Prayer

Spiritual Journal, Entry 3:

Dear Lord,

Please help me not to freak out over the stupid GRE, even though my entire future hangs on my score, and I only get one shot, and I have to do well in math even though I haven't had math in over twenty years and theologians don't need math anyway, and where do they get off...!!

I digress, Lord.





Guide me to the right private tutor, and not some goofball that thinks he's smart cause he has a BA in math from San Diego State and scored in the 90th percentile on the GRE. Cause him to stumble; entangle him because I have not the time for his idiocy.

And Lord, help me to be less sarcastic in my Spiritual Formation class, even though it's so hard not to make jokes in there. Or just give my teacher a better sense of humor. Either way, Lord. I don't really care.




Bless the leftover pizza I am about to eat for lunch. Let it not clog my arteries or bring me to an early demise.

Bless my wife. Bring her favor in her job, and humble her boss so that he might understand his bellybutton is not, in fact, the center of the universe. Thank you for her job.




Thank you, gracious God, that in my recent trip to New York City I did not get mugged, nor did the subway come to ruin, even though I don't think I've ever seen a subway in a movie where something bad did not happen.

Thank you for the hidden blessings in that trip, like the unplanned detour to Coney Island because I got on the right train but headed in the wrong direction.

God bless our puppy. Help me not to beat the crap out of him, even if he deserves it. Help him to understand, oh Lord, that pooping on the carpet is not ok, and that chewing on my nose to wake me up is not ok, and that chewing on electrical cords is not ok, and that sleeping on top of my face is not ok, even though it's cute and makes me laugh.




Bless my friends across the world. Starving children, blah-da-blah, the President, etc., so on and so forth.

Yours truly,
Solid

David faces a giant

Spiritual Journal, Entry 2:

Dear Lord,

WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Cordially,
David

Folks, I'm feeling in over my head again. A few months ago I was put in contact with Donald Hustad. If any of you know who that is, you get a cookie. For the rest of you, I'll explain.

There is a particular branch of theology that deals with the practical application of music in church. My first masters degree concerned itself primarily with this topic, and now in my second, I find I am approaching many of the same issues from a different angle.

Donald Hustad has been the leading figure in the evangelical church's work on sacred music for the last half century or so. He is also one of the primary figures in the global church's study of sacred music. In his spare time, he spent a few decades touring with Billy Graham.

Ok, let's stop right there and just consider that. For years and years, Billy Graham went around the world leading millions to Christ while "Softly and Tenderly" played gently in the background. And the guy playing "Softly and Tenderly?" His name was Donald Hustad.




A few years ago he went into retirement, and now, in the winter of his life, he has taken time to review my thesis.

Cool, huh? Scary too.

After reading my first chapter, he encouraged me to read some of his previous writing and critique it with regard to the thesis topic.

Holy #@&&! How am I supposed to do that?

. . .

Ok, pointless post. Have a good night, folks.

My name is David.

Well, reader, if you haven't done so already, go to the bathroom, grab some potato chips, and get comfortable. I have a feeling this is gonna be a long one. As for me, I'm going to try to be coherent, but even as I sit down to this blog for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what's gonna come out.

Let's start at the beginning.

My name is David. What happened to Solid, you ask? He got broken.

A few weeks ago, I went to see the movie "Julie and Julia." I know, I know. But I love Julie. Oh yeah, did I mention I have a wife named Julie? We also have a dog named Zeke, although he also goes by...

Zekey

Zekeypants

Zeke E. Pants

Ezekiel Edward Pants

Pants

The Pants

Señor Pantalones

Señor

Mr. Pants, sir.

Puppy

Puppy puppy

Puppy puppy puppy

There may be more. I can't remember. Zeke is a mix between a Yorkshire Terrier and a piranha.

Trust me. He's more dangerous than he looks.

Anyway, we were watching "Julie and Julia," which is a movie about a girl named Julie that blogs about her experiences going through the entire Julia Child cookbook one recipe at a time. And right in the middle of the movie, I started crying.

Let's back up a little.

I don't cry. I do have a strange medical disorder that causes my eyes to leak a watery tear-like substance from time to time (particularly during sad movies), but I do not cry. It's not a choice. I won't fault anyone who does cry. I just don't. I try sometimes and it doesn't work.

And "Julie and Julia" isn't a particularly sad movie. Unless you're a lobster, of course.




Julie (my Julie) asked if I wanted to leave the theater. I pulled myself together and said no. But as soon as we got to the truck, I lost it.

The movie made me remember how much I enjoyed writing this blog. And I'd like to say those tears were for you, dear reader, whom I have missed so terribly, but such is not the case. I was crying because I realized that Solid wasn't Solid anymore.




I still don't really know what happened. Within a period of a week my mother-in-law died and I was laid off from my job. Then there was the pressure of the Ph.D. applications I'm trying to pull together, which... Well, I'll leave that for another day. Let's just say it's traumatic in and of itself. And then one day I found myself in front of a computer, unable to even edit a paragraph in my thesis.

My name is David. I live in San Diego. I don't have all the answers.

There. I said it. I feel all squishy and vulnerable now.

Tonight I started the Fall quarter. It's Spiritual Formation this quarter. We're supposed to keep a journal. My teacher didn't think it was possible to express myself honestly in a blog, but I'd like to give it a shot.

I don't remember if I've ever mentioned this, but two big reasons I started blogging in the first place were my pastor encouraging me to share myself more and a friend challenging me on the fact that I don't readily open up my life to people. I really want to open myself up too.

So let's get started. My spiritual journal, day 1:

I'm a friggin' mess. Even as I write that, I must congratulate myself because friggin' was actually the word I said in my head, and not the other one. Some of my readers have known me for a very long time. Those that know me best will tell you that I don't cuss unless things are pretty messed up in my life.

Let me get judgmental for a minute. Is the rule that I can be judgmental as long as I admit I'm doing it? That should be the rule.

What's up with Christians that say they don't drink because they don't want to set a bad example or give people the wrong idea about them, and then they'll get their picture taken with a glass of sparkling cider? Dude! Didn't you pretty much just defeat your own purpose there?? If you're not drinking because of appearances, then don't appear to be drinking!




That's not really the point though, is it? What I meant to say is why would you use foul language if you're so concerned about appearances??

Let's just save that rabbit trail for another day. And I shouldn't be judgmental like that anyway. Please, drink your apple juice and use whatever words you want. What do I care?

Anyway, I've started cussing again. I'm not exactly a potty-mouth, mind you. We're talking two or three rated-PG words a week. But as I've told many people in the past, my language is a window into my spiritual condition. This is true for no one in the world but me, as far as I know. But if you ever hear me using a four-letter word, I'm probably pretty messed up inside.

And I'm really messed up right now.

I do have to say that it's getting better. I can write again. I can do my work, such as it is. But if my head is above water, it's only barely there.




Oh yeah. Y'know that picture I have of myself swimming in the Caribbean off the shores of St. John? The one that's probably to the left of this very post? Yeah... That was me two-and-a-half years ago. I tipped the scales at about 200 then. Now I'm almost 250.




How's that for honesty? And yes, that's Zeke. As long as I'm being honest, I should admit that I really love that little fluffball. Even if he is part pirhana.

How's my new grandpuppy?

I think I've been reluctant to start writing again because I'm worried about opening a floodgate of raw emotion from the last few weeks. Like I said before, my wife's mother passed away unexpectedly on June 25th, and it's been one of the toughest things I've ever had to go through. Seeing my wife hurt so much for so long, not to mention the rest of her family. There have been a few good things to come of this too though.

For example, two days ago I saw a smile on Wifey's face that you usually don't see on anyone over the age of twelve. She'll be so mad at me for putting up this awful cell phone picture, but you've gotta see it.




What's that she's holding? That would be her new puppy. His name is Zeke. He's a Yorkshire Terrier, and I'm the world's biggest softy. Here's another picture of him...




He's really much cuter in person too. This morning I got a short email from my mom. It inspired my return to the blogosphere, after almost a month of absence.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Just had to share this one with you! How's my new grandpuppy?
cm [Incidentally, "cm?" Are those your initials, or an abbreviation of "Congenial Mother?"]

[Attached: forwarded email about the Texas heat, which becomes a huge conversational topic this time of year]

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Asleep! YAAAAAAAYYYY!!!! Last night we made a run to Petsmart and a lady there told us that babies are much easier than Yorkie puppies. We thought that was ridiculous, and then I thought about it a little bit. He won't sleep through the night, requires attention every moment he's awake right now, and has stinky poop you have to clean up (and wipe his bottom). BUT! No diapers, and he can run.

Last night he did pretty well. He decided we were ready to go to bed about eleven, and then slept until one, when he decided it was playtime. He was adamant about that. So Wifey tried to work her magic, and then I took him out to the living room, let him run on his leash, and played, "I want up I want down" for a while. (Remember that game?)

So about 1:50 I decided to just block off everything I didn't want him to get to in the bedroom. I used plywood scraps, large books, and a chair turned on its side while Julie held him in the bed. When I finally finished, I turned to Julie. She shrugged and gestured to the puppy, who had just laid his head down and gone to sleep, snuggled up against her belly. Fortunately, he made it through the rest of the night.

A couple more interesting things...

His favorite food is my sweat. We have no air conditioner, so I'm constantly covered in puppy slobber.

He thinks my feet are his natural prey. He must attack them on sight, especially when they try to run (walk) away from him.

Finally, he's convinced my nipples have milk. So much for walking around the house without a shirt.

He's really cute though. Especially when he's asleep.

Love you,
Solid

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Readers,

Thanks for your patience with me while I've been gone. It's unlikely I'll be going back to posting every day right now, but I'm going to try to write something at least two or three times a week. Bear with me though. Life hasn't really returned to normal, but I guess I do have a lot to talk about.

Peace,
Solid

Where'd you go?

I wanted to get online to give a quick update to those of you that have wondered as to why I've been silent for the last couple of days.  I may or may not to able to post at any point in the next three weeks or so.

My wife's dear mother passed away very unexpectedly yesterday.  They really were best friends.  She was undergoing a hip replacement, and it was supposed to be a routine procedure.  Unfortunately, a blood clot travelled from the area of the surgery to her heart, and after an hour of efforts, the surgeons were unable to revive her.

Needless to say, it's been...well, pretty much impossible.  We're in Las Vegas with my father-in-law and brother-in-law, and everybody's just trying to make it through a day at a time.  I can't believe it was just yesterday.

The most ridiculous thing is that I don't feel like it should be affecting me as much as it is.  I loved her.  I'm sad about a lot of things.  But my heart breaks for what my wife is going through.  I keep sneaking off to cry.  It's so stupid.

..............

Answering impossible questions is sort of the purpose of this blog.  I really get a kick out of it.  But today I was sitting in a room with a pastor, and was about to say something when my wife came in crying uncontrollably.  I'll tell you instead.

At this point, I'm almost done with my second Masters degree in theology.  I expect to graduate summa cum laude.  I've worked in ministry for over fifteen years.  And I have no answers that are really sufficient.  How?  Why?  I could lecture on the theological development on modern theodicy, which is supposed to deal with that stuff, but it's just not good enough when you're in the thick of it.

Why did this happen?

The world's broken.

Where was God when she died?

The same place he was when his own son died.  On the throne of grace, looking down with love and compassion.

How did it happen?

Blood clot, doctors, the world's broken...  I don't know.

I don't know.

None of it's good enough.

I can only hug you, and love you, and hold your hand, and kiss your forehead, and not leave your side.  Those are the closest things to answers I can come up with right now.

.......

I didn't mean to write this much.  My wife needs me.  Thank you all for your kind thoughts, for your prayers, and for your condolences.  Someday I'll have a little more to say...maybe.  Right now I have other things to do.

-Solid

P.S. I swear that if anyone tries to take me on with this stuff, I'll smack you back into the third grade.  Or worse, I'll sick Katherine on you.  In fact, yeah.  Katherine, until I'm back on top of things, you can be my bulldog.  Much love, old friend.  Much love to all of you.

Who would win in a fight between Superman and the Hulk?

For today's blog, I humbly offer a letter I submitted today to Eddie Pappani, of The Mikey Show. In case you're new here, I'm a fan. Of The Mikey Show. And comic books. And trying to sound smart. Enjoy.

Dear Eddie,

I thoroughly enjoyed this morning’s “nerd debate” regarding a hypothetical physical altercation between Superman and the Hulk. With all respect, I believe you argued your position better than either of the designated debaters. Nonetheless, I take issue with your position. In other words, you, sir, are wrong.

As an aficionado of video games, I rest assured you are familiar with the concept of “kiting” wherein a combatant with ranged attacks maintains a sufficient distance between himself and his opponent so that he will suffer no damage, all the time performing ranged attacks designed to eventually undo his opponent and gain the victory. Superman has a natural ranged attack in his “heat vision,” whereas Hulk has none.

Ah! But Hulk can throw rocks, you say! Indeed he can. This is where we come to one of two critical areas where Superman can potentially supersede the Hulk. I am speaking of super-speed. No matter how powerful the Hulk may become, if he cannot land a blow on Superman, the point is moot.

Yes, I anticipate your next argument as well, and am ready to answer it. Indeed, as the Hulk’s anger rises so with it will rise his power in all respects, and with it, his invulnerability. (His speed may be affected as well, but such conjecture is only theoretical.) At best, we find ourselves in a position where the proverbial “unstoppable force” has met the “immovable object.” Is it possible that Superman can never destroy a Hulk whose invulnerability is unlimited?

Perhaps. However, the question of who would win the fight may be answered by a simple consideration of Newtonian physics. Superman’s power of flight allows him to change direction in midair, while the Hulk’s does not. Consider then the following scenario:

The Hulk gathers his power, and with a mighty leap that causes the very earth to shake, he vaults into the air on a collision course with the Man of Steel. His rage has reached such a point that one punch might well end the Kryptonian in a way even Doomsday might never have imagined.

Superman moves to the side, allows the Hulk to pass, and hits him from behind with a blast from his heat vision, inflicting damage and propelling the Hulk further into space.

One of two things will happen at this point. Either the Hulk will die of oxygen depletion outside the Earth’s atmosphere or if Superman has aimed well, the Hulk will be on a near endless course through the depths of space as he leaves not only the Earth’s atmosphere but also the boundaries first of our solar system, and many, many years after his massive body has begun to rot, eventually leaves the Milky Way galaxy itself to drift forever in darkness.

The Hulk has one great hope. Fortunately for him, the writers at DC Comics are not nearly so creative as to be able to come up with such a solution, as evidenced by Superman’s tragic encounter with Doomsday, which could well have ended similarly. The Hulk, on the other hand, has Stan Lee, Avi Arad, and the rest of the Marvel Comics team behind him, who would never so much as consider introducing a character so overpowered as Superman only to waste such potential on simple matters such as crime-fighting.

My conclusion, therefore, is that while the Hulk might well lose in a fight to Superman, Marvel Comics are clearly superior to DC Comics, as should be self-evident at this point.

Thank you,

P1 Solid

Strongest dad in the world?

Wow! Yesterday Pastor Dave shared a video in church that really got me, and I wanted to pass it on. I've attached it at the bottom, but it'll help if I give you a little background information. The following is taken from TeamHoyt.com:

Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father-and-son team from Massachusetts who together compete just about continuously in marathon races. And if they’re not in a marathon they are in a triathlon — that daunting, almost superhuman, combination of 26.2 miles of running, 112 miles of bicycling, and 2.4 miles of swimming. Together they have climbed mountains, and once trekked 3,735 miles across America.

It’s a remarkable record of exertion — all the more so when you consider that Rick can't walk or talk. For the past twenty five years or more Dick, who is 65, has pushed and pulled his son across the country and over hundreds of finish lines.




At Rick’s birth in 1962 the umbilical cord coiled around his neck and cut off oxygen to his brain. Dick and his wife, Judy, were told that there would be no hope for their child’s development.

In 1975, Rick was finally admitted into a public school. Two years later, he told his father he wanted to participate in a five-mile benefit run for a local lacrosse player who had been paralyzed in an accident.

Dick, far from being a long-distance runner, agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair. They finished next to last, but they felt they had achieved a triumph. That night, Dick remembers, "Rick told us he just didn’t feel handicapped when we were competing."

Rick’s own accomplishments, quite apart from the duo’s continuing athletic success, have included his moving on from high school to Boston University, where he graduated in 1993 with a degree in special education. That was followed a few weeks later by another entry in the Boston Marathon.

As he fondly pictured it: "On the day of the marathon from Hopkinton to Boston people all over the course were wishing me luck, and they had signs up which read 'Congratulations on your graduation!’"

Rick now works at Boston College’s computer laboratory helping to develop a system codenamed "Eagle Eyes," through which mechanical aids (like for instance a powered wheelchair) could be controlled by a paralyzed person’s eye-movements, when linked-up to a computer.

Together the Hoyts don’t only compete athletically; they also go on motivational speaking tours, spreading the Hoyt brand of inspiration to all kinds of audiences, sporting and non-sporting, across the country.




By the way, Dick Hoyt is 65 years old. That's what I call Solid.


-Solid