My Dear, Born of Estrella

  Once in a while, a star would fall to the ground, fizzle out in a cloud of smoke, and and dissolve into a pebble of quartz. This only happened a handful of times throughout my visit to this “Otherland.” Each would-be meteor was more breathtaking than its counterpart in the world or dimension from which I was called here. An enlightening turmoil ensued inside that could turn the world on its side, at least from one's own perspective, and cause a stumble, a stagger, a drunken-seeming clumsiness by its beauty, as though witnessing an angel stepping down to earth in full splendor, straight from the presence of God, still shining with lightning about its robes. And then it was nothing more than a rock, not unlike . . .

  Well, regardless of what it was like, it was beautiful to watch, though hardly supernatural.

  I reached out towards the stars, and one fluttered like a butterfly over to my hand and rest in my palm. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. The coarse surface of the thing was glowing a faint white, and smelled of hot copper. Immediately, it began cooling and dimming, but not shucking its rough outer layer like the falling ones.

  Many of these “signs” are meaningless, and not worthy of note. Note whatever you like, however, as it may mean something in the greater scheme, or perhaps subjectively; to you individually.

  It was a dull thing, dusty almost, resembling oxidization-flecked chrome. I took it to a pool of water -not water, but something much thinner, sweeter, and softer- and began buffing it. In an instant, tendrils of roots that routed between my fingers and to the ground sprouted from it and pulled downwards out of my hand. A bark-like coating formed like scales and softly-lit webs emerged from the branches. In a minute, flowers blossomed, glowing with a faint illumination, which then set fruits; new stars that fell not down but skyward, aligning with the others as a glistening speck in the sky.

Dilated Time, Anyone?

So, there's this idea that the universe must be so many billions of years old because we see the light from stars/galaxies/nebulae billions of lightyears away (and, as we all should know and, sadly, not all do, light/visibility travels one lightyear in one year).
How is it i can go on believing the earth to be six thousand years old and the universe not much, if any, older?
It only makes scientific sense that the universe must be as old as those points are away.

Time is relative.
I'm not talking about how a "watched pot never boils," either. I'm talking literally relative.
Time and space are rather conjoined. They operate together. It's called spacetime. Time is, essentially, a measure of entropy (second law of thermodynamics). The more matter/energy (gravity) there is, the more time there is.
Atomic clocks on shuttles have to be constantly resynchronized with clocks on earth. On earth, there's more matter, more energy, more time ("Time Dilation" is the term for this).
There's basically no matter or energy in space. There are stray particles, some dust, little more.
Hypothetically, there would be just as little time between our world and one, say, 5 billion lightyears away, as there is matter and energy.
Getting my point?
Time is not a steady duration.

And as i like to say, God isn't bound by the laws of physics--He made those for us.

In fact, here's an idea i find fascinating.
God made Adam and Eve to live forever. They wouldn't have aged the same. Infinitely slower. There are holes in this theory, but it's interesting to entertain no less.
Astronauts return from space having aged slightly slower than people on earth.
God may have introduced entropy more recently than He made the earth.

Furthermore, a place of infinite energy would be, hypothetically, eternal . . . The pure, unfiltered, direct presence of God . . .

He could've used evolution. He could've made the universe billions of years ago. It doesn't go against His sovereignty if those things are true because He is, in fact, sovereign.
I just don't believe He did use evolution, or that the universe is "old".

My Only Cup . . .

 That was my last cup. My only cup, actually. I've only ever had but the one. It's necessary that I repair it, lest I forever cease to partake in brewed beverages of bitter, warm, sweet, Heavenly indulgence. And that is as essential to life as air, for without such things, existence ceases to be life but rather devolves into a state of survival and nothing more. So now I'm left to pick up the pieces of my carelessness. Again.

It's tedious, delicate work, reassembling broken ceramic dishes. It can take quite a while, but it's worth it. Cups like this, you can't just buy from the store. A sentimental thing, it is to be carrying the weight of the generations it's passed through to end up in my hands. Every last fragment must be found and aligned like a puzzle. Brushed lightly with polyvinyl and held in place for adequate time; if not held long enough, it falls back apart with caked glue that has to be removed from its edges, and the process must start over. It requires patience, gentleness and strength, steadiness and force. The cracks may be unattractive, even repulsive at first, but in time they become as details of the piece's beauty, contributing to the overall appreciation of the cup as a whole, adding to the history another story, another fall, another healing, another failure . . . Another failure. Failure. Another failure . . . No, another triumph. Not just new existence, but new life. Frailties overcome.

I Am The Hypocrite.

This is not meant to offend.
I've had directed blog posts before, but not one written with just one person/group of persons in mind. This changes that.
It's meant to remind me of where i should be. Rather, where i shouldn't be.
It's meant to remind me of the standards i must hold myself to.
It's meant to remind me of growth.

"I didn't know he cussed," one said with a frown.
The other looked offended, "He doesn't."
"You've never been around him when you're not there. Might surprise you."
"Listen, he's had a hard life, okay? You can't blame him for one slip!" the other exclaimed.
The first sighed, and responded softly, "It wasn't a slip; he didn't even know he did it when I asked him about it. It's what he does, just not around y'all. And he's not of the world, I'm not supposed to hold him to the world's standards. Am I?"
"He doesn't cuss, got it?"
"Neither do you . . ."
"That's not fair."

Some might know the situation surrounding this. Maybe. I don't know.
I should clarify that i don't necessarily think cussing is an absolute sin. I think it's subjective, to be honest. If you feel convicted, then don't do it. But it's a gray area, and i like to stay away from such things.
If you're a Christian and you cuss, i won't judge you. If you serve in the church or claim to be a representative of Christ, i will hold you to unworldly standards. 1 Corinthians 8 and Romans 12:1-2 more or less explain my reasoning.

"Train up a child in the way he should go,
And when he is old he will not depart from it."
Proverbs 22:6
That's not just telling a child how they should act, but showing them by example.
If you do something, you can rest assured your children will do the same.
Yes, they see you at the altar, they see you with your hands raised, they see you when you're happy and worshiping, they see you when you're Godly.
They also see you the other six days of the week. Even if something you do is not done around your family, your children will still imitate you.
If you say "We don't say that in this house," yet you say it outside of it, so they will as well. If you claim to not cuss, yet you do when you're not around your family, your children will also cuss when they're not around you. Children are a fruit of your works.

A friend of mine who's from a family that "doesn't cuss" did cuss. And not rarely. I once confronted them about it, saying "Your parents don't want you cussing, do they?"
The response was shocking; "I don't cuss in their house."
I wondered if that was a fruit of the works of the parents, but kept the thought fleeting.
It had to be the world and my friend's exposure to it. After all, that's what they told me was the cause.

But i've since realized that "As for me and my house we will serve the Lord" is the motto. The house is pure. The house is clean. The house is safe. The house is a building.
Outside, much is still refrained. But i heard many stories that i did not ask to hear from several firsthand witnesses. Stories that disgusted me. Stories they laughed at.

It's not the cussing in general that bothers me. It doesn't bother me that i was told i'm "sitting on [my] ***."
No, the thing that bothered me is that these people would've shunned me if i had said that same thing. Err, rather, they probably would've shunned me if i'd said it in their house.It bothered me that the ones telling me the stories -and laughing at them- were under their authority, and weren't supposed to cuss, or even say "sucks" in the context of lacking quality. I don't say it in that context.
Then the authority figure told me that. And also said "It hurts, and it s**ks."
I stared at the letter he sent in complete bewilderment.
Those words in themselves don't matter. But when you set a rule and don't follow it, when you rebuke the a word that you use yourself, that is "The practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform."
That's a sin. It's called hypocrisy.

I have to remind myself that, if i ever have children, i must hold myself to the same standards i set for them.
Actually, i'm wrong. I must hold myself to stricter standards. The example i set will be followed. If that's being holy in church and in the house, yet becoming part of the world when i go out into it, then i know my children would do the same. If i were to "like" things online that are foul, crude, vulgar, and sexually immoral, it would be expected that my children would be alright with the same things.

I am a hypocrite. I'm quicker to point out my own falls and shortcomings than i am to point out anyone else's.
I am a hypocrite. My anger has a hold on me.
Maybe i can learn to get a hold on it and direct it gracefully, using it as a motivation to make positive change. And i'm using it this time to remind myself to grow and to hold myself to unworldly standards, to remember that i am in and not of, that i am not "one of the guys" not only because of my social awkwardness, but because i simply do not fit or conform.

"Woe To You"

This is on my personal blog as opposed to my more Bible-based one, despite it being based in Scriptures. The reason is because it is on a more "me" level than most of what would be on the other.
Call it anger, call it frustration, call it indignation, i don't care. When it comes to this, i'm mad. I'm furious about this kind of thing.

Let's start with how Jesus treated those who worked, served, and taught in the temples and synagogues.
Look at Matthew 23; there are seven times in this chapter where He says "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites!"
The entire chapter, Jesus is exclaiming His discernment against them, and even goes so far as to call them snakes and a brood of vipers.
"Righteous indignation" is what we call Jesus' anger. And it's often directed at the leaders of the temples, not those who worshiped there and brought forth offerings. He was angry at the elders, pastors, preachers, deacons, ushers, etc. Those who "direct" the places of worship.

Yet in 1 Timothy, we read that "The elders who direct the affairs of the church well are worthy of double honor, especially those whose work is preaching and teaching."

This is far from a contradiction. The wording most consistent through all the translations i've looked at has been this; "well". Not those who serve, but those who serve well. The ones who don't serve well, who serve crookedly . . . "Beware of the teachers of the law. They like to walk around in flowing robes and love to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and have the most important seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at banquets. They devour widows’ houses and for a show make lengthy prayers. These men will be punished most severely."
Luke 20:46-47.
Let me repeat that, "These men will be punished most severely."

My point in all of this is to urge you to not settle for a church that is merely "decent" or "acceptable."
Find a church based in the Bible.
Find one where those who are chosen to serve there are held to ideals fitting for a temple.
Find one where the sick come to be healed. And i'll tell you right now, i've a list of maladies that could fill a book. But that's why i go; it's to be a hospital anyways.
Find one where the leaders are not a "brood of vipers."
In reading this, i'm brought back to a couple songs by a rather bold band called We As Human, specifically the song "Burning Satellites." He talks about tv preachers, then asks "How do you sleep at night, you filthy dogs, you sons of men?" and goes on to tell them they can change, and asks God to "help the scales fall from their eyes."
There's a lesson in that; if you find yourself in a church where those serving/working are loyal to self and tradition instead of God, pray that God helps the "scales" be removed. But make sure you don't have a plank in your own eye first.

I'm thankful there's a Godly church filled with sick people just like me, as well as healthy people who offer to help the sick, and where the preacher is genuine.

"Framed Like A Picture" Flash Fiction

 Every story has a happy ending.

 That's what I'm told, at least. I'm not so sure that's a universal fact so much as a literary tool to make people think they're happy, when the truth is they're miserably incomplete from their first breath to their last. Winners die, losers live. Losers die, winners live. Which of these is the more tragic? The loss of greatness and prevalence of the mourning, or the perishing of those who know no joy? It's a matter of the “decrease [of] the surplus population”, or greatness being torn from someone. We're left with the age-old question, is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all?

 To have never loved; where's the happy ending in you?

 To have loved and lost, what elation rests in this?

 No, I'm convinced that neither is worthy of jubilation. Only the perfect, idealistic tales of love that end in “happily ever after” are the ones worth having. Yet even these are of mediocrity and generic nothingness. Love is not two who are happy with everything; that's ignorance and bliss. Love is two who fight through torrents and come out exhausted, but also stronger than before.

 Ours should have been lasting. Instead, it led to binding; chafing the wrists with coarse sisal.

 Love is pain. Whether lost, absent, or enduring, it is pain. Why should we strive for such a torment? What's there to gain in love, anyways?

 That may be the wrong question; what's there to maintain in the void of love? What's there to not lose in the perseverance of it?

 The answer is life. The answer is faith. The answer is truth. The answer is hope. The answer is everything.

 Even the most tragic of love, so long as it's true, is more triumphant than the most fulfilling lack of it.

 The voice beyond what I can see informs the gathered of my crimes.

 The rope around my neck tells me I die in vain.

 The heart in my chest says I lived in love.

 And no institution of man can diminish the hope in that.

 Framed like a picture, I'm waiting to fall and shatter.

 They have the wrong man.

 I loved her.

 I lo--

[Shameless Plug]

So, i've recently published another short story online.
It's free, and available in formats supported by a computer, Kindle, Nook, and other 'readers'.
Enjoy! =)