life is fragile

Life is fragile, lest we forget, read this link:
http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/news/story?id=2172623

Everyone should read this link. its a great story. I know some of you may see "espn" in the link and shy away, but its not a sports story as much as a human interest story. Read it.

It's amazing how fragile life is, any day any of us could be diagnosed with cancer, or die in a car crash, or be terribly scarred for life in an accident. Where does your faith lie? When it's all said and done, and when the fat lady has finished her last shrill note, what will happen to you?



Consider.

A Question On My Heart

Consider...

What does it mean to be a christian? In a culture where 80 percent of it's citizens claim eternal security and heavenly citizenship and yet is permeated with idolatry, things such as sex, cars, and food being specific idols, how can we know what it means to be a true christian?

well, as for me, when an unbeliever asks if i am a christian i want to be able to say this: ''if, by christian, do you mean someone who loves their Lord and wants to be like Him and follow Him with all my heart and life, then yes i am a christian, for their is no other definition worth considering.'' And indeed, what other type of christianity is worth pursuing? Chrisitianity ought to be about relationship and as such a relationship with Christ ought to be permeated, in contrast with our society today, with servanthood and a constant gaze upon the throne of heaven from eyes desiring to truly see the Beauty of God.

Do you claim to be a christian?

If so, do you desire to be like your Lord, and are you willing to enter into servanthood and gaze upon the ever beautiful throne of grace?

consider.

introspection

Have you suffered from a bad bout with self-introspection. I live that way. Constantly watching myself, feeling almost as if im outside of myself, and yet im not able to actually to get outside of my own skin. I tend to question my motives for most things, to wonder if im sincere. I can be annoying as...well something very annoying at times.


And though i watch myself i still tend to need glasses at times, for things get slightly blurred occasionally.


confusion unbounded release your control.
help me review from somewhere besides outside my soul.

Number One

C.S. Lewis once wrote a wonderful little book about a man journey through the afterlife. Frm the outset the man is standing on a queue, in the rain, ready to board a train that would eventually take him on the beginning of a journey beyond any man's wildest imagination (except Lewis's apparently). I chose ''At the Queue'' as a name for my blog simply to remind myself that in my writing i too want to always be waiting to journey heavenward, to always be prepared, and to allow for such travel in my writing, thoughts, and imagination. How glorious a thought to be reminded that as writers and communicators we can, in some small way, near the throne of grace as we glorify God through what we put into our writing. I pray that i truly do glorify my maker in what i put forth for you all to read.

I can promise that you shall often see Lewis references of all kinds, Chesterton referalls, and reviews of literature and music. I hope to be creative and to create something that you will want to check out every now and then and i hope i don't drift into drivel and self righteous worthlesness. There is nothing more porous and disgusting than a writer obsessed with himself and worse yet, his own writing. If i enter into such banter let me know.

And so i sign out.

Enjoy the Blog.

Sunsets and Canvas Art hidden behind systems and formulas

Your life is but a passing phase, a dying candle, a brilliant, yet short lived sunset, an addiction in remission, a canvas blotched and smothered by incompatible colors, a cathedral full of beauty and lore rotting at it’s cornerstone. And so am I.
I am a paradox. And I am a paradox not of good and evil or truth and lies or love and hate but of me and me. I am the paradox of humanity. For what I am is what I’m not, and what I’m not is what I wish to be.

I’m built upon a block of rubber hopes, controlled by hinges of fate repressing and suppressing my ever, loosening grasp on hope.

And I feed on a sort of mental grass which instigates a sort of brain fart for I am intellectually malnourished.

I have not left my home. Nor shall I leave my room.

And one and one equals two is all that makes sense, and all I’m hearing is that if I do that then this will happen, and if I push this then that will happen and that is a bad thing to have happen, and if I do this that way then both this and that will happen, and those are good things to happen. And I’m being thrust into programs and systems.

And I’m afraid.

And with each passing phase a candle dies, I wonder when Hanukah begins. Or rather, when it ends.

And I wait for light to creep out of the east as I battle my own internal prison wards and there’s a picture lacking an artist, the colors need rearranging- but at least I have system and programs. I think sarcastically. I think. At least I think. I think to myself.

And I have not left my home, nor shall I leave my room. For perhaps in here I can avoid being real, and yet remain real in the only sense in which I actually enjoy functioning. I can revel in reality devoid of fact but steeped in truth, lacking in data but complete in knowledge, and lost to the world but found to…..


And I’m so alive when I’m not eating grass. And I can breath when I’m spending all of my time remembering and recounting the things which are really real….to…..

Me. I’m simply me, a simple ''dude'' locked in his own home, locked in his own heart, starving for something to build up an intellect…and I’ve got grays and blacks and reds and blue’s like the sky and the water, and I just need an artist to put it all together…

And then there’s you...and me and you and me together, and we’ve long ago forgotten to rely on systems cause they’ve failed us before, and we’ve counted all the times that we’ve forgotten who we are, but counting is our first mistake and we forgot to wait. To simply wait. Cause its so much more real than systems. Faith. The Realest of all words.

And You could paint me, make my blues like Yours and my reds like You. And make me colorful, like a rainbow from Your home.

And then there’s you and me. And I’m alive again, and its all real again.

And formula is not the answer cause it can’t answer questions asked by heart.

AND FAITH.

And this simple "dude", has cracked his door.
But they’ll NEVER get in!

And FAITH…

Is soo real tonight.