Music currently playing: Disc 2 of the dusty Beatles Blue collection

Currently reading:

1) The Connecting Church: Beyond small groups to authentic community by Randy Frazee  (so far...very easy read, very interesting)

2) Captivating by John & Stasi Eldredge

Forgive me, friends, for I have sloughed off—it’s been almost 2 months since my last profession. In that time, Diane started her own blog, Steve reviewed books, Troy posted ten thousand entries, Brad posted ten thousand pages, and John began preparations to come home from his first year of college. And what have I been doing? Wasting time.

So, to celebrate my enlightenment and my re-entry to blogworld, I would like to recite a poem I wrote. It’s called…I Waste My Time.

I Waste My Time

Instead of making my own art

Following the desires of my heart

My creative drive I sit and shirk

While I look at someone else’s work

On ebay

All day

I waste my time

I waste my time

Instead of cleaning my art room

Uncluttering the floor of doom

And organizing that hellacious pit

I put more stuff where I can see it

Because “I’m visual”

My habit is residual

I waste my time

I waste my time

I watch TV

My brain is in decay

I think during the commercials

Because it’s easier that way

I waste my time

I waste my time

Instead of writing my own line

Crafting words to intertwine

I adventurously surf online

And read somebody else’s

I waste my time

I waste my time

I waste my time...

Okay, all of you poetry heads out there--don't bother telling me that I've got a limp in my iambic pentameter. This is just free-form stuff.

Thought for the day, again on the idea of fear:

We fear what we cannot explain. So, to conquer the fear, we hold in contempt that which is a mystery to us, thus putting us back in control. Why is "I don't know" such a scary answer for some people? Is mystery something for you to conquer, or something to revel in??