Being means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn?t force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!
We are called to be fruitful - not successful, not productive, not accomplished. Success comes from strength, stress, and human effort. Fruitfulness comes from vulnerability and the admission of our own weakness. sometimes...i read lovely stuff. sometimes...not.
Gilead - Marilynne Robinson
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If we do not bear the cross of the Master, we will have to bear the cross of the world, with all its earthly goods. Which cross have you taken up? Pause and consider. i would die without my iPodWill Smith - "Getting Jiggy with It "
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There are many people who are sincere without being simple: they are ever afraid of being seen for what they are not; they are always musing over their words and thoughts and thinking about what they have done, in fear of having done or said too much. These people are sincere, but they are not simple: they are not at ease with others, and other people are not at ease with them. There is nothing easy about them, nothing free, spontaneous or natural. People who are imperfect, less regular, less masters of themselves, are more lovable. This is how people find them, and it is the same with God.

i am never satisfiedStill New Asics Gel Kayanos

or anything from my wishlist

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A brother said to an old man, ?I do not know of any warfare in my heart.? The old man said to him, ?Then you are a building open on all four sides. Whatever wishes to, goes in and out, and you do not notice. If you had windows and a door, and shut them so as to bar certain thoughts, you would soon realize how many there are outside, waiting to slip in and attack you.?

i fear fatrun 4.5, abs 300, delts and tris

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I know that life is a doorway to eternity, and yet my heart so often gets lost in petty anxieties. It forgets the great way home that lies before it. Unprepared, given over to childish trivialities, it could be taken by surprise when the great hour comes and find that, for the sake of piffling pleasures, the one great joy has been missed. I am aware of this, but my heart is not. It seems unteach- navigate around, why don't you?
what i wrote yesterday
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everything ever. sort of.
sometimes...poetry
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did you know that we now only talk about feminism here?
darthferris weighs in.
posted on: 11/12/05
original post date: 11/12/05

It's easy to have four entries a week when you don't actually write any of them.

Still catching up on the ILovePaulJack exploration of feminism? Part 1|Part 2|Part 3.

And now, my favorite email of the week -- or possibly EVER - darthferris on feminism.

WTF? Who taught you women how to read and write, anyways? Too often, people forget that Budd Grebb's full quote reads "A woman's place is in the kitchen or wherever the hell she wants to be. Now get the hell back in the kitchen."

Budd took me aside one day after a particular raucous P.O.D. class (or maybe it was World Cultures), slaps my ass and tells me, "Bobby," which isn't actually my name, but I digress, "Most women are good at about two things. Spending your money and vulcanizing the
whoopee stick with the ham wallet." At the time, I wasn't sure what he was on about, but at this point I think I've built up enough life experience to say that he was right not only about that (for what man has bedded more women than Budd Grebb? If he exists, I
know not of him), but also his take on Plutarch's "Lives of Noble Grecians and Romans."

A woman? Working at a newspaper? Hello? Does that freak anyone else out?

If feminism is about choices, let's talk about some bad ones: the Sinead O'Connor reggae album. Somewhere between the John Kerry rally and the abortion clinic, it occurs to her that being an anti-Papist-white-Irish-Rastamon is the next logical career move. All I'm saying is, it would never have happened back in Victorian England.

In conclusion, I'd just like to recount a story about how I once got into a argument with some lesbians from Chatham College regarding the supposedly inherent male nature of the English language. At first, they were quite adamant about their position, but after I
explained to them that any gender specific nature of semantics was, at best, random and unfocused, they conceded I was correct. Then they blew me. They loved it.

Um. Wow. Jesus.
Who in the HELL is this Budd Grebb person you all keep talking about?
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