I get tired

Oh, the drain. Don't we all get tired? I get dog-tired.

Saying the right thing
Teaching
Learning
Caring
Filtering (Yes, I do filter)
Planning
Leading
Following
Thinking
Big-picturing
Talking
Getting dressed
Hoping. How I'm tired of hoping. Can't good just be?
Loving
Rat-racing
Refereeing
Fixing
Eating
Trying
Being
Condescending
Affirming
Owning
Working
Warring

Thank goodness for a partner who I can fall onto. May I be the same for her.

Thanks, Megan, for riding along.

"I could use somebody; someone like you and all you know and how you speak." That's the line that makes me like that song so much. You're so much to me.

(Use Somebody - Kings of Leon)

Be well.

Hee hee

"Through music we can get it right"

Um, please bring back Hannah Montana...

...I haven't had the sex talk with my daughter yet...so, yeah...bring back Hannah Montana.

Language just says so much

Listen for the words people use when speaking of their religion and you'll understand how that religious lens colors their world.

Red flags:
anything dealing in absolutes:truth, manifestation, revelation, unquestionable, infallible, unchanging
anything pointing to the "power" one gets from God: judgement, Hell, Satan, damnation, conversion
any language that marginalizes others and their god-realization: non-believer, infidel etc.
Coldplay
Third-Eye Blind


(the opposite connotation of red) flags:
love
patience
humility
acceptance
tolerance

Be well.

Bethel College

What could these rafters tell us, had they the capacity to say?

Cracked and worn with age, perhaps with the cares

lifted to their vaulted heights,

while overlooking the years of song, of prayer, of play.

What of this court, with its polish, its wax and its lumber?

Stained most certainly by sneakers, by blood, tears and sweat.

A witness to glory, depths of despair;

emotions belying its warm shades of teak and of umber.

On these paths of repose have paced strides unnumbered;

lovers, pranksters, rule-breakers bold.

Whether a stroll or a sojourn

their memories drift; spirits unencumbered.

On this green field of play, what stories are kept?

What camaraderie, brotherhoods, sisterhoods forged?

What ghosts still linger

on this emerald sea once the crowds have all left?

And these hallowed halls, in their grand disrepair?

What secrets could they reveal? Those of singers and actors,

--students on a shifting stage of life.

A lifetime, and more, of memories there.

As a nourishing mother, a difficult brother, a friend;

these walls and these footsteps are not ours alone.

Under a fall harvest moon,

what for so long has lived, shall once more newly begin.

An eponymous tale of personal ethical crisis stemming from an anonymous tale of personal ethical crisis

The first three places I searched for her stolen bicycle were the poorest neighborhoods I could think of within a mile of our house. Two of them I had lived in as a child. My mind was flooded with the faces of people who were not criminals, and the faces of those who were. Some I had known had never stolen; some had stolen in the absence of hope; some, in the absence of hope, had forgotten it and stolen out of habit.

As wrong as it felt to go there first, I also knew that it made sense.

But in the grand scheme of justice, even those who have forgotten hope can never steal enough to tip the scales against a world, a society, that steals the fabric of their humanity from them; a society who asks for the tired and the poor, saying all are created equal, without ever treating them so.

And so I scoured the neighborhoods of the disadvantaged in a selfish attempt to keep hope alive.

Somewhere.