Existing

Throughout history, some words have ebbed and flowed with the changing of time. There are time periods where a word holds so much meaning and power, and then 20 years later, the times can make that word a stereotypical response or a something of less value... One of those words that I feel that way about right now is... “writer.” 

I know at my heart that I am a lover of words. I am a man who loves to look at the world as my paints, and I strive day and night to take all these paints and make something beautiful with it. A dab of red here, and splash of blue here, I strive to paint something beautiful.The best way I find to fully express my thoughts and or self, onto the canvas, is through the act of writing. 

When you feel that release in your finger tips  the second you put your fingers on a keyboard... 

When you feel the words piling up in your head throughout your day and you have to put those words down to let your brain move on....

That is when you know you love to write. 

I say all these words above because it has been so long since I have sat here staring at this blank page and poured out my thoughts, expressed feelings, and shared a piece of my worldview in a written form. To return to the blank page is exuberant, and empowering, but where do you start? 

So much life has happened since the last time I was here... 

But as a writer, it’s not my job to keep everyone up to date on the cereal you ate that morning, or the new pants you bought, it’s your job to relay that information when it is important, when it becomes apart of your concise thought, or theme. 

(And I guess this is where I should transition from introduction into that meaty message, right?) 

I realized the other day as I was thinking about the word “writer,” that we start to lose sight and meaning to a lot of things in our American way of life. I have found myself telling people that I am a “writer” so many times in my life, but if you looked at the amount of time I’ve spent writing recently, I think you would beg to differ. I find myself getting so busy and tied up in work and television and friends and responsibilities that I forget to do things for me, like writing. 

Sometimes I feel the words just building and building in my mind and then I do nothing about it... I let them go to waste... That doesn’t seem like a writer.... 

But don’t we do this so much in our own lives? 

We say we want to live, but we choose to not.... 

That doesn’t sound like much of an existence does it? 

Over the past few days I have been trying to hone in and really think about the little things that I miss throughout the days when I allow my brain to get, “busy.” 

We all do this, and we all miss out on some amazing feelings, and experiences. 

...

Like when you are in a bath and the water goes room temperature, you have to make a crucial decision. Do I get out? Do I run more water? Being that I was chapters deep in my Stephen King book, I decided to run more water. I turned the faucet as hot as I could and dove deeper into the water. The water running out of the faucet was so hot that it was cold at first touch, do you know that feeling? With my ears submerged I listened to the vibrations and bass notes coming from the water pouring into the bathtub. As I laid there I felt the warm water travel from my toes up to the tips of my fingers. The whole experience felt oddly... poetic. 

How many times have I gone deep in my mind and missed experiences like this? 

How many times has the world written me poems and I chose to ignore them? 

...

Do you ever find yourself going through periods of going back to songs you listened to years ago instead of listening to anything current? Do you ever find the music becoming passionless and just noise? 

Sometimes I find myself struggling to find the passion in the current songs, so I pull up old Dashboard and Jack’s Mannequin records to feel something I felt before. 

But am I denying music the ability to impact me now? 

In those moments, am I missing the poetry in life, yet again? 

....

As I was driving to the Crispers that I am typing this out at right now, I sat in the car and stared at the other drivers. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how most of us look while waiting at a stop light. We all enter the song, the talk radio, or the thoughts in that moment and miss what is happening all around us. As my car came to a stop, I heard the car next to me playing an old Emarosa song I hadn’t heard in years. I pulled up next to her car and yelled at her, “Is this Emarosa?!” She then continued to zone out, stare at her phone and then drove on her way. Now, I realize my question was not the most engaging or best question ever, but it was an experience, a slight connection that we as people only have few seconds to share with others.

How many connections have I missed allowing my mind to zone out? 

...

I recently spent a good amount of time studying Atheistic Existentialism. I was completely enthralled and fascinated with Sartre’s philosophy. 

The world at that time was in shambles, WWII had just come to a close, Europe was trying desperately to piece itself back together, and people were trying to find reasoning for why God would allow something as horrific as The Holocaust to happen. Sartre then came to the conclusion, that even if there is a God, he doesn’t have that much of an effect on our lives now. We are left to define ourselves, because we aren’t defined by our God, or His actions. We are defined by our experiences. We shape ourselves in this world, and the only thing that is guaranteed in life is death. 

Now being that I am a Christian, I argue with how much power or impact God has on our lives, but I do believe that we are shaped by our experiences. 

We live this life to experience it! 

I love driving my car with my windows down and singing a long, completely out of key, but getting lost in the passion of that moment. 

I love feeling the warm water travel from my toes to my finger tips. 

I love that moment when you embrace a friend after he has been hurt. 

I love that moment when you finish a conversation with a random customer and you see them smile and you know you made there day.

I love when the noise becomes music. 

There is so much for us to experience in this world. So much that we are missing out on because we are busy. 

Even right now as I type away on this computer I have to stop... 

The woman in front of me is sipping on a coffee that is so hot that it is creating steam. The steam is traveling away from the cup in a grey like fashion for at least a foot before it trails off into non-existence. 

A couple in another booth sits and enjoys each others company. They laugh, they eat, they experience. 

I believe there is a God that makes an impact on this world, but I also think that this experience is what we make it. 

So what are you making of this world? 

Are you fully experiencing it? 

Or are you ignoring the poems that the world keeps writing you? 

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Both pictures stolen from Google Images. 

Day #3- Ransom Note

        When I first started writing this blog years ago, I use to fill my posts full of apologies. I felt at that time that my views were probably a little more liberal than most of the people I had grown up with, so I spent paragraphs and paragraphs apologizing and saying, "I'm sorry if you don't agree with this, blah, blah, blah." But I've never had to write a paragraph quite like the one that follows this one.

       "Through this creative endeavor that Nathan Graves and I are taking on, we are pushing ourselves to push our creative boundaries more and more each day. In saying that, I have to preface today's excerpt. I in no way, shape, or form believe any of the values of the main character of this story. Sometimes in the writing process you find yourself building characters that do not hold the same values as you. In this story I had to build a reason for the character to hate someone. In building that I used a topic that is very touchy in politics and in the fast food chains right now. As most of the gay people who are in my life know, I love everyone unconditionally and in no way would write something to hurt someone or to lash out against a community. So please do not take any of the characters views as my own."

      Yeah, that paragraph above, that was weird, but I think you'll understand when you read today's writing. 

642 Things to Write About
Writing Prompt: A Story That Begins With A Ransom Note

The Bullet,
If you do not come through on your threat to kill the President, we will hang your mother and father. For the sake of your family I hope you are a man of your word Mr. Avis. This world will be a better place without President Fauler. Jonathan, we are the gun and you are the bullet. Do not worry, you will not be tried for your crime, we have already arranged a fall man to take your place for the crime. This is not an elaborate hoax. Tomorrow night you will come through on your word. The President will be speaking in Little Rock, and you will be watching in Box Seat 2. The gun will be already in place. I’m sorry that this falls on your lap, but maybe this will teach you to own up to every word. Godspeed, I know you will do the right thing.
-The Gun

I hope when you are reading this, your breathe is taken away like mine was when

I first received this message. In the middle of the night, I awoke to a gun shot outside

my window. After what seemed like an hour of staring out my window looking for my

attacker, I opened my front door to face them. Let’s be honest, I knew exactly who shot

the 9mm outside my window and I knew exactly why men with guns were after me.

When I opened the door I expected to be completely disembodied by the swarm of

bullets. But there were no bullets, there were no Secret Service, there was only a

ransom note. Much like the one I sent them.

When one compiles a death threat, you don’t really expect a reply. You expect a

bullet to pierce the very thought you had of killing a man.

4 months ago, my best friend and I were out drinking like we always do on

Thursdays.This hursday fell on a week that my Mom and Dad were on a cruise. Dad

had won it on some radio call-in game, he was the 9th caller and just like that Dad and

Mom were on their way to Nassau. Needless to say, Jake and I took the opportunity to

get extra tore up that night. Somewhere between beer 6 and 7, we watched as two men

entered the bar, holding hands.

A man has to admit his faults, and mine is my temper, especially when I am

drinking. It doesn’t take much to just send me over the edge. You know that feeling

when you start to think of something you hate? The tension slithers through your body

like a snake. Starting first in the thought, then traveling to your shoulders. As they begin

to tense up like a rock wall, you start to feel the rush in your arms and then your legs.

That is your body telling you to act. A call to action as my dad would say. Well, tension

began to his way down my body as we started talking about President Fauler’s Marriage

Reform. It didn’t come as a surprise that the reform finally presented itself before the

House. He spent his whole campaign talking about the reform, but people weren’t

listening. He was elected into office because of his sweet talking about money, and

that’s all this country cares about, money. Well they saw the errors of their ways 3

weeks ago when Congress passed the reform. Now all those queers can get married

whenever and wherever they like.

As we reached beer 9 or 10 I was fully enraged. Sitting in a bar knocking back

drinks wasn’t enough. So I got up and approached the men who had entered the bar.

My fist was squeezing so tight, I could feel the fingernails were starting to pierce my

palms. Everything in me wanted to end them forever, but as I went to pull my arms back

to punch the clean cut one in the purple v-neck, I realized, these men weren’t worth my

wrath. But I knew who was.

“Yes?” the men asked us, fearfully.

“Filth,” was the only thing I could utter before spitting a loogy in his eye. Jake

stood up from the bar to join me in this fight, but I walked away.

“What was that all ‘bout?” Jake asked. It was self explanatory, but as I emptied

out my enraged explanation to him, the spark of my mission came to me. Fauler should

die. It took all of 4 seconds for Jake to punch me square in the jaw and tell me I was

dumbest drunk he had ever met for saying that or even thinking about it. But as I said, I

have a temper.

That night I went home, completely trashed and pissed, a deadly combination. I

poured myself another glass of Hennessy and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.

President Fauler,
Be warned, your days are numbered. The South will rise yet again, and this time it will strike where it means to. In the middle of your forehead. My gun is loaded and my bags are packed. I hope you enjoy your last sleepless nights.
                                                                                                                                       -Bullet

Now, I know that I told you that I have a temper, and that the mixture of beer and

my temper is deadly, but even in my drunkest state, I would never kill a man. Sure, I’ll

whip the mess out of anyone that gives me trouble, but even in the worse of my bar

brawls, I’ve known my stopping point. Normally 4 good hits is enough for me, the

tension is loose, and my point has been made. But killing, I would never kill a man.

Where is the victory in that? The best part of a fight is when you stare the piece of shit

in the eye and smile back with your bloody teeth. You don’t get that gratification from a

corpse. I say all that to tell you, I never had any intentions to kill the President. I just

wanted to scare him. Maybe he would read the letter and retract his reform, but even if

he didn’t retract, it would mess with him for the rest of his life. He would look over his

shoulder always and never feel safe, that was victory enough for me. If I wouldn’t kill a

regular joe blow, I definitely wouldn’t assassinate a President.

That night, drunk as hell, I drove all the way to Crossville, 35 miles out of town

and dropped my letter in the blue post office box.

I was sobering up on my drive home and felt worse and worse with every second

about my act. But, as I sobered up the more I realized, I was safe. The letter was sent

from a city 30 miles away from mine. The threat could have come from anyone, and

frankly the Bible belt all wants the President dead for this. If they started going door to

door, 7/10 men would be prime suspects. As I reached home, I was still sobering up and

regretted my act, but knew I’d be fine, and would never drink like that again.

I didn’t tell anyone about that night.

But 4 months later, I found myself awaking to a gunshot. The shot didn’t surprise

me. I guess in the back of my mind there always was the thought that they would find

me and end me like a period in a sentence. Is it insane or sad, that the thought of dying

didn’t bother me? A 27-year-old mechanic who still lives with his parents and only really

lives on thursday nights at the bar with my best bud. That doesn’t sound like much of an

existence, and its become so repetitive that the thought of a deep sleep didn’t freak me

out. After an hour of setting myself up and writing my parents a note explaining why I

was shot in front of the house, I opened the door to receive my just finale. But when the

swarm of bullets didn’t fly, the real fear started to travel down my body. As I stared into

the trees for the men in suits, the sound of the paper fluttering in the wind caught my

attention. At my feet was the note under a brick.

As I read the note, cold sweat ran down my face. This wasn’t what I meant to

happen. This was all wrong and had to be a joke. I poured myself a Hennessy, and read

the letter over and over again.

Why? Was this real? The Secret Service is orchestrating this? This can’t be real.

This is not an elaborate hoax.

4 Hennessy’s and 130 reads later, I came to the conclusion that I would have to

take this as reality. But what should I do? If this really is the Secret Service, and I have

to operate under the assumption that it IS, then calling the authorities would mean

nothing. I’ve heard stories of the connections the men in suits have, they could just turn

over the note I wrote to authorities and say I am a danger to society, an insane man

who sent them the note I wrote. They maybe would even pin their note on me saying

that I wrote it to justify in my insane mind why I should kill the President.

As the sun began to rise on this cursed day, I realized I was cornered. I would

have to shoot the President.

That day I didn’t do much. I stayed in my room, running through everything over

and over in my mind. My mother probably assumed last night was another bender, and

sleep was my main concern for the day. If only she knew, If only I could tell her. It was

best to tell no one. Its better that she remember me as her sweet child, and not a

murderous monster.

That night, I arrived at the Convention Center. My shirt was already drenched in

sweat and my lips were bleeding from my teeth constantly biting my lip with nerves. I

saw the first one of them, as I entered in through the front doors. He was standing at the

doors wearing a black suits, white shirt and black tie. He, of course, had his standard

ear piece and sunglasses, but the thing that threw me off was the slight smiling he sent

to me. Slowly, I passed him, and there was no denying it, this was real. He nodded, and

then spoke into his sleeve. “Moses, has arrived.” I nodded back to the man and pressed

on to the metal detectors.

“Remove all items from your pockets and then just walk slowly through the

detector when instructed to, everybody,” one of the guards said. There was nothing in

my pockets of course, what do you bring with you to shoot a President? Gum, some

loose change? Of course not, I even left my keys in my car. Maybe that shows you how

I expect this to end.

When it came to my turn, I walked through the detector as instructed.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Sir, can you please remove your belt?” The guard asked me. So I did.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

On the second time through, a man in a suit approached me and grabbed my

arm. “Sir, you’re going to need to come with me for further inspection.”

How had I not seen this coming? Of course, they would pull me in for further

“inspection.”

There was no questions, there was no inspection. From there I was escorted

from the metal detectors to Box Seat 2. Passing every door, I could see all the people

pouring into the convention center and taking their seats. At every door was 2 of the

U.S. finest. As I passed they all looked and nodded. The walk was ominously quiet, just

the click our shoes on the tile floor, no words were said until we reached the room.

“Godspeed, bullet,” the man said and then closed the door.

The room was dark, but through the plexiglass I could see the podium lit up

brightly like football field on monday night football. The gun laid on a stand in the corner

of the room.

This was it.

This was my period at the end of the sentence.

Just as I saw the gun, the crowd started applauding. The President had entered

the room and was taking the podium. Scanning the room I could see all the audience

ending their cheers and taking their seats. At every door stood security and every 2 or 3

seconds one of them would shoot a glare up my direction and nod.

This is sick.

This is wrong.

How had it come to this?

I grabbed the gun that was sitting in the corner and put the President in my

sights.

I can’t do this. He did nothing to deserve this. Is he a disgrace? Yes. But does he

deserve this? Never. No one deserves this.

I took breathes in and out and started to steady the crosshairs.

I don’t know why God blessed me with the gift, but I think the clearest when

under pressure. All in the matter of 6 seconds, I knew what to do. There is no way that

they have anyone set up to take the fall. There is no escaping this. I am pawn to a

larger game. If I’m going down, so are they.

I shifted my scope from the President and opened fire on the guard standing

behind him, shooting him in the leg. No kill shots, just take downs. Everyone in the

audience started screaming. The President ran off the stage and behind the curtain.

Bullets started raining into the box seat, but I kept firing. Taking guard after guard out.

Never choose a country boy to pull off your evil, gentlemen. We’re a hell of a shot.

All in all I took down 17 of them before they got me in the arm.

They never killed my parents, and they never killed the President. But they sure

as hell pinned the whole thing on me. I am writing this in hopes that someone out there

will believe me. I am nothing but a good man locked away from a crime I didn’t commit. I

was forced by my own country to fulfill a task that wasn’t mine to have. I’m sorry to all of

you that were hurt in the ordeal, but know that my decision was the right one.

I hope that those of you who see me as an Assassination Attempt will see me as

a person, see me as a victim. I say all of this, but know that it will fall on deaf ears.

No one wants to hear the cries of a madman.

So this is my end.

I will live out my days in this cell, a prisoner. Mentally insane.

I hope you will remember me as a man, Mom and Dad. And for all of you out

there who are patriotic, and believe this is the best country in the world. Know that you

are wrong. Its a business, and its corrupt, just like everything else, and someone has to

take the fall. Godspeed to the rest of you in the free world.

    This is my period to the sentence.



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All pictures stolen from Google Images

All words by Tanner Pemelton

The First of Every Month (Day 2)

Prompt:
You Are An Astronaut. Describe Your Perfect Day.

                                          The First of Every Month 

It is funny how as a child the thing that fixates you about space, is the lack of

gravity, how everything just floats. To my displeasure I have to report to you that the

childish thought is not far off. Not only do the tools and items of the hull float if they

aren’t tied down, but so does your existence.

My mission is simple... Observe. I am aboard the Ulysses 34, on a one man

operation to observe the life forms in the atmosphere of Uranus. Years ago, we sent a

rover into Uranus’s atmosphere and the data we received before it crashed into the face

of the planet was very promising. For years we thought the planet would be too cold to

sustain any forms of life, but we were wrong. After a couple more rovers/droids/satellites

and one monkey, we deemed it safe for human exploration. I have to say, I am still

completely overwhelmed with gratitude to have the honor of being chosen for this

mission, but frankly I’m bored. Even traveling at 33,000 mph, my arrival date is still

months ahead.

The days are simple. I wake up, check the schematics to make sure I am still on

course. Next, I fixed myself some breakfast. After breakfast, I run diagnostics on the

exterior of the ship to make sure everything is intact properly. Honestly, I probably

should do that first thing, but if I do not awake in the night to a sudden thud or shake,

I take that as a sign that breakfast can come first. After that, the day really starts to slow

down. You would think my day would be spent doing scientific research, or doing

something exciting or technical, but that simply is not the case. Most of my day is spent

reading an old Stephen King novel and doing double and triple checks on the morning

tasks. After a couple hours of reading, lunch, and more reading, I check everything for a

fourth time and settle in for bed to start the cycle all over again. 4 months in, and my

days are very ritualistic. Every day is the exact same thing, that is except for the first

day of every month.

On the first, I awake with anticipation early in the morning. I quickly run over

schematics and check the condition of the exterior and then I begin to

get ready for my date. You see on the first of every month, the United States Aeronautic

Program brings my family into headquarters, and we have a video conference. I wish

we could have a video chat every day, but USAP throws somewhat of a tantrum when

we run over our allotted hour. They are afraid that the use of the satellites

transmitting to one another from such long distance could cause an interference with

their other satellites transferring information and or collecting data on all the other

planets between us. But they know to keep a man motivated, he needs to see his

family.

After all my morning routines are hastily completed, I wait in front of my computer

for the digital clock to read 10:00 hours. Out of all the tasks that require patience on my

mission, the hardest mission waiting for the icon to display a call is waiting to be

answered. At 10:05 hours, the little icon appears and I see my beautiful wife and

daughter smiling at me on my computer. We spend our allotted hours talking about my

daughters schooling and her friends. My wife tells me all about pastels she has been

working on for her next art exhibit.

For one hour a month, I get to feel normal. In a  universe traveling all alone, for

one hour, I feel at home.

These calls are the fuel to my fire. There is still a couple of months before I reach

my destination, and a long track back home after that, that realization is enough to

cripple a man’s motivation, but I thank God for the first of every month. Without those

conversations, I probably would lose my head in the rituals of every day space life.

Those 29 days of the mundane, allow for that one hour to feel more magical that

anything I have experienced. Out of all my experiences up here in space, or even on

earth, the most joy I have ever experienced in my life, is when I get to have those video

chats.

I am now 4 and a half months in and I’m starting to lose my motivation again, but

with the promise of a video conference in 12 days and 10 hours, I know that I can make

it. So until then I’ll check the schematics, I run the diagnostics, I’ll lose myself in a story

and I’ll dream of my family. I’ll float with hope, the one thing that holds me down up

here.

Check out Nathan Graves Day 2 post here:

http://mereinsanity.wordpress.com

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All Words By Tanner Pemelton

Pics stolen from Google Images

Creativity and New Beginnings (Day 1)

         One of the biggest struggles in pursuing writing is being consistent with the craft. As I have posted on here, there are times that I go through bouts of no writing whatsoever. One of the things I have loved about having this blog over the past 3 years, is that is has been an outlet for putting my own life into words and some of the other things I have created, aka small works of fiction. 

        As of today, August 6, 2012, my roommates and I have taken up the challenge of writing something every day. We actually purchased a book today entitled, 642 Things to Write About. 

       This book is filled with 642 different writing prompts. We decided in purchasing the book tonight that we would take on the challenge of writing something, large or small, each night. This is an idea that we are all very excited about and love the creative energy in making ourselves sit down and write something each day. 

       I guess these couple of paragraphs are kind of a forewarning. If you follow my blog, know that you may see a lot more postings of mine. I will not be offended if you unfollow my blog, I will not be offended if you write something about not liking a post that I write. In the writing process I do enjoy feedback, so if you do like something or really dislike something I write, please express it in the comments. 

      Now, this blog isn't turning into just a full fledged creative writing dump, but a good portion will be that. Lets be honest though, I'm still going to write about religion, music, and girls on here, that will never stop. Now with all that said and done, here is the first of many writings to come. I will be listing the Day Count and the Writing Prompt so everyone understands the genesis of the pieces of writings and the day count.

Day 1

Writing Prompt: The Worst Thanksgiving Dish You Ever Had (Fictitious) 

                                                Thanksgiving

        Sitting, holding my wrenching stomach in an emergency room in Topeka, 

Kansas, is not the way I imagined myself spending my Thanksgiving evening. To be fair, 

I don’t think that was on the mind of any of the 20 members of my family who part took 

in grandmas “interesting” potatoes. But I guess I should fill you in on a little more 

information. 

Everyone in my family has lived in Summund, Kansas, A city just on the outskirts 

of Topeka, for their entire lives. My great-grandfather bought the property that my house 

sits on, 107 years ago. He was a young man with great aspirations, and a little money 

from his fathers passing. With this money he purchased property near the booming city 

of Topeka and built with this own hands, the property that we all live in now. So as you 

can tell from just the little backstory, my family is steeped in traditions. 

Traditions was the very thing that brought us all to this emergency room tonight. 

For the past 50 years my grandmother, Annie Grace Carpenter, or as we call her, 

mammy, has prepared Thanksgiving dinner. But dinners have been “interesting” since 

she was diagnosed with a minor case of Alzheimer's. Even though we all knew the 

diagnosis, we still allowed her to do the one thing that she would call us and talk about 

all year long... Thanksgiving dinner. 

In the past few years there has been a gradual building of mistakes to the feast. 

The first year, she forgot to put the serving spoons in the side dishes, no big deal, no 

one got hurt. The second year, the turkey, was slightly undercooked. Although Uncle 

Alfred went home with a belly ache and a weeks bed rest, everyone was still fine. That 

year was still better than the year she forgot to cook the turkey at all, but this year tops 

all of those feasts. 

As her mind has started to fail her we have allowed her to still cook... but in 

moderations. We let her cook 4 of the side dishes one year... She accidentally combined 

them all into one pot and served cornbread/mash-potato/squash/cranberry sauce. 

Needless to say, we got by on turkey that year. But this year, we narrowed it down to 

giving her just 1 side dish. Everyone in my family knows and remembers, mammy 

makes the best mash-potatoes. 

So with a watchful eye we all watched mammy make the potatoes. But 

somewhere along the chaos of 20 different conversations and demands for the kids to 

quiet down, mammy found time to slip in a whole bottle of dawn dish soap into our 

potatoes. 

To be honest with you, I have no idea how none of us saw the blue tint to the 

mash potatoes, but I can tell you this: We all knew we had to eat the potatoes, 

regardless. As she sat in her seat at the head of the table smiling waiting for everyone 

to dig in, we all knew we had to finish our portion of potatoes. At first, there a slight sour to 

the potatoes, some of the family members fought the gags, and threw a smile mammy’s 

way. It wasn’t until little Forrester projectiled all over the curtains that I started to worry. 

As the meal progressed, 1 by 1 I started to see the family excusing themselves, all the 

while mammy smiled on. Over the course of half an hour I looked up from my blue, sour, 

bubbly potatoes and realized me and mammy were the only ones left. To break the 

silence I tried to talk to my dear old grandma. After she asked me for the 3rd time what 

my name was again and why my teeth were blue, I decided to excuse myself and see 

where the 18 others had ran off to. As I entered into the living room, I found everyone 

throwing on their coats. Uncle Francis filled me in on the commotion and informed me 

that we were all driving down to Topeka Medical to find out why everyone was doubled 

over with stomach pains. 

I admit locking mammy in her room was probably a mean idea, but with your 

stomach feeling like a viking is biting his way out of your colon, your mind isn’t at its 

clearest state. 

After hours of poking and testing, the doctors realized we had all ingested soap 

and would be fine, except for the bubbly farts. We all arrived at the house exhausted, but to 

our amazement we found mammy laying on the couch asleep. Everyone in the family 

knelt down and kissed mammy on the head. When it finally was my turn, I leaned down and gave her a 

big wet kiss on her head. As I went to walk away I stepped down on an empty dish. To my dismay the 

sound awoke my dear old grandmother. She woke up startled and then stared at me for a uncomfortably 

long amount of time. After probably 2 and half minutes of silence and a fixed stare, she 

opened her mouth to reveal her bright blue teeth, and yet again she asked me my 

name. 

-Tanner Pemelton

If you liked this, check out Nathan Graves Posting from today. 

Mereinsanity.wordpress.com

Media Associated With This Post:

Song: Bloody Mary

Artist: Silversun Pickups

Album: Neck of The Woods

All Writings by Tanner Pemelton. 

Cutting Ties With The Black Market

I think the best way to start this off is with a confession of sorts...

I am an addict.

I’ve been one for years, and I don’t think I have any chance of kicking it anytime soon. Especially since I am the equivalent to a drug dealer in my addiction.

I am addicted to music.

Ever since my dad first gave me his copy of DC Talk’s Jesus Freak when I was 8, I have been addicted to music. There is nothing better or sweeter than finding that new band and injecting it into your eardrums to soothe or fire up your soul. You find songs that you connect with immediately and begin to search for all you can devour by that band. Searching the interwebs finding LP’s, Ep’s, rare live videos, nothing is better than that hunger and sensation for more music that you love.

The only problem with this addiction is it comes with a price,
or more recently in the past decade,
a moral decision.

As I hold the album into the air and whisper, “To Steal or Not To Steal.”

I remember when this “Illegal downloading” phase caught on in our house. I was probably 11 or 12 years old when my dad got Kazaa. Kazaa was this amazing world where you type in a song in the search bar, wait 20 seconds (high speed was faster than dial up, but not as fast as today) and then you would find mp3’s that you could download in as quick as 5 minutes! As a kid I was just a “little” thief, I would tell dad to download that No Doubt song that we liked, or that one Puddle of Mudd song that we liked, and he would and we would listen to it on his iriver mp3 player. Those were the days!

As I grew older the interwebs starting to get faster and downloading started to make more sense to my growing little brain...

YOU MEAN I CAN DOWNLOAD WHOLE ALBUMS?!!!

“Yes, young padwan,” my dad would always say before laughing and burning all of his royalty checks from Dream of Eden. <- That’s one of my more bizarre memories of my father that I normally chose to forget.

I remember downloading this up and coming band Neurosonic’s album “Drama Queen” because my mother would have flipped out if I had the hard copy and its demonic artwork lying around my house. Other than that I think I also downloaded “Even if It Kills Me” by Motion City Soundtrack. But these downloads were from this little cesspool known as Limewire. As I got older I started to realize that Limewire was really just a conglomerate of pornography and (excuse my french) shhhhhhitty quality files that may or may not completely destroy my computer.

Because my chances of getting a feature length smut film or viruses were much higher than my chance of getting good quality albums, downloading didn’t really become much a problem for me.

But then I found a Brazilian social networking site...

Through one of my friends I found this growing fascination called, blogspot.com. I found if you googled the album you were looking for and “download blogspot” you could almost every time find a download link to anything I was looking for.

So begins my love affair with vapidshare, mediascare, and checkanupload (all names have been changed so that all of you do not read this and repeat my actions. But most of you know precisely what sites I am referring too. haha). When I first started downloading it was awesome. I found things that I would never find in stores and download them immediately. One of the best gems I found was Linkin Park’s first EP called Hybrid Theory EP. At a time where music seemed so limited to the 50 or 60 videos I saw on Fuse every day, I started to see music for just how big it is. I would find bands who I had only heard mentioned a few times here or there, and then I’d hit download! It was mine.

I remember one time going in to a Best Buy with my brother Cooper and looking at all the CD’s. We started scanning all the albums for anything that looked cool, and wrote it down to download later. To be honest... I found a lot of great artists this way that I love and support still today. One of those finds was the band Ivoryline. Their first album is as solid as they come for that genre (Alternative/Christian). But my favorite find was a girl by the name of Katy Perry. Most of you who know me or have read my blogs before know that I have a soft spot for girl pop. Well Katy Perry is one of my favorites in the girl pop market, and that all started with me downloading a little cd called One of the Boys.

But as my downloading continued, my guilt started to grow as well. I had heard the uproars about Napster and downloading “killing the scene” and I didn’t want to be apart of the demise of something that I loved so dearly. So I made a deal.

“I will only download to sample. I’ll download it, listen to it, and if I like it, I will buy it. If I do not like it,
I will throw the files away.”

How many of you have made this same compromise?

Do you ever keep that promise?

No.

Its a nice thought, and you may throw away 10 to 15 albums you’ve downloaded, but theres still 20 left on your computer that you either don’t have the heart to throw away, or don’t have the funds to buy the hard copy. But alas we all keep the compromise, and we build a sort of CD credit. If you are like me, you get to the point where you would walk into Mckay Used cd’s and feel obligated to buy 4 or 5 albums just because you know you had stolen them 2 or 3 years ago.

I have been downloading albums and buying the few that I can afford for at least 4 or 5 years now. And I’ve felt ok about it until recently... At the beginning of this year, I started working at FYE in Orlando. With the job I started to see first hand the state of music sales. When downloading started to take over years ago, record stores started to crash. People weren’t buying albums anymore. They would walk in, shake their heads and say they would go home and download it. So in the last decade, we have seen the fall of establishments such as Tower Records, Mediaplay, and other music stores around the nation. The only stores still standing are FYE, and locally owned New and Used record shops. But we’re still a dying breed, recently I read an article that was stating there are less than 1000 local record shops left in America (Meaning there is only around 20 PER STATE).

Growing up, that was my dream, I wanted to be Rob Gordon from High Fidelity and own a record shop (I know I set the bar so high) but it still was a dream of mine. To be able to work with something that I love so dearly and cherish so much, is one of the most rewarding jobs I’ve ever had. When people walk into the store and they start humming melodies and fragments of lyrics to me, I get a rush to find them exactly what they are looking for. The smiles on their faces when they leave are so rewarding and I feel a sense of accomplishment. So needless to say, I love my job at FYE, and I do it well.

But with the discovery of my love for my job, I also have found things that I do not like about the market. And one of the things that piss me off the most now are those kids that did exactly what I did years ago...

I approached a couple of college guys the other day in the store who would looking through the cd’s and I asked them if they needed help finding anything. One of the guys just looked at me and said, “Nah man, I’m just looking for albums to steal when I get home.” When those words fell out of his mouth, I was astounded. It probably was a weird moment for him because I stared at him for probably 10 seconds before saying anything. I felt a sense of anger when he said those words.

1) I was shocked that someone would be so stupid, rude and apathetic enough to say that out loud. I can understand doing it, but to just frankly say that is what you are doing shocked me.

2) I realized in that moment that my hours at my job, they are dependent on sales and this little jerk was not only taking money out of the artists pocket, but mine as well. Without sales, I have no hours.

After staring at the kid for 10 seconds I told the kid that was an *excuse the french* @$$hole thing to say to someone who works at a music store. The kid eventually blew me off and was on his way, but that moment kind of stuck with me.

Now let me state again, I’ve downloaded a lot of music. A LOT of music. 40% of my library on my itunes is probably made of up illegal downloads and I have 75.77 gigs of music on there now. That’s 30 gigs of stolen music... You’re average album is between 50 and 100 mb’s. That breaks down to a gig being somewhere between 10-25 albums. So all together I could have anywhere from 300 to 750 stolen albums on my computer alone. I started to become increasingly aware of this as I was working countless hours at FYE. Something needed to change...

And then I started seeing posts, on the social networking dump spot known as Facebook, about a music app called Spotify.

(Ok ok ok, all of you who just sighed and said, “Oh no, I know where he is going with this,” stick with me.)

Spotify is a music application that allows you to listen to albums on your computer for absolutely free. It functions a great deal like the popular site Pandora, but you get to listen to whole albums. So as I was dealing with my thoughts on downloading, I looked into Spotify. While I was researching the website and the company I found there was a free trial of their Premium package for 30 days. In this trial you can listen to virtually any album you want from your iPhone for free. So I decided to give it a try...

That was 6 weeks ago. I now pay $9.99 a month for Spotify Premium and I can’t advise the application more. Its one of the best apps on my phone, and allows me to listen to all the music and new releases I want to listen to without illegally downloading them.

So now I can listen to my music and have a lighter chest about it. I hated the quality of the files I downloaded and I hated not being able to keep up with buying all the albums I was loving. So now, I pay $10 a month to listen to whatever I want, and if I love it I’ll buy it. The compromise sits much better in my chest now.

Now I realize some of you will read this and write this off as lame and commercialism at best and you may be right. Maybe I am getting lame as I get older, that’s fine with me. But I live my life for me and this feels right.

Now if there are any others of you who feel kind of crappy about stealing jamz and want a cheap alternative, check out this free trial

http://spotify.com/freetrial/

Just be sure to cancel it before the trial is up or you will be paying for it, but I can’t rave any more about the application (as shown by this blog post.) I just got to a point I didn't want to be ok with stealing one of my biggest passions and expect it to still be fruitful.

So weather you are a vinyl consumer, a CD guy, or a digital fiend, we all love music and we all want music to continue. Let's keep the music spinning guys.

Media Associated With This Post:
Song: Bloody Mary
Artist: Silversun Pickups
Album: Neck of the Woods

All pictures taken from Google Images.

Trust and a Confession of Sorts

Its been a long time since I’ve allowed my fingers to hit this keyboard. Part of that is because of being busy living life; no writer can write without living life to have stories to write about. With that being said, the other reason-the bigger reason I haven’t written is because of extreme insecurity.

Sometimes when I go through change, I begin to question everything. I question my decisions, my character, and my strengths and abilities. Sadly, one of the things that was majorly impacted was my outlook on my writing. I would go to sit down at the computer and would write it off as crap and throw it away.

Some things were holding me back, insecurity and a clouded mind.

Today, I am looking to push that to the side.

Just as the devout catholics turn to confession when their heads fill with their sins, I turn to the words as they begin to pile up in my head. Sometimes I can’t write anything of quality when I have an over arching thing that I need to get down on paper. So this post is something that has plagued my mind for the past 2 months... And I’m not gonna lie, it feels damn good to finally put it down.

For all those who have followed this blog, or know me at all, you know that my life has been one that doesn’t stay on the straight road. My journey has been one with many twist and turns in the road, and at times it has felt like there have been stones to stub my toes, and thorns to pierce my heels, but I push on. Through all these twist and turns, I have learned that TRUST is a huge part of the process. Whether its trusting myself to make it through, trusting my friends and family to push me through, or trusting God to show up, I have to put trust in something through these times.

I wish I could say that all of these times or trials have made me a much more trusting person, but I sit here wishing.



Recently my life took another turn.
So yet again, I had learn to “Trust.”

I quit my job back in December because of unhealthy work conditions (when a job keeps you from sleeping at night, that’s a good sign you probably should bail or make some serious change.) After talks with my wonderful girlfriend Jackie, and best friend Nathan, I decided it was best to bail. So I jumped off that cliff.



And boy did I soar.

For about a month I free fell in the air feeling the wind blowing against my face, feeling the lack of ground and stability below me, and waiting for the earth to show up to either cripple me or give me the ability to stand back up.
Thank God it was only a month’s worth of waiting. By the grace of God, I received a call for an interview at one of my dream jobs, FYE. For all of you who aren’t familiar with the company, FYE is the last standing record store chain in the country. Over the years we’ve had to mourn the losses of Virgin, Tower, Mediaplay and other record stores because of record sales in this country. Saying all that must have you asking, why would I try to get a job in a dying breed?

Well that answer is easy.

It’s always been my dream to work in a record store. Record stores are a part of my DNA. Growing up my dad would take me and brother to Noshville for breakfast on special saturdays, and then we would go to Great Escape Used Records, Cd’s and comics on 21st Ave. Those are some of my favorite memories, getting to go there with my dad and talk music. I know that my dad is the reason that I love music as much as I do.

So with that said, you probably can’t even imagine just how ecstatic I was when I got the call that I was hired.

I can’t describe to you how much healthier of a person I am because of this decision to jump, and leave my old job.

At my new job, I put the useless knowledge that I have stored in my mind, Artist names, albums, producers to use. I get to actually use that knowledge every day when that customer walks up and says, “Hey who sings that song.... you know that one.... *They begin to hum*.... So had you bad day da da da”... I then stop them and their pitchy but gutsy performance, Daniel Powter. Getting to do that is actually very releasing for me. I love helping people, and being in an environment where I can help people find exactly what they are looking for is awesome.

Now looking back where I came from, that season of having to lean on friends and God, it paid off. Pastor Mark Quattrochi once spoke on how we have to walk through the wilderness to get to The Promised Land, just as the Israelites did those 40 years in the desert. And he was right, those words really helped to help me carry on through my walk in the wilderness.

You know sometimes we get all bent out of shape over things in our lives not working out the way we thought it would.

One conversation I’ve had many times with my girlfriend, is that I realize in my life I can’t actually be a “planner.” I can’t plan my life out, because it never works out according to the “Plan.”

So I guess that’s where this whole “Trust,” thing comes in.
That dreaded word.



Trust.

The definition of trust is “To believe in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of something.”

Through the 21 years I’ve been walking on my journey, my heart has gone through a couple of phases of hardening and softening. Another realization I’ve had recently is that I am in, and hopefully exiting, a phase of a hardened heart. I’ve allowed myself to believe the lie that I can, and have to, do life somewhat on my own. I learned the hard way over the past few months that friends are a mutual experience, where we both lean on each other, not just me being there for them and keeping my stuff to myself. This realization actually really warms my heart to know that it isn’t the truth.

I had to learn to trust my friends love me for who I am, and sometimes that means they love me even when I am a heavy person. Friends carry each others burdens, I know I would do anything for my friends, and I’ve picked others who will do the same for me, Thank God.

Thank God...

God...

That brings me to my last point. The hardest thing for me to do recently has been to just thank and trust God. As I’ve grown in my faith over the past year, I’ve really questioned the intervention of God in my existence. So with that thought, I’ve been very weary of “leaning not on my own understandings.” Oh the irony right?

This I guess is where I break the writing and enter the reader into the picture.

Could you do me favor?

Could you do something besides just reading another internet post that someone has posted on the internet?

Can you help me by praying that I can learn to trust God.

If you don’t know me, then let me let you in on something... What I just did up above this sentence... Yeah, I never do that. I never really reach out to others and try to ask for help. haha. As I’ve stated the road has taught me that I can do a lot of things on my own and with my own hands. But I’m no fool. I look up the stars at night and can’t help but feel theres something to this world. There’s something to this universe. It can’t just be chance. All that to say, I can’t do EVERYTHING on my own.

If you do that for me, or even if you don’t, know that I am stretching out my hand to you as well. If you need anything from me, let me know, I don’t want to be just another author who pushes his work on this interwebs. We are people, we do life together.
Thank you guys for reading this, I hope all is well with you guys.


“So God, I realize I need to lean on You. Help me to do it more often then I do now. Help me through the next couple bends in the foreseeable future. Thank you for providing me with the friends and family I have now, I know that even if the outcome isn’t “according to the plan” that I will still walk away successful because of them. Thank you for allowing me to understand love because of the people you have placed in my life and because of You.

Amen.”



Media Associated With This Post:
Song: Last Chance To Lose Your Keys
Artist: Brand New
Album: Your Favorite Weapon

All photos stolen from Google Images of course.

Jesus and Pearl Jam

3 days ago a young man named, Jefferson Bethke, published a video to youtube. As of this very moment, the video has 9,660,687 hits. In 3 days this young man's poem has passed through the millions of peoples ears! Its stuff like this that makes me love living in the time that I do. With technology allowing the little guys to get there message across to millions, it just inspires me so much.

So as most things that hit a mass of people in Christianity, there is controversy with the video (I'll refrain from rolling my eyes for now.)

I personally watched this video the day that the video hit the internet because kids from my church in Nashville were posting it. I was starting to see a couple links for it, so I watched it. I hate to say it, but I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed the video. It's kind of lame when you seem to always be skeptical of trending religious media, but still I found I really enjoyed this video.

One of the selling factors for me was how genuine the kid and his message came across. One of my biggest hesitance with people and "Christianity" is I find a lot of people completely, disingenuous. That is a very harsh term I realize, but growing up taking part in the production side of my church, you see things, you see how the business works, and part of you gets jaded. One of the hardest things I took away from my amazing experience with my hometown church, was having to see the "unreal." The forced messages, and the fake tears to drive a point home, to mention a few. I could write a whole other blog about how in my life, that's not how I want to make an impact, but this is not the place today.

This kid just seems so sincere to me.

This morning I woke up to a text from my lovely cousin Whitney. In her text she had sent me a link that was rebuttal to this now 9 million+ viewed video, you can read the rebuttal here: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/kevindeyoung/2012/01/13/does-jesus-hate-religion-kinda-sorta-not-really . The rebuttal was posted by a well known pastor, Kevin DeYoung. Again, I stand pretty surprised by the content. The article is actually very well executed and very respectful. I am so used to reading replies that take the stance of "You're wrong," and not "I disagree." Mr. DeYoung's reply was very respectful and very much from the stand point of, "I disagree."



As I was reading the post though, I couldn't help but just dive into the thoughts of how, as Christians, we will argue until we are red in the face over spiritual issues. Some of us will stop community with some people because of disagreements. And some have gotten into physical disputes, even wars, over disagreements in Spirituality (I use spirituality today because of the over use of the word "religion" in the video above and the argument of the true nature of the word in DeYoung' s rebuttal.) I am not saying this from a holier-than-thou stand point, but I find it so trivial. Its wonderful to be passionate about your faith and to know your theology, but there are some issues that we really will not be able to figure out until we're dead, including the big question, does even God exist?

As I laid in bed processing the video and the reply, I couldn't help but think about how we all really are NOT on equal planes in our journeys with God. The more and more I read, it seems that there is this stance, that Christians want to believe, about how we can all meet in the middle, we all can all be in "understanding with each other." I truly believe this is one of the most DANGEROUS things found in Christianity. There are pastors who preach on how if we are truly seeking God and reading His Word correctly (as in not reading in between the lines) then we will all be in perfect unity and understanding with each other as Christians. To bring it to the issues I discussed today, there's a view that the rebuttal writer, DeYoung and the poet, Bethke, if both are right with God will see eye to eye on their issues. Laying in bed this morning, I could not buy into that belief.

Laying in bed, I found there were three arguments that I had formed in my head about how we all are different as Christians and will probably NEVER meet in the middle on every issue.

Being a man who lives, breathes, and functions with music every day, my brain immediately went to music.


Argument I:
Jesus and Pearl Jam

In my musical development, I found myself in the early 2000's looking back towards 90's music. My dad introduced me to bands like, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Smashing Pumpkins and other greats in the grunge and alternative era of the 90's. But one band I could never get into was Pearl Jam. As I've written about many times on this blog, I'm not their biggest fan. But I do need to mention here, lots of times I use Pearl Jam just to have a punch line, or to have nemesis in my writing. My blood does not run hot and thick every time I hear them, Eddie Vedder just gets under my skin.

But as I was thinking about about this whole "unity in faith" stance, I couldn't help but be reminded about my dislike for Pearl Jam. Eddie Vedder and company, to me, have never been anything more than a band that barely enunciated their whatever lyrics. But the thing that is so amazing about music, is there is clearly thousands of people in this world who think completely differently. There are people who Vedder really did speak into their lives. I would bet there are people out there who found Pearl Jam and the band changed their lives. Either it lead them to pick up a guitar and start writing music, or the music found them at a hard time and they used it to push through their depression and dark times.

We can't always describe why we actually like some music. Some music we are just naturally drawn to. I can't tell you why, but I know that I am drawn to the music like that of Jimmy Eat World. I connect with it, more than most other music and I can't explain it any other way than, it's a natural thing. I can be naturally drawn to something musically.

With that being said, I love the diversity in music.

I love that really there can't be something in music that is "universally bad."

Because what I think is pompous arrogant rock (Radiohead), is another man's favorite band and they are naturally drawn to it..

So bringing this back to the topic at hand, I find it fascinating that in music we can be naturally drawn to completely different feels or stances, but in Christianity, we think its suppose to be a "universal agreement."


Argument II:
Dad's Set The Pace

3 or 4 months ago, Nathan and I desperately were trying to find a roommate to help pay the rent and utilities on our house in Orlando. By the grace of God, a man by the name of Andrew Capo contacted us interested renting with us. So after a Del Taco talk with him, I was convinced this was our guy. Over the past few months I have really started to get to know and love Mr. Capo. Andrew is a solid dude, and I respect him greatly.

One of my favorite things about Andrew is our discussions. Nathan, Andrew, and I love to just talk in the living room. Doesn't matter if its about Temple Run, Movies, Girls, or God. We do a great deal of talking. Through these conversations I have found that Andrew and I, probably don't see eye to eye on all issues, but were totally cool with that. That does not affect our friendship detrimentally. But one of the most fascinating things I have found in that difference of opinion, is the difference in "moral compasses."

Out of respect for my roommate I won't dive into topics that we don't see eye to eye on, because I respect him for his opinion. But one issue I think that he would be comfortable about me talking on lightly is the topic of alcohol. Pretty early on in Andrews stay with us, I found out that Andrew has taken on what the cool kids call a "Straight Edge" lifestyle. I on the other hand, do not. I respect alcohol because of the way I saw it used in my household growing up. Casual drinking was normal in my house, so it never scared me, it was actually something I looked forward to, as in a part of manhood. I couldn't wait to get older to drink one, maybe 2 beers with my dad. But in Andrews case that wasn't the same issue. In his household alcohol tore family members apart, unlike my view of bringing people together in unity (when used responsibly of course.) So that lead me to this realization.

Some of our morals are not natural, or embedded in us. Some of our morals are created by our parents and our experiences. As mentioned, the way our families used alcohol was totally different, creating two different moral compasses in our lives.

So with that being stated, I don't know how as Christian's we will all see eye to eye if we are not all just operating under embedded morals.


Argument III:
Open to Interpretation

One of the hardest lines to walk as a Christian is, following the guidelines of The Bible. If the Bible were as blatant as the 10 Commandments we probably wouldn't have that many issues. But as The Bible reads today, it is very hard to sometimes distinguish what parts are relevant to every day life now, and what parts are irrelevant. For example, most of us write off most of the book of Leviticus because a) a great portion is about the sacrificial process which we do not have to conduct anymore because of Jesus Christ, b) because a large portion of it is safety guidelines for back in that day that really is not relevant today and c) because we all really like shrimp (Well except for the guys at http://Godhatesshrimp.com). But with all that said and jokes aside, it is probably the biggest thing that splits us Christians.

Look at the amazing division between churches today. Baptists, Free Will Baptists, Calvinists, Protestants, Lutherans, Catholics, Messianic Jews, Pentecostal, and Non Denomenational are really just a few of the many different denominations we have in Christianity. And what separates all of these? Most of the time its the interpretation of Scripture. Those little differences, beliefs in baptisms, free will, and age of accountability separate huge groups of people.

So this belief that one group has it right. This belief that the closer we are to God the more His people will be in unity. I completely disagree with.


Conclusion:
Th-Th-Th-That's all folks!

By looking at these 3 things: The existence of being naturally driven to something musical or spiritual, the existence of our moral compasses not being innate but actually affected by our lives and parents, and the open to interpretation ways of the Bible, I find it completely impossible to say that one day, we as Christians will NOT stand divided. There is unity in the love for Christ but I believe that will be the only thing we will ever all agree on.

You can see above with this video and rebuttal, that there are two different views on the topic, and they have actually differed with each other in a respectful manner (they've actually emailed each other as seen at the top of DeYoung's article, Bethke has since apologized for his view for some reason.)

The way these two men handled themselves in this matter, I really respect.

I loved that there were two differing opinions on how they saw a matter, but out of love and respect, they discussed it.

My message is this:

With all of the differences we are going to face as Christians, I really do hope that we can conduct ourselves with respect and love for each others opinions. I know the old Fire and Brimstone preachers will tell you that Political Correctness and Christianity do not go hand in hand, and I respectfully disagree. Loving people does not mean agreeing with them. If you want to make an impact with people, don't push on them that they are "wrong." Listen to them and if you disagree, respectfully tell them that. Don't make banner's and protests or tell them "You're Wrong", I don't believe that is Christ like at all.

And this whole "unity in Christianity" thing, its a myth. Realize we are going to have differences even in our faith. Wether its on matters such as baptism, hell, or political parties, there will always be separations in large groups of people. I can only hope and pray that we all conduct ourselves properly.

So control what you can, yourself, and let's take an example from DeYoung and Bethke, and remember to always be respectful in our differences in opinion.

And realize, this whole Christianity thing, its a lot bigger than any of us will be ever to comprehend, so why waste our time fighting and getting red in the face about that which we don't truly understand.

I guess we will all found out the answers to all of our differences when we die.

I think though,

God's gonna laugh at us and say we wasted so much time on the trivial.


But until I finally croak, I'm waiting in anticipation (and completely prepared to laugh along.)

Media Associated With This Post:
Song: Somebody That I Used To Know
Artist: Gotye
Album: Making Mirrors

All Pictures from Google Images