What can and can’t be justified? At what point is it too far gone?

My Rifle
The Creed of a United States Marine
Major General W. H. Rupertus, USMC

< 1999

This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will . . . .

My rifle and I know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit . . . .

My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will . . . .

Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but Peace!

Is this okay for a Christian to recite and live by?

My memory

I have a few memories of me and my father.  They have all kind of become my favorite, seeing as how my memories begin to fade as I get older and I lose proximity to my father. So here are a few and the emotions they invoke.

I remember laying peacefully on my dad’s stomach while we were watching TV and napping on the couch.  I wasn’t sleeping.  I had my head held snugly against his soft, old, worn t-shirt and could hear his heartbeat faintly, along with occasional gurgles of the digestive process.  I remember being so in tune with where I was, and focusing so hard on using my senses.  I was observing.  I remember being so at peace and totally safe.

I remember being at the dealership with my dad.  It was after dark and he parked the truck in the mechanic bay.  I don’t remember what he was doing there, but I remember playing in the “Big Blue Truck.” That’s what I called it.  The metallic blue paint, maintained perfectly.  Simple bench seat with a special cloth seat cover to replace the vinyl that came stock.  We had the windows down and the cab rear window was also open.  We were singing to The Who.  My dad had the album with all the songs about Tommy on it, our favorite being “Pinball Wizard.”  It was nice to be a kid.  I couldn’t have told you what day it was.  What time it was. I could say I was there, fully.

Bands that remind me of my dad.  Charlie Daniels, George Straight, Hootie and the Blowfish, The Who, and Jimi Hendrix They all have their own little memories. Most of which involve me and him riding in the truck.

Every day my dad smelled like aftershave.  I loved that smell.  Old spice.  He didn’t even shave, really, probably trimmed his beard, but never shaved.  In fact I remember the first time my dad shaved was when I was about 7 or 8.  The family was going to Disney World together and it was going to be hot.  Anyways, my dad shaved and it was dark in the house.  I was watching TV with my mom and sitting on the couch, which to me was a HUGE sectional pit that took up our living room.  When I was standing I couldn’t see over it.  I got up off the couch and made the turn to go to my mom and dad’s room, when my dad yelled BOO!  He had snuck up to the corner of the couch to scare me.  Only, to me, this was not my dad.  I screamed and he sighed and reassured me that it was him.  I remember crying and running to my room and saying “you’re not my daddy!” over and over.  My mom came in and told me it was my dad, that he just looks different because he shaved off his beard.  She told me that I upset him and should go back in there and apologize to him and give him a hug.

My mom told me the other day, that I put my dad in a funk all night.  When you’re a kid, you just react.  You don’t stop to think.  I had never seen my dad without a beard for 7 or 8 years. How was I to know that he had such a round face?  Thinking about it I want to go back and giggle and give him a big hug.  I don’t want to upset him.

I think about my dad a lot.  I don’t get another chance with him.  I can’t say sorry for things I did.

My dad had the best laugh.  His smile was the best.  When he made peanut butter and jelly for me he would always forget to cut it.  When I asked him to cut it, he would jokingly take it and cut it into the smallest pieces he could, until it was a finger food.  A little kid finger food.  Sometimes he would use grape, and I didn’t like grape, but I wouldn’t say anything.

I remember that I talked a lot.  I loved hanging out with my dad.  He was my super-man.  When I went with him to work, because I was too sick to go to school or we didn’t have it, he would come up with things for me to do.  Give me video games to play on the other computer, play music on the radio, or explain to me what he was doing.  I remember making the parts department into my own imaginary play land and running through the long rows of parts.  One time he made a toy sub-machine gun for me out of different recycled packaging materials from old opened parts.  I loved that thing. My little cardboard gun. Not because the gun was cool, and it was, but I had ten cool guns at home.  It was because it was a cool gun, and my dad made it all by himself. He was so smart.

I miss him.

Question of the Day: This Time of year

This could be considered by some to be a particularly special time of year.  To others it’s frustratingly much like the rest of the year, but colder.  My question of the day comes from a thought that has been rushing to the front of my mind.

“What is your favorite memory of you and your father?”  What were you doing and why?

Expect the unexpected

Our expectations put limits on our goals and therefore limit potential.

Today I drove around and helped my boss out, putting little orange poles in the ground to mark off parking lots for plowing and salting. It was cool to sit and talk with him.  I see him differently after today than I did before.

I do not know much about “CHESED.” My understanding of what it is, is an ancient Hebrew call to deeper understanding.  It reminds of the deeper understanding that Max Weber talks about.  This is an understanding that is offered exclusively to the participant of some activity and one generally gains a new perspective of people who enter this role.

If there was a job that you could think of, that everyone who does it is mean, what job do you think of?  Go and be this person’s secretary for a day, or write them a letter, or interview them, or take one to dinner. Involve yourself in their story.  Be reminded that we are all people first before we are roles.

We all play roles.  We become so good at playing these roles that we all have these identity crises in life. There are many movies about teenagers and twenty somethings and mid-lifers, all searching for the same thing.  “Who am I?”

Expect the unexpected.  Be yourself and break some norms.  Change what it means to be a cool dad, and be yourself. Live and love the way you were created to. Give people a break  and make an attempt to engage in their story.

Something in my eye

Doing the same specific tasks over and over tend to lead to learning how to do these tasks efficiently, safely, quickly and what to watch out for.  This summer I mow a lot of lawns.  Between blowing small bits of cut grass, dust and dirt into the air all day, and whipping bits of weeds into my face, I know a bit of something about what to do when you get something in your eye.

My first week on the crew, I got something in there and sure enough, I started rubbing it. Bad idea.  Now I usually just wait it out, and if it’s bad enough that I can’t see well, I’ll go try to flush it out.  You can wear glasses, but those little bits “will find you”.

I was just thinking today about how things can irritate us, and we can rub them, and stomp our feet, and shout about the pain, but it’s only going to do more damage.

The eye is the fastest healing organ in the body.

Rapid Posts: Prayer or Meditation

I have been thinking lately about prayer.  I think about how practically, it makes sense.  The more thought time you spend on something or someone, the more likely that you and others around you will react well in situations or to certain people. Ironically, I have been praying more than I ever have before.  

I don’t think that Prayer is simply thought time.  I think that meditation and prayer are both important and can many times share the same silence, and sometimes the same business.

After thinking on prayer like this, I am intrigued and excited to pray because I find myself helplessly small and humbled to the mystical that winds itself into the daily rub.  The presence of God.

Rapid Posts: Does it matter?

Does it matter?  We all have stories.  I have been reading Les Miserables this summer, and between those stories and my own story, I find myself at odds with the free will philosophy that I have grown up with.  Maybe not at odds, but at an unclear juncture. I guess does it matter isn’t even the question.  I do believe it matters, but am I even in direct control?

Rapid Posts: My mind

This is kind of a pre-cursor to the rapid post series.  I don’t know if I am mentally unstable or what, but I am a totally different person in terms of what I believe now in comparison to me four years ago.  Sometimes I am thinking thoughts I am, and I feel guilty, because they are so “out there.”  I don’t know if that’s just healthy self-skepticism or just a lack of confidence.

This thought is usually quickly followed by my next question…Does it matter?

Rapid posts: Here they come

Some things have been on my mind while I have been mowing.  I probably just need to get them out.  I’m counting on people not really reading this blog.

Welp…here goes nothing.

Worship

For the highest viewing/reading quality click on the title (Worship) that is displayed in red to view the post in it’s own window. Enjoy.

 

Hmmm? What is worship? Music?