"How Bree Became a Wiser Horse"

what up, neighhhhhbor?

Here's a little venture into the ink well. I would name this daring company... Ace, if I had the intellectual property to mine own (although it may be grammatically incorrect, it does sound more boozgjwahzi than "my own") but sadly I do not. It will, without my bidding, be rightfully called The Horse and His Boy. Ahem. I shall continue with my superior tone and my eyes half shut with no regard to the winds or loose eyelashes.

There is a peculiar aesthetic to be had, noticed and observed in the telling of metaphors, in particular, metaphors within stories (oh how I was tempted to be redundant and write 'within metaphors' again and again about 3 times, but I am currently in the process of refining myself and these long winded parenthesis are a former shadow of me self arr). They must be strictly observed, but never highlighted because to highlight means to set in stone, or paper, its meaning and interpretation solely for the highlighter and no one else. It is to select just one wavelength in an infinite array of white light. There is nothing wrong in that just as there is nothing wrong in eating only the red skittles in a bag and ignoring the rest. I say "balderdash" (because it is a fun word to say).

Only the one who shines the light knows exactly where, and thus the reason for, the light to shine where it shines. When an observer sees where it shines it is important to see the whole of the shining, rather than the limited portion in which he (assume "/she". I'm not sexy racist) wants to see. This is unlike a buffet, where one can choose to eat whatever he likes for the pleasure of his appetite. If he does not pick up the Honk-Kong-style-fried-noodle soup, the "preparer of the food" (I will refrain from using the word 'chef' for I may offend the 'food is art' crowd save John Mayer and little children in high chairs) will not be offended or thought to be misunderstood as to why the "eater of the food" didn't try the whole palette of prepared food. This is more like a painting. And you can fill in the parallel blanks I am mentally (not) making in my head. And if you are a child of the King of Kings...

Alright, alright. I've had horrible ratings for my transitions (the latest being 6/10).

[Meanwhile], the metaphor hidden in a story is quite unique. The one who pens the story wields the power of revelation. It is not a mere show and tell, but a touch and feel; not a shallow dip in the water, but a total immersion; not a picture of a stranger, but a reflection of one's self. The former(s) is for prideful, assuming eyes that will simply narrow in on personal gain (what's in it for me? what can I learn from this parable?) and either be content, or frustrated with seeing very little. The latter(s) is for humble, lowly eyes that will not only open wide to discover the masterpiece at the light's end, but also gaze upon the beauty of the Artist. What becomes naturally highlighted, or we might say spotlighted, then, is our humble star gazer who now stands in the light in order to see the Light. Now this becomes a proper paradox for it is now personal, yet not for the person on his own account or his aiming of the spotlight on himself, but in light, and in the light, of a greater Person who originates and receives the splendor of it all.

(KABOOM! that's the sound of all my brain cells self-destructing simultaneously)

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning... The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:1,14

The real peculiar thing is not all metaphors within stories are fiction.

[Finally], if you're wondering what's with all this bloody English talking, parenthetical nonsense?

Three words (interrupted by a single question word):

Chronic-WHAT-cles of Narnia!

Media

The plural of medium.

I heard on the radio (99.5) the other day about Phil Vischer. He is the creator of Veggie Tales. He has created another franchise for children's ministry called JellyTelly. Check it out!

yo! move over gabba gabba!

Here is a quote by Phil Vischer:

"It's taken me 14 years to learn this lesson, I'm hoping I can save you a few. Do you dream of the work that you can do for God? Do you carry ambitions for changing the world in His name? When you're ready to put them on the altar, to kill them, to let them go, to live your whole life without them resting solely on your relationship with God, you're ready to be used by Him."

Trial after Victory

hya hya!

Round 1

Last night I was sitting in on the Good News Club (GNC) teacher's training hosted by CEF. As the pastor was giving us a message, I was led to pray and praise and give thanks (in my seat, on my own). I was filled with His joy as every Word dropped like honey. Then...

"John! Why are you touching your lips like that?" whispered noon who was sitting right next to me. Before I knew it I was giving her the coldest stare in the universe of DC comics. Then I semi-rolled my eyes, took 3 scoots away from her chair, and started picking at my lips again (a bad habit I picked up from who knows where). I was angry at her for "ruining my moment" but I knew on the spot (as I was giving her the I-can't-see-you-from-the-corner-of-my-eye treatment), that it was completely my mistake. I was all worked up because of nothing she said, but because of my short comings and how I reacted to what she said. And only His Word will be the last word.

Round 2

After the GNC meeting I was driving home and once again I was giving God the praise and thanksgiving and having a revival service in my car (also for teaching me and correcting to me in round 1). I got off the freeway and I was going up the street when a bmw who was up to no good, started making trouble in my neighborhood. I was ahead on the right lane and signaled left, but for half a block this guy was teasing me (benefit of the doubt: he was probably hesitating whether to pass me or let me enter). Every time I sped up to make my move he would match my speed, and whenever I slowed down to get behind him he would also match my speed. He finally hit the gas and sped up to pass me. Right then, I stopped praying and glared to my left to freeze him with my eyes as he passed by. It was an old lady looking ahead without a care in the world...

Again, I realized what I had done as soon as the car passed me. haaaaaaaa (that's the sound of a deep mournful sigh). My prayers quickly turned into repentance. Only His Word will be the last word.

Round 3

This morning at church, I put my keys in the ignition to start my engine. kekekekekeke* =D kekekekekeke* =O kekekekekeke* =| kekekekeke*! -_- Helga wouldn't start. It was like she was snickering at me. kekeke. "Don't get me started Helga!" Since this was right after morning prayer, I got fired up and began to cry out and intercede for Helga while gripping the steering wheel super tightly like it was Lazarus' mummified head. kekekekeke* haaaaaaa. More than anything, I was frustrated at God thinking, "Why now? Why after a wonderful time at morning prayer? C'mon now!" honk*

This happened and that happened and finally PT jump started my car and suggested I go straight home or to a body shop because it's likely that the battery is out. I chose option two and got a new battery. And PT was right. At the body shop the mechanic switched the engine on and off about 4 times and Helga was out. That's right. If God had miraculously started my car when I prayed and I stopped my car again, I could have been stranded in a worse situation. He allowed me to take out the root of the problem instead of trimming for a temporary solution. If only I could have seen that, I would have been peacefully eating the fruit of patience instead of choking on whine and cheese.

Continue? 10. 9. 8. 7...

Lesson learned, get some more coins and keep on playing praying.

Jesus' Victory > my victory

My victory had blinded me.

My pride had destroyed me.

But His humility rescued me

from every trial and temptation.

So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall!

1 Corinthians 10:12

Morning

The steadfast Love of the Lord never changes

His mercies never come to an end

They are new every morning

New every morning

Great is Thy faithfulness, O Lord

Great is Thy faithfulness

Light and Salt

via NYT

After the game, Tebow hugged teammates with a wide smile. He was giving thanks, regardless of the circumstances.

He is a MK (missionary's kid). He is the man.

Bubble Love

I was planning on going to Fresh 09, but ended up accompanying dad to "sharing festival." Our mission was to spy on them to see how they set up the event so we can use some ideas when we do ours for CEF next month. Unfortunately, we got there right at closing time when everyone was cleaning up. Fortunately, we still wandered around and observed. We realized YN has major man power (and now three whole blocks) and that ours is probably going to be 1/25 in scale. Though I still have my eyes on those inflatable jumping houses.

The church brought back memories. VBS, choir, Tijuana, seminars. Since then, they have further built and expanded their empire. It's incredible. I feel like I'm in the pyramids. Seriously, I even think the church asked the city to make a special green arrow left turn on their street, and that bridge into C-town is probably church property too, and those factory looking buildings nearby are where they hand make bread and wine for communion and research and develop vbs body worship and crank out bibles of every language and produce missionaries who will fulfill kingdom purposes. "I am Missionary T2000. He'll be back." The church has so many resources at the tip of their fingers. Unbelievable. How do you keep all that in check in the midst of (and on top of shepherding) thousands upon thousands in the flock? Hm.

bloop bloop

I'm thinking of bubbles. Its edges are fortified from within to keep things out. There is a sign in them that reads "Comfort Zone" right above a crossed out "Fellowship." Everyone inside is smiling, but everyone outside is not. The bubbles grow larger and invade new territories, but are never affected by outside forces, neither do they ever affect their foreign obstacles. The crowd around it grows like a cloud forming from vent up rain. Safe. Warning. Caution. Danger. Caution. Warning. Safe. Warning. Caution. Danger. Soon the inevitable. Inescapable. Needles drop and the bubbles pop. Suddenly there is no difference between outside and inside. Superficial rainbows kept the soapy spheres hardened with pride. Religion fades like distant tongues within evanescent smiles and what remains is an orphan, a widow, a compromised man. Who in the cold stream will have a heart of yielding clay? Who in the flood will have a heart to build an ark? Bubbles pop. Hearts stop. But Love never fails.

Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices

as much as in obeying the voice of the Lord?

To obey is better than sacrifice,

and to heed is better than the fat of rams.

1 Samuel 15:22

Door

Unreal. It's like we're in a movie.

What people don't realize is the undermining masterplan to create something more than a lunar cheese crater.

Death Moon. I called it.

If I was the CEO of Arrowhead or any water company I would be crossing my caps for a positive.

20 bucks there's no water. I called it. Again.

But if there is, who would be the first one to be baptized on the moon? I was going to say Michael Jackson, but I take that back... way back to 1983.

And a voice from heaven said, "He is the one and the kid is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased."

(MJV)

Battle Bikes Baby!

This is a Public Serve Announcement sponsored by Do-the-right-thing! Hyaa!

Folks, don't even think about it unless you are this guy:

or this guy:

In other words,

vroom vroom vroom vroom vroom vroom!

And if you still decide for it, make sure this happens - vroom vroom - so you realize sooner rather than later.

I mean, if you still want a thrill so badly, go get yourself a horse that can do this: neigh

Whatever sinks your boat. ^^

Milk and Coffee

Taking out some money from the bank and going to Coffee Bean.

$40.00

Getting super cold and not having my sweater, which was probably

$39.99

Experimenting in the past to find out if I really am allergic to coffee.

$13.00

Ordering a small hot chocolate with the knowledge of that dark, bitter truth.

$2.20

But not paying that amount because I changed my mind to medium.

$2.80

Deliciously drinking it all then suddenly remembering I am lactose intolerant.

$@#!

Holding it in up to my rectal limit, then FOL (Farting Out Loud).

$0.00

Reading the Word like my life depended on it.

Priceless

and way sweeter than hot chocolate.