". . . like men once did."
Classic
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Been thinking
and I'm seriously considering getting rid of my visit counter on the bottom of my blog. Its just depressing to look at. Though I do admit a certain thrill when I see the number go up by one. Then again, that is quickly followed by shame as I realize that I brought the count up by continuing to check to see if I have new comments. Or to see if the counter went up. Which it does, but only because I keep checking. You see what a vicious cycle this has become?
Adventures in Christianity: Crash course
Going to church was simply a part of my young life, like going to school. I took part in the Christmas plays, Sunday schools, and youth groups. When I got older, I led worship and once even preached a sermon.
Summers were spent at Bible camp. There I met new friends and had countless crushes on girls. Mornings and evenings were chapel times. We had loud worship music and energetic sermons.
I was fully integrated into the establishment. Yet, I never felt completely a part of it.
When I was a child, I never bothered to question what the church was doing, or the social values they preached. For me, church simply was what existed. I might as well have questioned why I had a dad and a mom.
My dad took a break from the pulpit after Herbert, though that didn't slow our involvement in the church at all. Dad got into public works, and would spend over 8 years in that career until he felt called back into ministry. But as far as church went, we didn't skip a beat.
When Dad worked in Luseland, he took time off in the summer to do a kids ministry at Luseland Bible Camp. There, I helped him with the puppet show. It turns out I had a knack for funny voices. Thank you puberty.
Yet, as I grew up, I begin questioning the usefulness in what I was involved in. Being in a church where I grew up meant you were conservative, pro-choice, free-market loving, and never talked about sex except to comment how bad it was that everyone seemed be doing it.
I believed (and to this day, still do) believe in the Bible and in Christ. But I couldn't reconcile what I knew about Jesus and the political views pushed by the Church. And by my parents. As I began to slowly reject those various political views, a resentment started to build within me. I resented feeling I had to believe in a system that had little to do with loving others as ourselves, and more about trying to preserve some sort of status quo that I'm not sure ever existed in the first place. I honestly have had conversations with Christians who think that homosexuals try to trick other people into being gay (they call it recruiting. Like its the fucking army or something). And that liberals want woman to have abortions. Let me tell you, these never turn into thoughtful debates.
I look back at my involvement in church over the years, and I admit there was fun. I met good friends who I'm close to this day
But I never needed the church to have fun with friends. I needed the church to teach me about social justice, and about helping those who are the least of us. Instead, I got a crash course in social conservatism.
It became like that bike I tried to climb on all those years ago. It was something I was supposed to love and enjoy, but instead it fell and cut me open.
Keep reading for more Adventures in Christianity.
Summers were spent at Bible camp. There I met new friends and had countless crushes on girls. Mornings and evenings were chapel times. We had loud worship music and energetic sermons.
I was fully integrated into the establishment. Yet, I never felt completely a part of it.
When I was a child, I never bothered to question what the church was doing, or the social values they preached. For me, church simply was what existed. I might as well have questioned why I had a dad and a mom.
My dad took a break from the pulpit after Herbert, though that didn't slow our involvement in the church at all. Dad got into public works, and would spend over 8 years in that career until he felt called back into ministry. But as far as church went, we didn't skip a beat.
When Dad worked in Luseland, he took time off in the summer to do a kids ministry at Luseland Bible Camp. There, I helped him with the puppet show. It turns out I had a knack for funny voices. Thank you puberty.
Yet, as I grew up, I begin questioning the usefulness in what I was involved in. Being in a church where I grew up meant you were conservative, pro-choice, free-market loving, and never talked about sex except to comment how bad it was that everyone seemed be doing it.
I believed (and to this day, still do) believe in the Bible and in Christ. But I couldn't reconcile what I knew about Jesus and the political views pushed by the Church. And by my parents. As I began to slowly reject those various political views, a resentment started to build within me. I resented feeling I had to believe in a system that had little to do with loving others as ourselves, and more about trying to preserve some sort of status quo that I'm not sure ever existed in the first place. I honestly have had conversations with Christians who think that homosexuals try to trick other people into being gay (they call it recruiting. Like its the fucking army or something). And that liberals want woman to have abortions. Let me tell you, these never turn into thoughtful debates.
I look back at my involvement in church over the years, and I admit there was fun. I met good friends who I'm close to this day
But I never needed the church to have fun with friends. I needed the church to teach me about social justice, and about helping those who are the least of us. Instead, I got a crash course in social conservatism.
It became like that bike I tried to climb on all those years ago. It was something I was supposed to love and enjoy, but instead it fell and cut me open.
Keep reading for more Adventures in Christianity.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Scott's Adventures in Christianity. An Introduction
I'm about 7 fingers deep into a bottle of whiskey right now. At least I think so. I emptied the bottle.
Work sucked today. Which is fine. Bad days happen. Tomorrow could easily be the best day of my life. I see no point in worrying. That my friends, is perspective.
I'm thinking about religion now. As usual. For those who don't know my well, I have a fairly strong views on religion. I'm a Christian. I'm a believer.
But what does this mean to me now?
My journey into religion started at birth. I was born the oldest son of a pastor in a Pentecostal church. The town it resides in is called Oxbow. Right next to the American border. My parents should have planned it so I could have been born inAmerica
I have no real memories of my time in that small town. Family legend says I was the last baby to be born in that hospital before it closed due to budget cuts. Another weird Reagan legacy leeching its way through Canadian borders.
My first real memories of being in church involve another small town called Herbert. It had a strong Mennonite heritage, or so I was told later. We were only there for a few years. Long enough for me to scar my hand on the motorcycle my dad kept in the driveway.
You see, my dad loved to ride those bikes. Sometimes he would take me with him. I would sit at the front and he would sit behind me, keeping me safe as we explored the cold frontier ofSaskatchewan
On Sunday, Dad had left for early to prepare the church. Mom was getting me and the rest of the kids ready. It was during this morning rush, she lost track of me. I had wondered outside because I was bored of waiting. I was already dressed for church in my dress pants and tiny dress sweater. So I wandered up to the motorbike that sat in our driveway. I decided to climb up. Perhaps I wanted to experience the thrill of sitting on the beast as it took me across the wind-swept prairie. Or it could have been I longed for the security of being next to my father as we adventured through town. For whatever reason, I tried to climb the motorcycle. Of course, the thing fell on me and the brake handle broke off, slicing my four year old hand. The scar remains. Long and shaped like an "s". The doctor did a poor job of stitching it. It left me with a webbed finger. Seriously.
At any rate, I remember the shock of my mom's face as I cried out for her on the cold pavement. My blood seemed to pour down the incline of the driveway. I remember wondering briefly if I was going to die (I had never really been hurt before).
To this day, my parents talk about it. They figure I tried to climb the bike because I loved going on rides with my dad so much.
The odd thing is I have no memories at all of being on that bike. No dreams of the wind cooling my face as my father and I tame the wilderness on two wheels. I don't remember laughing with glee as we hit bumps and I rise gently in my seat feeling safe in the arms of the one who loves me best.
My only memory is of it spilling my blood on a cold morning, and watching it leak into the earth.
Stay tuned for more Adventures in Christianity.
Work sucked today. Which is fine. Bad days happen. Tomorrow could easily be the best day of my life. I see no point in worrying. That my friends, is perspective.
I'm thinking about religion now. As usual. For those who don't know my well, I have a fairly strong views on religion. I'm a Christian. I'm a believer.
But what does this mean to me now?
My journey into religion started at birth. I was born the oldest son of a pastor in a Pentecostal church. The town it resides in is called Oxbow. Right next to the American border. My parents should have planned it so I could have been born in
I have no real memories of my time in that small town. Family legend says I was the last baby to be born in that hospital before it closed due to budget cuts. Another weird Reagan legacy leeching its way through Canadian borders.
My first real memories of being in church involve another small town called Herbert. It had a strong Mennonite heritage, or so I was told later. We were only there for a few years. Long enough for me to scar my hand on the motorcycle my dad kept in the driveway.
You see, my dad loved to ride those bikes. Sometimes he would take me with him. I would sit at the front and he would sit behind me, keeping me safe as we explored the cold frontier of
On Sunday, Dad had left for early to prepare the church. Mom was getting me and the rest of the kids ready. It was during this morning rush, she lost track of me. I had wondered outside because I was bored of waiting. I was already dressed for church in my dress pants and tiny dress sweater. So I wandered up to the motorbike that sat in our driveway. I decided to climb up. Perhaps I wanted to experience the thrill of sitting on the beast as it took me across the wind-swept prairie. Or it could have been I longed for the security of being next to my father as we adventured through town. For whatever reason, I tried to climb the motorcycle. Of course, the thing fell on me and the brake handle broke off, slicing my four year old hand. The scar remains. Long and shaped like an "s". The doctor did a poor job of stitching it. It left me with a webbed finger. Seriously.
At any rate, I remember the shock of my mom's face as I cried out for her on the cold pavement. My blood seemed to pour down the incline of the driveway. I remember wondering briefly if I was going to die (I had never really been hurt before).
To this day, my parents talk about it. They figure I tried to climb the bike because I loved going on rides with my dad so much.
The odd thing is I have no memories at all of being on that bike. No dreams of the wind cooling my face as my father and I tame the wilderness on two wheels. I don't remember laughing with glee as we hit bumps and I rise gently in my seat feeling safe in the arms of the one who loves me best.
My only memory is of it spilling my blood on a cold morning, and watching it leak into the earth.
Stay tuned for more Adventures in Christianity.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Crazy? Don't mind if I do.
Its 2:34 am. Why the hell am I still up?
Oh yeah. I don't work till 11.
Want to go to bed but can't stop reading stupid blog about psychotic insecure men. Damn you Sheldon and your ridiculous knowledge of the world wide blogosphere.
I've read so many that I'm starting to project all over the place. . . I am now deathly concerned I am becoming one of those crazy guys that spends their nights completely alone with only the glow of the computer screen to keep them warm. I'm seeing every interaction I've had with the female race through the gnawing fear of being a needy lame duck sociopath.
I don't even know what I meant by that.
And now my blog has become my own Frankenstein hybrid of twitter/facebook. Except no one is forced to look at it the updates.
. . . I wonder whats on Youtube . . .
Oh yeah. I don't work till 11.
Want to go to bed but can't stop reading stupid blog about psychotic insecure men. Damn you Sheldon and your ridiculous knowledge of the world wide blogosphere.
I've read so many that I'm starting to project all over the place. . . I am now deathly concerned I am becoming one of those crazy guys that spends their nights completely alone with only the glow of the computer screen to keep them warm. I'm seeing every interaction I've had with the female race through the gnawing fear of being a needy lame duck sociopath.
I don't even know what I meant by that.
And now my blog has become my own Frankenstein hybrid of twitter/facebook. Except no one is forced to look at it the updates.
. . . I wonder whats on Youtube . . .
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
So I'm not dead.
Now, I understand that there are few people who probably check out my blog anymore. Which is fine. I'm not caring to much about that anymore (adding: Damn you Sheldon and Matt for your continued blogging success).
Basically, I got a new job repairing furniture that required me to live in Winnipeg for a while and then when I got back I had no access to the interweb. This is the explaination for my absence.
But now I have my own place (where I live all by my lonesome) and have my very own handy dandy intertube connection device. Life is good.
I hung out with Sheldon last night and he reminded me that I enjoy blogging, and indeed, I even have a blog.
As far as content, I'll probably still post stupid shit and thoughts I think are Made of Awesome. And when the mood strikes, I'll do up a proper brain thinkin' blog.
Love always.
Me
Basically, I got a new job repairing furniture that required me to live in Winnipeg for a while and then when I got back I had no access to the interweb. This is the explaination for my absence.
But now I have my own place (where I live all by my lonesome) and have my very own handy dandy intertube connection device. Life is good.
I hung out with Sheldon last night and he reminded me that I enjoy blogging, and indeed, I even have a blog.
As far as content, I'll probably still post stupid shit and thoughts I think are Made of Awesome. And when the mood strikes, I'll do up a proper brain thinkin' blog.
Love always.
Me
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