Spring is waxing
Winter's waning
No more snow
But now it's raining
Summer's waxing
Spring is waning
Toward the sun
The crops are straining
Fall is waxing
Summer's waning
Nights turn cold
The leaves are changing
Winter's waxing
Fall is waning
Until the spring
Jack Frost is reigning
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
A BFZ SEX TALK- GOOD FIRE, BAD FIRE
Dear Kids,
Let’s start our discussion about sex with God. I think you’ll agree that’s the most logical place to start. After all, sex finds its very genesis in the person of the Creator. He is the inventor and the origin of sex. The world will try to tell you that God is against sex, and that the church’s attitude toward sex is one of prudish disapproval, but that is patently false. Sex was God’s idea in the first place. What God hates is man’s perversion of what he called “good.” Man’s appetite for sex, as well as the feelings of sexual longing and pleasure which are experienced during sex, were created by God. Marriage was created in part to fulfill those longings. God is responsible for making sex what it is- pleasurable, and emotionally satisfying. Man is responsible for perverting that gift and making it sinful.
This reminds me of a story. While I was a police officer, I responded once to a report of a structure fire in a residential area. It was a winter day, and I can remember that as I arrived on scene the homeowner was busily trying to put out the raging inferno by shoveling snow into the house through a window he had broken on the first floor. It wasn’t enough, and despite his best efforts flames began shooting out the upstairs windows and creeping up along the walls. I helped with traffic control while the firemen went to work. Within an hour they had put the fire out, but the house was a total loss. After the fire had been extinguished I went up to one of the exhausted firemen to see if I could get him a gatorade or something from the store. I remember that he put one sooty paw on my shoulder, and with his other hand he pointed to the smoke curling from a neighbor’s chimney. “See that,“ he said still pointing toward the chimney, “that’s a good fire.” Then pointing at the charred remains of the house he said simply, “Bad fire.”
Good fire. Bad fire. Sex is like that too. Sex within marriage is like a fire in a fireplace- it’s productive. It’s awesome! Sex outside of marriage is like a structure fire- it’s destructive. The blaze of such a fire may be exciting for a time and, yes, even intense, but ultimately it ends in destruction. Like a bad fire, sexual sin can also consume a home and brings lives to ruin. Outside of marriage sex is uncontained, and once it rages to ash all that is left is bitter aftermath. Good fire. Bad fire.
As I write, the whole nation is focused on a scandal involving Rep. Anthony Weiner (D- NY) who initially denied, but has since admitted to, sending lewd messages and photos to a number of women on-line. The investigation into Weiner’s conduct has now spread to include allegations that he may have engaged in inappropriate communications with underage girls. Today the leadership of the democratic party made various statements demanding that Weiner resign his position as a congressmen. To make matters worse, Rep. Weiner is newly married to a beautiful woman, and it has been reported that she is pregnant with their first child. Proverbs chapter 5 speaks about the perils of sexual sin, and I can’t help but think of verse 14 from that chapter every time I see Weiner’s face on the television. It reads, “I was on the verge of total ruin, in the midst of the assembly and congregation.” I feel a profound pity for Anthony Weiner. It now appears that he may have thrown away a promising career in public service. He has also dashed to pieces his reputation, the esteem of his peers, and the trust between him and his spouse. His shame is horrifyingly public. His home and all that he has worked for are on fire, and for what? A cheap, tawdry thrill.
Good fire. Bad fire.
Your Loving Father
Let’s start our discussion about sex with God. I think you’ll agree that’s the most logical place to start. After all, sex finds its very genesis in the person of the Creator. He is the inventor and the origin of sex. The world will try to tell you that God is against sex, and that the church’s attitude toward sex is one of prudish disapproval, but that is patently false. Sex was God’s idea in the first place. What God hates is man’s perversion of what he called “good.” Man’s appetite for sex, as well as the feelings of sexual longing and pleasure which are experienced during sex, were created by God. Marriage was created in part to fulfill those longings. God is responsible for making sex what it is- pleasurable, and emotionally satisfying. Man is responsible for perverting that gift and making it sinful.
This reminds me of a story. While I was a police officer, I responded once to a report of a structure fire in a residential area. It was a winter day, and I can remember that as I arrived on scene the homeowner was busily trying to put out the raging inferno by shoveling snow into the house through a window he had broken on the first floor. It wasn’t enough, and despite his best efforts flames began shooting out the upstairs windows and creeping up along the walls. I helped with traffic control while the firemen went to work. Within an hour they had put the fire out, but the house was a total loss. After the fire had been extinguished I went up to one of the exhausted firemen to see if I could get him a gatorade or something from the store. I remember that he put one sooty paw on my shoulder, and with his other hand he pointed to the smoke curling from a neighbor’s chimney. “See that,“ he said still pointing toward the chimney, “that’s a good fire.” Then pointing at the charred remains of the house he said simply, “Bad fire.”
Good fire. Bad fire. Sex is like that too. Sex within marriage is like a fire in a fireplace- it’s productive. It’s awesome! Sex outside of marriage is like a structure fire- it’s destructive. The blaze of such a fire may be exciting for a time and, yes, even intense, but ultimately it ends in destruction. Like a bad fire, sexual sin can also consume a home and brings lives to ruin. Outside of marriage sex is uncontained, and once it rages to ash all that is left is bitter aftermath. Good fire. Bad fire.
As I write, the whole nation is focused on a scandal involving Rep. Anthony Weiner (D- NY) who initially denied, but has since admitted to, sending lewd messages and photos to a number of women on-line. The investigation into Weiner’s conduct has now spread to include allegations that he may have engaged in inappropriate communications with underage girls. Today the leadership of the democratic party made various statements demanding that Weiner resign his position as a congressmen. To make matters worse, Rep. Weiner is newly married to a beautiful woman, and it has been reported that she is pregnant with their first child. Proverbs chapter 5 speaks about the perils of sexual sin, and I can’t help but think of verse 14 from that chapter every time I see Weiner’s face on the television. It reads, “I was on the verge of total ruin, in the midst of the assembly and congregation.” I feel a profound pity for Anthony Weiner. It now appears that he may have thrown away a promising career in public service. He has also dashed to pieces his reputation, the esteem of his peers, and the trust between him and his spouse. His shame is horrifyingly public. His home and all that he has worked for are on fire, and for what? A cheap, tawdry thrill.
Good fire. Bad fire.
Your Loving Father
Friday, June 10, 2011
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOWDEN!!!
Bowden is no longer 7 years old, and, in fact, he will never be 7 again. He is eight years old, and for his brithday he received his own room (complete with a desk with lots of drawers!) and a BB gun. Watch out ground squirrels!!! He's coming for you.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
One morning several years ago I woke up feeling nauseous. Wearing nothing but my boxers, T-shirt, and a single flip-flop (No time to look for the second one!) I hurried outdoors. It was early in the morning, maybe 5:30 or so, and upon waking it became immediately clear to me that this episode was going to end with a violent splattering of my stomach contents- and that seemed right imminent! (If you ever find me wandering out of doors in my boxer shorts you may safely assume I am in the midst of some crisis. Exigent circumstances make such a flagrant disregard for social conventions permissibale to some extent. At least that's my theory.) Although I knew I would not be able to avoid the fight I could at least choose the location of the battle. I prefer to vomit outdoors. So I went outside and stood for a moment in the muddy dooryard collecting myself. As I stood there my mouth filled with saliva. I groaned. I grimmaced. Then the riot in my stomach threatened to spread to my esophagus and, wanting to spare my loved ones the sight, sound and smell of my wretching, I staggered out into the middle of the dirt road which ran in front of the house. There I surrendered my will to biological necessity and vomited.
It was violent but brief, and when it was all done I felt better. The storm inside had spent itself, and for the moment I felt normal. The cool breeze of the soft spring morning caressed my brow comforting me and the song birds sang their concern. Mud squished between the toes of my bare foot. I tramped back across the dooryard and leaned heavily against a parked car. A tractor motored slowly past. The farmer who had witnessed the whole thing from his vantage point atop the tractor's controls smiled broadly at me, tipped the brim of his baseball cap back with his thumb, and then humorously swerved his tractor wide of the mess I had made. He laughed sympathetically, shook his head, and yelled over the roar of the tractor, "That's a good way to start your day!" I forced a laugh, waved him off, and then went in search of my lost flip-flop. I would spend the better part of that day otudoors.
It was violent but brief, and when it was all done I felt better. The storm inside had spent itself, and for the moment I felt normal. The cool breeze of the soft spring morning caressed my brow comforting me and the song birds sang their concern. Mud squished between the toes of my bare foot. I tramped back across the dooryard and leaned heavily against a parked car. A tractor motored slowly past. The farmer who had witnessed the whole thing from his vantage point atop the tractor's controls smiled broadly at me, tipped the brim of his baseball cap back with his thumb, and then humorously swerved his tractor wide of the mess I had made. He laughed sympathetically, shook his head, and yelled over the roar of the tractor, "That's a good way to start your day!" I forced a laugh, waved him off, and then went in search of my lost flip-flop. I would spend the better part of that day otudoors.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Do I cling to this miserable raft and be satisfied with what meager comfort and security it affords or do I jump ship and swim for a shore that I cannot see? Of course, I know the answer. So why do I ask the question? 'Cause I'm weak...frail...made of dust. That's why. What a figure I must cut gesturing and stammering as I pace back and forth on this raft that I loathe and staring out at a sea that I fear.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
PREFACE TO "THE TALK"
Sex. I have developed some thoughts on the subject, which I have been reluctant to publish here until now for a few reasons. First- My own informal research has concluded that roughly three-quarters of BFZ readers are women, and there is something decidedly unseemly (maybe even creepy?) about a man speaking to a largely female audience about this topic. However, as I will explain shortly, my thoughts on the topic of sex are primarily intended for a future audience and not you...whoever you are. (You might find them helpful as well though. I don't know.) Second- Some may view my musings as a form of spiritual exhibitionism. I assure you this is not my intention. I will be avoiding anything too revealing or personal. Third- I don't want anyone to think that I am taking up the topic simply because it is sensational. That's not how I roll.
So why go there at all? In order to answer that question I must first speak to why I maintain a blog in the first place.
I spoke with someone recently about the demise of their now defunct blog. I asked them why they stopped blogging, and they told me very candidly "Because no one ever commented." I love comments, but that has never motivated me. Apart from entertaining the small group of BFZ faithful who check in regularly, this blog has three main purposes, which I have held since the BFZ's beginnings. Until now I have only shared one of the three reasons with you all. That first being that I often think of the BFZ as a "rock pile" for my thoughts and ideas- a place to collect them in written form. The second, is that sometimes I just need to write, and the BFZ is my outlet where that happens. The third is a tad more personal, but I will share it anyway because it is the very reason why I plan to take up the topic of sex. Quite often I have come to think of the BFZ as an open letter to my children. Sometimes, I worry that I will die in a car crash or something and my children will grow up wondering about me, and what I thought about this or that. For the sake of my children I am going on record. I love you kids.
So this brings me back to sex. I believe that silence is surrender. Our culture is not quiet on the topic of sex. At every opportunity we are confronted with images and ideas which threaten to shape my childrens' view of sexuality. So, as a Father, I don't have the liberty of remaining silent. The enemy has forced my hand. I'm aware though that words are just noise if they are not backed up by a life that agrees with them. The enemy will try to undermine my words through moral failure and hypocrisy. I know this is the strategy. Boys, I'm trying to be the man I want you to be. Lucy, I'm trying to be the man I want you to marry. Let's talk about it.
So why go there at all? In order to answer that question I must first speak to why I maintain a blog in the first place.
I spoke with someone recently about the demise of their now defunct blog. I asked them why they stopped blogging, and they told me very candidly "Because no one ever commented." I love comments, but that has never motivated me. Apart from entertaining the small group of BFZ faithful who check in regularly, this blog has three main purposes, which I have held since the BFZ's beginnings. Until now I have only shared one of the three reasons with you all. That first being that I often think of the BFZ as a "rock pile" for my thoughts and ideas- a place to collect them in written form. The second, is that sometimes I just need to write, and the BFZ is my outlet where that happens. The third is a tad more personal, but I will share it anyway because it is the very reason why I plan to take up the topic of sex. Quite often I have come to think of the BFZ as an open letter to my children. Sometimes, I worry that I will die in a car crash or something and my children will grow up wondering about me, and what I thought about this or that. For the sake of my children I am going on record. I love you kids.
So this brings me back to sex. I believe that silence is surrender. Our culture is not quiet on the topic of sex. At every opportunity we are confronted with images and ideas which threaten to shape my childrens' view of sexuality. So, as a Father, I don't have the liberty of remaining silent. The enemy has forced my hand. I'm aware though that words are just noise if they are not backed up by a life that agrees with them. The enemy will try to undermine my words through moral failure and hypocrisy. I know this is the strategy. Boys, I'm trying to be the man I want you to be. Lucy, I'm trying to be the man I want you to marry. Let's talk about it.
Monday, June 6, 2011
JACK POETRY
I'm gonna eat the coldness
I'm gonna get dressed
In hotness
'Cause the sun is hot
And the moon is cold
I'm gonna catch the moon
And eat it
*********************
I'm gonna get dressed
In hotness
'Cause the sun is hot
And the moon is cold
I'm gonna catch the moon
And eat it
*********************
Thursday, June 2, 2011
CAMPING
PROJECT FREE LUNCH- STARBUCKS
I'll have Sarah do it for me. One of these babies has your name on it, honey.
I SEE DEAD PEOPLE
As time passes, my memories from my brief tenure as a police officer have grown dim and kind of fuzzy around the edges. Names and streets elude me now. I'm glad that I committed some of these memories to the BFZ rock pile while they were still fresh in my mind. Some remain as yet undocumented outside of affidavits and incident reports. This I intend to remedy at some point. Unfortunately some memories are still horribly vivid though. Like the time I kicked in the door to an old woman's apartment and found her decaying remains in the back bedroom, or the half dozen suicides I responded to. There was also the S.I.D.S. death and "Pie-Dog's" car crash down on the lake road. That's to say nothing of the dozen or so "untimelies" that I was called upon to document for the state. With latex hands and a screaming heart I turned them over, undressed them and ran fingers through their hair, looking for wounds. I noted lividity, counted medications, and diagramed the scene. Every corpse is filed away mentally, catalogued in vivid, macabre detail. I can remember feeling a sort of tingly, light-headed sensation each time as I walked into the presence of a deceased human being.
I want to be macho and say they didn't bother me, but that's not true. They did. They still do. Worse than the corpses though were the walking dead- men and women who were trapped hopelessly in their self-destructive lifestyles. The walking dead haunt me. They were slaves of compulsion, caught up and born along in a current which would lead inexorably to their own destruction. Every time I dealt with them I would come away with just one question- How's it going to end? I wondered if they saw the trajectory of their lives as I did.
I'm not sure I could help them, but sometimes I want to try. I know Christ is the only answer to their problem.
I want to be macho and say they didn't bother me, but that's not true. They did. They still do. Worse than the corpses though were the walking dead- men and women who were trapped hopelessly in their self-destructive lifestyles. The walking dead haunt me. They were slaves of compulsion, caught up and born along in a current which would lead inexorably to their own destruction. Every time I dealt with them I would come away with just one question- How's it going to end? I wondered if they saw the trajectory of their lives as I did.
I'm not sure I could help them, but sometimes I want to try. I know Christ is the only answer to their problem.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The house at the end of the road, way back in the woods where the track became two thin lines in the trees, was the type of place where you never gave a thought about what you were wearing. It wasn’t until you went into town that you suddenly felt ashamed, like Adam and Eve when they discovered they were naked.
OVERHEARD AT JURY DUTY
"I like the little monster coming out of your pocket. It's totally unexpected, but it's cute."
Middle-aged white woman with short graying hair, eyeglasses, and wearing a suede jacket to a young, twenty-something asian man with the spikey tips of his hair dyed purple. He was dressed entirely in black, but the designers of his jacket had stitched a bright green monster onto the jacket's exterior in such a way that it appeared to be climbing out of his side pocket. The aforementioned woman seemed high on the camaraderie of our shared experience as jurors, and assumed that her fellow would embrace her comment with enthusiastic follow-up conversation. The young asian was having none of it. He just looked at her with a pained expression, nodded awkwardly at no one in particular, and walked away without saying anything. Several of us witnessed the exchange, which was akin to leaving someone hanging after they made a move to high-five. A high-fiive would have been only slightly more bizarre than what she actually did. He was a grumpy looking man whose very demeanor screamed "leave me alone," but the woman was apparently oblivious to all that. She charged into his personal space like a bull made of loud small-talk. She burned away the pleasant mist of his inner-monologue like a hot sun, and I couldn't exactly blame him for retreating the way he did. (Although it was rude. Definitely rude.) Part of me felt that the woman had brought such a face-losing scenario onto herself by not reading things more clearly, and by not being respectful of his stand-offiishness, but in the end I sought to put her at ease and soften her rejection. I don't why I cared, in truth my sympathies were with the asian man, but even though it had nothing to do with me I sought to bring closure to the awkward scene. I did so by telling an untruth (not proud of it). I said, "I thought it was neat too." (No I didn't.) That succeeded in bringing closure to the awkward scene, but it led me into a kind of interpersonal quagmire which proved difficult to extricate myself from. She now focused her attention on me and as she turned in appreciative response to my comment it felt kind of like watching a gattling gun pivot in my direction. I wouldn't be able to shake free from her relentless small-talk offensive for another fifteen minutes. I was amazed at her ability to continue such a one-sided conversation for so long, without any input from me. The weather, the inconveninece of jury duty, pets, gas prices, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... she kept going and going, barely stopping to breathe, and no segue between topics. I'm sorry to say it, but I only achieved my liberty with a second lie, "Excuse me," I said, "I have to go use the restroom." (No I didn't) Then, in parting, a third lie, "It was nice talking to you." (No it wasn't.) I regret lying. I'm still not sure why I did. It was sinful, and I won't try and justify it. Maybe the asian was more virtuous than me. I stayed in the bathroom far longer than was necessary giving the woman time to find a second victim. I had no doubt she began the hunt as soon as I left. The cool, quiet of the men's room was like a porcelain refugem. When I finally exited and made my way to a magazine rack on the other side of the room from where the woman sat I observed that she had struck up conversation with a young hispanic lady who appeared glad for the conversation. Feeling bad about lying, I almost forced myself, out of a penitential spirit, to go back over and resume our conversation, but in the end I decided that this would only put me in the way of temptation again. So I sat down near the asian man, and together we waited in gloomy silence.
Middle-aged white woman with short graying hair, eyeglasses, and wearing a suede jacket to a young, twenty-something asian man with the spikey tips of his hair dyed purple. He was dressed entirely in black, but the designers of his jacket had stitched a bright green monster onto the jacket's exterior in such a way that it appeared to be climbing out of his side pocket. The aforementioned woman seemed high on the camaraderie of our shared experience as jurors, and assumed that her fellow would embrace her comment with enthusiastic follow-up conversation. The young asian was having none of it. He just looked at her with a pained expression, nodded awkwardly at no one in particular, and walked away without saying anything. Several of us witnessed the exchange, which was akin to leaving someone hanging after they made a move to high-five. A high-fiive would have been only slightly more bizarre than what she actually did. He was a grumpy looking man whose very demeanor screamed "leave me alone," but the woman was apparently oblivious to all that. She charged into his personal space like a bull made of loud small-talk. She burned away the pleasant mist of his inner-monologue like a hot sun, and I couldn't exactly blame him for retreating the way he did. (Although it was rude. Definitely rude.) Part of me felt that the woman had brought such a face-losing scenario onto herself by not reading things more clearly, and by not being respectful of his stand-offiishness, but in the end I sought to put her at ease and soften her rejection. I don't why I cared, in truth my sympathies were with the asian man, but even though it had nothing to do with me I sought to bring closure to the awkward scene. I did so by telling an untruth (not proud of it). I said, "I thought it was neat too." (No I didn't.) That succeeded in bringing closure to the awkward scene, but it led me into a kind of interpersonal quagmire which proved difficult to extricate myself from. She now focused her attention on me and as she turned in appreciative response to my comment it felt kind of like watching a gattling gun pivot in my direction. I wouldn't be able to shake free from her relentless small-talk offensive for another fifteen minutes. I was amazed at her ability to continue such a one-sided conversation for so long, without any input from me. The weather, the inconveninece of jury duty, pets, gas prices, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... she kept going and going, barely stopping to breathe, and no segue between topics. I'm sorry to say it, but I only achieved my liberty with a second lie, "Excuse me," I said, "I have to go use the restroom." (No I didn't) Then, in parting, a third lie, "It was nice talking to you." (No it wasn't.) I regret lying. I'm still not sure why I did. It was sinful, and I won't try and justify it. Maybe the asian was more virtuous than me. I stayed in the bathroom far longer than was necessary giving the woman time to find a second victim. I had no doubt she began the hunt as soon as I left. The cool, quiet of the men's room was like a porcelain refugem. When I finally exited and made my way to a magazine rack on the other side of the room from where the woman sat I observed that she had struck up conversation with a young hispanic lady who appeared glad for the conversation. Feeling bad about lying, I almost forced myself, out of a penitential spirit, to go back over and resume our conversation, but in the end I decided that this would only put me in the way of temptation again. So I sat down near the asian man, and together we waited in gloomy silence.
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