I'm working on a lengthy project and I have the following as a part of it. Since I have some avid readers and clever theologians reading this, I'd like your input. What do you think of this concept, and do you see any mistakes in it? I'd especially appreciate the opinions of A-ron, Jordan, and Deanne but all are welcome.
"Since God is the source of everything in the universe, He must necessarily balance all in Himself. This means that if God is anything, He must be just. Justice is such a warped concept, however, that it seems to have taken on a negative connotation in our world. So in order to understand God's justice, we must redefine.
When we think of justice, we usually consider it in the context of some law having been broken. The perpetrator receives the correct punishment for the wrongs committed: that's justice, we think. But that's not it at all.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines “justice” as: ”the quality of being just, impartial, or fair; the principle or ideal of just dealing or right action; conformity to this principle or ideal; the quality of conforming to law; conformity to truth, fact, or reason” and the same source says that “just” means “having a basis in or conforming to fact or reason; faithful to an original; conforming to a standard of correctness”. Doesn't it make sense that if God is the sole source of all that is in the universe (the “original,” as the dictionary says), He must, without exception, be faithful to Himself? Paul tells us in 2 Timothy 2:13 that “if we are faithless, He remains faithful for He cannot deny Himself.” (One version says “He cannot disown Himself.”)
In the same manner, how many people do you know that are out to “find” themselves? If anything, we want to be true to ourselves and the only way we can do that is to know who we are. It's our deeply-ingrained concept of justice that prompts this search for ourselves. We know that we are all originals, and we want to be true to that unique form.
Since God is Perfection embodied, He must conform to that concept and be just (a quick side-note: perfection and completion are often synonyms). This means that everything in God's creation, which He permeates, must also be perfect and if it's not, it must be separated from Him because if He endures what is not perfect, He disowns Himself.
So when we, His creation made in His image, break his rules, we must be separated from Him. We'll talk more about this later, but this is a good time to bring up the concepts of good and evil. Have you ever wondered how a child knows it's wrong to do something without ever having been told? Even a dog knows when he's doing wrong. This is because of the concept of justice within us. When we do something wrong (meaning: against the standards which God has set for us), we are going against the very fabric of our being, the very stuff we are made of. It rubs us the wrong way because we are not created for that purpose- we're in essence disowning ourselves.
That God is Justice speaks of His eternal Divine need to be true to His own nature."
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Prehistoric Cowboys
Five points if you tell me what's wrong with this article:
http://notexactlyrocketscience.wordpress.com/2007/12/15/prehistoric-meat-eating-fungus-snared-microscopic-worms/
http://notexactlyrocketscience.wordpress.com/2007/12/15/prehistoric-meat-eating-fungus-snared-microscopic-worms/
Monday, December 03, 2007
PART 1: From the book "You Are Special" by Max Lucado
The Wemmicks were small wooden people. Each of the wooden people was carved by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.
Every Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large eyes. Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.
And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers and a box of gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets all over the city, people could be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.
The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars. But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots. The talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall boxes. Still others knew big words or could sing very pretty songs. Everyone gave them stars.
Some Wemmicks had stars all over them! Every time they got a star it made them feel so good that they did something else and got another star. Others, though, could do little. They got dots.
Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him dots. Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would give him more dots. He would try to explain why he fell and say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots. After a while he had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside. He was afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water, and then people would give him another dot. In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and give him one without reason.
"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another. "He's not a good wooden person." After a while Punchinello believed them. "I'm not a good wemmick," he would say. The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots. He felt better around them.
One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots or stars. She was just wooden. Her name was Lulia. It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick. Some admired Lulia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off. Some would look down on her for having no stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn't stay either.
'That's the way I want to be,'thought Punchinello. 'I don't want anyone's marks.' So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it..
"It's easy," Lulia replied. "every day I go see Eli."
"Eli?"
"Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him."
"Why?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there." And with that the Wemmick with no marks turned and skipped away.
"But he won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia didn't hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other stars and dots. "It's not right," he muttered to himself. And he resolved to go see Eli.
He walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big shop. His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave.
Then he heard his name.
"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong.
Punchinello stopped.
"Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."
Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman. "You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked.
"Of course I do. I made you."
Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench.
"Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles.
"Looks like you've been given some bad marks."
"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."
"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."
"You don't?"
"No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots?
They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."
Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"
Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly. "Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."
Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this--much less his maker. He didn't know what to say.
"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.
"I came because I met someone who had no marks."
"I know. She told me about you."
"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"
"Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. The stickers only stick if you let them."
"What?"
"The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about the stickers."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You will, but it will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care."
Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground.
"Remember," Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door. "You are special because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."
Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought, "I think he really means it."
And when he did, a dot fell to the ground.
Every Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large eyes. Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.
And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers and a box of gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets all over the city, people could be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.
The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars. But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots. The talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall boxes. Still others knew big words or could sing very pretty songs. Everyone gave them stars.
Some Wemmicks had stars all over them! Every time they got a star it made them feel so good that they did something else and got another star. Others, though, could do little. They got dots.
Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him dots. Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would give him more dots. He would try to explain why he fell and say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots. After a while he had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside. He was afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water, and then people would give him another dot. In fact, he had so many gray dots that some people would come up and give him one without reason.
"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another. "He's not a good wooden person." After a while Punchinello believed them. "I'm not a good wemmick," he would say. The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots. He felt better around them.
One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots or stars. She was just wooden. Her name was Lulia. It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick. Some admired Lulia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off. Some would look down on her for having no stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn't stay either.
'That's the way I want to be,'thought Punchinello. 'I don't want anyone's marks.' So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it..
"It's easy," Lulia replied. "every day I go see Eli."
"Eli?"
"Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him."
"Why?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there." And with that the Wemmick with no marks turned and skipped away.
"But he won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia didn't hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as they scurried around giving each other stars and dots. "It's not right," he muttered to himself. And he resolved to go see Eli.
He walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big shop. His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm not staying here!" and he turned to leave.
Then he heard his name.
"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong.
Punchinello stopped.
"Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."
Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman. "You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked.
"Of course I do. I made you."
Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench.
"Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles.
"Looks like you've been given some bad marks."
"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."
"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."
"You don't?"
"No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots?
They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."
Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"
Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly. "Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."
Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this--much less his maker. He didn't know what to say.
"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.
"I came because I met someone who had no marks."
"I know. She told me about you."
"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"
"Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. The stickers only stick if you let them."
"What?"
"The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love, the less you care about the stickers."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You will, but it will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care."
Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground.
"Remember," Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door. "You are special because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."
Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought, "I think he really means it."
And when he did, a dot fell to the ground.
PART 2: I've Got No Strings On Me
I cried today for the first time since I've been in Kenya. It wasn't the first time I wanted to cry. It was just the first time that something hit me hard enough to make me. In fact, I'm not done with my cry as I type. The story goes like this:
For the past month, every spare minute of mine has been spent preparing for Vacation Bible School. We expected up to 600 kids, at two different schools.
I've built this curriculum from the ground up. I wrote the program, designed the lessons, adapted the stories, researched games, songs, crafts... all with a tiny budget and limited resources.
I had hour-long meetings once a week with my group of girls and got their input, their ideas, comments, suggestions... and designed the entire week (three hours per day at each school). It's been nerve-wracking at times, frustrating, but overall a great amount of fun. And I have to say I thrive on this kind of stuff.
VBS is this week. I warned the girls ahead of time that today, the first day, would be chaotic. It wasn't as bad as I anticipated. In fact, I can't wish for a better group to step up to the challenge. But, there were some problems we encountered that needed to be addressed, so we had a meeting this evening.
One of the girls thought she was funny. Someone asked me a question in German and I responded in German. This girl (from Switzerland) goes, "I don't like it when she [me] speaks German. It sounds funny." I gave her a raised eyebrow and moved on. When we were talking about the craft, she held it up and laughed at it. "I can't imagine the kids doing this," she said. Then, after a very productive meeting that left everyone feeling ever-so-much better about tomorrow's plan, she got up and said, "So, did we actually talk about anything? Did we accomplish anything?"
Ha. Ha. I wasn't laughing. I was hurt beyond measure. This girl has been to NONE of the planning meetings. In fact, she just told me yesterday that she was coming to VBS and I had to figure out what to do with her at the last minute. She wasn't there for any of the planning. So actually, she had no right to criticize anything.
So there I was, feeling sorry for myself, when Terry asked me how it went. I told her the story (with support from my roommates) and she gave me some sage advice, as she always does. She told me the story of Punchinello. She told me that God thinks I did a great job on the VBS. She reminded me that God likes me. Not just loves me. Likes me. I'm starting to write down the things she says because I think she's a lot like me (only thirty-some years older)and I know she's been through a lot of the same issues.
She knew that I was dealing with a self-esteem issue (not everyone thinks my work is amazing! It's the end of the world!) and she set me straight. "Forget your self-esteem. It's not about yourself. It's about God and His Kingdom. She doesn't get to judge you because she didn't make you. God thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread! You're His favorite. Where was your heart? In doing a great job or doing a mediocre job? Remember, God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance."
So when I came up to my room to cry myself to sleep, this was on my pillow:
For the past month, every spare minute of mine has been spent preparing for Vacation Bible School. We expected up to 600 kids, at two different schools.
I've built this curriculum from the ground up. I wrote the program, designed the lessons, adapted the stories, researched games, songs, crafts... all with a tiny budget and limited resources.
I had hour-long meetings once a week with my group of girls and got their input, their ideas, comments, suggestions... and designed the entire week (three hours per day at each school). It's been nerve-wracking at times, frustrating, but overall a great amount of fun. And I have to say I thrive on this kind of stuff.
VBS is this week. I warned the girls ahead of time that today, the first day, would be chaotic. It wasn't as bad as I anticipated. In fact, I can't wish for a better group to step up to the challenge. But, there were some problems we encountered that needed to be addressed, so we had a meeting this evening.
One of the girls thought she was funny. Someone asked me a question in German and I responded in German. This girl (from Switzerland) goes, "I don't like it when she [me] speaks German. It sounds funny." I gave her a raised eyebrow and moved on. When we were talking about the craft, she held it up and laughed at it. "I can't imagine the kids doing this," she said. Then, after a very productive meeting that left everyone feeling ever-so-much better about tomorrow's plan, she got up and said, "So, did we actually talk about anything? Did we accomplish anything?"
Ha. Ha. I wasn't laughing. I was hurt beyond measure. This girl has been to NONE of the planning meetings. In fact, she just told me yesterday that she was coming to VBS and I had to figure out what to do with her at the last minute. She wasn't there for any of the planning. So actually, she had no right to criticize anything.
So there I was, feeling sorry for myself, when Terry asked me how it went. I told her the story (with support from my roommates) and she gave me some sage advice, as she always does. She told me the story of Punchinello. She told me that God thinks I did a great job on the VBS. She reminded me that God likes me. Not just loves me. Likes me. I'm starting to write down the things she says because I think she's a lot like me (only thirty-some years older)and I know she's been through a lot of the same issues.
She knew that I was dealing with a self-esteem issue (not everyone thinks my work is amazing! It's the end of the world!) and she set me straight. "Forget your self-esteem. It's not about yourself. It's about God and His Kingdom. She doesn't get to judge you because she didn't make you. God thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread! You're His favorite. Where was your heart? In doing a great job or doing a mediocre job? Remember, God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance."
So when I came up to my room to cry myself to sleep, this was on my pillow:
PART 3: A Word from God To His Beloved
(emphasis added)
When I, your God, look into your eyes, I see all your potential and all your gifts. I see what you can be and I redeem what has been. I love every part of you, even the parts you don't like. I love the inside of you and the outside of you.
You are, after all, my idea, and you are physically and emotionally beautiful to me. I am, in face, enthralled by your beauty. I am captivated by you, smitten by you, fascinated, spellbound, and delighted by you. I am taken by your charm. I am intensely interested in you.
I am not distracted by anything when you are talking to me; you have my undivided attention. Your laughter brings me pleasure; the way that you think brings me joy. I am never bored by you; I certainly never think you ordinary. You will never go unnoticed by me. You are incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful to me. My love for you is individual, one-to-one, intimate, personal, and romantic. It is passionate and pure and without reservation.
I will never hold back my affection for you. I will never play games with your heart. I will never stand you up or be too busy for you. I will always show up, I will always remember, and I will always keep my promises. My love for you is unrelenting. I will never leave you even if you leave me. My excitement over you will never wane. My love is not namby-pamby, it is not fickle. I have seen you across a crowded room and I cannot take my eyes off you.
The love I have for you is the love your soul has yearned for. It is an intimate, vulnerable, completing kind of love. You are not just one of the sheep in my pasture, you are my blessed, favorite child and you belong to me. I know you deeply, perfectly, completely. I see you when you are hurting and when you are taken for granted by those you love and when you are exhausted and frustrated and misunderstood and disappointed and I hold you in my arms and love you. I never take my eyes off you. You are known and loved beyond your imagination.
My ear is always inclined toward your heart. I am always here to listen to you even when you cannot think what to say to me and when your heart is dry. I am your rescuer, I will deliver you, I will protect you, I will conquer your foes, and I will fight your battles if you let me. I accept you as you are. You do not have to become something else for me to love you.
You cannot do anything to make me love you more and you cannot do anything to make me love you less. I love you equally on the days when you are weak and frail as on the days when you are strong and vibrant. I will love you even when you think you have disappointed me, I will love you through the dark places; I will love you even when you doubt my love. My love will never fail you. My love runs toward you, it finds you even when you are hiding.
It will never let you go, it will never end.
You think that my love for you is irrational, illogical because you know your faults and you are right... it is irrational and illogical.
but this is part of what believing in my is about; it's believing that this is how I feel about you despite the circumstances you face.
Just believe it, my beautiful child! I see you over there, I am calling to you. I have chosen your favorite music; let me take you into my strong arms and come dance with me!
When I, your God, look into your eyes, I see all your potential and all your gifts. I see what you can be and I redeem what has been. I love every part of you, even the parts you don't like. I love the inside of you and the outside of you.
You are, after all, my idea, and you are physically and emotionally beautiful to me. I am, in face, enthralled by your beauty. I am captivated by you, smitten by you, fascinated, spellbound, and delighted by you. I am taken by your charm. I am intensely interested in you.
I am not distracted by anything when you are talking to me; you have my undivided attention. Your laughter brings me pleasure; the way that you think brings me joy. I am never bored by you; I certainly never think you ordinary. You will never go unnoticed by me. You are incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful to me. My love for you is individual, one-to-one, intimate, personal, and romantic. It is passionate and pure and without reservation.
I will never hold back my affection for you. I will never play games with your heart. I will never stand you up or be too busy for you. I will always show up, I will always remember, and I will always keep my promises. My love for you is unrelenting. I will never leave you even if you leave me. My excitement over you will never wane. My love is not namby-pamby, it is not fickle. I have seen you across a crowded room and I cannot take my eyes off you.
The love I have for you is the love your soul has yearned for. It is an intimate, vulnerable, completing kind of love. You are not just one of the sheep in my pasture, you are my blessed, favorite child and you belong to me. I know you deeply, perfectly, completely. I see you when you are hurting and when you are taken for granted by those you love and when you are exhausted and frustrated and misunderstood and disappointed and I hold you in my arms and love you. I never take my eyes off you. You are known and loved beyond your imagination.
My ear is always inclined toward your heart. I am always here to listen to you even when you cannot think what to say to me and when your heart is dry. I am your rescuer, I will deliver you, I will protect you, I will conquer your foes, and I will fight your battles if you let me. I accept you as you are. You do not have to become something else for me to love you.
You cannot do anything to make me love you more and you cannot do anything to make me love you less. I love you equally on the days when you are weak and frail as on the days when you are strong and vibrant. I will love you even when you think you have disappointed me, I will love you through the dark places; I will love you even when you doubt my love. My love will never fail you. My love runs toward you, it finds you even when you are hiding.
It will never let you go, it will never end.
You think that my love for you is irrational, illogical because you know your faults and you are right... it is irrational and illogical.
but this is part of what believing in my is about; it's believing that this is how I feel about you despite the circumstances you face.
Just believe it, my beautiful child! I see you over there, I am calling to you. I have chosen your favorite music; let me take you into my strong arms and come dance with me!
PART 4: I am God's favorite!
As I was in my room typing up this blog, my French roommate Elise came in with her flash drive and said, "I put on here the music from my favorite movie, Amelie. I listen to it when I don't feel so good and I though you would like it."
I'm listening to the French songs and suddenly I get her. I understand Elise and the way she thinks, how she processes, and why she's so quiet. She's amazing.
Aside from that, it was an incredibly sweet notion and I can only think that it's her way of saying, "You were there for me when my friend died. Now I'm here for you."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Since I was a child, I've been subject to Fire and Brimstone sermons. "Sinners in the Hands of An Angry God" and all that. I won't get into it now (I'm working on it for a bigger piece) but I've always had a problem with that concept. More later.
Anyway, all this teaching about our sinful nature (don't get me wrong- it's important) makes us realize how bad we are, but the realization falls short.
I see how bad I am, but no one bothers to tell me how good God is. How forgiving. How loving. How entirely committed to His creation. Sure, we quote John 3:16, but it's lost its meaning to us. God's not angry with us as Christians. He's in love with us!
And I'm His favorite. So there.
I'm listening to the French songs and suddenly I get her. I understand Elise and the way she thinks, how she processes, and why she's so quiet. She's amazing.
Aside from that, it was an incredibly sweet notion and I can only think that it's her way of saying, "You were there for me when my friend died. Now I'm here for you."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Since I was a child, I've been subject to Fire and Brimstone sermons. "Sinners in the Hands of An Angry God" and all that. I won't get into it now (I'm working on it for a bigger piece) but I've always had a problem with that concept. More later.
Anyway, all this teaching about our sinful nature (don't get me wrong- it's important) makes us realize how bad we are, but the realization falls short.
I see how bad I am, but no one bothers to tell me how good God is. How forgiving. How loving. How entirely committed to His creation. Sure, we quote John 3:16, but it's lost its meaning to us. God's not angry with us as Christians. He's in love with us!
And I'm His favorite. So there.
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