In a State of Spiritual Flux

Switching (again)

Jeremy — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 03:53:23 +0000

I will be posting at Blogger from here on out. Find me at spiritualflux.blogspot.com now.

One Cool (and Free) Way to Fight Hunger

Jeremy — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 01:01:51 +0000

Check out Free Rice. They’ve come up with a very creative way to get food to the poor. Basically, they give you a glorified vocab test (don’t let that scare you away), and for every correct answer you get, they give 10 grains of rice to be distributed by the U.N. They raise the money for the rice through the advertising on the site. The first time I went on, I played long enough to raise 3,000 grains. As of yesterday, the site has raised almost 1.9 billion grains of rice.

HT: Rob Wegner

What a steal!

Jeremy — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 14:39:49 +0000

Here’s an ad from November of 1982 for your amusement:

What a difference 25 years makes…

Found on adflip – a cool site that has a very large archive of print ads.

Eye-opener

Jeremy — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 01:16:01 +0000

Check out this video called “Did You Know 2.0″. It’s hard to fathom what the world will be like for my kids as they get older. And I thought VCR’s were high tech when I was a kid.

10-20-30

Jeremy — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 00:21:52 +0000

Tagged by Adam:

October 1997 – I was in my sophomore year at Pensacola Christian College, and I had been dating Mandy for a month. Wow, it’s been 10 years. God is good. My biggest concern would definitely have been taking Greek.

October 1987 – Hmmm…. 9 years old. I guess I would have just started the 4th grade, and I probably still thought that girls had cooties. My biggest concern was probably the amount of candy I would be getting for Halloween.

October 1977 – I would have been busy kicking my mom’s ribs with about 4 months to go. Biggest concern: bustin’ out.

Quote(s) of the Day

Jeremy — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 14:42:25 +0000

From Mark Driscoll’s message on 10/7/07:

“Everything that happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas…unless it’s itchy. That’s what the fine print says.”

“This magazine cover reveals Paris Hilton’s 7 Spiritual Lessons. I don’t even know if she can count to 7.”

Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems

Jeremy — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 00:55:53 +0000

Why Money Doesn’t Buy Happiness

All I gotta say is Jesus told you so.

Neglecting the Full Truth

Jeremy — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 21:29:46 +0000

I finished up Harry Potter 5 a couple of weeks ago, and there was this one discourse between Dumbledore and Harry that stuck out to me so much that I wanted to share it with you:

“Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.”

“I don’t -”

“I cared about you too much,” said Dumbledore simply. “I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

“Is there a defense? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have – and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined – not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.”

I find this to reveal what I find myself feeling so often when working with youth. Sometimes the full truth is as tough to tell as it is to hear. As a spiritual leader I hate talking about hell or the truth of what will happen to a youth if they continue on the path that they’re on or telling a parent the truth about what their teen has been up to. A partial truth is at times so much easier, but undoubtedly, you’ll end up with a regret-laden discussion with the one you withheld the full truth from – like Dumbledore. It’s just another symptom of the part of our fallen nature that doesn’t want to ruffle feathers and just be a man-pleaser. I want to be a spiritual leader known for my integrity – known for the fact that I’d rather be a God-pleaser than a man-pleaser – no matter how hard the “full” truth is to tell.

Random Quotes

Jeremy — Thu, 13 Sep 2007 14:50:18 +0000

“My role in submission to Christ is to cultivate, encourage, love, and build up my wife regardless of her response.”
-Matt Chandler

“I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.”
-Martin Luther

“It’s ironic that in our culture everyone’s biggest complaint is about not having enough time; yet nothing terrifies us more than the thought of eternity.”
-Dennis Miller

rift.

Jeremy — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 23:03:10 +0000

This is a writing by one of my friends that I wanted to share with you because I really enjoyed it. Don’t worry – I have her permission.

____________________________________________________________

rift.
by LeighAnn Blaszak

Within me there is a woman who loves discipline like a mother cherishes silence. She wraps rigidity around her ribs and stamps unruliness on her heel so that it can be crushed against the unforgiving ground with each of her measured steps. She clings to rules, repeating them with the reverence of the Hail Mary, with the evenness of rosary beads, while she papers the straight shelving of her mind with marbled maps and bulleted inventories.
She has known joy, known laughter, known love, but within each of them she senses the heartbeat of a nameless shadow, a brooding dragon from whose nostrils coils the smoke of unconquerable passion, unassailable freedom, an invincible torrent of insubordinate emotion. These latent nests of temptation stir within her fingers the desire to strangle, within her feet the desire to smother, within her mind the desire to overcome. So she binds them in steel wool, cages them in barbed wire, and presses them inside the confines of a locket which she wears over her right breast, keeping it at a calculated distance from her heart.
In her life there is music: the icy whine of a violin, the sorrowful slur of a cello, and the reverberating thud of a goat skin drum. But it is the rhythm of her own restraint that causes her to dance: each of her movements etched into her joints, scrawled in scars across her hipbones, choreographed even before she took her first breath. Paced. Precise. Perfect.
She speaks in metaphors, lies by omission, and practices manipulation, but she feels no guilt. To her, there is only her. To her, she is her own motivation, her own defender, her only hope. Her body is her temple to her own divine possibility and within it she finds peace and blessed assurance of her own strength. She loves bones, loves the idea that she is held together by powerful white pillars that are hard, and cool, and that would rather break than bend, rather self-destruct than allow inconsistency.
She is rigid. She is cold. But within her is a strength and a restraint that would make Spartans envy, a discipline that would make hooded monks seem like lenient lushes in hollow houses of lost kings.

Within me there is a girl who loves freedom like a mother cherishes kisses. She wraps rebellion around her wrists and pencils her mother’s rules in between the lines of her poetry so that they can be mocked by her sympathizing audience with each flippant roll of her eyes. She clings to passion, letting it flow unbridled through her blood with the ardor of Amazing grace, with the honesty of hallelujahs, while she papers the winding pathways of her mind with Van Goghs and wildflowers.
She has known joy, known laughter, known love, but within each one she senses the seasonal migration of temporary euphoria, a taste of heaven that only lasted for the length of a stolen sunset, a hurried hour of abandoned inhibitions, a momentary tangle of legs and thighs and secrets exchanged under hotel sheets. These brief encounters with ecstasy stir within her fingers a desire to intertwine with another’s, within her feet a desire to dance, and within her mind to renew her belief in the future and to draw wisdom from the mistakes she has made. So she wraps them in the thick pages of a hand bound journal, folds them into little white birds, and lets them nest over left breast, keeping them warm above the steady beat of her heart.
In her life there is music: the warm breath of a guitar, the sweet ring of a piano, and the reverberating thud of a goat skin drum. But it is the rhythm of her own free will that causes her to dance: each of her movements born a moment after their completion, spun spontaneously by the twists of her hipbones, choreographed by the tension of melody and harmony that exist from second to second. Pure. Passionate. Perfect.
She speaks even the most revealing of truths, lies only by exuberant exaggeration, and practices sincerity, but feels no vulnerability. To her, she exists only as part of a global whole. Each of the world’s mysteries is her motivation, each person is her defender, and each child is her hope. Her body is merely a vessel for her own divine possibility and within she finds peace and blessed assurance that each of us is derived of the same substance. She loves every aspect of her own unique shape, loves the idea that her inherent curves echo the silhouettes of Isis and Eve, soft and secure even in their untouched passage through time.
She is exposed. She is faltering. But within her is a strength and an imagination that would make Lennon envy, a passion that would make celebrated artists seem like blundering blindmen in hollow halls of blank canvases.