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nate's journal: because i was told to never write anything i wouldn't put my name to.
this is for posterity... so be honest.
all bible references will be NIV unless otherwise noted.
poetry   |    the great debate
current journal   |    december 02   |    november 02   |    october 02
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10-29-02      a poem 4 u

dim ...A poem that describes some muddled up thoughts in a muddled up fashion. Tell me what you think...

10-22-02      songs of zion

Psalm 137 is incredible. The emotions are real, the dilemma relevant. How are we to sing the songs of the Lord in a foreign land? The Psalmist has a lump in his throat, the searing pain of captivity is fresh and the love for Zion has never been stronger. He is rent. I think every Christian has felt this at one time or another. When (if ever) and how are we supposed to worship God when we are surrounded by people who will misunderstand it? I know we are supposed to sing the songs of Zion always, but I admit it does not come naturally. To open myself up like a sideshow... To be sincere while everyone mocks... To let all of "me" be vulnerable.

10-20-02      such power

Well, the most recent of my alarmingly profound reflections took place in calculus lecture the other day when I was thinking about my pen. Still thinking about the value God seems to put on every word. "For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned," Matthew 12:37. I thought about pens that have the power to start and end wars... Sometimes a person's, a nation's well-being depends on words, a few quick movements of a pen. Words enrage and sedate people. People live and die by their words and the words of others. Twisted words are given freely to the masses, and people have been killed for carrying a Bible. Truth is a sore subject that carries the death sentence at times, while the world is always looking for another lie. Ask Martin Luther, Thomas Paine, Charles Darwin, William Hearst what pens can do. I wonder what my pen can do.

Epitaph, by Don Blanding

10-15-02      my view

Minneapolis Nights
A thousand yellow and white lights... A weary rat-race of cars crossing the bridge, the intriguing gleam of a shiny art museum, lit-up windows of ambitious professors, the dull purple haze that keeps the stars from a big city, and a few sly trees poking through the concrete jungle that is my present home, all repeated on the murky waters of the river.
10-13-02      ponderings

• Mt 12:36 But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken. Mt 12:37 For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned."

• Heb 11:1 Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Peter has always impressed me. Dropping everything. We, as Christians, spend a lot of time telling ourselves what matters and what doesn't, but we rarely act accordingly. We think we can shape our faith around who we are, neglecting that we are who we are through our faith. We laugh at the simplicity of child-like faith. We think we are in charge of how God will use us... Masters of our fates? Absurd.

• Isa 29:13 The Lord says: "These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is made up only of rules taught by men. Isa 29:14 Therefore once more I will astound these people with wonder upon wonder; the wisdom of the wise will perish, the intelligence of the intelligent will vanish."

• 1 Co 1:17 For Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel--not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power. 1 Co 1:18 For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 1 Co 1:19 For it is written: "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate." 1 Co 1:20 Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?

10-10-02      my city

Looking out the window at the city, sometimes I wonder how big it really is. I think it's as big as an individual makes it. I think the size depends strictly on the number of people you interact with. Sometimes my city is my dorm room, with brief outings with a few friends to small restaurants and lecture halls. If I consider all of the people who notice me, all of the people i really notice, some days are pretty small. I was on a city bus the other day and was quite interested in the people who read the paper all the way home. Maybe that man there gets up, leaves his little apartment, walks a block to get on a bus, reads the news all the way to his job downtown, walks a block to his office, and sits for eight hours. He then retraces his path, continues this sullen existance, some days without anyone giving him a conversation. Is his city big? The internal reflections on the bus at night exclude the lingering lights and sights of the town... You can look at the window and see only yourself and the empty seats around you. Not even the ominous skyline that has become your horizon. Loneliness in a crowd. A person could quite hide away in a city this large, and by doing so make his city only himself. And so we wander through our days wondering who we want in our city, and who might just let us into theirs.

The buildings downtown loom overhead, piles of brick and steel and glass, each serving as trophy, idol, standard, hovel, prison, all in one. Each built by sweaty young men working for a sweaty old man hired by a group of old men who had perhaps never sweated. Each one a relic of better days... The newest are the biggest and most beautiful, the oldest are waiting for the reckoning. Each praised for its "contributions" to business. Each erected to glorify businessmen, each exacting life itself from said businessmen. Each interfering with the sunset that nobody watches anymore.

The die is cast-- I'm a lily!

10-08-02      kicking against these goads

It seems as though I am holding myself back from something amazing. It is pretty easy to tell myself over and over and over that Moses and Joshua and Paul were special... That they were God people who God loved more than me. That I am limited. That I should just roll over and do what's expected of me-- be the socially acceptable, politically correct, economically productive, "individual" they need to fuel this cruel machine. Toe the line and play their game... Let the anesthetic cover it all. (Queen) I don't think that's what Jesus meant when he told us to give to God what is God's and to Caesar what is Caesar's. I think he had an ironic laugh in his eye when he said that, a loving smile twitching the corner of his mouth. Come with me! Let the dead bury their own dead.

• Jer 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

• Luke 7:24 After John's messengers left, Jesus began to speak to the crowd about John: "What did you go out into the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind? 25 If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear expensive clothes and indulge in luxury are in palaces.

Jesus dares us to consider reality in all its splendor.

10-07-02      i could do mr. greenspan's job.

I don't know what's more amazing... that we are enjoying an economy built solely upon the ignorance of the American people, or that there is fear of its collapse.

• Ps 146:3 Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save.

10-06-02      picture day

Picture day. I saw an old photograph today in an antique store. Three little boys, a very long time ago. Their heads were blurry with movement and their shiny shoes were in perfect focus. I don't think they liked the ruffles on their shirts, the stiff-looking pants, or the slicked back hair. I wondered if they had been hearing all day, "Don't do that, you need to look nice for your picture!" I wondered if they were going to get ice cream after the picture. I wondered what they did the day after the picture was taken, and the year after, and the lifetime after. Did those little boys cry and laugh and rejoice and mourn? At what? They were the center of attention... Their parents adored them. And here they were, Three unidentified little boys in an antique picture. Their mom dressed them up and scrubbed behind their ears, the whole time knowing that the picture would not scratch the surface of who the boys were, what they meant to her. And we are left with a relic. Unclaimed, the picture shows hypothetical boys from that age. And I wonder what will be left of me in a hundred years. Could everything I value fade away to... whatever place claims all of the unknown knowledge? When nobody on the face of the earth knows what I lived for, what will they think of what I leave? Anyway, I didn't buy the picture. I doubt that's what they really looked like anyway, except on picture day.

10-04-02      rat race

It seems that we bank on the average life expectancy... I don't have to enjoy myself now, because, boy will it be great when I have a nice job with a corner office and a company car. I find myself wasting days. How does my day measure up to everone else's today? What was cured today, who was helped today, who felt loved and needed today while I was existing? Am I so wrapped up in the future rewards for my labor that I can't accomplish anything today? Everything I do seems to revolve around what I want to, at some undetermined point in time, be and become. I don't pay nearly enough attention to who I am now. There is no promise that I will live to retirement...

•  James 4:14 Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.

09-18-02      muddled in minneapolis

silently watching  ...An ode to confusion.

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