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Showing posts from April 15, 2012
What to do when you are arguably the greatest goalie in the history of hockey, you're 39, and you've had the worst game of your career? Follow it up with your best.
I've discovered something interesting about myself and blogging: You can't really say what comes right to mind, despite what blogging is. "Blog" is shorthand for "weblog," which had been short for, "web-based online journal." A little pet-peeve, if I may. Particular entries on a blog are entries, or "posts," in the common speech. They are not, contra a beloved evangelical leader who shall remain nameless, called blogs themselves. Correction: He's not beloved, except maybe by me. He's a disturber and a troublemaker, and that's why I like him. I probably had to turn in my evangelical card and decoder ring, but I still enjoy making as much trouble for people as possible. It's a trouble we need right now. I can see you, you know. You've got your ESV Bible, your seminary acceptance letter in hand, an impressive array of checkered shirts, and a habit of saying "context" way too many times. But maybe you didn'
I may have done something foolish. This dude wanted to sell me life insurance. Actually, he was just the phone guy. I'm too nice to hang up on the poor guy. When he gave way to the actual agent, she was a twenty-something girl with a Southern accent. She could have sold me a car. I can cancel it within 60 days and not pay a dime. $25 gas card just for being a good sport. I'll play. Anyway, I'm off to watch St. Louis Blues playoff hockey! WOOOOO! Let's go Blues!
Note to Self: It's time to lay the ground for reading Flannery O'Connor. I always said I would; it just hasn't happened. You can't actually do anything unless you make a plan and stick to it. So the plan is made. Or, if you like, "Mr. Scott, the word is given." I hope I'm not too maudlin to appreciate her. I mean, I get misty watching "That's What Friends Are For" and "Beaches," for pete's sake. [You're just in love with Barbara Hershey.--ed.] Guilty as charged! And Madeleine Stowe . Especially in "Playing By Heart." Ahem. Anyway, Flannery O' Connor. I am Catholic, after all.
I found an old address on my desk, buried under the clutter. What pain occasioned its finding! Let no one dare tell me the sadness will pass. Even if Augustine lost the friend who was not a friend--and I thought long about whether I had done likewise--it cannot be. I loved purely and truly. Everything but the painful words uttered in selfishness I would do again. And I cannot deny this, even if I wanted to.
I'm not one of those Catholic apologists who is so intent on making a point against Sola Scriptura--not that it needs any help refuting itself--that I'm going to commit myself to the impenetrable opacity of the Bible. I definitely think we should be reading it, and I'd love it if we all knew it better than we do. That being said, the Bible is astounding. No matter how learned one is (and I'm lacking in enough humility at present to say I'm learned) God's word has a depth that can reduce the greatest, most brilliant men to sputtering babble. And I should know.With apologies to Dr. David Twellman of Ave Maria University, I will never fully understand or gain a facility with your 'synthesis' concept. Quite frankly, I'm less fond of outlines now, as well. O the heady days when all I had to do was preach the thing, and to cower in fear at the sight of the Collins Scowl! Er, the arrogant, schismatic days, but joyous they often were. Preaching is easy; thin