Lord, help me to change always, for perfection is a long way off;
Bring me every day nearer to you, for my walk is yet long.
My heart follows after the lies of the devil;
and my mind deceives my heart with foolish lies.
My heart runs after riches and glory and all good things, Lord;
but for you my feet do not amble.
I feel the need for goods and love and praise, but do not see your glory as my own. I eat my food and wake my days and sleep my nights, but I do not see you! I am bent over as an old man, Lord, and my heart is of too many minds to survive! Unite my loves for you, and use my heart for your glory.
Your miserable wretch,
!Noah!
November 23, 2012
November 19, 2012
I hate mail
And let me tell you why.
Ok, so here's how it starts. A woodsman of some sort in some wood in some far away place looks upon a tree and sets about cutting it down. Soon, it's sent down a river, or carried on a truck, for thousands of miles. This tree then finds its way to a factory where it is cut into pieces of some sort or another, mulched, and then combined with water to make pulp. After that, by a process of compression and more compression, it becomes paper. This paper is rolled or cut and sent all over the world. This paper gets made into an envelope, and that piece of paper gets made into a 8.5 by 11 sheet of everyday, ordinary paper. On this paper is put a message, meant to mean something. A postage stamp is put on the envelope and it is driven or flown more thousands of miles and walked up to my doorstep.
Then, unceremoniously, without care or wonder, the envelope is torn open, the letter is scanned without care and, and this is the part that I hate, it is discarded and forgotten.
Why do I hate mail, then, do you ask? Put yourself in the letter's shoes. Would you like to be sent from an organization in the knowledge that it could very well end up in a landfill? What cause is so important that paper should be discarded like that?
I hate my brain.
!Noah!
Ok, so here's how it starts. A woodsman of some sort in some wood in some far away place looks upon a tree and sets about cutting it down. Soon, it's sent down a river, or carried on a truck, for thousands of miles. This tree then finds its way to a factory where it is cut into pieces of some sort or another, mulched, and then combined with water to make pulp. After that, by a process of compression and more compression, it becomes paper. This paper is rolled or cut and sent all over the world. This paper gets made into an envelope, and that piece of paper gets made into a 8.5 by 11 sheet of everyday, ordinary paper. On this paper is put a message, meant to mean something. A postage stamp is put on the envelope and it is driven or flown more thousands of miles and walked up to my doorstep.
Then, unceremoniously, without care or wonder, the envelope is torn open, the letter is scanned without care and, and this is the part that I hate, it is discarded and forgotten.
Why do I hate mail, then, do you ask? Put yourself in the letter's shoes. Would you like to be sent from an organization in the knowledge that it could very well end up in a landfill? What cause is so important that paper should be discarded like that?
I hate my brain.
!Noah!
November 07, 2012
OBAMA REELECTED, STILL WON'T PUBLICALLY WALK ON WATER
In a surprising culmination of an absurd quantity of opinions expressed in similarly absurd proximity, our current President, Barack Obama, was asked by the convoluted, but age-old process of "filling in the oval completely and darkly," to become our future president as well. A president of past, present, and future?
Wanton sensationalism seemed lacking, so we consulted the ever-vigilant Mr. Bertilson.
"I've got to say, I didn't see it coming. I mean, I did, but it took me fifteen hours as an election judge to think, 'Oh, snap, we're deader than peat moss in outer space!'"
Wanton sensationalism still seemed absent, so security was sent to the back yard, the roof, and the smelly inside of your sofa, davenport, and couch.
"I'd just like to say this...to all of you out there wondering if the world really will end this December, or if America is a minimum of six inches under already, with good prospect of going significantly more distance under, or if you feel that this election is an example of why Canada isn't such a bad idea, remember this one thing! In our darkest hour, when all seemed lost (and was, actually), we were never choosing between a black man and a white man, or a Republican and a Democrat, or a President and a former Governer; rather, we were chosing between a lawyer...and a pastor."
Wanton sensationalism was found later today with multiple stab wounds and half a dozen misplaced concussions...and mutilated beyond belief...and exploded all over...Facebook.
!Noah!
Wanton sensationalism seemed lacking, so we consulted the ever-vigilant Mr. Bertilson.
"I've got to say, I didn't see it coming. I mean, I did, but it took me fifteen hours as an election judge to think, 'Oh, snap, we're deader than peat moss in outer space!'"
Wanton sensationalism still seemed absent, so security was sent to the back yard, the roof, and the smelly inside of your sofa, davenport, and couch.
"I'd just like to say this...to all of you out there wondering if the world really will end this December, or if America is a minimum of six inches under already, with good prospect of going significantly more distance under, or if you feel that this election is an example of why Canada isn't such a bad idea, remember this one thing! In our darkest hour, when all seemed lost (and was, actually), we were never choosing between a black man and a white man, or a Republican and a Democrat, or a President and a former Governer; rather, we were chosing between a lawyer...and a pastor."
Wanton sensationalism was found later today with multiple stab wounds and half a dozen misplaced concussions...and mutilated beyond belief...and exploded all over...Facebook.
!Noah!
Idols, Homosexuality, and Other Stuff My Mind Cares Far Too Much About
Yeah, like that's gonna happen.
The previous statement is neither a comment on the current political atmosphere, nor a tortilla asking for salsa during, well, a salsa.
Y'see, I put undue hope in the power of the elections. Mitt Romney! Woo hoo! He's Christianish, pro-Life, and most likely headed back to whichever house he prefers to lick his wounds at. Sure, it's not a sure thing at this point, but if Romney wins Ohio and another electorally significant state such that he wins the electoral college...well, I'll go bald 'til the apocalypse blows over.
You can quote me on that.
But on to the point of this post, which, a lot like an actual pin, is simply an assembly of atoms socially awkward enough to shove all of the atoms in your thumb out of the way just by getting near.
YEAH, THAT"S HOW IT WORKS, FOLKS. MEDICAL SCIENCE, RIGHT HERE!
But to the point, no matter how awkward and stupid. Let's see.
Ok, so I want a camera. I want a relationship. Yeah, everyone knows that, and most likely everyone also knows it's not a healthy relationship, desire, hope.
But...honestly, I've never tried. It's not to say I don't realize it won't work, it's just that I haven't had that apparently mandatory process of realizing, oh, right, you're too small for the hole in my heart, so you literally, metaphorically fell through.
I mean, I might say cameras haven't exactly elevated me to my hopeful and dreaming estate of perfection, comfort, and whimsical carelessness. But it's not like I've ever really hated to be "with" cameras, so to speak. Is it an idolatry? I would hesitantly say no, but I'm as liable to trust myself in this sort of thing as an iguana is to become a ninja, however blissful the thought.
So...me and Cameras...we can stay together, right?
Heck, how should I know. You're talking to yourself, noob.
It's a literary device! A crude one, and probably ineffective, but spoons never stopped me from avoiding tomatoes, did they?
But what of undue hopes? Idols and stuff and such. It's all well and good in life until you decide you can't live without running with scissors. I mean, if that happens to be your thing.
Odd though it be, I think I discovered an excellent hangman word. Ok, continuing...
But a girl! A girl! Is it so wrong or stupid or even evil that I should be a Pandora's box of wonder and glory all for God, but that some girl should have the key?
Man, I'm stupid.
How could that be? Why should that be?
I guess it should be obvious to me, with absolute certainty, that not only do I make an idol of a relationship, but also I've sort of never not done so.
It struck me sometime in the last month that saying homosexuals are born homosexual is a bit like saying tomatoes grow. Well, perhaps my stash of analogies has completely depleted, but my point is this.
The first point of Calvinism is total depravity; the idea that, from our first moments, from the beginning of our lives to the end thereof, in every facet of our being, without exception, we are permeated by evil. (while, at the same time, not being total evil, as Satan is)
So my point? I was born with lust, greed, arrogance, folly through knowledge (oooh, juxty, nice to see you!), and who knows what else. Laziness! I know of a specific example of this, from early on! I was a mere toddslerville in the House of Bertil, and one day Mommy chose that we should start cleaning up. (I know! Why?! Just why?!)
And...I proceeded to calmly, silently walk up to my bed, declaring without hesitation or qualm, upon inquiry, that I had suddenly become sick, and could not participate in the cleaning, however delightful the prospect of sweeping, vacuuming, or organizing. It was a hard choice, my life or cleanliness. What would I choose? Solemnly, with much sadness in my heart, I proceeded up the stairs to obtain rest from the horrifying slings and arrows of a sad three-year-old's existence. It was a hard day for this Noah Bertilson.
That said, I think you might get my point. Maybe. Y'see, everyone's born with their specific moral challenges.
"This is different!" You say.
So you're saying me struggling sexually is...normal? Acceptable? Ordinary?
Oh, that's very nice.
My point is that, under a Calvinistic understanding of sin, DUH, we're born with a propensity to homosexuality if we grow at any point in our lives to struggle with it. It's the same as any other sin in its ability to tempt, challenge, and crush us, but in the same manner, it is as easily crushed and utterly destroyed given faith in Jesus and the grace he gives you.
AND I"M TALKING ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY IN A POST ABOUT MY OWN STRUGGLES!
So what? I talked. Deal with it.
Ever temporal,
!Noah!
The previous statement is neither a comment on the current political atmosphere, nor a tortilla asking for salsa during, well, a salsa.
Y'see, I put undue hope in the power of the elections. Mitt Romney! Woo hoo! He's Christianish, pro-Life, and most likely headed back to whichever house he prefers to lick his wounds at. Sure, it's not a sure thing at this point, but if Romney wins Ohio and another electorally significant state such that he wins the electoral college...well, I'll go bald 'til the apocalypse blows over.
You can quote me on that.
But on to the point of this post, which, a lot like an actual pin, is simply an assembly of atoms socially awkward enough to shove all of the atoms in your thumb out of the way just by getting near.
YEAH, THAT"S HOW IT WORKS, FOLKS. MEDICAL SCIENCE, RIGHT HERE!
But to the point, no matter how awkward and stupid. Let's see.
Ok, so I want a camera. I want a relationship. Yeah, everyone knows that, and most likely everyone also knows it's not a healthy relationship, desire, hope.
But...honestly, I've never tried. It's not to say I don't realize it won't work, it's just that I haven't had that apparently mandatory process of realizing, oh, right, you're too small for the hole in my heart, so you literally, metaphorically fell through.
I mean, I might say cameras haven't exactly elevated me to my hopeful and dreaming estate of perfection, comfort, and whimsical carelessness. But it's not like I've ever really hated to be "with" cameras, so to speak. Is it an idolatry? I would hesitantly say no, but I'm as liable to trust myself in this sort of thing as an iguana is to become a ninja, however blissful the thought.
So...me and Cameras...we can stay together, right?
Heck, how should I know. You're talking to yourself, noob.
It's a literary device! A crude one, and probably ineffective, but spoons never stopped me from avoiding tomatoes, did they?
But what of undue hopes? Idols and stuff and such. It's all well and good in life until you decide you can't live without running with scissors. I mean, if that happens to be your thing.
Odd though it be, I think I discovered an excellent hangman word. Ok, continuing...
But a girl! A girl! Is it so wrong or stupid or even evil that I should be a Pandora's box of wonder and glory all for God, but that some girl should have the key?
Man, I'm stupid.
How could that be? Why should that be?
I guess it should be obvious to me, with absolute certainty, that not only do I make an idol of a relationship, but also I've sort of never not done so.
It struck me sometime in the last month that saying homosexuals are born homosexual is a bit like saying tomatoes grow. Well, perhaps my stash of analogies has completely depleted, but my point is this.
The first point of Calvinism is total depravity; the idea that, from our first moments, from the beginning of our lives to the end thereof, in every facet of our being, without exception, we are permeated by evil. (while, at the same time, not being total evil, as Satan is)
So my point? I was born with lust, greed, arrogance, folly through knowledge (oooh, juxty, nice to see you!), and who knows what else. Laziness! I know of a specific example of this, from early on! I was a mere toddslerville in the House of Bertil, and one day Mommy chose that we should start cleaning up. (I know! Why?! Just why?!)
And...I proceeded to calmly, silently walk up to my bed, declaring without hesitation or qualm, upon inquiry, that I had suddenly become sick, and could not participate in the cleaning, however delightful the prospect of sweeping, vacuuming, or organizing. It was a hard choice, my life or cleanliness. What would I choose? Solemnly, with much sadness in my heart, I proceeded up the stairs to obtain rest from the horrifying slings and arrows of a sad three-year-old's existence. It was a hard day for this Noah Bertilson.
That said, I think you might get my point. Maybe. Y'see, everyone's born with their specific moral challenges.
"This is different!" You say.
So you're saying me struggling sexually is...normal? Acceptable? Ordinary?
Oh, that's very nice.
My point is that, under a Calvinistic understanding of sin, DUH, we're born with a propensity to homosexuality if we grow at any point in our lives to struggle with it. It's the same as any other sin in its ability to tempt, challenge, and crush us, but in the same manner, it is as easily crushed and utterly destroyed given faith in Jesus and the grace he gives you.
AND I"M TALKING ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY IN A POST ABOUT MY OWN STRUGGLES!
So what? I talked. Deal with it.
Ever temporal,
!Noah!
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