come from?)
     Maybe these things are our responsibility.  What if we measured the Bystander Effect over generations. What would we see? My own theory is that there is no Status Quo. In physical health, personal development, mental acuity, reaction time, whatever. It all tends to go down hill. Life deteriorates. The Law of Entropy applies to everything. Things tend to diffuse. Not stay together.
     This includes our Shit. As in Getting and Keeping Your Shit together. Shit Creek is one of the deepest philosophical concepts western civilization has developed, and we don't even know who to give credit to.
It's a river. You really can't stay still. If you tread water you go backwards. Ya gotta swim against the current.
     Quit working out, and see what happens. Leave your clubs in the closet for 6 months, and check out your handicap. Take college algebra after a quarter century vacation from math. When we get lazy, things degrade. Social Development is constantly moving backward and forward. I have observed a changing attitude about Hindu Convenience Store Owners, so I know we can change our behavior as a society. LOL you tell me if out attitude toward Hindu shopkeepers is becoming righter or wronger, 'cause I promise it's going one way or the other.
     I just don't know where to begin. I think apathy is the first problem. Remember when Congress voted themselves a pay raise? I was a child, but I felt like there was a bipartisan agreement in the general population that that was bullshit. Was I wrong? I wonder if Congressmen joked in private about getting away with that. They are mostly men still, and I know how men can joke in private about people who they consider dumbasses.  My casual observation is that the Average Bear (including myself) has only a vague notion of how to effect governmental change. We add our name to e mail petitions. I have no idea what that accomplishes, and a growing embarrassment of my ignorance. In Georgia, we have a Regents Exam to make sure you are literate before you can receive a college degree. Isn't that something?
     Well, I didn't mean to get on my soap box...I likes Mile's definition of character better than Stanley's. Mile's standard paints a more flattering picture of me.
    
 

Youth, and Bucking the System..

Bucking the system., originally uploaded by use2blost.

I am trying to take mostly conventional portraiture, lately. I wish to hone my skills. Today is the Day, the powers that be have sworn that my financial aid will be in my possession. I await it nervously, sure something will go wrong. There is much I should do, but a lot of time I find myself lost between my ears, thumb inserted in posterior. Not only do I have some overdue bills, But I am desperate to get away to the mountains. Backpacking is my idea of a good time, and once you have your gear, the cost of a getaway is minimal, determined by how much gas you need to get where you're going. However... I've had a bad road trip experience in the past, related to mechanical failure and prefer not to go out of town without a little chunk in the bank. The experience of spending several days in the forest without hearing a machine is a drink of water to my soul. I feel less distracted from God, and usually manage to sort out a thing or two. This happens when I am alone, and last break, I simply did not have the right combination of time off and an empty schedule to get away. I prepare myself for disappointment.
The van reminds me of my time living in Little Five Points, a neighborhood in south Metro Atlanta. I had flunked out of college at 19, and It just really seemed like a good idea to not come home (they have been throwing me out of schools since I was a HS sophomore). Of course, in Little Five the van woulda had a peace sign or two on it. Little Five is THAT place. The place in the city where you can buy crystal (meth), crystals (not meth), Birkenstocks, tie-dyed shirts, nude paintings of artist's tattooed and pierced girlfriends, and LSD. And you can go into a restaurant and get a special meal. One with no animal in it. At all. It was wild. (Not the vegan meal...that whole period of my life.) I went up there for a party and ended up getting an apartment with another dumbass who had flunked out of college, though he was a little older than me. It is amazing, what can seem like a good idea sometimes. The adventure didn't go to well. Moving my roommate's couch in, I found a magazine under the cushion.
The magazine had been folded backwards, probably so the reader (Ha!) could peruse with one hand as he gazed upon the muscular nudity of a blond man with an erection much more impressive than my own. Wow. I stuck it back.
That was the start of my two year attempt to be a grown up. My rent took all of two week's checks and dollar or two of a third. After my roommate fell in love, he moved out and moved in with Micheal. They were both named Micheal. I lost weight. A lot. I had a friend  murdered. I learned a few things about commerce. Acquisition, distribution, profit. I remember a titty dancer got raped outside the apartment one night. (I had forgotten about that...but as I write I can see her face streaked with tears, as we waited for the police.)
Life in Little Five was a struggle, but I had some good times, and quite a few coming-of-age experiences. I want a good job, later so we won't really go into a lotta things about this part of my youth, but the van made me smile. We drove past it Thursday night as Debbie took me to a movie (The Proposal). I ran out the next day, sans tripod, and shot these with the Nikkor AF-S 70-300mm, resting the long-ass lens on my vehicle windowsill.
I'm gonna go check my account.

God Don't Speak to Me 'cuz I'm Schizophrenic

Rest In Peace, originally uploaded by use2blost.

I went through a spell where I really wanted to hear God speak to me.
But not anymore.
Our Mayor shot himself in the head Monday. A tragic beginning to an unusual week. I have made an A in Comp II. This is surprising. I was asked to leave high school as a sophomore, and at the time I was failing English, and everything else miserably. Too, In the first grade, Miss Suzuki (I shit you not. That was her name.) told my parents I was retarded.
There was never a formal retraction of this statement from a representative of the educational system.
So there you have it.
Though my mother swore in broken English that this was not the case, I may be a retard. (Don't worry, it's like the 'N-word'...it's politically correct if you are a member of the offended category. I defend my right to use it).
Hell, what was she supposed to say?
We moved from Grand Heights to Yokota Air Base before they could treat my ah, condition, so I never had to actually ride in one of the little buses. (Ironically, now I have a CDL with a passenger edorsement. I can DRIVE the short bus.) At the Base school, I did well, except for scrambling my letters, and writing backward. They sent me twice a week to special class. I guess I was a borderline 'tard. I don't remember special teacher's name, but he had a puppet.
The puppet was named Dooso. (DEW soh).
Dooso was a dolphin, and Mr. Special Teacher would put his arm up Dooso's um...posterior during my special class (It looked like fisting.), and sometimes even in front of the normal kids, for special occasions. (I think Mr. Special Teacher was also Mr. School Mental Health Professional).
A couple times, Mr. Special Teacher would give Dooso a break, and do other things with me. Like shine a light around the room, and ask me to follow it.
Really. In the seventies, that's one of the ways they helped us.

I've really gone off into left field. Sorry.
So my week has been interesting. My amazing grade in English, I attribute to the grace of God, and much exposure to the written word, not the least of which was shown to me by the bloggers I have browsed so much this past year. I am grateful. Academically I have knocked it out of the park this quarter. I can make as low as a 50 on my history final and still pull a 4.0, which is why I am allowing myself to blog at 8:30, two and a half hours before my test.
Anyway, I am no stranger to suicidal thoughts or thoughts about suicide in general, and Mr. Walker's choice is sad to me, and contributed to a strange flavor for my interesting week.I figure anybody thinks of suicide from time to time, (That's what the poll is about) but most of us stop before we walk any distance down that  path, which is what the poll is about( are you getting the hint about the poll?)...
I speculate some people glance in the direction of suicide, and chuckle at their foolishness and move on. Some people pause.Some people pause for a long minute.
Some people pause for a cigarette and a cup of coffee.
Some people go down the path a step.

or two.
or Ten.

You can do any of these repeatedly, and the further down the path you walk, the deeper the understanding as you peer ahead, to the next more desperate level. If you have only been a glance and chuckler, you may be able to relate to Mr. Pause, but Ms. Ten Steps may be a little more different. Harder to identify with. This is a good reason not to judge.

Some people go all the way. Of course, you can only do that once.I've never gone far enough down the path to say how much of that is their fault.

The Nueroskeptic says most people experience mental illness by age 32. My own layman's opinion is that ya got something wrong with you. It's just a matter of  how bad it is. As John Ortberg says "Everybody's normal til you get to know them".


Studying for psychology, I came across this:



According to my psych textbook (Intro to psychology, eighth Ed. James W. Kalat. Thomsom Wadsworth, Belmont Calif.), People with Shizophrenia have difficulty picking the faces out. Yeah. And it took me several minutes.
Really.
So.
There you have it. I'm  probably possibly retarded, and at least a fledgling borderline schizophrenic.( I'm am pullin' a 4.0, however.) Perhaps God doesn't want to add to my confusion, cuz a voice in my head that told me to do some crazy or miraculous shit would surely be confusing and make things a little sporty between these ol' ears.

Jim

Gazing Away, originally uploaded by use2blost.

Jim called me last night for a ride. After posting about the cigarette thing, I talked to my IRL buddy, Scott. I also played around between my ears, thinking a little harder about Jim than I have been. I am almost positive he lies a little, and he has a couple of behavioral thingies that stand out. I have some questions about the disability/ physical address issue, and a lot of details in general are sorta foggy. I plan to start paying more strict attention (I mentioned Jim to a guy in my small group about a month ago, but my attendance is spotty when class is in session, and nothing has come of it). Over a few more run-ins, I may develop a little more clarity, about Jim’s life.

So, I drive out to meet Jim, and it’s dark. There is about a half a mile stretch of bad neighborhood that is one of three likely parts of town for Jim to request a rendezvous.

The last time I was here I had the chance to (there’s a whole post in here, but jeez, I’m wore out!) buy some crack. I think it was the eye contact (note to self… don’t be eyeballin’ the crack man!). I meant to speak to Jim about some other options. Evidently I dropped the ball. Jim is nowhere in sight. Damn. I turn around, and make another pass. I’m getting a little grumpy…don’t forget, I’ve been on steroids for a week and I don’t have my glasses.

OK, I wanna mention a few things:

1. At this time, I am in a painter’s van, no question. I got paint-spattered ladders strapped to it, big “SPRAY TECH” sticker on the rear window.
2. Umm…of all the construction trades, with the possible exception of roofers, none is better represented in the general crack-smoking population than painters. FYI most guys don’t get into house painting because they were a smashing success somewhere else.
3. Appearances matter, at 10 pm as you fly through the local crackport waggling your wings for the third consecutive pass.

I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance to buy some crack, this time. I was plenty stressed when I finally spotted Jim through the gloom. I swung in, he threw his bike in the van, and we split. I was still riding the warm fuzzy feeling from Jim’s earlier generosity and I had gotten paid for a small job. I wanted to hook him up, so we Taco Belled and got some smokes, and I gave him a little cash. When I let him out, I may have still been a little agitated. I was agonizing about the whole shower thing and suddenly rediscovered my testicles. I decided to offer him a shower.

He told me he was nervous, no thank you

It was uncomfortable. He probably thinks I’m a homelessguyophile (that's sorta funny, to me...but I'm strange). I have decided regardless, to have greater intentionality trying to impact this guy’s life in a good way.

Oh, and I told him I blogged about him…that was bothering me.

Bride or Whore? Is Your Love Real?

Special thanks to Tracy Taylor, one of my flickr contacts for the use of her image, and her quick reply to my request. I needed something appropriate, and googling "bride whore" and the like REALLY wasn't getting me what I needed.

I was tracking down an email in an old unused account, and stumbled across one from an old friend, entitled "lover or prostitute". My friend Rick is a respected thinker/mentor figure in my life, and a devout Christian,whose opinion generally carries weight with me. Also, I have never rented a prostitute, and that whole thing is mysterious, and titillating. Of course I stopped scanning the other 400 chunks of forwarded jokes, ads for camping gear (not spam) and products to make my boobs bigger, or my butt smaller (spam). I opened it. I was an article penned by David Ryser, who writes with a clarity I envy. It was VERY thought provoking.
Now, Rick is an entrepreneur, restaurateur, and executive of tremendous success, but Rick don't blog, and Rick don't HTML. No link. It was weird, I found references to Ryser's article all over the web but couldn't find anyone who had linked 'im.

LINK!

So there. One of the no-linkers posted his email address. His url was in my box bright an early this morning.
Dude has posted an enormous amount of stuff on theology, and this was the first article, entitled "Lover or Prostitute? the Question That Changed My Life". It must have changed his life if his blog is one of the results. It's not light reading, but it's clear. What he writes doesn't confuse me. What he makes me think about... THAT may be a little confusing.
Dr. Ryser recalls a day he was teaching in a school of ministry:

I came across a quote attributed most often to Rev. Sam Pascoe. It is a short version of the history of Christianity, and it goes like this: "Christianity started in Palestine as a fellowship; it moved to Greece and became a philosophy; it moved to Italy and became an institution; it moved to Europe and became a culture; it came to America and became an enterprise." Some of the students were only 18 or 19 years old--barely out of diapers--and I wanted them to understand and appreciate the import of the last line, so I clarified it by adding, “An enterprise. That’s a business.” After a few moments Martha, the youngest student in the class, raised her hand. I could not imagine what her question might be. I thought the little vignette was self-explanatory, and that I had performed it brilliantly. Nevertheless, I acknowledged Martha’s raised hand, “Yes, Martha.” She asked such a simple question, “A business? But isn’t it supposed to be a body?” I could not envision where this line of questioning was going, and the only response I could think of was, “Yes.” She continued, “But when a body becomes a business, isn’t that a prostitute?”

I'm goin' kinda slow here, cuz the email was abridged. So as I read the article I'm stumbling over even more stuff to think about. Martha has asked a couple humdinger's and Dr. Paul makes a couple points about knowing/knowledge, and motives, expressing the an opinion that most American Christians do not know God--much less love Him. If I can muddy the water a bit, I would like to interject that in English, the word love is extremely vague, defined by context, often used in speech between people who have different things in mind. One way to minimize this miscommunication would be to write much more cumbersome paragraphs, where we substitute sentences in quotes for the word love. This would make the meaning more clear. like this:

• "I want to have a lifelong relationship of mutual submission(and hopefully you'll be better at this than me), transparency, and deepening emotional intimacy seasoned liberally with unbaggaged, guilt free sex"
• "I have a really warm fuzzy feeling when I look at you and remember all the things you've done that please me...and I want to spit out a nice tribute to this moment"
• " You have said you love me, in front of witnesses, and I don't want to be an asshole."

Whaddya think? Y'all wanna start doin' that? Or....We could add 20 or 30 or 50 words to the English language. When I marvel at how quickly and completely we have integrated the metric system here in the U.S., I think that would only take us a century to agree on the specifics, and another one to implement it. Or we could write all our posts on theology in Greek. Or we could look at a couple things.

Did Jesus say "Love God with most of your being, and direct the leftovers at your neighbor"?
No. He said to give it all to God. And then directs us to give some to others. Hello? Does anybody notice this seems paradoxical? I think we gravely underestimate the totality of agape. Dr. Ryser speculates:

“What’s the difference between a lover and a prostitute?” I realized that both do many of the same things, but a lover does what she does because she loves. A prostitute pretends to love, but only as long as you pay. Then I asked the question, “What would happen if God stopped paying me?”

It seems like Dr. Ryser believes a bride has agape, and a whore does not. What if the bride does stop receiving her pay? What if the groom denies her affection, conversation, disclosure, protection, and smokes the family budget in a crack pipe. You think this will affect their sex life? What if after a month of uncomfortable abstinence, He comes home geekin' an peekin', with no money, but his crack dealer in tow, so they can gang rape his wife for a $50 rock. These things happen. When she leaves, does that mean she is a whore? Or is she human, like me?

A parent claims to have unconditional love for their child, but it's their child. That's a condition. (I do think parent-child love is the closest picture, however...please, no insulted moms armed with torches, tar and feathers)

A spouse truly thinks they have unconditional love for their other half, until they catch em bangin' the secretary, mailman, or whoever.

Pastors (not mine!) claim unconditional love for their congregation. Huh.

Jesus says the greatest love is laying down your life for your friends. For most of my searching, starving, "where are you God?" life I thought this referred to the whole cross thing, but does it? If I died for you, as like a real big favor, because you sucked so bad you needed to be killed, but then I showed up 3 days later, what was my sacrifice?

Say a man goes from the age of accountability to the time of his death at 33, focused only on God's agenda for the benefit of those he loves. He rejects the women who want to marry him (you know there at least a couple). As the heir, he turns his back on the family carpentry business, to wander about as an itinerant rabbi, and serve God's purpose. Say he does this in the face of grave abuse, and crushing disappointment. Doesn't that more accurately describe the laying down of life? Could that be agape? Even the spiritual giants (and I use this term respectfully) that I know personally have families, homes, lives. Their ministry is just a part of it.

Perhaps agape sojourned here for 33 years, visiting from another world, the only place it occurs naturally. Perhaps love left a picture. Maybe we are just trying to sketch the photograph we have been given. Perhaps some of us sketch better than others. Teresa of Avila comes to mind:

Oh God, I don't love you, I don't even want to love you, but I want to want to love you!

*BTW, I have since been told that bastards (which Jewish culture would have considered Jesus) would not have been allowed to inherit... so I guess Jesus didn't turn away from the family business...oops.

Me and My Co-Pilot

me and my co pilot., originally uploaded by use2blost.

I'm beginning to suspect my Girlfriend has a better eye, steadier hands, and more of that mysterious photographer thing, than I do.
But it's still MY camera :).



I had a "snap out of it" experience after a few weeks of being really overwhelmed with domestic catchup, and a dwindling bank account. The school year was approaching, and my ability to generate income is cut by 80% when class is in session. I was stressing exponentially, and this was aggravated by nicotine withdrawal.
The clincher was returning from a camping trip to find a a hundred + pounds of rotten meat in my freezer. Shit. That costs money.(Did you know "Shit" was in the Bible? I told my ex-wife's daughter one time not exclaim "Jesus Christ" but rather to exclaim "Shit", because if Saint Paul can say it, we all can. There was stunned silence and long eye contact as she searched my face for evidence I was... Shitting her. LOL. Now, this didn't bring about a drastic change in her vocabulary, but she started to read her Bible...)
Oops. There went my attention span.
Anyway, I recruited Debbie's grandson, and we hauled my garbage can to the place where all the trucks go... which was a big hit, BTW.
I had to do this. The inexperienced victim would be amazed at how much of their neighborhood is blanketed with the stench of corruption when a hundred pounds of rotting flesh is pushed out to the curb. If I left it there, one of little old ladies that surround me was gonna commit arson. Small girls waiting for the bus would vomit. I had to do something, and I was afraid to go alone. My right hand man Colin, made it clear that he was there for me. I didn't have to deal with this by myself. He was impressed with the effluvia permeating my property. In all of his four-and- a half years, He'd never come across anything like this, and he is an accomplished adventurer.
He always loves to help me "Do a JOB!, Chris" , so we rose to the occasion and handled it like the virile, standard-setting pictures of masculinity that we are, hooking up the trailer and hauling our cargo down to Transwaste where it belonged. Watching my role-model break the heart of the receptionist was so uplifting, I was reluctant to leave his company, and afterward asked if he could help me cut grandma's grass. The answer a man like Colin gives to such a request goes without saying, and after a day of such hard work, we needed to play just as hard to blow off our steam. Drinking was out of the question. Colin is a Man's Man in all other ways, but he simply can't hold his espresso, and I fear the wrath of Grandma. What to do? Colin and I are like barely domesticated wolves, breathtakingly handsome and friendly, but wild at heart and dangerous. Unable to come up with a better idea, we got in the van and began to wander in a southeasterly direction, with the merciless Georgia sun setting behind us, not knowing what we sought.
Great minds think alike, and we both saw the fire station at the same time...OH, YEAH! As soon as we approached, those boys recognized our kindred spirits. They could sense our deep respect for the legendary bravery of their fellowship, and the hospitality they showed to two dirty, smelly, vagabond princes is a permanent notch in the belt of honor shared by emergency responders all over the world.
Fireman Mike rolled out the red carpet, showed us all their stuff,

and even went so far as to induct Colin into the ranks of his brave brothers and sisters, presenting him with the prized talisman, a Red Helmet! (I felt a twinge of envy). Probably nothing was gonna top this, at least this evening, so we said our goodbyes, and returned to our home territory. I dropped Colin off and limped home, nursing an arthritic hip, eager to upload my pictures before bed.

Lazy...

PSSD (Post Scholastic Stress Disorder) is a seasonal disorder, commonly affecting men and women between 35 and 45. Sufferers experience the onset of symptoms as early as late April, but most of the affected population reports episodes beginning in late May, through the first week of June. The Victim is often woken up by his first episode of the season. Typically, he is driven to consciousness by the sensation of being well rested.

It was strange, to open my eyes and look at a quiet alarm clock, glowing faintly in full daylight. It Began to sink in. I don't have to regurgitate a huge wad of microbiology or logarithms onto a piece of paper today. It's been raining, and the vegetables are fine...furthermore, It's too wet to cut the grass. I don't have to read anything. I can edit a few pictures, visit my Aunt in the nursing home, and clean my house. The only jobs I have lined up are outdoor work and the weather is looking prohibitive for the next ten days (that's actually pretty uncool... I had a postponement on a window installation that should have put some house payment in my wallet this week). I am relatively free, today. Hmmm.

Redefining Reality.

Scramble, originally uploaded by use2blost.

This girl looks like she's strugglin' (probably every bee you've ever seen was female). Her job, day in and day out for one to four months of life span, is to fly to and then clamber over, landscapes of incredible beauty, and to then fill her leg baskets with "another load of pollen!". (There is no real struggle here...it's all in the camera, a posture frozen in time-insects can lift many times their body weight, casually...one of those strange aspects of physics that are over my head.)
I wonder, is it possible that as worker bees, we no longer see the flowers? Scott Peck tells us that " life is difficult" (or something like that...) and we nod in agreement, thinking that life is difficult.(that's not the royal "we", it's the trailer park "we". Perhaps it doesn't apply to my readers- both of you.)
When I begin to take the flowers for granted, I forget that I'm a member of a minority. As part of this exclusive group (80% of humanity lives on less than 10 bucks a day), I have a roof over my head... hell if I want, I have a roof over my car. I am so affluent that I can spew drinking water outside on my grass, and pay to feed animals who do no work. I am acquiring a college education in spite of youthful irresponsibility, and poor choices, and I get to walk around in the mountains a couple of times a year. My difficult life is littered with flowers. I even get to blog a little, when school is out.

Belonging to God

Anonymous said...

hmm, maybe you and I don't belong to God..,

"He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God." - John 8:47

I cannot say that I have fully given my life to God or Jesus, I have lots of attachments like beer, money, etc.

Reckon these vices keep me from belonging to God?

TJG

April 23, 2009 7:51 PM

Perhaps you and I don't belong to God... but maybe we do.

³⁴When the Pharisees heard that Jesus^£ had silenced the Sadducees, they met together in the same place. ³⁵One of them, an expert in the Law, tested him by asking, ³⁶“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” ³⁷Jesus^£ said to him, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’^{£ 38}This is the greatest and most important^£ commandment. ³⁹The second is like it: ‘You must love your neighbor as yourself.’^{£ 40}All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments.”

This is what Jesus says we must do. This is the most important thing, according to him. What is interesting is that Jesus, who knows a whole lot, including the hearts of men, chooses to answer a one - answer question, with two answers. He tells us that All the Law (a vast do-and-don't database) and All the Prophets can be distilled to these essentials... hmmm. All means all. Law..... Prophets.... This tells us that when we violate the Law, or fail to apply the wisdom of the Prophets, we are either not loving God, or not loving our neighbor (and remember, Jesus tells us these are flip sides of the same coin, goes so far as to say that not loving our neighbor is not loving God: "first be reconciled to your brother...." ).
Now, I don't like the notion that breaking a commandment means that I am not loving God. It is a nagging rebuttal from the peanut gallery, that rings out when I am trying to bask in self-righteousness, or privately congratulate myself on my down-to-earth spirituality. I would LOVE to correct Jesus. (Whoa, Lord! you've made a mistake in your thinking... let me explain it to you...) To tell us that obeying the Law, and applying the wisdom of the Prophets, are manifestations of loving God and my Neighbor, and that these two things are the One Thing that matters most to God, is shining an inconvenient light into the corners and shadows of religion.

TJG, you ask if your vices keep you from belonging to God:

I cannot say that I have fully given my life to God or Jesus, I have lots of attachments like beer, money, etc.

Reckon these vices keep me from belonging to God?

I think everything already belongs to God, but here is perhaps some food for thought.

1. Must you love God in order to surrender to him? Hopefully these are issues of degree, with a correlation between them.
2. If drunkeness and goldigging cut the telephone line to God, What about hypocrisy, chasin' ho's (or just thinking about it :D), overeating, ...driving past the homeless, hungry dude on the way to Wallyworld to get a fishing license? ...ordering the first (or any) crusade? What sins are exempt?
   

He was so cold

YOU MUST VIEW IT LARGE TO READ IT

 the moisture in an air-conditioned funeral home was condensing on his head. this was because he was not embalmed. My father's wife asked them to hold off on the cremation so that my sister could see him one last time.
A couple of years ago, a man co-ordinating a retreat asked me to teach on the study of scripture. He said the Holy Spirit directed his request. I was sick with anxiety. I had never before felt humbled and greatly honored simultaneously. While researching, I stumbled across another author quoting Philip Yancy's Disappointment With God:

• “Power can do everything but the most important thing: it cannot control love. In a concentration camp, the guards possess almost unlimited power. By applying force, they can make you renounce your God, curse your family, Work without pay, eat human excrement, kill and then bury your closest friend or even your own mother. All this is within their power. Only one thing is not: they cannot force you to love them. This fact may help explain why God sometimes seems shy to use his power. He created us to love him, but his most impressive displays of miracle—the kinds we may secretly long for—do nothing to foster that love.”

When It became clear that I was getting a divorce, I purchased the book and read it in it's entirety. In my emotionally raw state, Phillip's writing struck me powerfully. Possibly a week or ten days after I completed it, I found myself reeling from the death of my father. At this time it feels as though I read it years ago.The divorce papers sit in a kitchen cabinet in my new, beautiful, empty house, unsigned. My to do list has been put on hold, at least until tuesday. Since the tornadoes passed through the Macon state campus, I'm told that this semester will not begin on time. Last month, I could look back on the last six or seven years, and God's hand on my life seemed undeniable. My sight grows dim, My dreams are a joke, and I wonder if I deceived myself. I have journals going back to a time when I wrote prayers to a God whose name I did not know, I know If I could bring myself to read through them, I could trace my path as my Savior drew me to Him, and taught me his name. My faith is in shreds, I am suspicious even when comforted. Seven years Papa. 10 percent of my life. I have followed you, as best I could. My anger grows, I am surprised and fear you. I'm sorry. I have never been more aware of the gulf between souls. I know many suffer greater pain than this. I am so tired in the deepest part of me I yearn for rest. Reassure me of your love. Tell me again that this matters to you.

Dreams...I am really not a "the LORD showed me in a dream" kinda guy

Justus, originally uploaded by Christopher Rauch.


     Early monday morning, I dreamed that my wife and I were in a bar in (presumably) Newport, Ky. on thanksgiving evening. As is characteristic of my dreams some things are instictive and some things are vague awarenesses. There were some family members there, on my (wife's side) and I also remember that one of our waitresses had let slip some personal details in her life, about a certain situation, (Icouldn't tell you what) and we were rooting for her desirable outcome. also, this waitress was evidently on probation, after making some mistakes at work. We left the bar, having ate thanksgiving dinner there, and proceeded to virginia highlands, to an old house that I used to live in about 15 years before actually met my wife. Somehow in the dream, it was where we were spending the night. We headed north to get to this house that was actually some 400 miles to the south, and strangely, my wife an i were driving different vehicles( this is almost never the case). I missed my turn to get off the interstate, and ended up attempting to take another exit ramp which turned out to be a drawbridge across the Ohio River. suddenly I was on a bicycle and had to actually bump against a barrier that then retracted allowing me access to the drawbridge. Unlike the drawbridges of reality (as far as I know) this one was made up of several sections that came apart in consecutive order. some how I got behind in my progress and was forced to jump/leap/swim from one section to the other while dragging my bicycle. Though not in a state of panic, I was aware that this was an emergency situation, that to fail to make it across this river would not be good. I did succeed, and arrived on the other bank at a bike shop (go figure!). I went in to use the phone, since bicycling home at this point was not an option. As I explained that I had just crossed the drawbridge with a bicycle, and that I was broke and needed to use the phone, The attendant offerred to repair my bike at no charge. This was very convenient, since my bike had come through the turbulent river crossing without wheels as I was waiting for the bike to be repaired an amputee came in with some gold carvings and suddenly my bike shop was also a pawnshop. several other things happened but what was most interesting was that I drifted in and out of deeper sleep and at one point wished fervently for an Interpretation. I then felt as though God revealed that the river represented tobacco addiction, and the drawbridge represented the multiple failed attempts to become nicotine free. The the bicycle was of course the vehicle through this life, and the wheels represent my health I feel today that God gave me a conditional promise to restore my health/and or lungs (I have many other health issues) if I quit. so there. I hope this post hasn't become two wacky or mystical.

Once again, woken up spontaneously

  at 3:30 a.m.-in time to do my homework, after prioritizing family and health...oh yeah, my dad gave me a night vision scope. can hardly wait to go camping , now...and check this out, this is an israeli photographer ( Ilia Shalamaev)and this bird is local (to him). Being the Birthplace of My God, mention of israel makes me sit up and take notice, lately. and this guy's online portfolio is amazing...along with a couple of dowloadable powerpoints. I think of israel as desert wasteland... what a reminder . http://www.focuswildlife.com/