So...it's my weekend. I work Wed-Sun, so I get Monday and Tuesday off.
I spent today working on my truck. I found out that the last time anyone pulled the wheels off, they were re-applied by an un-caged gorilla from the LA Zoo. So I sprayed WD-40 on all the lugnuts and called it a day for now, after I reinstalled the driveline and pressure washed the engine a little.
Hooray. Next up: Brakes.
I'm actually a welder by education, a general maintenance mechanic by experience, and a cook by trade, currently. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I just know it'll be either missions or ministry, and my beloved and I put in our resignations about a month ago so we can pursue that line of work. Yes, we gave over a month notice.
For now, I'm a humble second cook. In a week and a half I'll be jobless, searching for how God wants me to feed myself and my wife. By choice. It sounds a little crazy even to me, but it must be done. We'll see how it pans out. I trust that the Lord will provide. I just have no idea how right now.
Ah, well. I can always sell the truck.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wrong
I really don't mind being wrong.
Like with my truck. I thought it was a 1964, and the dude mistyped the lien info. Turns out, he was right. I have a 1965 F-100 with a 352 Ford "FE" engine. What does this matter, you might wonder?
Lots! It's more valuable, more powerful, and cheaper to fix than I thought. AND it was out of San Jose originally. California all its life, baby. Yes. I love being wrong.
Woot. Life is good.
Like with my truck. I thought it was a 1964, and the dude mistyped the lien info. Turns out, he was right. I have a 1965 F-100 with a 352 Ford "FE" engine. What does this matter, you might wonder?
Lots! It's more valuable, more powerful, and cheaper to fix than I thought. AND it was out of San Jose originally. California all its life, baby. Yes. I love being wrong.
Woot. Life is good.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Momentum
I just watched "My Cousin Vinny" with my beloved.
I am admittedly obsessive about details being correct in movies, especially about cars.
Transformers: "Looks like you've got a Holly carb on top of a high rise manifold" -Megan Fox
Megan...No. Just...Keep posing for magazine covers. You don't know anything about cars.
Fast and Furious: "Oh, you finally switched to ELECTRONIC fuel injection!" -Paul Walker
Paul...don't call yourself a man anymore, for the love of God. As for the first, there's no way a high rise intake would fit under the stock hood of that mid '70's Camaro. The second: There's three types of fuel injection. The first is the ONLY one that ISN'T electronic. It came in the mid '50's Corvette. Nobody really wanted it because it sucked. It's valuable now because it's rare. It's rare because it SUCKED.
The second is called a "Speed-density" fuel injection. Basically, it's an electronic carburetor. It's what you'll find on any late '80's/early '90's American truck.
The third is what we'd call EFI, or "Tuned Port" or "Multi-Port" injection. This is the one with a mass air sensor. It's modern. It's sleek. It is really fucking hard to put on a '69 Dodge charger with a big ass blower.
FAIL for Paul Walker.
However, in "Vinny" all the facts are correct, and really impressive. It's amazing that anyone would think to write to a car audience in a court room comedy. "The 327 didn't come in that year Bel Air!" No shit. But the average CAR-BASED movie nowadays throws in a couple lines about "Wow, man, that engine has SPARK PLUGS and shit!" and all of a sudden, we're supposed to believe the characters are expert mechanics.
Let the on set mechanics verify the lines in the movie. They're there anyway. Trust that some fucker in the theater actually can follow the technical detail and write for HIM. Or her. Whoever.
My current baby project is a 1964 Ford F-100. Bought her for a song on Craigslist and am working my ass off trying to get her on the road and legal so I can use her to move back to Central California. Y-block power, baby. Yes, it is the 292 that everyone hates so much. I only have to deal with it 'till I can buy a wrecked Mustang five point oh and convert it over. For now, I sort of like telling people "Yeah, it has the same engine as the '56 T-Bird." Alas, however, historical or not, that particular motor DOES have issues waiting to surface, and I'd rather not deal with it.
But first, the brakes. It's a single master cylinder. With Drum brakes all around. This means that it won't stop in the rain and it won't stop if it has even ONE tiny little leak in the lines or the wheel cylinders. This also means even brake pressure to all four wheels, which is a BAD thing. In modern cars, 60-80% of the braking is in the FRONT. It's just physics. Next time you stomp on the brakes, take note of how your car squats down in the front. No fucking wonder they designed the front to take the brunt of the braking burden. My little truck was designed before they cared to design with physics in mind. Oh, well. She's pretty.
Look her up on images.google. You'll agree.
I am admittedly obsessive about details being correct in movies, especially about cars.
Transformers: "Looks like you've got a Holly carb on top of a high rise manifold" -Megan Fox
Megan...No. Just...Keep posing for magazine covers. You don't know anything about cars.
Fast and Furious: "Oh, you finally switched to ELECTRONIC fuel injection!" -Paul Walker
Paul...don't call yourself a man anymore, for the love of God. As for the first, there's no way a high rise intake would fit under the stock hood of that mid '70's Camaro. The second: There's three types of fuel injection. The first is the ONLY one that ISN'T electronic. It came in the mid '50's Corvette. Nobody really wanted it because it sucked. It's valuable now because it's rare. It's rare because it SUCKED.
The second is called a "Speed-density" fuel injection. Basically, it's an electronic carburetor. It's what you'll find on any late '80's/early '90's American truck.
The third is what we'd call EFI, or "Tuned Port" or "Multi-Port" injection. This is the one with a mass air sensor. It's modern. It's sleek. It is really fucking hard to put on a '69 Dodge charger with a big ass blower.
FAIL for Paul Walker.
However, in "Vinny" all the facts are correct, and really impressive. It's amazing that anyone would think to write to a car audience in a court room comedy. "The 327 didn't come in that year Bel Air!" No shit. But the average CAR-BASED movie nowadays throws in a couple lines about "Wow, man, that engine has SPARK PLUGS and shit!" and all of a sudden, we're supposed to believe the characters are expert mechanics.
Let the on set mechanics verify the lines in the movie. They're there anyway. Trust that some fucker in the theater actually can follow the technical detail and write for HIM. Or her. Whoever.
My current baby project is a 1964 Ford F-100. Bought her for a song on Craigslist and am working my ass off trying to get her on the road and legal so I can use her to move back to Central California. Y-block power, baby. Yes, it is the 292 that everyone hates so much. I only have to deal with it 'till I can buy a wrecked Mustang five point oh and convert it over. For now, I sort of like telling people "Yeah, it has the same engine as the '56 T-Bird." Alas, however, historical or not, that particular motor DOES have issues waiting to surface, and I'd rather not deal with it.
But first, the brakes. It's a single master cylinder. With Drum brakes all around. This means that it won't stop in the rain and it won't stop if it has even ONE tiny little leak in the lines or the wheel cylinders. This also means even brake pressure to all four wheels, which is a BAD thing. In modern cars, 60-80% of the braking is in the FRONT. It's just physics. Next time you stomp on the brakes, take note of how your car squats down in the front. No fucking wonder they designed the front to take the brunt of the braking burden. My little truck was designed before they cared to design with physics in mind. Oh, well. She's pretty.
Look her up on images.google. You'll agree.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Good Mood
Life is insane. My beloved and I are in the midst of moving back to our native Central California because we can't stand it where we are, more or less. When we got to where we are, we were promised a lot of things by our current employer that simply didn't happen. I know that happens with every job where the employer actually wants to hire you, but we weren't promised a sweet retirement deal or dental or even that we'd get weekends...ever.
We were promised a gateway into ministry, and that we would have as much leeway as we needed to serve the local church.
Pfffft. Whatever. We're a little over a year in, and this occupation has done little more than reinforce my paranoia that more than half of those in "Christian" leadership have no business there. We've been manipulated, straight up lied to, and then told it was our fault for misunderstanding the intent in the first place.
My boss boasts of "popping pills like Dr. House."
This is a good thing? Granted, he has chronic neck pain and needs most of the drugs, but he tends to forget things. Like promises to employees, tasks completed, where he puts things, scheduled meetings...things a camp director shouldn't forget. In the interest of not burning any bridges, we've decided to step out from under his leadership, and THEN deal with him, respectfully, on the things he's severely fucking up.
Like finances.
When you can't find a hammer in the shop, you organize the workshop, right? Wrong. Apparently, you buy a new hammer. The shiniest, highest tech, most expensive hammer in Home Depot. Rinse and repeat with everything on campus.
I work maintenance. You can imagine what the shop looks like. I refuse to set foot in there anymore, mostly due to the fact that you take your life into your hands when you do. Nothing is organized, save for the electrical room, which I organized about five months ago because I couldn't find anything. It took me two days and I was told, "Why are you wasting your time? Organization is not necessary when we have other things to do!"
Like what, you might ask? Hm...oh, yeah. Take the company trailer down to a Sprint store that is closing, load it up with salvaged cabinets and doors, drive it all back to camp, and let it all rot all winter. This is a better use of our time.
Oh, well. All in all, right now, I'm in a good mood. You know why? Post-coital, baby.
Twice over, if I'm lucky.
We were promised a gateway into ministry, and that we would have as much leeway as we needed to serve the local church.
Pfffft. Whatever. We're a little over a year in, and this occupation has done little more than reinforce my paranoia that more than half of those in "Christian" leadership have no business there. We've been manipulated, straight up lied to, and then told it was our fault for misunderstanding the intent in the first place.
My boss boasts of "popping pills like Dr. House."
This is a good thing? Granted, he has chronic neck pain and needs most of the drugs, but he tends to forget things. Like promises to employees, tasks completed, where he puts things, scheduled meetings...things a camp director shouldn't forget. In the interest of not burning any bridges, we've decided to step out from under his leadership, and THEN deal with him, respectfully, on the things he's severely fucking up.
Like finances.
When you can't find a hammer in the shop, you organize the workshop, right? Wrong. Apparently, you buy a new hammer. The shiniest, highest tech, most expensive hammer in Home Depot. Rinse and repeat with everything on campus.
I work maintenance. You can imagine what the shop looks like. I refuse to set foot in there anymore, mostly due to the fact that you take your life into your hands when you do. Nothing is organized, save for the electrical room, which I organized about five months ago because I couldn't find anything. It took me two days and I was told, "Why are you wasting your time? Organization is not necessary when we have other things to do!"
Like what, you might ask? Hm...oh, yeah. Take the company trailer down to a Sprint store that is closing, load it up with salvaged cabinets and doors, drive it all back to camp, and let it all rot all winter. This is a better use of our time.
Oh, well. All in all, right now, I'm in a good mood. You know why? Post-coital, baby.
Twice over, if I'm lucky.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
No. 2
So I'm not creative with the title tonight.
My beloved and I just had a fantastic "weekend." I don't really know what to say except that I made the commitment to write in this thing at least every 48 hours, and here I am, behind schedule by about an hour and a half. D'oh.
Anyway, over dinner, we got into an interesting discussion about church, money in the church, and politics as it relates to the congregation. I won't go into a rundown of the whole conversation, but I realized more than ever that I am becoming more tolerant of other viewpoints. Or maybe condescending, I guess, since I regularly use the word "misguided" to describe those who would disagree with some of the conclusions I've come to in my theology and life paradigm.
This is because I'm an arrogant bastard who always has to be right, even if I might not be.
Here's the thing: There's a statistic out that says that 85% of those who come into a relationship with Christ do so before the age of 18.
How much of the budget in your local church goes to ministering to or reaching out to those under 18? 10%? 20?
In my opinion, this is really stupid. Really, really counterproductive. Why is this? It's because people think that when they give money to the church, they have to have a say in where it goes. Why waste money on youth events when we could spend the money on more comfortable pews for our fat old asses? Why in hell would we want that satanic rock shit to be played in the House of the Lord when we could buy shiny new uniforms for the choir for our Christmas program?
The fact is, before 18, you can't afford to give money to the church. Youth ministers rely on elder boards and pastors and committees for every last cent they get to spend. Think about what Christ would want. Would He really want that couple bucks to go to a new LCD for the lobby, or a Bible for a kid who can't afford to buy one for himself?
On that note, how about your Missions budget? How much are you spending to accommodate those in the church who donate versus how much you're spending to get more souls out of Hell? Francis Chan, in his book "Crazy Love" challenges the modern American church to take Christ at His word and "love others AS YOU LOVE YOURSELVES." To GIVE 50% of your annual church budget away. To literally spend as much on others as you do yourself.
Woah, woah, that's taking it WAY too literally, you might say.
Fuck you. What do you think would have happened if the original 12 thought that way? "I know what Jesus just said right before he FLEW UP INTO THE CLOUDS, but I think God wants me to be more comfortable than that. I'll be comfortable fishing for a living, and telling the dudes I sell the fish to about Jesus, if it's not too awkward."
10 of the original 12 were executed for preaching Jesus. 1 was exiled to an island where he died of old age. Judas hung himself and was replaced by Mathias, who was also executed. They gave everything so you and I would hear about the greatest story ever told. The greatest gift ever given.
What are you willing to give? 10% to your local church? Yippee. Then you feel better about yourself, and vote to spend that same money on making the service more visually interesting for yourself.
Do yourself a favor: Stop going to church. Stop giving. Spend the money on a nice DVD rental for Sunday morning and don't kid yourself. God doesn't need your money. Don't kid yourself.
OR
Go on a mission trip. Tell someone about Jesus. Live as an Apostle for a while. Maybe for the rest of your tenure here on planet Earth.
Challenge yourself to actually GIVE the money, and pray that the leadership would be filled with the Holy Spirit to use that money to further the Kingdom. Don't whine about where the budget is going, if you trust those who make the decisions. The Gospel should be your obsession, if you really believe the stories.
If you don't think they should be taken too literally, you just don't get it. Give up, because you never will if you don't allow them to change you. If you don't allow Him to change you. People are going to Hell while you sit in your padded pew looking at a shiny new LCD that your donations paid for.
Wow, really? Yep. That's the long and the short of it.
If you don't like it, change it. How long has it been since you discipled someone who isn't quite as far as you in their walk with God? How long has it been since you looked for a mentor who is a little farther than you? How long has it been since you fell in love with the Gospel so deeply, and it became so real to you that you literally wept at its beauty, and your wonderful fortune to partake in it?
As good as you feel about yourself when you write that check on Sunday...that's your reward. Hope you liked the warm fuzzy, because if you're not insane about the Gospel, Jesus says plainly that that feeling of superiority that you get when you conspicuously drop that check into the basket is the most you'll get out of God for it.
Reread the Gospels. Fall in love with Jesus. Then read Acts and figure out what to do with that love.
I'm gonna.
My beloved and I just had a fantastic "weekend." I don't really know what to say except that I made the commitment to write in this thing at least every 48 hours, and here I am, behind schedule by about an hour and a half. D'oh.
Anyway, over dinner, we got into an interesting discussion about church, money in the church, and politics as it relates to the congregation. I won't go into a rundown of the whole conversation, but I realized more than ever that I am becoming more tolerant of other viewpoints. Or maybe condescending, I guess, since I regularly use the word "misguided" to describe those who would disagree with some of the conclusions I've come to in my theology and life paradigm.
This is because I'm an arrogant bastard who always has to be right, even if I might not be.
Here's the thing: There's a statistic out that says that 85% of those who come into a relationship with Christ do so before the age of 18.
How much of the budget in your local church goes to ministering to or reaching out to those under 18? 10%? 20?
In my opinion, this is really stupid. Really, really counterproductive. Why is this? It's because people think that when they give money to the church, they have to have a say in where it goes. Why waste money on youth events when we could spend the money on more comfortable pews for our fat old asses? Why in hell would we want that satanic rock shit to be played in the House of the Lord when we could buy shiny new uniforms for the choir for our Christmas program?
The fact is, before 18, you can't afford to give money to the church. Youth ministers rely on elder boards and pastors and committees for every last cent they get to spend. Think about what Christ would want. Would He really want that couple bucks to go to a new LCD for the lobby, or a Bible for a kid who can't afford to buy one for himself?
On that note, how about your Missions budget? How much are you spending to accommodate those in the church who donate versus how much you're spending to get more souls out of Hell? Francis Chan, in his book "Crazy Love" challenges the modern American church to take Christ at His word and "love others AS YOU LOVE YOURSELVES." To GIVE 50% of your annual church budget away. To literally spend as much on others as you do yourself.
Woah, woah, that's taking it WAY too literally, you might say.
Fuck you. What do you think would have happened if the original 12 thought that way? "I know what Jesus just said right before he FLEW UP INTO THE CLOUDS, but I think God wants me to be more comfortable than that. I'll be comfortable fishing for a living, and telling the dudes I sell the fish to about Jesus, if it's not too awkward."
10 of the original 12 were executed for preaching Jesus. 1 was exiled to an island where he died of old age. Judas hung himself and was replaced by Mathias, who was also executed. They gave everything so you and I would hear about the greatest story ever told. The greatest gift ever given.
What are you willing to give? 10% to your local church? Yippee. Then you feel better about yourself, and vote to spend that same money on making the service more visually interesting for yourself.
Do yourself a favor: Stop going to church. Stop giving. Spend the money on a nice DVD rental for Sunday morning and don't kid yourself. God doesn't need your money. Don't kid yourself.
OR
Go on a mission trip. Tell someone about Jesus. Live as an Apostle for a while. Maybe for the rest of your tenure here on planet Earth.
Challenge yourself to actually GIVE the money, and pray that the leadership would be filled with the Holy Spirit to use that money to further the Kingdom. Don't whine about where the budget is going, if you trust those who make the decisions. The Gospel should be your obsession, if you really believe the stories.
If you don't think they should be taken too literally, you just don't get it. Give up, because you never will if you don't allow them to change you. If you don't allow Him to change you. People are going to Hell while you sit in your padded pew looking at a shiny new LCD that your donations paid for.
Wow, really? Yep. That's the long and the short of it.
If you don't like it, change it. How long has it been since you discipled someone who isn't quite as far as you in their walk with God? How long has it been since you looked for a mentor who is a little farther than you? How long has it been since you fell in love with the Gospel so deeply, and it became so real to you that you literally wept at its beauty, and your wonderful fortune to partake in it?
As good as you feel about yourself when you write that check on Sunday...that's your reward. Hope you liked the warm fuzzy, because if you're not insane about the Gospel, Jesus says plainly that that feeling of superiority that you get when you conspicuously drop that check into the basket is the most you'll get out of God for it.
Reread the Gospels. Fall in love with Jesus. Then read Acts and figure out what to do with that love.
I'm gonna.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The beauty of anonymity
Hey, all. All non of you, yet.
Let me introduce myself: I am NOT politically correct. I am not going to feel bad for anything I post here. I am not going to be nice, or polite, or anything other than an anonymous dude typing what I feel like typing.
Feel like replying? Great! Expect me to qualify my point of view? Nope. You may think me insane, but I don't care what you think. I have a wife and a family who I can argue with when I want discussion about basically anything I think that they feel needs correction. I care very little for going back and fourth with I's and O's across the interweb.
That being said: I like American cars built before 1973. I like guitars. I love Jesus, the effed up church who represents him, and my wife.
You like imports, you say? You think the US has lost touch with what car buyers want, you say.
I don't care. This blog is for me. The fact that you are reading this is not a testament to my narcissism, but your voyeurism. I think unions have poisoned the US automaking industry. You're pro union? I don't care. I won't argue with you.
Oh, yeah. I also swear. A lot. Oh, but you say Christians don't swear! You've never been around when my dad stubs his toe. I hold to the conviction that Christ would be much more insulted by sweet words and a hypocritical heart than swearing genuinely. Hands held high in worship with absolutely no resolve to let the Creator of your soul change the way you live when you walk out the church doors, in my opinion, is blasphemy far beyond dropping the "F bomb" when you bloody your knuckles working on a car for someone who has no means to repay you.
Christ urges us to leave rage, vengeance, and violence behind; not a cathartic outcry of "Fuck, that hurt!" If you disagree, I won't argue with you. I've met very genuine people who think swearing is "sinful." I don't swear around them. Paul urges us not to use our liberty in gray areas to stumble brothers who may have opposing convictions.
I don't drink around "dry" Christians. I don't swear around denim jumpsuit clad home schoolers who think uttering the word "crap" will send you to Hell.
But in this blog, I represent me. The paradigm that I hold to states that I represent Christ, and I will try to do that to the best of my ability. That being said, this is an outlet. I don't have it all down, yet. I won't censor myself in my struggles, and I won't try to bullshit a blog to make myself feel better. I know my place; I am searching in dim light. I am forgiven at an unimaginable cost, but treat it like a right, or fluff padding, or a fallback plan when I can't seem to find my self control.
I am a traitor to the cross with brief moments of loyalty that I use to credit myself as "good." I am a raving lunatic with precious seconds of lucidity. I am selfish, uncouth, chauvinistic, and stupid. I have no qualms with labeling myself thus. Now you don't have to.
This is the beauty of anonymity. I can say what I feel, and you can glean a little of my insight, if you want, for better or for worse. You get to experience things as they come; not filtered and processed, the way my wife gets them.
Just a side note: I love my wife. She is the completion of what I am supposed to be here on Earth. She is my best friend, my confidant, and my accountability. She knows me better than I know me. She is beautiful, an amazing cook, and is the most selfless and dedicated partner I could ever ask for. She just gets the processed version of my brain because I am caustic, abrasive, and rude about things when I'm in the midst of them. I do not desire to be any of these things to her, ever.
The point of this whole thing is this: This is my prayer journal. This is my proof to myself that I can commit to something that's not right in my face. This is my own personal status report on me, and how I relate to Christ.
I am flaming wreckage of failure to Jesus, but He uses me, anyway. This is the simplest form of my personal theology.
Brace yourself, kids. I plan not to leave this empty or unwritten in for more than 48 hours at a time. I'll commit to that, and try to update every day.
Remember: This is for ME, as I relate to GOD. Not for you. Or you, or you, over there, with the stupid hat. Definitely not for you.
Let me introduce myself: I am NOT politically correct. I am not going to feel bad for anything I post here. I am not going to be nice, or polite, or anything other than an anonymous dude typing what I feel like typing.
Feel like replying? Great! Expect me to qualify my point of view? Nope. You may think me insane, but I don't care what you think. I have a wife and a family who I can argue with when I want discussion about basically anything I think that they feel needs correction. I care very little for going back and fourth with I's and O's across the interweb.
That being said: I like American cars built before 1973. I like guitars. I love Jesus, the effed up church who represents him, and my wife.
You like imports, you say? You think the US has lost touch with what car buyers want, you say.
I don't care. This blog is for me. The fact that you are reading this is not a testament to my narcissism, but your voyeurism. I think unions have poisoned the US automaking industry. You're pro union? I don't care. I won't argue with you.
Oh, yeah. I also swear. A lot. Oh, but you say Christians don't swear! You've never been around when my dad stubs his toe. I hold to the conviction that Christ would be much more insulted by sweet words and a hypocritical heart than swearing genuinely. Hands held high in worship with absolutely no resolve to let the Creator of your soul change the way you live when you walk out the church doors, in my opinion, is blasphemy far beyond dropping the "F bomb" when you bloody your knuckles working on a car for someone who has no means to repay you.
Christ urges us to leave rage, vengeance, and violence behind; not a cathartic outcry of "Fuck, that hurt!" If you disagree, I won't argue with you. I've met very genuine people who think swearing is "sinful." I don't swear around them. Paul urges us not to use our liberty in gray areas to stumble brothers who may have opposing convictions.
I don't drink around "dry" Christians. I don't swear around denim jumpsuit clad home schoolers who think uttering the word "crap" will send you to Hell.
But in this blog, I represent me. The paradigm that I hold to states that I represent Christ, and I will try to do that to the best of my ability. That being said, this is an outlet. I don't have it all down, yet. I won't censor myself in my struggles, and I won't try to bullshit a blog to make myself feel better. I know my place; I am searching in dim light. I am forgiven at an unimaginable cost, but treat it like a right, or fluff padding, or a fallback plan when I can't seem to find my self control.
I am a traitor to the cross with brief moments of loyalty that I use to credit myself as "good." I am a raving lunatic with precious seconds of lucidity. I am selfish, uncouth, chauvinistic, and stupid. I have no qualms with labeling myself thus. Now you don't have to.
This is the beauty of anonymity. I can say what I feel, and you can glean a little of my insight, if you want, for better or for worse. You get to experience things as they come; not filtered and processed, the way my wife gets them.
Just a side note: I love my wife. She is the completion of what I am supposed to be here on Earth. She is my best friend, my confidant, and my accountability. She knows me better than I know me. She is beautiful, an amazing cook, and is the most selfless and dedicated partner I could ever ask for. She just gets the processed version of my brain because I am caustic, abrasive, and rude about things when I'm in the midst of them. I do not desire to be any of these things to her, ever.
The point of this whole thing is this: This is my prayer journal. This is my proof to myself that I can commit to something that's not right in my face. This is my own personal status report on me, and how I relate to Christ.
I am flaming wreckage of failure to Jesus, but He uses me, anyway. This is the simplest form of my personal theology.
Brace yourself, kids. I plan not to leave this empty or unwritten in for more than 48 hours at a time. I'll commit to that, and try to update every day.
Remember: This is for ME, as I relate to GOD. Not for you. Or you, or you, over there, with the stupid hat. Definitely not for you.
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