Heart

My resting heart rate is like 37 beats a minute.

I found this out after a colonoscopy.

I was "recovering", yet every time I fell asleep, the heart monitor alarm would beep.

Eventually, the nurse comes in and says, "just pick your arm up when it does that."

Which means I would fall asleep the alarm would set and I would have to move around to pick my heart rate up.

I think it's a great story that is applicable for myself.

The nurse said, "you have a strong muscle," but what I was thinking is:

My heart is apathetic. It only pumps vigorously when I force myself to do something.

So, I've decided to volunteer at a local refugee assistance program in my neighborhood.

It is definitely time to stop thinking about what to do and jump in.

With the body's actions, the heart reacts.

We are not divided beings.

My journey towards peace, love, and hope can only be furthered by stepping with aim, yet with blind eyes as well.

Shalom shalom shalom.

Has Fall Begun? I would much very so think so.

This breezy cool and cloudy sky reminds me of being riding a bike to get everywhere; of the inconvenience of not having material things.

This is the first fall where I haven't been living in some sort of shambled state.

(i.e. no heat, no electricity, no furniture, no car, no phone, no money; usually more than 2 at once)

When J.R. and I lived on Arrow Ave, it was an adventure within four walls of a dank, dark, and dirty house located in the middle of the hood, a.k.a. the west side, of Anderson.

Staying up late covered with blankets.

Hands tightly wrapped gloves around beer cans.

Books read by the flickering light of a candle, which we found out was a lot more difficult than movies of older times portrayed.

Depression was accepted.

Dreams were discussed.

Honesty was never blemished.

We were consumed by this beast within a couple months.

Things went spiraling out of control.

We lost what we were looking for.

We lost our minds.

We fought.

I wouldn't trade that time in that house for anything, though.

We healed, bandaged the boo-boo's, and wrapped worthy wounds under used gauze.

That's a metaphor,

but, it really happened.

1910 Arrow Ave was a time more than a place, where I learned the importance of honesty and enduring friendship.

Don't know what that story says.

I've found out stories are more powerful than lessons of my opinion.

s

ha

lom.

Do.

Priorities.

Can't figure out if I want to crochet, volunteer my time to helping people, choose an insurance coverage, build a motorcycle, enroll in grad school, or jog.

I lose myself with priority.

I freak out and choose only one.

It's as if I have no option of doing all of the above.

I know I could, but when I try to decide which one to do first, I still freak.

Technically, I can only do one activity at one moment.

Which one goes first?

Thus, something happens.

I become a coward.

That is absurd.

I regret life and become bitter.

God doesn't have to punish us.

We do a good enough job on our own.

Don't worry.

Don't don't

Do.

Keep pushing through.

My wife has taught me that.

When in doubt. When depressed. When bitter. When apathetic. When self-martyred.

Do.

The soul and body are one.

What the body does, the soul does something as well.

shalom.

When the "world" around me proves the stupidity of religion and the intelligence of science,

I can not help but think of the ignorance of a child who has begun to learn.

Learning information gives us the inclination to include that information in our beliefs.

"Because I said so," gets to our bones and boils our blood.

Why did you say so?

What logic do you have to say so?

I think that just saying so is not so.

I know that I could prove saying so is wrong in all senses.

I know that I could prove that if I let my thinking fill my mind and lasso itself. I could come up with some answer to all of these "things".

Now I know why children should be seen and not heard.

As should we.

Silence. Mystery. Confusion. Clarity. Harmony. Shalom.

These things exist for the parts of us that can't be thought through.

Shalom.

Not until the world is crumbling around us do we start listening for God.

My world has not been crumbling.

It has been building up.

Becoming comfortable.

Becoming tedious.

Becoming busy.

Becoming surreal.

My heart. My mind. My spirit.

Have not been building up at all.

I have less emotions, thoughts, prayers than I did the day before.

It's not until someone else's world begins to chip away that I realize I am lost.

I come up with no answers, no actions, no hope, no shalom.

I can only become what I make myself become.

I can curse myself and blame it on God.

I can find a good job and pay off debt.

I can worry about when I'm going to change the oil in my car.

I can wonder if it's possible to follow Jesus when I remain dependent on a bi-monthly infusion.

I can watch more inspirational movies.

I can ride my bike more.

I can go to restaurants to taste something I've never had.

I can sit around and drink beer with my friends.

I can write a blog and hope it's changing something in my thoughts.

I can be shalom, without being without.

I can.

shalom.

Religion.

Throw that word out and see how many people will get a bitter taste in their mouths.

Especially, if they're told that they are religious.

We want to believe that we believe something that can't be summed up in an organization.

I am so complex.

I am so unique.

So were those before us.

I will contradict myself a thousand times.

Because what I believe is a contradiction to human logic.

The kingdom is not this or that, it is an upside down world.

Religion, Peace, Human beauty, creativity, Science, Logic, Imagination can all exist on one plain.

Love is something severly abused, yet so powerful.

shalom.

Simple

Monks have always been a paradox to me.

I don't understand how being a Christian without interacting in the world could help anything.

But, on the other hand...

Maybe they have one thing right:

Shut up and stop trying to attract attention.

90% of the time we speak to merely distract.

This is a proven statistic found in the imaginary survey to gain weight in an argument. (circa 2007)

Simplicity is usually the means of finding the answer to all of our unbeknown problems.

Why am I so depressed?

Why am I so bored?

Where are all my friends?

This is an extreme parallel universe to live in with debt, with marriage, with children, with convenience.

For you have already signed up for something that you now have to pay for, provoking to work a job you don't necessarily want.

For you have someone you care dearly about, provoking a ways of constant communication for security.

For you have someone whose future you can protect, provoking a means or movement so that there education can be bettered.

We justify everything we do.

I AM not saying these are bad things to do.

I pay loans, a phone bill, and a car payment.

Justification is the logical way we can say whether something is a good idea or bad idea.

That is fine.

It can be used the wrong way, I believe.

There is a way to live without all of the conveniences in life.

In a rich country it is hard to find, for convenience is so accessible, affordable, and comfortable.

Anyways,

I'm just saying is that when problems occur, usually the answer is to simplify life.

That is a struggle in this country.

In whatever way I choose, I hope that I at least never become comfortable with my decision and never too scared of a lack of convenience to change my mind.

shalom.

Challenging

Last night Leah stated an observation about how I act with people.

I enjoyed it.

I can't really write it.

Some people may be offended/ take it the wrong way.

But I realized something from her comment.

She was absolutely right.

Hit it right on the head.

So I concluded:

I need to challenge myself more.

In the basic aspects of life.

I get depressed because I just stay alive instead of live life.

I merely expect something to happen.

This is so vague.

Sorry.

it's too challenging to write about how i should challenge myself.

shalom.

from: explodingdog.com

shalom.

Rags Next to Silk

My first day of Orientation at Target Distribution.

Out of the big group hired, there was one guy who stuck out.

He was the same age as me.

He had been married seven years.

He had two children.

One was two and a half years.

One was five and a half months.

When held up to the silk tapestry, we realize how many rips there are in our fabric.

I am definitely not a grown up.

And, I am going to convince myself that that is a good thing for as long as I can get away with it.

shalom.

Speak Fido, Speak.

Changed the look. Hope you enjoy it. If you don't, just act like you do.

Anyways,

I think I realize what blogging is for-- sharing wisdom.

The problem is that everyone thinks that they have wisdom to share.

I do.

I think it is because I am extremely humble... or modest.

Joking aside, this is my wisdom to share.

I started journaling on penzu.com again.

I felt much better from it.

We need to talk.

We need to be heard, if by our own ears, so be it.

Talking is the key, though.

My life, or my mind I should say, has been in a very rough place.

I think it has to do with the fact that I regret everything I say.

I hate my own voice.

That is not good.

The more I hate what I say, the more I say stupid things... the more I joke around... the more I avoid talking about serious things.

What a conundrum.

That is all.

For now.

sha lo m.

She is My Veins

Gotta love spammers commenting on my blog.

I would protect it, but then people won't comment honestly.

Now listening to: Lykke Li

Dig it.

So, anyways, cant' sleep, thought I would write to yall, or to myself if it's not good.

My wife and I went out. Just us. Just Denny's.

Talking about church and friends and purpose and destination and happiness and loneliness.

Honesty.

Love.

It's hard to love someone so much.

I think we both thought that at one moment or another.

It's hard to be married.

I know we thought that.

You just think that being married involves constant contact. No breaks, ya know?

Next thing you know, we're paying bills, trying to do what we're separately passionate about, and working.

It's hard.

I love her so.

I want to be with her so.

I never wanted to be married.

Then, I met Leah.

She takes the blood from my heart and gives me life.

I would rather be arguing with her about dishes, then getting along with anyone else.

not much more to say.

just hope and pray and look for

ShaloM.

Well, What do you WANT to do?

I realized something tonight.

"I am a good worker."

Why am I a good worker?

I learn much faster than average and work hard.

These are traits you see on resumes.

In the real working world these traits don't exist.

You see people who think they've been screwed over too much to work hard.

A much older gentleman came up to me tonight and said, "How many you got over there?"

You see, "over there," is Machine #3. That's where I'm usually put, or "rotated" they would say.

We work these three huge flat sorters on the second floor of the postal warehouse.

http://people.howstuffworks.com/usps.htm/printable

Each machine is about 10 feet wide and 50 feet long

On the side of the machine there are a loading station and 4 prep stations where the mail handlers work. Someone loads it at the loading station, it goes down the conveyor belt, then it is prepped at the prep station from the bin into a tray. The tray is sent back on another conveyor belt to the north end of the machine, where a clerk is watching/checking the prepped mail sent through the sorter.

Then it goes into the bins (shown above). Machines#1 and #2 have clerks pulling the full bins out and replacing them with empty ones. The full beens sliding down the conveyor belt (shown above) and go to the south end of the machine or the bullpen, where a mail handler puts the heavy bins into the appropriate cart, container, cage, etc.

Machines #1 and #2 also have bullpen workers.

Machine #3 is much more automated and does not have extra clerks or bullpen workers.

No one likes Machine #3.

I usually am always on it, though. With only 2 other people instead of 4, which makes the work quite harder and more frustrating.

Didn't know if you wanted to know that, but now you do. Actually, you probably don't. You probably just skimmed down my perfect description of my working world and headed straight towards the juicy stuff. You are a jerk.

Anyways, the older gentleman says "Yeah, I don't know why they work us only 3 people to a machine."

I said, "Well, you can try to break your back and make sure the mail is sorter fast enough, or you can just do what every one else does: Not care and work at your own pace."

"I can't do that."

"Well, then looks like you made your decision."

At this point, I realized that I must be pretty wise to give a 50 plus year old man advice.

Then I kept thinking and thinking.

I can do whatever I want.

And, I decide to work a job that requires no skill and has no potential to be rewarding.

Am I crazy?

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results."

(5 bonus gold stars if you can tell me who always said that)

I have a jack-of-all-trades skill set, but with so much freedom I imprison myself with "what ifs" and cynicism.

What do I want to do?

It's such an easy question, BUT WHY CAN'T I FIND AN ANSWER!

SHALOM.

p.s. 9 a.m.: Going to attempt to sleep. Will the men chain-sawing the tree in our neighbor's front yard allow that?

To be continued....

I'll be honest. Rachel inspired me.

I like to judge people. I like when people judge me.

That is okay on a basic, loving level.

But,

most of the time,

it is never taken lovingly.

That is true.

I'll go crazy if someone asks me, "Why did you do that?"

I will instantly sweat and panic and worry.

I don't necessarily understand implications of questions.

When someone asks an open ended question like that, I freak.

Because, I assume they are saying I'm wrong somehow.

That's just a recent development.

My wife can vouch.

My wife is my best friend.

I will throw a fit if she gives me an unapproved look.

I strive for her approval. Sometimes too much.

I ask her, "what do you want me to do?" A LOT.

I don't know what has happened to me, but with all of these medical problems, emotional breakdowns, cigarette binges, and lazy days, I am nothing.

Dirt.

Coming from me, this sounds very negative. And, it probably is. I am very hard on myself and generally depressed about my own worth.

I realize there may be a plus to this: I am blank. I am dirt. I am clay.

I am ready to be written, to be breathed into, to be molded.

Sure, right now. My form, my beauty, my purpose is less than significant.

On the blankest pages, were the greatest stories told.

I hate telling people my major: Christian Ministry.

Why?

I don't use it, therefore I don't understand it.

I don't live out my belief in the perfect Love, the greatest gift, the whole life.

Bonhoeffer said that believing was what you lived out.

I believe that.

Ha ha.

But,

apparently,

I don't believe in loving the poor, helping the hopeless, speaking the truth, listening to some one's heart, being a friend, or washing dishes.

I want to believe.

Open my arms and sink this torn and sweating heart under the tide.

The Heavens eavesdropping on submerging splashes.

Water surrounding me. Ending me.

A silence of angels and time....

Broken with one

single,

Gasp.

Now,

Life begins.

Shalom. and Shalom.

thank you, rach.

Lord of the Onion Ring

Morning thought:

One ring to bind them. A bucket of onion rings to fry then have my stomach find them.

I guess that makes my colon something like Mordor. It is ill-terrained and inflamed.

shalom.

My Sister, Rachel, Is Awesome.

Morning Thought:

Tuesday, 6:45 am

Twitter is a waste.

No one cares that much about you.

They might act like they do, so they can stop living their own life.

Any other reason is just rain on the garage.

My sister decided to paint a picture instead.

Now, that's amazing.

I order you to follow suit.

shalom.

p.s. **DISCLAIMER**Are you contemplating what, "rain on the garage," means? I just made it up. Well, I didn't make up rain or the fact that rain sometimes falls on a garage, but I just pulled that phrase out of my butt (not literally). I guess I was just thinking about incessant pitter-patter on a place that was invented to prevent that pitter-patter getting on anything valuable. It's kind of like listening to something/someone only because something device was invented. It's definitely a oxymoron-like idiom that I just invented, so you should use it in your next conversation. Please. It would really boost my self-esteem.

Ronery...

The new year is starting really well.

I've decided to eat healthy, exercise, not drink as much beer or coffee... and the big one-- not to bite my nails! (that's the first time in my life i've stopped. I'm over a week strong!)

Not really for the new year's, but what a coincidence, right?

I have a couple interviews this week, so i might have a job soon.

June (my older cat) is getting sick, though.

I never thought I would cry over an animal, but I have definitely dropped some tears on the floor about him lately.

My wife is in Michigan for an acting competition. Now it's just chris, the cats, and I. During the day Chris is gone. I'm getting antsy.

If anyone's got some crazy ideas that I could participate in, let me know!

Shalom.