All Things

Judy is...

2008-01-21T16:48:00.000+09:00

A short FaceBook fiction

"Judy is … "

The small entry box stood there blankly, prompting Judy to type something interesting, witty, comical or clever. Just waiting, but Judy couldn't think of anything. One by one options crossed her mind, and one by one she rejected them as uninteresting, too much information, or just plain silly. And the unerringly cursor blinked at her, eagerly waiting a status update.

Truth be told, Judy was a little scared of FaceBook. She knew how it fascinated people, capturing unforeseen hours, addicting the user. Indeed, one of the first applications she had been prompted to install was FB Addict! It all seemed rather ironic, really. And yet, here she was again for what was it, the fourth time today? Time was getting on, and the dishes needed doing. Just this one little thing, she thought sleepily. And still, Update Status waited, blinking.

"Judy is … 5' 6" tall". No, that won't do.
"Judy is … being Judy". Hmm… well, what else what I would be?
"Judy is … fat and ugly". Hey! No, I don't want say that to the world!
"Judy is … "

Oh, Hang on!

"Judy is sick and tired of facebook!" Yep, that'll do it, she thought, shutting down the computer. Yawning, she glanced down at the clock before it popped out of view. 12:28 am. Oh well, it'll do until tomorrow. I'm sure I'll think of something better then.

No Zoë, you can't!!

2007-10-22T16:03:00.001+08:00

I have two adorable kids. Xander, now 5 years old, is very much the big brother to Zoë who is smidgeon under 2 and a half. Xander believes he's got the pecking order sorted out:

Mumma and Pappa bigger than me, so they're the boss of me
I'm bigger than Zoë, so I'm the boss of her

Trying to tell him otherwise can be a bit of an uphill battle at times! However this weekend, we were pretty grateful for his bossiness.

With our third coming on in December, we decided to move Xander and Zoë into a bunk bed. Xander and I put it together on Saturday afternoon and the kids were literally running around, jumping up and down, beside themselves with the idea of sharing a room. When bed time came, they were so worn out that both of them went down very easily, and Alice and I had nice quite night. We prompted Xander not to wake Zoë up in the morning but just to play quietly on his own. He's good at that, and, now that he reads the clock well, he also knows not to disturb us until 7 o'clock.

Alice tells me she heard this conversation the following morning, at about 6.20.

Zoë: I go see Mumma and Pappa
Xander (with a sense of urgency): No Zoë, you can't! It's not 7 o'clock yet!!

… and they didn't either. But when seven did roll round, we were both jumped on by our two wonderful, if energetic, kids!

My 23rd Psalm

2007-09-10T12:02:00.000+08:00

Ok, bravery time. Last week at church music rehearsal we looked at Psalm 23. "The Lord is my shepherd", David wrote, as he himself was a shepherd. It may be proposed that that is how David understood God - through his own experience. We were challenged to rewrite Psalm 23 as we understand Him. What is God to you? Here's my humble, if wordy, attempt.

1 The Lord is my comfort. I shall not stress, put myself down, or believe I am unworthy.

2 He provides my worth; He sees me as gold and jewels. He quietens me, and restores my soul.

3 He grows me and builds me up for his own sake, for his purposes.

4 Even through the pressures of life, and though there are those that would tear me down, I will not lose hope, for God believes in me. His righteousness and His promises uphold my faith.

5 You hold my head high among those that see me as useless, even me. You give me meaning and purpose. My life is worth living.

6 Surely I will live a full and fulfilling life. I will live on your word forever.

What's your theological worldview?

2007-06-15T20:03:00.000+08:00

No surprises here... Taken from my brother's community site... A bit of fun, but I don't need a quiz to tell me what I believe!

You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan, You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavly by John Wesley and the Methodists.

Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan

79%

Neo orthodox

64%

Emergent/Postmodern

64%

Reformed Evangelical

50%

Roman Catholic

43%

Charismatic/Pentecostal

43%

Fundamentalist

39%

Modern Liberal

32%

Classical Liberal

29%

What's your theological worldview?
created with QuizFarm.com

Flickr Privacy changes

2007-06-15T10:28:00.000+08:00

Annoying and disappointing, but what Dad wouldn't protect his kids?
Due to some niggling concerns I had, and confirmations from a friend, I've chosen to make most of the photo's on our Flickr site only accessible to contacts we consider "family", or "friends". (You can become one these. Read below).

Click the post title to find out why...It pains me to realise that some people do use sites such as these for selfish, perverse means. Sometimes public photos of children can fall into the wrong hands, and no parent wants them to be the photos of thier kids.

I would be more concerned if some photos had more hits than others, or random comments from people I don't know. But so far the number of hits have been small, and the comments from people we know. So, so far, I'm not too concerned. But you never know, and you can't track everything, and I just want to protect my kids.

If you want to view the photos you can contact me here, or at flickr. You'll need to sign up for a flickr account, which only requires an email address. We will "friend" people we know, and those kind enough to introduce themselves. I don't actually forsee this being a problem, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Yes, they're beautiful kids. I know that. And yes, I'm biased. I'm their Papa, and love them more than they know.

On Depression

2007-06-07T10:40:00.000+08:00

It hits without warning, its stay is undetermined, and living without it can be as much a battle as living with it. (Sorry, this a bit messy in its writing. I hoped to do more, but have really just run out of time.)

First it was a prominent polititions, former WA Premier Geoff Gallop and NSW State Opposition Premier John Brogden. Then high profile sportsmen Wayne Schwass, and Olympic medallist John Konrads, and well renowed actor Garry McDonald. Now the latest celebrity to talk about his battle with depression is the Blue Wiggle, Anthony Field.

Click the post title to continue reading...Like many others, I too am susceptible to depression. I'm certainly not prominent, high profile, or well renowened, but depression can, and does strike anyone. Its not just for those in the limelight, or with too much pressure, or a modicum of "success".

Firstly, thanks Geoff, John, Garry, Wayne and John, and now Anthony. Hopefully others will also be encouraged to talk about and find strategies for managing their depression. However, I also think with such a lot of celebreties virtually revelling in coming out about their battle, the little guys can be lost.

Sometime ago, Australia set up BeyondBlue, to deal exclusively with depression, and particularly male depression. Interestingly, this week marks the start of their Men's Health Week, and the link between alcolhol and depression.

So, let me repeat it. Anybody can struggle with depression. My father struggles. A friend of mine suffered from postnatal depression, after his wife learnt how to live with it too. In fact, I would habour a bet that most people, at somepoint, have learn to how to manage it.

I've had bouts of depression since a teenager. Previously it's been downplayed, dismissed and avoided. By me, as much as anybody I've talked to, which is disappointing and frustrating. One of the most anonying was from a medical professional who indicated that it wasn't depression at all, but simply exam anxiety. Following reading that report was one of the lowest times I can remember.

In the article above Anthony says, "You can feel very lonely even when you're surrounded by wonderful people." How very true. I wonder, however, if this (and other symptoms of depression), are simply not just the logical outcome of our society. In my experience, we are certianly becoming more isolationist. That is, we choose to isolate ourselves, and call it normal. Yes, we even have communities on line, but there is nothing like actually sitting down and talking to somebody, or just being with them. I don't believe you really get to know somebody without spending time with them. Its an old line, I know. But I just don't buy the "I can get along without real contact with people" alternative.

So, and you might have seen this coming, but the same is also true of my relationship with God. Without really spending time with him, or his Son, our relationship whithers. Without talking to God, listening for his voice, reading his letters to me, or remembering his instruction and work in my history; without just sitting in his presence, our relationship distorts to a mock imagery, a mere pale of a real partnership, which, ironically, I accept as normal!

And this is the point about depression: its all about finding things that matter. If nothing matters, nothing is important, I am not important, there is nothing to live for. But even the writer of Eccellisastes came to the conclusion that the only thing that matters is loving and following God. He is the ultimate reason, and really, there is no other.

Its not main course...

2007-05-25T15:38:00.000+08:00

A teaching moment on the ettiquette of food goes horribly wrong...
Last weekend I made a pumpkin soup - it was great, and of course we had lots left over! A couple of days later Alice made a beautiful Tuna Morney, and so consequently in the middle of the week we had more than enough left-overs for dinner. The following coversation occured between Master 4 (The X man), and me (Pappa)

Pappa: What would you like for dinner? We have pumpkin soup and tuna morney. Which one would you like?
X-man: Both. I want both.
Pappa: Ok (said I, seeing a teaching moment in action.) We'll have the soup first, and then the tuna moreny.
X-man: No, I want both together. Both at the same time.
Pappa: Well, when we have soup and something else we always have the soup first and then the main course. That's the way its done.
X-Man: But its not main course... its...

Click the post title to see what Master 4 said...

Tuna Morney!

Didn't I feel put in my place!

Who am I?

2007-05-23T12:31:00.000+08:00

Thinking back on the last few posts, has made me reflect on the many faces I wear. These aren't so much facades, as they are the different components that make up who I am.
We are all lots of different people, in lots of different situations and places. I believe that whilst they can all be different, there can still be a growing integrity to the whole. Sometimes there are competing or conflicting interests or values, and difficult choices need to be made. Consistently making choices in the same direction leads to a less conflicting life, one of increased integrity.

But that is not to say that integrity alone is worthwhile. We're seeing more and more people with mental disorders, particularly with terrifingly violent results. What I find interesting is that their world is integral. It is not right, and certianly not "normal" (that is, similar to the world in most people's heads), but it is consistent. The depressive sees everything consistently black. The paniced, oppresed world of the terrorist is consistent in its outrage against the dominator.

Our Men's ministry at church is called Integrity. Part of its charter is to "seek to identify what it means to be called men of God through teaching, relationship, and fellowship." We're trying to encourage not just integrity within men's lives, but a Godly integrity; one that reflects the wholeness of God. In a world that seems to rely a personally generated integrity rather than one of values and truth, this is increasingly difficult to do. Men in particular, it seems, are put on by society. They are too brutish, too violent, and yet not manly enough. (Personally, I think that the liberation of women has gone so far as to expect those attributes of men as well, and that is ureasonable. We are not women, and what we bring to the world is equally valuable and important. Its just different.)

So, who am I?

Click the post title to find out who I am..

I am...

a rogue, impatient, impetues child of God
a musician
a writer
a husband
a father
a software engineer
a dreamer
a fatalist
lazy
sometimes depressed
a friend
tired
a home group leader and member
an enourager
excitable
forthright
scared
sometimes brave
sometimes innocent

... and many more things that God challanges me to integrate.

3rd Bass

2007-05-22T13:09:00.000+08:00

No, not that third base... see the previous post for more on that... hehehe... I've finally decided to do something about my playing.
I play bass guitar. A fretless 5 string of which I'm rather proud actually. (I had it built and had to go through the whole process of chosing designs, and woods and so on, but that's another post.) I've been playing now for probably close to 20 years, and whilst I've taken some lessons, I'm largely self taught.

But there's the problem. For the last few years I've had no one to challange me, or my playing. Not a bass level, anyway. (Muscially in general, yes - most certainly). And, with no-one really pushing, there's been a slow degredation in my playing. Its been frustrating having playing ideas, and not pulling them off, or continually making tiny little errors, that admitadly no-one else notices (or too few to make a real difference), but errors all the same.

So, I've decided to do something about it.

Click the post title to continue reading... The something is the AMEB CPM Bass Level 3.[1]

There are only 4 levels, and they're supposed to get you to a sufficient quality of playing that you could apply for university studies. Not that I want to go that far, but its something to aim for. I had a look at the different curricula[2], and thought I could probably do Level 1 now, Level 2 with a bit of work, Level 3 with much more, and Level 4 was probably too much of a stretch. Level 3 thus seemed just enough out of reach to be worth going for.

As with most AMEB exams, it involves an insance number of scales and arpeggios[3], some in 2 different fingerings, in all keys, over 2 octaves (which is pretty much all you get on a standard bass). Then there's 5 pieces to prepare - 2 from their list, plus 3 free choice - at least 3 of which need to be peformed with live musicians at the exam. Add on soloing and walking bass lines, aural skills, reading, and general knowledge, and I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew!

I've been at it now for about 3 weeks, and have the majors and harmonic minors down, and starting the melodic minors. I've also been looking at the walking, and some of the tunes. There's a lot to learn, but its fun!

And the best bit is that in these last few weeks, I've really seen a change in my playing; or at least my attitude to playing. Just doing those scales I now seem to have more options under my fingers than I did previously. The fret board is starting to open up its secrets, and the excitement is coming back.

[1] That's the Australian Board of Music Contemporary and Popular Music Bass Level 3 exam.

[2]Overview cirrcula available at CPMBass.01.pdf

[3] Major, harmonic minor, melodic minor, major and minor pentatonic, blues, chromatic scales. Major, minor, major 7th, dominant and minor 7th arpeggios. All at 208.

Here we go again!

2007-05-17T21:12:00.000+08:00

Kan baby #3 is on the way...

Thousands of words...

2007-05-08T11:20:00.000+08:00

Or lots of piccies...

A reminder to some, and news for others, we have a Flickr site with randomly updated pics of us and kids. Alice has been great at keeping this updated fairly often. Thanks bub!

Soaking in music - Donald Fagan's Trans-Island Skyway

2007-05-07T13:27:00.000+08:00

One of my greatest pleasures in life is simply listening to music – particularly complex layered, music. It’s still got to be funky and have a great groove mind, but listening to how the different instruments and parts interact is truly a wonderful thing. Understanding the anatomy of a particular piece of music helps me understand it more, and, hopefully, recreate the simple complexity in my own playing or music.

One of my favorites is Donald Fagan’s 'solo' release, “Kamakiriad”. The opening track, Trans-Island Skyway, is not only bizarrely futuristic in its lyrics, but so thick in instrumental parts that picking them apart is audio dissection. The rest of this article gives you an example of what I mean. The track reaches a fiull 6 mintues, 29 seconds, so this is a long post!

Click the post title to continue reading...It might help you to have a listen to the track, which you can get to, at least in part, from Amazon. Follow the links.

Some brief background. Our narrator picks up his new car - a Kamakiri - with all the mod cons - hydroponic garden included! The song relates his trip to his home city along the Trans-Island Skyway.
The track starts with the first guitar part (of at least 3 or 4, I think), drums, and way in the distance some keyboards. The guitar plays a line that comes back throughout the whole track. It’s kind of like the heart beat of the tune, or perhaps, more appropriately, the Kamakiri’s idling engine. Add finger snaps, and move the keys more upfront. Then kick into the groove by adding bass and a second guitar part, a second synth part (with sparse, block chords), and then a third guitar, kind of soloing. Cue first verse, with lead vocals only:

I was born yesterday when they brought my Kamakiri
When they handed me the keys
It's a steam-power 10, the frame is out of Glasgow
The tech is Balinese
It's not a freeway bullet or a bug with monster wheels
It's a total biosphere
(well) The farm in the back is hydroponic
Good, fresh things every day of the year
Good, fresh things every day of the year

For the pre-chorus, add a harmony vocal part, a third synth, and half way through (“all set to samba”), some horns (brass – trumpets etc). The very end adds more harmonies (higher male). This section actually builds up the intensity, before a slight release for the actual chorus.

With all screens and functions
In sync lock with Tripstar
This cool rolling bubble
Is all set to samba
This route could be trouble
(This route could be trouble)

When the first chorus comes along, you’d think it was as dense as a hard wood, but everything is so neatly knit together, perfectly in order, it’s truly beautiful. For the chorus, the initial horn part drops out, and then we get a different part, that eventually overlays the original. The heartbeat is still there, only up an octave. We’re on our way.

(Chorus)
Steamin' up
That Trans-Island Skyway
Tryin' to make that final deadline
And if the lanes are clear
We're gonna drive a little harder
We'll be deep in the Zone by cryin' time

Then a full band STOP, which eases gracefully back into the groove. It’s magical – like a moment’s brief consideration, before just rolling along with the same. Drums, bass, second synth part, all three guitars, weaving in, out and around each other in a beautiful audio tapestry. Vox is back down to the lead. The verse just rolls along in the groove, not unlike the hours wiled away on road trips.

Say, there's a wreck on the side of the road
Lots of blood and broken glass
The kid who was driving I know from somewhere
Some kids just drive too fast
Wait just a minute there's a beautiful survivor
With dancer's legs and laughing eyes
C'mon snake-hips, it's all over now
Strap in tight cause it's a long sweet ride

Things start to heart up again for the second pre-chorus. From the outset the second male harmony part is added. At “Breath in…” we get the horns back, and new female backing vox. The narrator’s pickup is joining in – echoing his instructions to her.

Relax - put some sounds on
I'll brew up some decaf
C'mon kick off those heels ma'am
Now breathe in and sigh out
Let's get with the program
(Let's talk about the good times)

(Chorus)

Out of the second chorus we get an eight bar break in which nothing much seems to happen. But if you listen closely there’s lots of percussion in the background, in odd places: rhythm sticks, bells, wood blocks, temple blocks, and cymbals just before the lead vox comes in again.

The third verse is so full of texture, it can be hard to wade through. Firstly, listen out for the splash cymbal just after “sprangle”. (Incidentally, isn’t that a wonderfully descriptive word for a city’s suburbs!) Also listen for the solo sax line just before “Is that my father”. As far I can hear, its possibly the only solo horn in the whole 6 minutes!

We reach the sprangle just at dawn
These little streets I used to know
Is that my father mowin' the lawn
(C'mon daddy get in let's go)

At first thought, the second half of this verse is a bit of a cop out – just the same line repeated 7 times. (Note that – seven times. What the?) The drums kick it off with an oddly placed snare hit, which drives the groove forward, pumping it up. Immediately the horns come in with close harmonies, playing in and around a dense chordal mass of voices. There’s still a semi-soloing guitar or two, and funky odd keys. But the really hidden shine here is the added percussion. Listen out for bells, wood blocks, chimes, and other cymbals (which could just be the drummer joining in the fun).

From the story standpoint, maybe they’re having a hard time convincing daddy to join them.

C'mon daddy get in let's go
C'mon daddy get in let's go
C'mon daddy get in let's go
C'mon daddy get in let's go

For second “half” the convincing of daddy becomes more intense, with our female passenger adding her voice, and second guitar part. Listen for the odd bell here and there, cutting through the dense chords and voices, and soloing guitars.

C'mon daddy get in let's go
C'mon daddy get in let's go
C'mon daddy get in let's go

The last verse brings us back down to basics, for a while. Initially we’re down to lead vox (doubled with himself, which is interesting – perhaps daddy did get in and go), and rhythm section (bass, drums, one guitar and keys). There is more intensity here, though, mostly through increased volume, but also from the noodling keys. Again, half way through (Tidepools) the female vox, an extra guitar, and some horns just can’t help adding their voices.

We float into Five Zoos
Past the motels and drive-thrus
That noon sun is blinding
Cause the tidepools are boiling
And below the plates are grinding
(Let's talk about the good times, honey)

And then the most unexpected figure of the whole tune – a bar break of drums and keys (or possibly a processed guitar). It’s one of those moments where people look at each other with a confused face, saying “what the heck just happened?”

(Chorus, repeat)

Back into the chorus, and back down to the lead vox (single this time) and rhythm section. Log slow chords on the horns get added in. The chorus is then repeated, starting out by adding a more prominent soloing guitar, then more voices and brining the horns more prominent. The complexity layers start building up.

(outro)

The final 16 bars just ride the groove. Like the end of a long journey, where you know you’re close, and just need to keep going that little bit longer to get there. Listen for the nice drum off beats at the end of the first four bars. Curiously, there are not female vox here – it’s only our driver guy singing, ‘quiet time’.

The last figure to listen for is final stop – it’s kind of hard to miss, as it ends the song. It just, well, stops, like the engines been turned off. There’s no real ending, as such. Like the 1 bar break before the final two choruses, it’s another unexpected, ‘what just happened?’ moment.

Well, there you have it. I'm glad you got this far, if you did. I hope you got something out if, though. The rest of the tracks on Kamaririad look at different adventures our narrator takes, and the diffenent places and people he finds there. A lot the tracks are similarly dense in their construction, but all are beautifully put together. It's an album I doubt I'll ever tire of, and possibly will never stop finding new and interesting details in.

Blessings,
pk

The Leaving of a Worship Pastor

2007-04-27T16:40:00.000+08:00

Worship is a large part of my life, and my meaning. However, as you may have discerened, I'm concerned not only about the "quality" of worship, but about how worship teams function. this was originally written in March, 2006.

After a wonderful year, the Worship Pastor at our church decided it was time to leave. Her decision was a difficult one to be sure: the team has been spriritually challanged and deepened; worship has been permeating our services like I've not seen before. Who would not want to stay and see this continue?

Click the post title to continue reading...But, the personal cost was too great. As far as I understand, she needed to take time to reconnect with her family. She and her husband worked different scheudules, and as I know from personal experience, trying to maintain a relationship in that environment is more hard work than it really needs to be.

When she came, I was cautious - sceptical might be too harsh a word, but not far from it. What she was proposing, pushing, us into was far from my concept of worship, or, at least, ordered worship. She was all for emotional outpouring, fully throwing yourself into worship of God with every fibre of your being, simply to be with Him, and experience Him again and again like you never have before.

My worship background has always been in mainstream churches, mostly of the Anglican variety, but also more recently in a contempory style. The change in me has become evident I think in how I've approached it. Worship becomes more involved, more approachable to a contemporary congregation in a contempory setting. Being not so much my old myself, there's no doubt I've become freer in worship, and to worship in ways that express my heart for God.

Obviously we clashed on a number of things - it always going to happen when people have a different view than your own. But, in the wisdom of hindsight, I think that her perspective enhanced my own a little. And for that I thank her.

What was the Garden like?

2007-04-27T16:31:00.000+08:00

Some thoughts generated by a sermon I heard a while ago, "Where did I come from?"

I often get letters, quite frequently, from people who say how they like the programs a lot, but I never give credit to the almighty power that created nature, to which I reply and say, well, it's funny that the people, when they say that this is evidence of the almighty, always quote beautiful things, they always quote orchids and hummingbirds and butterflies and roses.y But I always have to think too of a little boy sitting on the banks of a river in west Africa who has a worm boring through his eyeball, turning him blind before he's five years old, and I reply and say, well presumably the god you speak about created the worm as well, and now, I find that baffling to credit a merciful god with that action, and therefore it seems to me safer to show things that I know to be truth, truthful and factual, and allow people to make up their own minds about the moralities of this thing, or indeed the theology of this thing.

Sir David Attenborough, from the BBC documentary Life on Air

Interesting, eh? How much of nature is as God originally intended, and how much of it is a result of our corruption of nature, due to our part, walking away from God?

Click the post title to continue reading...It's hard one to get a hold on. Sometimes I feel that being human, and being Christian is more of a partnership with God, than in Him ruling and dictating my life.

Back to creation. In the quote above, Attenborough alludes that nature is inhernently violent. I wonder what he has seen, what ends up on the cutting room floor, that is just too much for our already violently soaked TV. I think we get glimpses of what it means to be wild from these programs, but only glimpses. Lions tear down wilderbeast, kill them, and rip them apart for food when barely dead. Fish hunt and eat other fish using all sorts of deception to ensure their own survival at the expense of another. Lizards eat birds eggs. Even mating dances may be seen as the careful coercion of the opposite sex, rather than the love based, beautiful ritual we make it into. This is not just niceness and all things soft and lovely. This is a world in which animals fight for survival. In which there is conflict, where rarely do creatures die becuase of old age.

And God created it like this. Sure, He added the butterflies and the roses (with lovely thorns too, don't forget), and they have a part to play in that wild realm, but essentially, nature is wild, and harsh, and violent. And God looked on it, and said it was good. What does that mean?

Well, that was where the original post ended. I still think the question is a good one, although I think was planning on answering it! I'll leave it open to comment.

Told you I wasn't dead...

2007-04-27T16:03:00.000+08:00

Well, I'm back. Or at least, I intend to be.

A lot is going on right now, in all areanas of life. Family. Church. Work. Life. You name it, I feel like I'm swimming through dorm school custard in a darkened room.

And God is doing is something challanging and positive in my life. Changes are afoot. I'll tell you about them sometime.

But first, let me round off a few posts that have been hanging around. They won't be as polished or complete as I'd like them to be, but at least they'll be out there.

Sorry for the long wait.

Blessings,
pk

Not Dead Yet

2006-09-19T15:07:00.000+08:00

Just very, very quiet....

Acutally there are lots of things I've been wanting to post about - its just getting the time that has been the problem. I will try to get these things in order, but for now you'll have to be content with the following headings, that should eventually be turned into posts...
Click the post title to continue reading...

10 Years On
Worship Leader Worship
1 Year old
What was the garden like?
Separation anxiety & our Homegroup
Worship Team Requirements
It's finally ours!
Songs for my kids
Out of the darkness
The state of the English Language
Who are we serving?

If there's a particular post you're interested in, let me know. I'll try to get to it before others.

Blessings,
pk

Some family photos

2006-04-26T20:48:00.000+08:00

With Tante 'Nita

These were taken sometime last month, when Alice's sister, Anita was over from London.

Xander

My boy, aged three and half.

Zoe in a basket

My sweety! Even at 9 months she's turning heads!

Calvin or Hobbes?

2006-04-26T14:06:00.000+08:00

A Bit Of Both

You are 40% Calvin and 60% Hobbes

Calvin & Hobbes, like a scruffy yin and yang, are in perfect balance within you. Like Calvin, you're weird, a bit insecure, and can be a trouble-maker. But like Hobbes, you're down to earth and sensitive. It's a risk to say it here, after just a ten question test, but I'll bet you're smarter than most. Both Calvin and Hobbes are crafty, clever characters, and any one made from equal parts of each is a force to be reckoned with.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 28% on calvin
You scored higher than 54% on hobbes

Link: The Calvin Or Hobbes Test

Music

2006-04-13T10:08:00.000+08:00

A few of my all time and current favourites. Unfortunately some of the Christian stuff I listen to regularly (like Chill Out eXeperience), they don't have listed.

Create your own at HotFreeLayouts.

Accountability

2006-03-29T10:49:00.000+08:00

her·e·tic
Pronunciation: 'her-&-"tik
Function: noun
1 : a dissenter from established church dogma;
2 : one who dissents from an accepted belief or doctrine

Two other guys gather into my living room whilst our wives meet elsewhere; each group forming a conclave of trust as our children sleep. Tension veneered with relaxed indifference is peppered with small talk; catching-up since we’ve last met. Each us know why we were here, but none of us want to openly admit the reason for needing this, or each other, as badly as we do. Drinks are offered, cushions rearranged on suddenly uncomfortable couches, conversation draws to silence, and someone suggests we get started. Somehow I’m nominated to open us in prayer.

Click the post title to continue reading...

Lord Jesus, thank-you for bringing us here tonight, safely. We pray that you’ll watch over our wives as they meet also. Father, we offer this time to you to be made more like you. As we share our lives together, speak into us and through us. Make us more into the men you’ve created us to be. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Nervous looks dart around the room like a frightened mouse. For a second the silence continues, but finally I offer it up, ‘Ok, I’ll go…’. And so begins the fortnightly accounting of my life. The good, the bad, the ugly, the spiritual, the not-so spiritual, the victories, the down-right sinful, and all the inner workings of my thoughts and actions.

In the days before we meet my stomach turns knots, trying somehow to hold within itself all that it is about shed. My soul writhes like a snake overgrown beneath the sin enveloping it, choking and restraining it. In order to grow further, the old skin needs to come off. But the process is painful, and it takes time, and it leaves you open and vulnerable. Like picking at dry flaky scales, prayer offers some relief. It at least calms me to the process, knowing that the get-together is in itself growth towards holiness. Every time we meet, a little bit more comes away.

We start by recalling our memory verses – something we’ve chosen to teach us, build us up, or correct our thinking. One by one we recite our latest scripture, with reference, each trying to out do the others with length, complexity and flawless repetition. Even here a guy’s competitive nature is not put aside! One falter, and there are sideways glances, half encouraging, half hoping to have at laugh at your less than perfect memory. The ice broken, we move on to more serious matters.

The usual stuff is talked about. How are we treating our wives? Our children? How is our time with God, one-on-one? Are we making the best of our resources? Is our thought life in line? What’s going on at work? Nothing is forced out – I’m free to choose what I share. My guys know they can ask anything, and equally I can say, ‘Don’t go there. I don’t want to talk about that.’ But we’re here to open ourselves, to get deeply into each other’s lives. What stays hidden stays unchallenged, and easily festers, infecting the good that remains in us.

We talk things through, mull things over, and generally challenge each other and ourselves on what we do and how we think. I often feel as though my metal is not iron, but yet we seem to sharpen each other.

Eat Less, Do More

2006-03-23T12:19:00.000+08:00

There is no way you could call me a health nut. I love coffee and chocolate way too much be called health conscious! And I don't think I've ever lasted more than an hour on any diet known to man.

I was reading today that the latest craziness in diets might not actually be good for you. Low-carb diets can be unhealthy, and, The 'Glycemic index' is questionable as a diet tool. (Thereby making low-GI diets questionable). It seems that the only "breakthroughs" made in the world of dietary science requires complex counting, careful (some might say laborious) food selection, restriction of something that you probably enjoy, and may even be dangerous!

With all that said, I've managed to lose about 10 kgs (20-25 lbs) in the last 6 months. Along with eating healthily, there is only one rule I go by:

Eat Less.
Do More.

Hardly rocket science, is it? But for some reason, simple, straight forward, easy solutions aren't really in fashion. The more complicated you make things, the better the diet is...
Bolderdash, I say.

Eating healthily is key, of course. Fruit, vegetables, grains, fish, a little meat. A little bit of everything actually. But I still enjoy chocolate, and I still get the day started with fresh coffee (preferably straight into the blood stream, but drinking it is more pleasurable!). Keep it simple. Eat less. Do more. Just walking from the bus to the office a few times a week (its about 20-30 minutes one way) is all its taken. Allow yourself to indulge. Just keep it in check.

Does it mean I'm hungry sometimes - why yes, it does! Is this a bad thing? Why no, I don't think it is. You know, after a while, your body adjusts.

I could make a lot of this, and use the analogy for all sorts of things. Prayer comes to mind. Act less. Pray more. Then surely all my works will be more in line with acts of God. But I'll resist the temptation to make this yet another religious, philosophical diatribe.

Eat Less. Do More. Its the only sure fire way I know to become healthier.

Missing home?

2006-03-07T10:18:00.000+08:00

My old pastor (and a friend) Brian has posted more about his adjustment from expat life. He writes far more succicently than I!

Dear Brian,

I wanted to respond on your post, Missing home, but I fear my thoughts are too long, and perhaps a little too self indulgent for a blog comment.

I appreciate you sharing your journey like this – in many ways it’s validated all that Alice and I have been through. We’ve few people around us who have lived the expat life and returned to the country of origin with a certain uncertainty. Certain of what we were doing. Not quite certain why, or to what to end.

Click the post title to continue reading...Home is a funny word for me. Sometimes I laugh at the concept, sometimes I can’t stand to think about it. Sometimes I catch myself mid sentence, “When we returned home in 2003…“, and it doesn’t feel quite right. For a long time, even now, the house, suburb and city, even Australia itself, has simply been where we live. We are here, but are we really “home”?

The feeling is unique. Things are familiar and in many aspects bland, for they lack the simple adventure of living outside of what was the “home”. It’s like going one too many times to the same holiday camp. Everything is as expected, and the familiarity breeds boredom and a restlessness that robs you of the relaxation and change of scenery you so desperately need.

I envy your opportunity to return to Amsterdam. I know that even if I returned now it would not be as I remember. Our friends have moved from the places we knew them in. The rolling sea of Crossroads I’m sure I could navigate, but only by the few landmarks that remain from our time. Mostly though, there is something in my soul that needs to put Crossroads, Amsterdam, and Europe to rest. I need to see it moving on, changing and growing without me. I need resolve the loss. Sombrely, it is like visiting the grave of an important high school teacher – to finally put that part of your life behind you, say thank you one more time, and move on.

There is a certain deep theology in the expat life: to be not where you really belong – out of your depth, with only memories and faith and wit to live by. And there is still yet deeper meaning in the adjustment of returning: the profound understanding that places are places, and not really home but a sort of makeshift analogy, with emotion ascribed in an attempt to feel “at home”. I wish I could live by these words, but I’m frail, and weak minded, and have the need of some tangible sensorium to reinforce my being.

I’m glad you’ve found your home.

Blessings,

Phil

Lyrics: The Mountain

2006-02-27T09:00:00.000+08:00

From Steven Curtics Chapman's Heaven in the Real World

This would have to be one my most loved songs. Its not just the lyrics, although they are oustanding, nor it is the music, which is fantastic. There is great interplay between the instruments and voice. They both support and complement one another. It even it has a great bass part, one I've been meaning to transcribe for many years.

No, its the heart of the song that brings me close to breaking point every time I hear it.
Click the post title to continue reading...

I guess the reason is that the heart of the song is about God's love for his people. He wants to have close, personal times with each of us, one on one. As the song says, I cherish the times up on the mountain. Those times with God where all earthly concerns diminish to vanishing point. The times where you come back having had a glimpse of Heaven, to have really experienced God closely.

And yet, those are times are not for themselves. The real purpose of going up the mountain is to go down the other side. We're headed for the valley, to the low times, to the people that don't know the what's up on the mountain.

Close times with God are great. As always though, God gives you something to do something with it. The time up the mountain is for the time down in the valley. You can't have one without the other.

I want to build a house up on this mountain
Way up high where the peaceful waters flow
To quench my thirsty soul
Up on the mountain

I can see for miles up on this mountain
Troubles seem so small they almost disappear
Lord I love it here
Up on the mountain

My faith is strengthened by all that I see
You make it easy for me to believe
Up on the mountain
Oh, up on the mountain

I would love to live up on this mountain
And keep the pain of living life so far away
But I know I can't stay,
Ohh.. up on the mountain

I said I'd go Lord wherever you lead
For where you are is where I most want to be
And I can tell we're headed for the valley (yes we are)

My faith is strengthened by all that I've seen
So Lord help me remember what you've shown me
Up on the mountain

Yeah...

You bring me up here on the mountain
For me to rest and learn and grow
I see the truth up on the mountain
And I carry it to the world far below

So as I go down to the valley
Knowing that you will go with me
This is my prayer Lord help me to remember what you shown me
Up on the mountain
Up on the mountain

I cherish these times up on the mountain
But I can leave this place because I know
Someday you'll take me home to live forever
Up on the mountain

Up on the mountain
Way up on the mountain
Yeah!

Up on the mountain
Way up high where the peaceful waters flow
Up on the mountain

Up on the mountain
On the mountain, the mountain
yoo hoo!

Oh the Heat...

2006-02-22T09:33:00.000+08:00

Should've been posted yesterday.
Every morning I listen to the 6 am news, just before getting up, or (more likely) rolling over and getting a few more minutes shut eye... This was the beginning of the report from our local Christian station, SonshineFm

Its a few minutes past six. We're headed for a top today of 39 degrees, with the chance of a possible thunderstorm. Right now, its 27. Good morning, I'm ...

Urgh!

Seventy Times Seven...

2006-02-22T08:39:00.000+08:00

Well, not quite. And no, its not a post about forgiveness! There is a little thing called The Sevens that has been doing the blogs 'round for a while now. Heather said she didn't know anybody who hadn't done it... Well, this'll teach her! Questions are here, find the answers by clicking the post title.

The Sevens

Seven things to do before I die
Make a CD of music for and about my family
Write and publish a novel
Build up artists within in the church
Adpot a child
Live in Eurpoe again
Make my own, quality software
Love my wife even more

Seven things I cannot do
Be consistently kind to myself
Listen to Country and Western music without laughing! (Thanks, Heather!)
Drink instant coffee
Look back without thinking "What if?"
Be totally convinced that I am absolutely right
Play a good improvised jazz bass solo
Paint or Draw

Seven things that attract me to my wife
Her smile
Her laugh
The way she cares for our children
Her incredible talent
Her humility
The way she supports and encourages me when I need it most
Her body (hey, I'm a guy!)

Seven things I most often say
(laugh!)
All-righty then!
OK.
I'm sorry.
um...
Coffee?
Have you thought about... ?

Seven books I love
The Bible (The Message Remix in particular)
The Bridge of Birds
Design Patterns: Elements of Reusable Object-Oriented Software
The Inner Game of Music
Hamlet
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy
The Heart of the Artist

Seven movies I could watch over and over again
Star Wars (Episode IV - renamed, A New Hope)
The Princes Bride
The Wizard of Oz
Lord of the Rings 1, 2 & 3
Being There (although I haven't seen in many a year!)
The Matrix
The Red Violin (Thanks Zoe, for introducing us to this)

Seven People I want to join in too...
Ok, this one is hard...
Brian (if he hasn't already)
Chris & Coz, by proxy I guess
Wulf
Phil (although I'm not sure he really would)
well, I got to four!
Click the post title see all the answers!

Mould Pilots Robot

2006-02-16T10:15:00.000+08:00

At university I did an honours project in robots controlling themselves (Autonomous Robotic Control in a Dynamic Environment was the title - how droll! So, anyway, I have a minor interest in these things...

Now this is just plain WOW! (research paper) Are we one step closer to Daleks, or The Borg?

Philippians 4:8

2006-02-06T13:40:00.000+08:00

Memory Verse time...

Finally Brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is noteworthy or praiseworthy, think about such things.

I guess like a lot of guys, I have some trouble keeping thoughts pure. That's a real admission, but before condemning me take a look at your own thought life. Is it really as true, noble, right, pure, lovely and admirable as you want it to be? As God wants it to be?

Anyway, that's a different topic all together! The focus of this post is trying to examine what this verse says. At first glance, it seems to be fairly restrictive - think only about those things that the have attributes mentioned above. Wow! Its hard to come up with something that has all those attributes.. I mean, almost anything could be excluded for some for lack of conformity.

But perhaps its not so hard. What happens if we think about it backwards?

Click the post title to continue reading...You'd probably get something like this...

Finally Brothers, whatever is a lie, whatever is unrespectable, whatever is just plain wrong, whatever is impure, whatever is ugly, whatever is rotten, if anything is trivial or plain, don't think about such things.

What is this telling us? I think, when we compare these two versions, they tell us something very important about our thought-lives. We need to think about positive things - things that help and encourage us. Things that build us up and support us. We don't need to think about things that tear us down, or that innately we know are "just plain wrong".

I've used the comparison of noteworthy / trivial, praiseworthy / plain here which I think is particularly helpful Of course there are other ways of negating Paul's words, and I'd appreciate a scholar's comments on what they should be!

Anyway, I think this comparison tell us that God wants us to THINK BIG! The plain, the ordinary, the insignificant - these should not be our dreams in God. But the exceptional, the extraordinary, the meaningful, the notable, these should be what we dream of. Paul encourages us to not only think of the good things that God has put before us, but the amazing things too, to allow God to inspire us to the biggest plans possible, and then some.

But I can understand why Paul puts it in the positive. It's like that old trick - Don't think of pink elephant! What do you do? Immediately you think of a pink elephant! Trying to think of wonderful things might be hard, but trying to think of loathsome things, only to reject them, isn't helpful at all!

So finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is noteworthy or praiseworthy, think about such things.

Happy Wintereenmas!

2006-01-27T11:31:00.000+08:00

To gamers everywhere, Happy Wintereenmas!

Happy Wintereenmas!

I've never been really much of a gamer. For some reason the "Shoot! Maim! Kill! Kill! Kill!" thing I've never really seen as enjoyable. I guess its a reflection on my character and interests, but I've much more enjoyed playing adventure games - Zork or Kings Quest (back in the day) for example - to just mindlessly shooting anything that moves.

But even still, I have an appreciation of games, regardless of their genre. I've had my time of being immersed in a game to the virtual exclusion of all else. Time can certainly seem to stop whilst you're working on the latest puzzle, or wondering how to defeat the latest giant. Very easily can the world a game encompasses become your own.

Which is why I was so saddened to read this.

Click the post title to continue reading about games, and the value of life...It's a sad thing when anybody loses their life. Its very sad when they feel the need to take it.

I'm not suggesting that the games had any direct involvement in Mitch's death. However, as with anything we do, I'm sure they created a mindset that contributed to his outlook on life.

Anything you let into your mind has an effect on it. Its what you let in that helps define you who are. It determines your viewpoints, what you accept, what you don't, and what is borderline. The only problem is, and I know from personal experience, that after a while the boaderlines start moving. What was unacceptable once has now become vaguely acceptable. Not being cautious about what you let in leaves you on a very slippery slope.

If you don't already know, Jack Thompson is an outspoken conservative lawyer in America fighting the gaming industry seemingly single handedly. See the link above, about three-quarters down the page, for the comment he gave on Mitch's death. This I also find sad. Did Jack value Mitch's life? I don't think so. He used the occasion to push his own agenda.

Which, actually, is not a bad agenda to push, I think. Whilst I enjoy games there do need to be some limits. Not every game needs to graphically display all that it can. Controversy doesn't need to be the selling point - good game play and an enjoyable story were the original tickets, what's gone so wrong that we need to resort to violence and sex? I think that in many respects game companies have cheapened themselves by relying on the controversy and graphic depictions. They've taken the easy way out.

It's like the liquor industry relying on people getting drunk to sell their wares. Sure, some people do, and we all know the results. Alcohol can be enjoyed responsibly, but alcohol abused is an ugly thing. That's why there are strict controls on it, and social norms frown on giving it children. There's still that market for it - just ask any teenager - only they're not allowed to advertise with children in mind. How do we do that with games? How do we get the hardcore, graphic games into the hands that can handle them, and out of those that can't. Graphic games limited to those over 21? Bans and strict controls on advertising?

So, enjoy your games. They can be a wonderfully creative, fun experiences. Just don't let them control your life, or your thinking. You do so at your own peril.

I Am Not A Heretic!

2006-01-19T09:29:00.000+08:00

And I've got the test results to prove it!

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you're not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451.

Actually, on the results, I apparently have Monophysitism tendencies, and influences of Pelagianism, Apollinarian and Nestorianism. Now if I only I knew what they were!

Are you a heretic?
created with QuizFarm.com

Modern Nursery Rhymes

2006-01-05T14:05:00.000+08:00

My son's child care centre modifies the nursery rhymes we've taught him. He's often taken us off guard when he comes home with these new versions.

Sometimes they teach him things...

Twinkle twinkle traffic lights,
Standing on the corner, fairy lights.
Red means Stop!
Green means Go!
Yellow is the light if you need to wait.
Twinkle twinkle traffic lights,
Standing on the corner, fairy lights.

Sometimes its just bizarre...

Baa baa pink sheep have you any spots?
'Yes sir, yes sir, lots and lots.
One on my nose, and one on my tummy,
One on my toes, and that's not very funny.'
Baa baa pink sheep have you any spots?
'Yes sir, yes sir, lots and lots.'

Humour - A Great Blonde Joke

2006-01-04T09:02:00.000+08:00

I'm not normally one for these types of things but this joke is really, really good.

Leaving Home To Go Home

2005-12-31T13:32:00.000+08:00

Catapult Magazine have published a revised version of the Leaving... blog entry. I've really appreciated, and learnt a lot, through working with Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma, the Catapult editor. Its really focused the article, taking a lot of the "Christianese" out, and making it more approachable, and hopefully understandable, for those that haven't faced this kind of dilemma.

Thanks once again, Kirstin.

Two Views of Christmas ... or ... The Parent I Want To Be

2005-12-31T09:45:00.000+08:00

With 2005 almost said and done, here are a couple of events from the past few days that have stuck in my mind.

1. The Parent I Don't Want To Be

Ok, so it's a couple of days to Christmas, and we're out as a family (mum, dad and two kids) at the local mall getting a few last minute things together. My wife desperately wants to get some prints done of digital photos, so we burn to a CD at home, and are now in front of one of those "self serve" print machines. You stick the CD in, make a few selections on the touch screen, and a take your order to the counter to pay.
Click the post title to read more...
We're in the middle of this process when a lady comes in with a shopping trolley full to the hilt, including a toddler in the front seat. She waves a memory stick up in the air and asks how to use the machine. From next to us a sales assistant tells her where to insert it, and then to follow the prompts. She seems happy enough, and gets on with her order.

By this time, we've finished making our selection and go to the counter to pay for the prints and find out when they'll be ready. We also need to pick up prints from a roll we'd put in earlier in the week.

So, we're standing there, looking at the prints, and the lady pushes her overloaded trolley round to the counter. "Where are the prints?", she asks the assistant. "Well, they'll take about five minutes. Can I have your order slip?" "Oh, no, sorry", she says, "I don't have time to wait five minutes. Just cancel the order. I thought they just came right out."

"Oh, they'll only be a few minutes."

"No, I don't have time to wait. Just cancel the order." And she shoves off.

I don't get it. Five minutes. That's all it would take. By the time she'd finished paying they'd be just about done. She must've spent at least that in making her selection, and arguing with the assistant.

What really gets me though, is this is what she was modeling to her kid. Impatience. Demands. Rudeness. If I don't have it my way, I'm not going to have it at all. That's definitely not the parent I want to be.

2. The Parent I Do Want To Be

Thankfully this view of Christmas is a much happier one. I'm out the front of our house, mowing the lawn. I'm feeling a little self conscious with my Akubra hat on, sunglasses, and loads of sunscreen. Our house is on a slip road, next to a major road with three lanes in each direction, and a median strip. On the other side is the local mall (from above). It is a convenient place to live, if a little noisy sometimes, and definitely exposed if you're working on the front garden

So I'm mowing away, and a car I don't know pulls up onto our curb. It's big four-wheel drive. The kind that never sees any off road work, but the driver feels 'safer" on the city roads, for some reason. A man is driving, and from the passenger side out hops his teenage son, dressed in a uniform, clearly from one of the fast food places at the mall. The son comes around to the drivers side, and they say goodbyes, and he then starts to cross the busy road.

What happens next just about floors me. The dad pulls away and turns around in our street. By this time the son is halfway across the major road, waiting for the traffic to clear. Without his son knowing, the man stops on our street where he can see his son. He waits there just long enough to see his son cross the road safely, and then drives off, happy that he has safely delivered his son to work.

That's the parent I want to be. One that has a great relationship with his son, and cares for him, even when he doesn't know it.

Have a great 2006. See you in the New Year.

Margin

2005-12-22T10:05:00.000+08:00

My friend and former pastor, Brian, blogged about having "margin" time. An interesting concept, I think. A long and rambling post. I just hope you can get through it!! ;-)

How much margin is in your life? I know in mine, there's not much at all.

By "margin" I mean time to sit around and read, think, observe people going here and there. I think it's more than just time to "veg out", doing nothing. Whilst it might be physically inactive, margin time is still very active - at least, it is for me.

Click the post title to continue reading...My schedule basically looks like this:

Monday to Friday:

Get up & shower
Get my 3 year old up, dressed, and having breakfast
Take the bus to work
Work
Take the bus home again
Help my wife finish off preparing dinner, and have it with our kids
Get the kids washed and to bed
Monday and Tuesday nights I work from home
Wednesday night is Home Group (which I wouldn't miss for the world!)
Thursday night is music rehearsal for church (generally whether I'm playing or not)
Friday is tidying up the house and preparing for the weekend

The weekend is generally just as busy. Often I'm taking my son to swimming lessons, shopping, or helping my wife catch up on the things that need to be done, etc. Sunday morning is church, and sometimes in the evening as well. The weekend has been good for those catch-up-naps, of late, too.

Now I'm trying not boast here - this is certainly not the quiet, relaxed life I'd like to live. Much of what goes on is necessary to keep us afloat financially, spiritually and emotionally. Circumstances permitting I'd gladly cut the neccessary in half to have more time for what I think would benefit me, and those around me, more. Things like writing, composing, more playing, more talking with people. More time for prayer.

Anyway, the point is that the marginal time is fairly limited. I crave the time on the bus, as that is where I get to read my Bible, or our latest home group study, or the latest book I'm into. Two 30-minute times a day doesn't allow for much reflection, but I certainly know when its missing.

I miss the days when we lived in The Hague. There was this fantastic cafe down the street from us that made its own bread, and on Sundays it served breakfast till 3 in the afternoon! When my wife was away on tour I'd often go down there for a beer with a good book or a good a friend or just to watch people. They used to give free Salsa lessons, and the music and dancing was inspiring. I realise now that it wasn't simply a relaxation time, it was the time I needed to put things in perspective.

You see, I think we need margin time in much the same way we need sleep. The nightly slumber allows our body to refresh itself, to do the repair work it needs to do. Having a nap may help, in that it gives my body a short term boost, but there is nothing like a having a good, solid night's sleep, even a few in a row, to totally refresh and enliven your body. Margin time is the same, I think, but for our minds.

With so much going on in the world, with the advance of media and communications, we're constantly bombarded with information, often whether we like it or not! Can you imagine what it must have been like, even 50 years ago, to not know what was going on in another state, let alone another continent? Today, Australians keep up with American politics like never before. We were all impacted by the Boxing Day tsunami's the very day it happened.

Our minds need time to relax, to refresh itself, and to take in and process all this information. We need margin time, to put things in perspective, think, and adjust what we have just learnt or hes ard. Without this time to let our minds wander and evaluate, to make the necessary connections between differing concepts, we risk running them ragged - letting the constant flow of information never be questioned. We end up letting anything in and become part of us, regardless of what we think about it. In fact, that's the whole point: without margin time, we're not thinking about anything, we're just accepting it!

Romans 12 : 2 (NIV) urges us:

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will isÂhis good, pleasing and perfect will.

Or, in The Message:

Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you. (Emphasis mine.)

So, this Christmas, take some margin time. Get out of the hubbub, and at least try to get some things in perspective. Perhaps there are things you need to evaluate that you've just been accepting, things that need to find out what God might think of them.

Have a very Merry Christmas.

Leaving...

2005-12-16T17:43:00.000+08:00

A short reflection on leaving The Netherlands, now 2 and half years ago

I had never seen her cry, and even now she only teetered on the brink of tears. Although she would not let herself dissolve into emotion here and now, I knew that when we had finally gone through the gates, the good byes said, the prayers and blessings pronounced, as soon as she was comfortably home with her husband, the tears would not stop. I felt honoured; this was the closeness of our friendship. Remembering that day still brings tears to my own eyes.

Click the post title to continue reading...She was my wife’s closest confidant. Their professional careers shared many experiences and qualities. Had my Indonesian wife an English double she might have fooled even me. She was my ministry leader and coach. She was the one who, in the wars of leadership and power struggles, believed and trusted in me. In those tumultuous times we became her sounding board, shoulders to lean on, and close friends. We shared meals, movies and wine together, just to unwind and forget the day. We laughed, drank coffee and talked. Still, I had never seen her cry, and she wouldn’t allow herself to do so in the busy airport corridors.

We lived in The Netherlands for almost seven years. The intended two year stay become just one more; then just one more; then an apartment just outside of Amsterdam; a new church; our first child. We met her at the new church, and over the next three years our friendship grew. Together we struggled through internal wrangling and Dutch bureaucracy. We helped her move house. (Twice!) She met her future husband and married him, and the four of us spent hours together solving the world’s problems. They are God-Parents to our son.

I was unsure about staying permanently; caught between what had become an exciting, adventurous home, and mother country Australia, with family and a language and a people I could at least understand properly. I think I wanted to stay, but it was such a departure from our original plans, I couldn’t bring myself to accept it. When my wife first brought up moving back, my heart raced with anxiety. I was still so unsure. I didn’t know what to do. We prayed.

It would mean leaving this small home, leaving our European Adventure of culture, art and history. We would be going back to a place I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to. The few times we went home for a holiday the extended family dynamics were, at times, rather difficult. We would need somewhere to live. I would need to find a new job. We would need to go Church shopping again. But the hardest pill to swallow was leaving our current church family and friends, particularly these two.

Over the next few months we came to the conclusion that God was asking us to return to Australia. It wasn’t forced, or manipulated, but He knew it was the best thing for us, and we wanted to be obedient to Him. We didn’t like it, we didn’t understand it, but that was the way it was. It was very painful. For three months we met with people to say good bye. We started with the easy ones, those important to us, but not emotionally close. Slowly we worked ourselves to the closest friends, the ones whom it would be most painful to leave.

The last two weeks were hell. Constantly in tears, we were emotionally wrecked and the reality of what was about to happen hung over our heads as a rocky outcrop just waiting to collapse under its own weight. We felt blank, empty, like a bucket with a hole in the bottom, and the last of the water finally, slowly, dripping away. The last dinner, the night before we got on the plane, was with these friends. This is the hardest thing I have ever done, I remember thinking. We cried out to God so many times, wondering what on earth was going on. Why was He asking us to go through so much pain?

It took a month to find a place to live; two months to find a church; three months for my wife to find work, and four months for me. All the while we were only just surviving financially, emotionally, and especially spiritually. We were certainly not living abundantly or prosperously. Each day it was all I could do to turn myself over to God, and to trust that He knew what He was doing. Despite the pain of adjustment I was not going to let myself be overcome by confusion. God was going to stay firmly in my sights, even when work did not materialise for me, when old friendships we counted on evaporated, or when it was hard to adjust to a new church.

And you know what? God did know what He was doing. We’ve been in Australia for two and a half years now, and I cannot begin to describe the work He has done in us. Only He could’ve placed us in an internationally experienced home group, with new friends that understand our pain, and don’t gloss over it or try to fix it. Only God could place us in a house that suits our needs as our family grows. Only He understood that learning to stay close to Him meant we needed to be totally out of depth in every possible way. Only in all that pain could we have possibly learnt just how good God is. It isn’t over yet, not by a long shot. In many ways we’re only just getting on top of things. But God knows what he’s doing, and slowly, He’s teaching us to leave, and to return to Him.

You'll be going to sleep now...

2005-12-13T20:31:00.000+08:00

Coming out of anesthesia is not at all like waking up. It seems more of a switch or a toggle than the slow progression of states that greet the very early morning. One moment and you're awake, aware. Hours may have passed but the prior lucidity remains, dulled perhaps, but certainly not clouded over as with sleep. Still, the effects last much longer than any strong coffee can put right, the light-headed swaying softer and subtler than any alcohol could induce.

No, anesthesia is not at all like sleep. It is but a controlled superficial mimic that neither rests, nor, ironically, recuperates.

Do you rest, or do you just go to sleep?

Be a Christian Like Me!

2005-11-21T10:47:00.000+08:00

I know I haven't blogged for sometime, and whilst there is good reason (like a new job, a new baby and just plain exhaustion), there is still a lot I want to share. I hope you'll bear with me.
This is something that's been on my mind for a long time - possibly years. I'm not sure of its basis or validity, and would really appreciate feedback. I call it "Be a Christian Like Me" syndrome.

Click the post title to continue reading...
I've been a Christian most of my life. As far back as I can remember I've been attending church, listening to sermons or talks, and thinking about how well they apply. One of the things we used to do as a family was to pick apart my Dad's sermons over Sunday lunch. They were interesting times, and I learnt a lot. Consequently I've come to appreciate solid, biblically based, applicable teaching. It doesn't have to be outright exegesis, but I think any teaching needs to be grounded in scripture as a whole - rather than single verses that support elegant arguments.

And this is where I get unstuck. Lately I've been listing to a lot of different speakers and I wonder how much is really biblically based, and how much is the speaker supporting their own life and walk with the help of scripture. Sometimes sermons seem to come across as, "If you just did this, as I do, you would have a greater understanding of God. Try this out - it works for me - and you'll get closer to God. Be a Christian Like ME!"

Now I don't doubt that God works in and through all of us, and we can certainly share how God has worked in us, and those experiences can certainly be helpful to other Christians. I worry however that too much personal experience as a basis for teaching is harmful. God hasn't called me to be Ian or Brian or Mary or Jane. God has called me to be Phil. Is not my experience and struggles with God worth as much as theirs? I repeat: I can learn from them. I can certainly try on some clothing and see if it fits, but ultimately I have to find God in my life apart from their experiences, and in my own.

The trouble with this is that it gets dangerously close to post modern thinking: My way to God is as valid as your way to God. Don't judge me. Let me find my way. It's this that causes me concern in my own thinking, and I haven't' totally resolved this issue. My pride gets in the way, but at the same time, God is not letting up on this issue within me as well.

In all things I want to honour God. I also want to value people and their experiences, to show them how much God loves them, and how much they are valued by God. He loves you, the man in the back row, as much as he loves those serving at the front. You, faithful attender, are as important to God as those serving in more obvious positions. You, shy teenage girl, wondering where your life will take you, are in God's thoughts as much as the bold, outgoing speaker or leader of your home group.

In our leader-led, out spoken, loudest is best, society, I think the last thing we need to hear is Be a Christian Like Me. Be a Christian like you. Tell me your story, that I may know God better through you.

Catapult Magazine

2005-10-24T09:09:00.000+08:00

This was published here, with some additions and alterations.

Wow! Thanks to Kirstin and the gang at Catapult & *cino!

Blessings,

Knowing your Bible

2005-09-23T13:32:00.000+08:00

How well do you know the most important book in your life? And why?

Do you know your Bible as well as you want to? If not, why not? If a life choice comes up, can you think back to verses or passages that point you in the right direction? I know I can't, but I think I'm beginning to see the importance of it.

I'm reading a very interesting book at the moment, that my wife gave me for our wedding anniversary: "The Dad in the Mirror", by Patrick Morley and David Delk. Its about being a Christian father, and how to bring up your children to have a real relationship with God, and to follow his was because they want to, not because you force them to. Its about learning to change their heart attitudes, rather than just controlling the behaviour. The premise being that if you can change the thinking, the behaviour will change all on its own.

So, what has this got to do with knowing your bible?

Click the post title to find out...As it happens, its got everything to do with it.

Time and time again Morley and Delk give examples of applying God's word to the training and discipline of children. The provide both theoretical situations, as well as illustrations from their own experience, always correcting and teaching in the light of what God has to say about the issue at hand. Here's an example:

Dad: Eric, did why did you hit Kevin?
Eric: I didn't him that hard
Dad: Eric, why did you hit Kevin?
Eric: I don't know.
Dad: I think you do know. Why did you hit Kevin?
Eric: He wouldn't let go of my Hot Wheels car!
Dad: Were you angry when he wouldn't let go of the car?
Eric: Key is just a cry baby. I hit Tommy twice as hard yesterday, and he hardly cried at all.
Dad: Eric, you angry when he wouldn't let go of the car?
Eric: Yes.
Dad: Why do you think that made you angry?
Eric: Because I wanted the car.
Dad: You thought that if you had the car you would have more fun?
Eric: Yes.
Dad: Son, you wanted to get your own way, and I understand. I feel like that sometimes too. I know it seems as if you feel happier if you get the toy, but do you know what the Bible says?
Eric: What?
Dad: The Bible says that in the end we will be happier if we share. God says that if we are selfish, we will be sad, but if we love him and love our friends, we will be happy. Let's pray right now, and I'm going to ask God to help you believe that.

Ok, so its a bit contrived, and I can't really see myself talking like that to my kids, but the principal of what is going on here is the important part. In other examples the "dad" actually does quote or paraphrase verses and passages. Do I really know what the Bible says well enough to be able to pass that instruction on to my kids?

If I believe that God is the answer, and that the Bible is His Word, then I need to know it. I need to know it backwards, forwards, and inside out. I need to be dealing daily with it - not just reading passages, but thinking about them, understanding what they mean, letting them be applied in my life, and applying them to my kids life. If I don't believe it, then my kids certainly won't believe it. If I don't know it, then I can't teach them, and may even come to see my life as hypocritical.

It all comes back to this: If I love God, and believe in Him, His Word needs to be in my thoughts, on my lips, and in my actions. Only through that relationship with Him can I really bring my kids up to have their own relationship with God, and do what is right in His sight.

I don't know my Bible nearly well enough. Do you?

Conversion

2005-09-20T09:30:00.000+08:00

Over at Faith * In * Fiction Dave is running another competition: Write a conversion scene / story. I'm not sure if this counts, but its been a bit of a challange to write. WARNING: some adult language contained therein. No offence intended.

So I guess what I did you could call praying, but I don't know.

Mike had been at me for a while to try it. ‘See what happens’, he said. ‘At least you’ll know what you’re dealing with. If don’t try, you’ll never know.’ And he was right – I lived by that motto. “You got to try it to buy it. You’ll never know if you don’t give it a go.” I mean, what was there to lose?

Click the post title to continue reading...It wasn’t as though I needed to pray. I mean, it wasn’t as though I needed a crutch or anything to lean on. It was just that, well, there had to be something more, something that really meant something. I was sick of the advertising. Sick of the whole “Work. Money. Spend! Spend! Spend!” thing. So I had the crib and the car and all the latest tech. I had unwatched DVDs and downloaded CDs by the dozen. But it didn’t really get me, you know? I figured I was only living somebody else’s dream. There was nothing really in it for me. There had to be something else, surely.

And my girl was less than enthusiastic about the idea. Lisa thought Mike was full of shit, trying to mess me up with all that religious talk. ‘You be careful around him, baby’, she’d tell me. ‘Don’t give him too much rope now or he’ll just pull you in and hang you big time. All that religious crap is for losers, and you ain’t no loser. Just look at you. You got me. We got each other. We don’t need no big ass god trying to tell us what to do and what not to do. We’re the winners. We run our own lives. What you doing trying to mess that up with all this god talk, eh?’ And she as right, kind of. She certainly ran her own life. She kind of ran mine too. But wasn’t there something else?

So I prayed, but I didn’t want anybody to know. I certainly didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of Lisa, or make Mike think I was more into this than I really was. I just wanted to know. I wanted to know if there was anything really out there, you know? This was all about me, and what I wanted. What I really wanted. I really wanted there to be something more.

I went to a park over on the north side. Somewhere I never went, where people didn’t know me, where I wouldn’t run in to anybody I knew. I figured that if it didn’t work out I could act like a madman or a drunk, just another loser talking to himself, and leave it at that. I tried it. It didn’t work. No big loss. Move on.

It wasn’t a great day, kind of overcast, a bit cold. I really should be doing this inside, I thought, but I pressed on. I just wanted to get it over with. I found a deserted bench on the grass somewhere – there was no way I was using one of the ones on the walkway – and sat down. It was wet. Great. What a way to start. A cool wind blew of the lake into my face, and I could feel it go through me. I closed my eyes. I have no idea what I’m doing. I opened them again. Why the fuck did I come here? I looked around. The place was deserted, probably because of the weather. Well, at least I don’t have to worry about seeing anybody. OK, here goes. I closed my eyes again, and took a deep breath. Is there something more? Is there something out there? I don’t know you. I don’t know if anything is there, listening, but here I am. I want to know if you’re there. I want to know if there is something more to life than just this. Surely, there’s got to be something.

Mike always said that too few people listen to god. They talk about him, they talk at him, and they talk to him. But how many actually wait to hear from him? I wondered what it would be like to be god, having one way relationships all the time. I figured that if I wanted to know if something was really there, I had to wait for an answer. I said this to Lisa once. She just laughed at me and said I could be waiting a life time. I don’t know. If I were a god being talked at all the time, I’d want to talk back, I think.

So I waited. I don’t know how long, but probably only a minute or two, but it seemed like ages. I couldn’t keep my mind on trying to listen. I didn’t even know what I was listening for. I wanted to keep as open as possible, kind of zoned out, but I couldn’t. I thought about all sorts of stuff: work, movies, Lisa, Mike. Eventually I opened my eyes again. What a waste of time that was.

I looked out over the lake. Some ducks were just taking off, leaving the emerging winter for some warmer place. There is something more. I’m here, you know. What the? Where did that come from? Its just my mind, I thought, just my own mind playing tricks. But then again: No, I’m here. Come with me. Let me show you something more.

I can’t say that I became I a bible bashing, card carrying, loud mouth Christian that day, but something changed. I know there’s something more now, and I know that God has something to do with it, but I don’t know exactly what. I need to find Mike and talk with him some more. Maybe we’ll go to that park on the north side. You know, I don’t think Lisa’d understand.

Looking for Coco

2005-08-31T14:11:00.000+08:00

My sister-in-law has released a new album - Looking for CoCo. You can find her blog here. In short, this is a solid album from a mature artist, best listened to at high volume or in the close confines of good headphones.

I really should listen to albums in more settings before deciding what I think of them.

The first time I heard Looking for Coco was in my less than dodgy car stereo, ferrying my wife, son and weeks old daughter to the shops. My mind clearly not on the job, and the stereo most definately not up to the task, I was less than impressed. It's alright, I thought, but it won't set the world on fire. Her voice hasn't changed much, and the music isn't challanging. There is no complexity, no hidden gems for the attentive listener, and the marriage of music and lyrics seems more like a distant relative than an intimate relationship. Somehow I was expecting, hoping, for something much more.

As it turns out, I was just listening in the wrong setting.

Click the post title to continue reading...Now, I won't say that I was totally wrong - there are some things that continue to annoy me. They are, however, much fewer than I originally thought.

I next heard the album on our home stereo. I intended to listen more intently this time, knowing I needed to write this review. Distraction, children, and chores conspired against me, and again I came away uninspired. Finally, I took a copy to work and listened through my Philips SBC HP 200 headphones.

Finally, it all came alive.

Coralie's voice had the depth and character I so desired. At times she soars as high as faint whispery clouds, beautifully barely there, an acoustic reflection of purity and grace. At times it is tinged with pain and character, displaying her growth and muturity. In a modern pop world that favours immature, processed voices, her vocals are refreshingly rounded and balanced.

The lyrical content reflects the album's (and the final track's) title. Here are my experiences, she says, and this is what I think of them. Here I am. This is who I am, and who I am in God. She is gracefully honest, rather than blatently. Nothing offensive or shocking, just a plain presentation of her heart and struggles. Nothing is needlessly hidden nor presented. I'm convinced she believes what she's singing. This is not "Christian Music", it is music by a Christian.

The music too finally revealed what I missed: complexity and depth. In the close confines of headphones the parts separated. The common interjectory bass solos, percussion, and gorgeous 'cello of Emma West on My Child, all add to the pleasure. There is much to dig out of the tracks. One of my original frustrations that still stands however is that in places the music overpowers the vocals. It seems overly strong for the tender, self-revealing lyrics. Musically, dynamics are provided almost exclusively through orchestration, with any dynamics in the main vocal not similarly accompanied.

Special mention must be made of the track 5, Little Feet. Mourning over an unusual topic for pop, a lot is drawn out in an appropriately brief track.

At nine songs and only 32 minutes Looking for CoCo is surprisingly short, but despite its length it doesn't lack impact. This is a solid album from a mature artist, with both beautiful songs and challanging topics. Well worth a listen.

Looking backwards, looking forward...

2005-08-18T09:16:00.000+08:00

Paul Simon again provides inspiration for a post...

Yesterday it was my birthday.
I hung one more year on the line.
Well, not really. It was the day before yesterday. I meant to post this yesterday, but was just too lazy!

I should be depressed, my life's a mess
Again, no, not really. My life is certainly not a mess, in fact, it could be said that it's looking up, professionally and spiritually.

But I'm having a good time
I'm constantly amazed that these two can be divorced! Am I having a good time? hmmm. On the most part yes...

Click the post title to continue reading why...Why isn't my life a mess? I can think of a number of reasons:

I'm finally leaving my current job.
Over the 20 or so months I've spent here, I've seen and experienced some rather dodgy practices. Like changing dates on transactions in order to maximise tax benefits. It could be legal, it could not be. Either way, I'm not prepared to live in the gray.
My next job will not only be a relief financially, but also a step up in responsibility. Actually, it's pretty much everything I wanted in a new job. Interesting technical challanges, $$$, Team Leadership, less hours (I currently get paid for about 85% of what I work now). It's a small company, which is a bummer, but at least they are not under investement funding - which is a real bonus!
Life with two kids is a challange.
You kind of expect your life to change when you go from being a couple to having one child. Nobody tells you that going from one to two is just as big a change! Zoe is 10 weeks old today. Everyday I thank God that we've got her this far, and indeed she seems to be growing and changing. Her smile is just wonderful! Her big bro is wonderfully loving with her, although at three he thinks he can do more than he can really safely do, resulting in frustration all round! A challange, but not one I'd pass up any day.
God is moving!
Oh, yes. Definately yes. I'll post more about this later, but needless to say that He is definately speaking into my life right now, and its not the usual (or expected), "You have to clean this up!" It's love, and overwhelming grace.

I'm definately having a good time! The only thing missing is my development as a musician. Its frustrating, that I can't seem to devote time even to practice. Perhaps, when things have settled a bit with the new job, and the kids, I'll see more of the way forward.

Lyrics: Something's Missing

2005-07-27T11:34:00.000+08:00

More John Mayer - sorry!

Another track from Mayer's album Heavier Things. He certianly doesn't pull any punches in trying to work out the world. (I've posted about the 2004 Song of the Year, Daughters, before.)

The story here seems to be his own: as an artist, he has everything he ever wanted, everything the world says he needs, but something is missing. Something is not right within himself, and he can't work out what it is. The lyrics that really got to me form a kind of outro. He's trying to identify what could be wrong. The last two lines are the clincher.

Friends? check!
Money? check!
Well slept? check!
Opposite sex? check!

Guitar? check!
Microphone check!
Messages waiting on me,
when I come home? check!

How come eveything I think I need always comes with batteries?
Oh! What do you think it means?

Click the post title to see all the lyrics..
I'm not alone, I wish I was.
Cause then I'd know, I was down because
I couldn't find, a friend around
To love me like, they do right now.
They do right now.

I'm dizzy from the shopping mall.
I searched for joy, but I bought it all.
It doesn't help the hunger pains
and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate

Something's missing
And I don't know how to fix it
something's missing
And I don't know what it is
No I don't konw what it is at all

When autumn comes, it doesnt ask.
It just walks in, where it left you last.
You never know, when it starts
Until there's fog inside the glass around your summer heart.

Something's missing
And I don't know how to fix it
something's missing
And I don't know what it is
No I don't konw what it is at all

I can't be sure that this state of mind, is not of my own design
I wish there was an over the counter test, for loneliness.
For loneliness like this.

Something's missing
And I don't know how to fix it
Something's missing
And I don't know what it is
No I don't know what it is
Something's different
And i don't know what it is
No I don't know what it is

Friends? check!
Money? check!
Well slept? check!
Opposite sex? check!

Guitar? check!
Microphone check!
Messages waiting on me,
when I come home? check!

How come eveything I think I need always comes with batteries?
Oh! What do you think it means?

On Greatness...

2005-07-15T10:44:00.000+08:00

Troy is a dear friend of mine, living and working in Madrid, setting up a church with an arts basis. I've posted about them before. The more I explore writing, and read Troy's and Heather's blogs, the more respect I have for them as a man and woman of God, and how they have been gifted.

On Greatness - a letter to a friend.

No, its not me, but its still applicable. In a corporate environment its something I meet everyday, and get so easily am frustrated with. Learning to live how God has gifted me, without the comparison, the grab for power, or self-derogatory dialogue, is learning humility.

Flash Fiction: OffWorlder Guide

2005-07-14T15:21:00.000+08:00

"Flash" fiction (less than 500 words) is something I'm really interested in. How do you create engaging characters and plot, so completely and yet so compactly. This one was inspired by the ideomancer site.

The morning sky was tinged with red. “Is that ‘shepherd’s warning’?” Temaya asked.

“Yes. We’ll have rain today. It’s not looking good. Time to move on.”

We packed the camp into sizable bags, lifting them one by one onto the portagrav. Slowly it raised itself a foot from the ground, and I lightly tapped the end to start it moving towards the sun.

Being an OffWorlder Guide was a curious thing. Now a few years after Contact, they still lived simply, even primitively. Many trekked across the hills and mountain ranges, experiencing our land in an attempt to understand us. In many ways I felt superior. Technology abounded, even permeated, our world, and yet they had contacted us.

Temaya preferred to walk rather than ride the portagrav. Out of courtesy I lumbered alongside him. ‘The OffWorlder is always right. Do not offend.’ was the rule. Besides, the ’grav probably couldn’t support us and the gear. It was a few paces ahead now, cruising towards the peak we were beginning to climb. Suddenly, it disappeared. Moments later a crash disturbed our silence. Temaya looked at me, curious. I ran for the peak, fearing the worst. It began to rain.
Click the post title to continue reading...

Sure enough, the rise gave way to a sheer drop – too steep for the portagrav to recoil from, and the drop too far for it to withstand. Our gear lay scattered like the spitting rain. I looked worriedly at the wreckage. We were miles from anywhere, and without our gear we wouldn’t survive the night, much less the trek to civilization. Temaya clambered up in his slow, dependable manner. He didn’t acknowledge me, but quietly turned and climbed down the cliff face.

There wasn’t much to be salvaged: some food, a bag, but none of the gear. The locator might be repaired. “This is bad”, I said. “We need to find shelter, and work out what to do next.” He smiled at me, and started walking again toward the sunrise. “Hey, come back”, I shouted, but not knowing what else to do, I followed him.

We covered twice the usual distance that day, even in the rain. I’d never realized how the ’grav slowed us down. That night Temaya dug a shelter, his huge hands quickly angling a hole for the two of us. Once inside he plunged his arms deep into the soil, time after time looking at the dirt he pulled out, murmuring in dissatisfaction. Eventually he pulled out something approving, smelled it, and, for a brief moment, he smiled. “Here,” he held it out to me, “Drink.” I tried not to laugh. This was dirt! He gently grabbed my hand, and poured some of the cool soil into it. Then he spat on some of his own, made a smooth paste, and licked at it.

We survived like that for the rest of the journey. Eight days in all. I never did get the locator to send a signal. After a while, I even gave up trying.

Lyrics: Have A Good Time, Paul Simon

2005-07-13T09:34:00.000+08:00

I've been listening to Negotiations and Love Songs: The Best of Paul Simon 1971 - 1986. Fabulous tracks, wonderfully simple tunes with engaging lyrics. This tune also has a great bass part to it. Another added to the 'to transcribe' list.

But more than that, Simon is commenting on the 1970's hedonistic, laid-back vacuity. Everything is going to be alright as long as I'm having "a good time". There is some recognition that something that might be wrong, but it doesn't matter, as long as all is well with me. How far have we really moved on?

The song closes with an incredibly complex, fast moving, angular sax solo, contrasting with the laid-back, easy groove. Two worlds collide.

Have A Good Time.
Paul Simon, from the album "Still Crazy After All These Years", 1975

Click the post title to see the all lyrics.
Yesterday it was my birthday.
I hung one more year on the line.
I should be depressed, my life's a mess,
But I'm having a good time.

Ooh, I been loving, loving, loving and loving.
I'm exhausted from loving so well.
I should go to bed, but a voice in my head says,
Aah, what the hell.

Chorus
Have a good time (Good time, baby)
Have a good time (Good time, child)
Have a good time (Have a good time, baby)
Have a good time (Have a good time)

Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland,
But I think its all over done.
Exaggerating this, exaggerating that -
They don't have no fun.

I don't believe what I read in the papers;
They're just out to capture my dime.
I ain't worrying and I ain't scurrying.
I'm having a good time.

Chorus
Have a good time.
Have a good time.
Have a good time.
Have a good time.

Maybe I'm laughing my way to disaster.
Maybe my race has been run.
Maybe I'm blind to the fate of mankind,
But what can be done?

So God bless the goods we were given.
And God bless the U. S. Of A.
And God bless our standing of living.
Lets keep it that way.

And we'll all have a good time

Chorus
Have a good time (Good time, baby)
Have a good time (Good time, child)
Have a good time (Have a good time, baby)
Have a good time (Have a good time)
repeat

mad sax solo

Coffee...

2005-07-11T17:07:00.000+08:00

Well, no surprises here...

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic

At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung

You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping

Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

Immutable.

2005-07-10T15:17:00.000+08:00

One my hobbies at the moment is experimenting with writing. I've had a few "how to write" books out of the library, and this is an exercise from one of them. Write an eight line stanza inspired by the word "Immutable". I wrote this whilst mowing the lawn. Whilst I'm not really into writing poetry, and this is probably way too "artsy", I like it.

Immutable.
Unchangeable.
Impossible.
Immovable.
A man who is true,
Though his chosen words be few,
In a world that is pushing and demanding him
To change.

Books, books, books

2005-07-06T09:28:00.000+08:00

This last six months I've managed to finish a number of books - I just haven't written about them!
Here's a list of the books I've managed to complete this year so far. Click on the post title to for short synopsis and opinion.

Wild at Heart, John Eldridge
The Purpose Driven Church, Rick Warren
Too Busy Not to Pray, Bill Hybels
Einstein's Heros, Robyn Arianrhod
A Bridge Across Forever, Richard Bach
The High Impact Church, Linus Morris
Hamlet, William Shakespeare

Currently Reading: Inside Indonesian Society: Cultural Change in Java, Niels Mulder

Click the post title to continue reading...

Wild at Heart, John Eldridge

posted

The Purpose Driven Church, Rick Warren

Too Busy Not to Pray, Bill Hybels

Einstein's Heros, Robyn Arianrhod

A Bridge Across Forever, Richard Bach

The High Impact Church, Linus Morris

Crossroads International Church

Hamlet, William Shakespeare

posted

Well, that's about it. I may at some point expand on each of these - particularly The Purpose Drive Life and The High Impact Church. A comparison of thier approaches to modern church life and structure would, perhaps, be quite interesting.

Blessings,
pk

Playing with templates

2005-07-01T13:09:00.000+08:00

Not really a very interesting post. More of a time marker for myself. What the "cool" kids call a meme, I think..

I've been playing with my blog template today, trying to incorporate an easy way to get the post summaries to work, and not having to edit too much HTML.
Click the post title to continue reading...
It looks like I might have actually succeeded. From now on, I'll try and keep the post summaries at useful level. Those interested enough can always click on through for the Big Picture.

pk

Books 2: Hamlet, William Shakespeare

2005-06-30T16:10:00.000+08:00

Actually, this about book 7, but I haven't had the time to write up the others to my own content. Even this is a bit rough, and not fully thought out. Sorry!

The last time I actually read through some Shakespeare was back in high school. Over five years I think I must have looked at more than a dozen plays, between English (and English Literature for graduation), and drama studies. Of course, Hamlet featured strongly in my final year. Our teacher was an ex-university Literature professor whose passion was clear but communication was poor. Despite having a very literary, annotated version of arguably Shakespeare’s greatest work, if not his most well-known, at 16 I don’t think I really “got it”.
Click the post title to continue reading...

So, after seeing it on my bookshelf out it came. At more than double the age at which I first read it I think I understand more of what Hamlet is going on about, and whole point Shakespeare is trying to make.

Firstly through a few thoughts:

I didn’t realise that Hamlet contains so many quotations and “proverbs” we use today, even without knowing it. (It’s quite possible that they were common in Shakespeare’s day as well.)
There is an enduring debate about Hamlet’s motivations and madness. Until this rereading I was quite content to believe in Hamlet’s madness as the source of Shakespeare to allow him to do anything he wanted. Now though, it’s not so clear cut. I don’t actually think that Hamlet goes mad at all during the play. He gets mad, most certainly, and he acts in rash ways that any of us could, under the pressures placed on him and he places on himself. However I don’t think he actually crosses the line into irrationality. He is very clever.
The play is over very quickly. Sure, it’s long, but that’s not what I mean. There is a big, big build up to the climax – the sword fight – but it arrives almost out of nowhere, and as soon as it’s over, so is the play.

Whilst all of this is interesting, I want to look in depth at another aspect of the play – what it is that causes Hamlet so much grief in the first place. At the outset, a ghost appears claiming to be his father, the old king, who died not long before. His mother (Gertrude) has since remarried his uncle (Claudius), who just so happens to be the new king. Understandably, Hamlet is upset at this turn of events. The ghost tells Hamlet that he was murdered by his uncle, and that he must revenge his father’s death.

Ok, stop right there. What would you do? In Shakespeare’s day revenge was perfectly ok, a natural part of life and death. Would you revenge your father? Would you wimp out? It is, after all, killing the king, too.

Much has been made of Hamlet’s delay and considerations. He chooses to verify the ghost’s claim, and then act on it if necessary. In the meantime, he ponders the meaning of life and death – what does it mean to be alive? So many expectations and pressures have just been placed on him. Is life worth this much trouble? Eventually he feels caught by the situation, he wants to avenge his father’s murder, but he does not want to kill.

Hamlet’s response is to go through with it. He takes out his anger and suspicion on a head of state and friend of the family (Polonius), and eventually in the dual that gets him killed. However, I think there are better responses. At least, I think there is a Christian response that must be considered.

Jesus said, Give to Caesar what is his; Give to God what is His (Matt 22:17). Jesus was talking about money here. The implication being that we must pay our taxes, be good citizens, and uphold peace and order. Likewise, we need to honour God, love and serve Him, and do that all He expects of us. However, God is god of Caesar, too.

The same might apply to our morals and duties and the expectations of others that have sway over us. There needs to be a pecking order, so to speak, of the people to whom we give our time and energies. As with Jesus’ instruction, God is at the top of that. Underneath fall the government and those who are in positions of power over us, our employers, our family members and other people who speak into our lives.

Hamlet’s tragedy is that he lets his society, and particularly the ghost of his father for whom he longs dictate his path. He talks about it. He talks about the uselessness of all talk and no action (another major theme in the play). He eventually falls into action as it overcomes him, rather than seeking it out himself. Without a Godly perspective he looses sight of better options. The only ones he has lead to death, and guilt, and more pain.

Doesn't that still happen when we lose sight of God?

Questions, questions, questions!

2005-06-30T08:45:00.000+08:00

Ok, so I stole this from my friend Heather's blog. But at least it's an entry that is not going to take the usual 10+ hours of writing, rewriting, thinking and reworking. I really should learn to be less precise!

How old where you when you had your first kiss?
I honestly can't remember. I probably received my first kiss when I was a few minutes old. I probably gave my first kiss when I was few years old. My first romantic kiss would've been more like 16, I think.
What do you think is your best feature?
My mind.
What is your favorite breed of dog?
Jack Russell Terror. But they take a lot of work!
If you could attend only one Olympic event, which would it be?
Hmmm... Probably swimming.
If you could invite any movie star to your home for dinner, who would it be?
Probably Sidney Poitier
If you where a car what kind would you be?
I'd love to have a MGB. It really is my dream car. However, I think I would probably be a station wagon of some kind. Practical & reliable. Everything the MG isn't!
What is your favorite number?
16. Not surprisingly my birthday.
Which Disney character are you most like?
I don't know enough about Disney movies to really comment. Perhaps Marlin, Nemo's dad.
If a movie was made about you, who would play you?
Why would somebody make a movie about me?
Have you ever been out of the country and, if yes, where? (list all places)
Lots of times. New Zealand. Indonesia. The Netherlands. Belgium. Germany. England. Scotland. Switzerland. Spain. France. Portugal. USA. Australia.
How many times have you flown in an airplane in the last twelve (12) months?
Zero. Zip. None. Nada.
If you were in a car sinking in a lake, what would you do first?
Take a deep breath.
If you where stuck at one age for the rest of your life, what age would you want it to be?
About 30. Just enough wisdom to be out of my arrogant youth. Still enough energy to make a good fist of things.
What is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to you?
Hmm... interesting. Lots of things crop up as strange, but nothing really as the weirdest. Perhaps having our luggage gone through numerous times by customs, for no apparent reason, at various airports.
What is the "coolest" (or most unique) thing you have ever done?
Planning to live in Europe for two years. Staying for seven. Making the best friends I've ever had, deepening my relationship with God, and having a child all along the way.
What is the scariest thing that has ever happened to you?
Being in a car accident. The back end of a tow truck scraped along the drivers side (*me*) of our car, bending the chassis, and breaking both axles. Glass in your underwear is not a pleasant experience.
Have you ever gone skinny-dipping?
Yes. Its not as fun as its cracked up to be.
What is your favorite restaurant to eat at?
As we don't really have the funds to go out at the moment, I don't really have one. Perhaps eating a really good meal at home. With good friends, lovely food and wine, and great conversation.
What is your favorite non-alcoholic drink?
Coffee. Virtually anything with caffiene.
What is your biggest pet peeve?
Bad driving. Particularly people that pull up next to you when you're trying to cross a dual carriage way. Its just plain rude, not to mention dangerous.
What is the weirdest thing you have ever eaten?
African cuisine. Small piles of indescribable delicacies, all on a kind of thin bread / pancake base. You'd tear off a bit of the pancake, scoop up some topping and eat. A wonderfully social way of eating.
If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, what song would you want it to be?
Only one? That would be torture. So many to chose from. Probably one of the following: Brahms, Cello Sonata in E; Steely Dan, Peg; Paul Simon, Kodachrome; or anything from Sting, Oscar Peterson or Paul Kelly.
If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?
xan
What is the best book you have ever read?
The Bridge of Birds, by Barry Hughart.
What is the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Their height.
What is the one thing you want to do before you die?
Record an album. Mostly bass solos and my own songs.
What is the most outrageous thing you would love to do?
Record and play with any number of very talened musicians, and go on tour.
What is your favorite board game?
The Settlers of Catan.
If you could have any job, what would it be?
Running a church arts ministry. I used to limit this to just the music side, but I realise that my interests are so much more. Especially in terms of integrating the different arts.
What, in your opinion, is the worst way to die?
Alone.
If a genie granted you three wishes, what would you wish for?
1. Never to have too much, nor too little. (Proverbs 30:8-9)
2. To always be assured of a friendship I can rely on. (Joshua 1:5)
3. To continue to learn and improve myself.
Hang on, aren't these God's promises? ;-)
If you could go anywhere in the world where would you go?
Back to Europe. And live there. For good.
What is one thing you could not go more than a week without?
Coffee!!
In the last three years, what is one thing you would have done differently?
Not sold our apartment in The Netherlands.
Stayed in The Netherlands.
Got a job I wanted, rather than one I needed.
What is, in your opinion, your most appealing quality?
My mind - although that is fairly arrogant!

If you'd like me to interview you, and ask you a few questions, add a non-anonymous comment to this post and I'll send some questions over!

Zoe Alina

2005-06-20T23:46:00.001+08:00

Ok, so here's the little thing that's been keeping me from blogging the last month. Zoe was born 9 June, at 9.38pm. All is well. Praise God for a wonderful little girl!

Zoe Alina

Pappa, Xander and Zoe

Three day old feet

Books 1: Wild At Heart

2005-05-12T14:09:00.000+08:00

Part of my goals for 2005 is to read and review 12 books. Here's the first one, completed in January. Writing the review was the hard part!

Wild at Heart. John Eldridge.

I was originally put on to this book by my pastor and friend Brian Newman, back in Amsterdam. It was the “book of the month” at our current church sometime last year. Only in January did I have the take the time to work through it.

I think Wild at Heart is a valuable book in the discovery of authentic Christian masculinity. Eldridge recognizes that masculinity in general is at a crossroads. In our efforts to recognize the importance of femininity, and embrace equality between the sexes, we have removed the need for the differences of the sexes. It could be argued that Masculinity has been ravished at the expense of Femininity. As Eldridge puts it, “We teach boys to be soft and kind and caring, and then complain that there are no real men. Where are all the men, we ask. Why, you asked them to be women.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the Equality movement. I do earnestly believe that women and femininity hold a very important place in the world; but only in balance with men and masculinity. The two must go hand in hand. I’m not talking about gender roles here, or societal stereotypes. I’m talking about how God made the male and female psyche different and unique. We need to recognize and value those differences, rather than dictate that everyone need necessarily become an undefined mix

As is not unexpected, Eldridge has come under criticism for open theology, unbiblical views of manhood and womanhood, simplicity, and a whole host of other attacks. What he attempts is to free the idea of manhood of preconceived ideas, and wonders what it could be like if fully placed under the authority of God. I don’t agree with all that he has to say. However too often we find ourselves conforming to the expectations around us, rather than placing receiving our worth from God, and those He loves. This is just another arena which requires salvation.

Well worth the time, even if you disagree.

The Music In My Head

2005-05-05T08:39:00.000+08:00

I’ve just realized that something I do may not be all that normal… (OK, so maybe its not just the one thing. Please, no snide remarks!)

It’s very natural for me to sing my way through a day. A song gets stuck in my head, or perhaps snippets of a song. A couple of lines, the chorus, part of a verse that leads into it, the bridge perhaps. Often I really only know that section well enough to be comfortably assured I’ve got it right. Or it might be new lyrics I’m toying with, trying to mould them into some kind of basis for a song. Under my breath, whilst I’m doing something else or trying to concentrate on something more dutiful, there, in the back of my mind, a song keeps repeating, like a needle jumping on an old 33.

At the moment, its John Mayer’s "Daughters":

Fathers be good to your daughters
They learn to love like you do
Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too.

Beautiful, concise and meaningful. As we move towards our second child, I wonder whether I’ll need to take this to heart.

Caving

2005-04-29T20:48:00.000+08:00

(An experiment in descriptive prose)

I’ve just replaced the CD in the player. “Idea of North” – a cappella and finger snaps in soft, relaxing jazz. Music with real tunes, and beats content to keep time and to play a part in a much larger whole, without the need to dominate and control. Being on holiday is such a restful change.

Alice and I went caving today. It was more of a whim than a plan. We were passing the entrance on our way to looking for something to do and decided to stop. As we pulled into the gravel road I was amazed how different and commercial caving had become. When I was there more than ten years ago there was only a simple, locked gate and a warning sign. Although I’m sure we could’ve jimmied the lock, we moved on to some other cave for classical guitar and semi-spiritual experience. Eddie Brickel, actually, I think it was. Me, I’m a part of your circle of friends…

But today was different: toilets to the right, reception straight ahead. Reception? At a cave? Through the portal cut into a simple wooden shed, a woman greeted us with a genuine smile, honestly asking if she could help. I explained we were interested in the entering the cave, and she ran us through the procedure: hard hats; torches; no food or drink. Keep to the path; don’t touch the walls. Fine, I said, and she grabbed a pen to write a receipt for our entry. Since when did you have to pay to enter a cave?

The path to the gate was easy enough; the steps further down into the cave a little steeper. At the platform were signs. One reminded us of the rules, one had a map, and one described the cave’s opening. Go left first, she had said. There are more natural light holes. It gives your eyes times to adjust. So down we went, to the left.

The next platform showed us the abseiling area. A round wooden target, placed somewhat beneath a gap in the ceiling, barely large enough to scramble through. The dark further down started to encroach on the faint light our torches threw out.

The paths were wooden and steel, and they made little sound beneath our sneakers. At times the waist high hand rails left the path and it’s occupants to their own devices, only to catch up later when (ironically) the going became easier. The rails sank with the ceiling, at times only knee height, if that. When crouched, they weren’t much use, except perhaps to sit on and admire the view.

At first the torches seemed useless: far too dim to be of any real use in the dark. But as our eyes adjusted, the faint electric light grew to be appreciated, even loved; their power magnified by the absolute lack of any other source. How drenched we are in illumination!

After scrambling up and down, high and low, we reached the civilized cave’s end. A small, static merry-go-round of benches invited in the darkness. Yet another sign echoed my thoughts: Sit. Turn off the light. Listen. Experience the originality of a cave.

The utter pitch is hard to describe. Even black paint has a shine and reflection that a cave surpasses. Closing your eyes brought only a physical change – the sensation of eyes being shut – there was no difference in their record. “Blackness”, “darkness” do not describe it adequately, such was the complete lack of light. Eyes became superfluous.

But sound was constant. The only way to navigate, to place yourself amongst your surrounds, was by the ever “drip, drop”, as stalactites edged their way towards their stalagmite children. Here. Now behind. To the left or the right. The sounds of the droplets pierced the darkened silence like a magician stabbing swords into a box containing his quietly terrified assistant. Each dropped alone – not to be repeated for hours, perhaps days, as the water seeped through the soil and rock above. In between, the dark engulfed all other senses.

Turning on the torches we were eager to see the cascade of droplets, as though the sound was not satisfying enough. But it was easier to wish than watch. We’d concentrate on globules surely heavy enough to warrant the trip, and to our amazement they hung to their pillared parents for grim life, whilst all around their siblings dared rush down. Eventually our patience paid off, with a fraction of a second’s joy, and the complimentary ‘drip’ as our adopted droplet plunged to its fate. Alice commented how they sounded as finger tips on the edge of marimba notes. I was just awed at another symphony of nature.

English with Mr. Brown

2005-04-06T16:32:00.000+08:00

When I was 14 I had a Science teacher named Mr. Brown. He was your typical mad scientist - and yet as stern as could be. As a teacher he was a total control freak! On top of it all he spoke with such a thick Scottish accent that it was sometimes hard to understand what he was saying. We all called him "Ma Brun".

On one particular day my English teacher was away sick, so Mr. Brown took us for English. To this day I have no idea why. He even had the class relocate to his science lab. We were discussing the English language - its size, parts thereof and so on. One question he asked was, "How big is English? How many words do you think there are?" Some kids said 10,000, 100,000 or maybe more, and Mr. Brown just kept telling them they were wrong. I suggested that English really is infinite. New words are being invented and used every day; words that didn't exist years ago, or even yesterday. It’s a growing, moving, changing language.

I was so berated by Mr. Brown that at the end of the lesson I left the classroom virtually in tears. I thought my answer may have appealed to his scientific mindset. Evidently not.

Ma Brun went on to tell us how stupid we all were. He guessed that there were about 50 million (or some such number) words in the English language, and that we probably only knew a few hundred thousand.

TC&GB, pk

Boiling Water

2005-03-08T13:55:00.000+08:00

This is based on a real event, although nothing nearly as an antagonistic! It's also an experiment in really short fiction. I set myself a maximum of 500 words here.

He insisted on re-boiling the kettle.

“It’s only just boiled”, I said.

“I know”, he said, yet he continued to hold down the button, forcing the overworked element to reignite within the already bubbling water. I wondered what it was he was trying to achieve. I mean, how much more boiled can water be? It obviously believed it was hot enough for his waiting tea bag. I stood and looked at my brewing coffee. It was all I could do not to point out his obvious lack of confidence in the kettle.

“You’re in the IT department, aren’t you?” he asked. He continued to hold the button down as the water raised its voice.

“Yeah. I’m working on a new version of the Package Manager.”

“Oh great. It’s not doing what it should be doing. The calculations are broken. I can’t get it to agree with my numbers.”

“Oh, I see. Well, can you send me through an example? I’ll have a look at it, but I can’t guarantee anything. Everything gets checked before it goes out, you know.”

“Yeah sure, but I hope you find the bug soon – I can’t really trust it, you know?”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” I left. I couldn’t wait for this guy to re-boil his water.

The coffee renewed my brain cells. Ah, sweet ambiance of caffeine, what would I do without you? Moments later an email came through from Mr Faithless Technology:

Just met you in the kitchen. Can’t find figures at the mo, but please check car
insurance calculations. They don’t add up.

And that was it. No name, no details, no examples. Just, “It’s wrong.” Thanks very much.

Nevertheless I looked at the program, running a few of my own tests as well as the official testing script. No problems. It made me wonder what was going on. Was there a special case we might have missed? How was he calculating the figures? The method wasn’t simple, but it was well known. I decided to let it go; discretion is the better part of valour, and all that.

A couple of days later we crossed again in the kitchen. He was still holding down the kettle’s button.

“Hi. Did you find that problem?”

“No, nothing yet. I’ve run all the usual checks. I was wondering if you had a chance to find your calculations.”

“Oh, no. I’ve moved on from that to the health insurance group. I think there might be some problems there, too.” He finally relieved the kettle of its boiling.

“Ok. Well, same deal: send through an example and we’ll have a look at it.” I decided my coffee could wait.

“We really need to get a new kettle, you know”, he called out as I opened the door.

Enjoying Worship

2005-02-23T10:25:00.000+08:00

Phil's note: This was kindly published here, with some additions and alterations. Check it out for a version I'm happier with, but still not really complete!

At music rehearsal on Monday night, we had quite a discussion about what our expectations were when we come to play at a service. It was an interesting exchange of ideas. Concurrently, and totally unrelated, another interesting discussion has been going on in ChurchBass about Performance vs Worship. (I need to read more of that thread!) Here are a few ideas.

Worship is not about you. It's about God.
How many times have you said, or heard said, "I got a lot of the worship today", or "The worship didn't feel that great today"? Sorry, but that's entirely the wrong attitude! Worship is for God - to proclaim Him as God. Its not about getting a nice, warm fuzzy feeling. Its about putting God in his rightful place, regardless of how we feel about it.

Sometime I think that we expect the order of events to be:

Worship -> Good Feelings -> Presence of God

That is, if through our worship we get good feelings, and deduce that we have sensed the presence of God. I think this is the wrong way around. What is the purpose of worship? To raise up another, not yourself. Do you cheer on a football team to feel good about yourself, or to encourage and raise up the team? So:

Worship -> Presence of God -> Good Feelings

That is, our worship should remind us and instill in us the presence of God, out of which flow the good feelings.

Compare this with James' theology of faith and works.

NOT: works-> salvation -> faith
BUT: faith -> salvation -> works

By our faith in Christ we are saved. God himself came to us. It is out of our salvation that good works come. The works are our response to God, they do not justify us to God.

So I think it is with worship. The goal of worship shouldn't be the nice feelings, it should be putting God in His rightful place. However, out of that adoration of God good feelings may come. But if they don't, that's ok, because our feelings are not what worship is all about. We are secondary. God must be put in his rightful place.

This has a couple of ramifications:

Worship is not just music!
This first point is very important. Anything that puts God in his rightful place in our lives is worship. So often we've (I've!) restricted the idea of worship to just music, or even a particular style of music. But if worship is about God, then its more than what we do, or how we do what we do.

Style becomes irrelevant, and may even be an hindrance!
Me, I'm a jazz / funk man, myself. I get great enjoyment through playing and listening to that kind of music. Worshipping through that style is great fun for me. However, in doing so, I can actually focus more on the music, and less God. Hence, my worship becomes of the music - not God. Any music, or dance, or reading, or anything, that puts God above all, where He belongs, is worship.

Worship is much more varied than I have ever experienced!
The last point I want to make is this: Any way that I can put God first in my life is worship. It doesn't have to be singing. It doesn't have to be in a Church, or in a service, or even amongst other believers. I can worship God by remembering His attributes whilst driving. I can worship by evaluating a sitcom on TV, and reflecting on how it matches up with His plan for my life. I can worship by stopping writing in my blog, and getting back to doing some work!

Explore different ways of worship, and let me know how you get on.
pk

Goals: Scriptures 3 of 12

2005-02-21T08:24:00.000+08:00

Worship: You were planned for God's Pleasure

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all you mind and with all your strength.
Mark 12: 30

(This is the second of the memory verses from the 40 Days.)

The Vicious Circle - a new ending

2005-02-16T09:23:00.000+08:00

Over at InFuze they've run a competition to provide a new ending to Matt Bronleewe's story, The Vicious Circle. Here is my new ending to the story. Its not as polished as I would've liked, but it will do. I guess this counts as my first piece of fiction for the year. Yay! Warning: its not particuarly "Christian". In fcat, you could see it as a tradgedy, of sorts. And it kind of makes fun of the whole pulp fiction genre. There are some seriously corny lines in there!

Really, you should go on to InFuze, and sign up. Its free, and is a wonderful mix of arts: interviews, reviews, writing, poetry, art. The only thing its missing is a music section! ;-) (Then again, I might be biased...)

Hank looked away. “Sid.”

“Hank”, said Sid, spitting out the word. His anger burned within his overcoat. “How could you, Hank? I’m your life. You can’t throw me away.”

“Sid, this isn’t the time...”

“Oh yes it is Hank. You and your precious Circle are all here.” Sid looked around the group. “Thirteen isn’t so lucky, is it?”

F.R. smiled charmingly. “Well now gentlemen, I’m sure we can sort this out later. Tell us about yourself, Sid. Something perhaps, we don’t already know?”

“Alright, old man.” Sid twirled around as he spoke, ensuring he was the centre of attention. “But let’s start with what you do know. Sid Little: investigator gone bad; loner; thief; murderer. Murdered. What don’t you know? You don’t know what’s next, do you?”

For once the group was silent. Hank moved cautiously to P.R.’s side, leaving Sid alone. He turned to B.Z.

“Let’s see, how did you kill me?” B.Z. cowered like a bad theory exposed for its flaws. “I remember: electrocution! ‘Quick and painless’ you called it. Don’t be so sure, B.Z!” In one smooth action, as he had performed before to Hank’s amusement, Sid shoved a taser at his throat. B.Z. lurched forward, arching his back, and slumped down lifelessly.

Those beside B.Z. jumped out of their seats in shock. I.L. rushed to his side, hoping something could be done for him. P.R. began to softly whimper.

Sid moved his attention to T.L. “And you T.L.? Let me tell you hanging is not quick, and not painless, and not a very nice way to kill. Even the hardened criminal you made of me.” He moved to H.P. “Flattened by an anvil? Surely H.P., you could come up with something more original!”

One by one Sid reminded them of their murderous methods. Steamroller. Train wreck. Car crash. Finally he came to P.R. His hands moved to the coat’s deep pockets.

“Ah, P.R! A bullet to the heart.” He stepped back to the centre, keeping his gaze firmly on her. “Let’s see what you think!” He pulled a revolver from his pocket and fired cleanly at her. P.R. grasped her chest and her heroine within swooned, falling gracefully to the floor. Hank gently cradled her to the floor, but the fire in his eyes leapt at Sid, who staggered in the circle’s center. P.R and B.Z.’s deaths were clearly affecting him. Hank’s body followed his eyes, and another shot echoed amongst the tomes. Hank fell, bleeding from his stomach.

Sid ran to the shelves, hiding himself again amongst the pages. C.K. and T.H. pursued, but the long, dimly lit aisles were easy to hide in. Returning to B.Z.’s body they silently comforted one another, cherishing the experience for literary advantage.

“Sid,” cried Hank. “Get out here! This is no way to behave. I know you. I wrote you! You’re no coward.”

From behind the group gathered around B.Z. came a slow creaking, and the eventual cascade of wood and books. Panting, Sid stepped out of the dust, kicking away hardbacks. Beneath a pile of “Who’s Who”’s, and “Literary Journal”’s, lay I.L., T.L., T.H., C.K. and H.P. – flattened like a pancake. The weight of their success had finally proved too much. Surveying the bodies Sid faltered, each death making him frailer.

P.K. rose from attending to Hank and P.R. “This has gone far enough, Sid.” He ran towards him, and Sid retreated once more to the library’s obscurity. P.K. lunged and managed to grab his coattails. Blow after blow fell as they struggled for control, but P.K. was no match for his younger opponent, despite his apparent exhaustion. Sid picked him up and shoved him through the window, into empty space.

F.R tried hopelessly to alert security. He turned to Sid, hoping to bluff him. “I’ve contacted the police, Sid,” he said, holding his mobile aloft, “There’s no way out now. And,” he added thoughtfully, “We’ll profit from this experience. You’re every writers dream!”

“Consider this your nightmare!” Sid staggered towards him. Grabbing one of the empty chairs, he broke it across the old man. F.R. crumpled like a fresh rejection slip.

Sid fell too, and his gaze fixed firmly on his author – the first and final.

“What’s happening to you, Sid? You’re fading. I can’t see you real well. You’re barely an outline!”

Sid looked down at himself. Each of his writer’s deaths sapped something from him. Still, he was resolved to finish what he came for. What he had written himself into those other, pitiful scripts for. If Hank wanted nothing more to do with him, then he would have no more of Hank. He would not be a minor player in some other plot!

Sid let out a scream of rage, and pummeled into Hank. Blow after blow fell. Finally, when he could issue no more, he fell to Hank’s side.

“Why, Sid? You’re just a character, no more.” Hank slurred. Blood trickled from his mouth.

“I am more.” Sid protested, “I’ve got to be more.”

“Sometimes Sid, you’ve got to let go of the past.” Hank slumped, leaving his last breath behind.

And Sid vanished. The Vicious Circle was closed.

The Vicious Circle

2005-02-16T09:08:00.000+08:00

Over at InFuze they've run a competition to provide a new ending to Matt Bronleewe's story, The Vicious Circle. He has gracioulsy given me permission to repost the original story here. My new ending is in the next post (above, given Blogger's ordering!) Enjoy.

"Everyone," said F.R. Tillenbaum, chairman of the Vicious Circle, New York City's most notable collection of fiction writers, "I'm happy to announce we have a new member."

A man stood, his red flannel shirt standing in sharp contrast to the wash of autumnal browns and grays of the other twelve people in the room. "My name is Hank Henegarde," he said, scrubbing the spit from his glasses with his fingers and the tip of his untucked shirt. "I'm from Montana. And I'm very excited to be here."

"What's your pseudonym?" asked P.R. Remmington, a sullen, young wisp of a girl that had just managed to land the Man Booker Prize for her debut novel: All's the Trouble that's Trouble with Trouble.

"I'm sorry, miss, do you mean a pen name?"

"Yes."

"I don't use one. I want people to know that it's me, that I'm a normal person, just like them."

"Well, you're going to want one now," said P.R., gazing at her colleagues for support. They nodded, concurred. "Manhattan is best enjoyed under the gauze of anonymity," she concluded. The Circle smiled in unison, hundreds of teeth glowing white in the dimness of the SoHo coffeehouse they had abducted for the evening.

F.R. rushed to Hank's aid, not wanting their newest and biggest-selling author to leave after only his first night. "There, there, P.R. I doubt we need to give advice to Hank. After all, his last ten novels have collectively sold over twenty million copies." He turned to Hank. "Is that right? Twenty million? Good golly, man! Why bother coming to New York? You could have built your own city right there in Montana!"

Hank took his seat again, hoping the initiation would end soon. "I'm here because I want to take my career in a new direction. I'm writing the eleventh and final book in my series, and... " he trailed off, a tension-artist at work.

"And what?" asked T.L. Blakely, a stately chap whose love for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had influence both his writing and his fanciful, if anachronistic, attire.

"And..." Hank held the note like a soprano. "I'm killing Sid Little."

Everyone gasped.

"You can't possibly mean that," said P.R., masking her glee in having a front row seat to Hank's career destruction. "I've never read one of your thrillers," she said, giving the word 'thrillers' as much disdain as she could muster. "But even I have heard of Sid Little. You know that killing him off is suicide, right?"

Hank felt for a minute that P.R. was actually beginning to like him. "Yes," he said. "It's exactly that. It's my way out. Sid dies and I'm done. El finito. Off to greener pastures."

A shaved-head Philip K. Dick apostle named P.K. Richards leaned forward into the light. "Does this 'greener pasture' have a name?" he asked.

Hank unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and rolled it up. There, tattooed across his bicep, were two words: AMBULANCE BREAD.

"Ambulance Bread? Is that a book title? Is that your 'greener pasture', as you put it?" postulated T.L., in a brilliant stroke of deductive reasoning, if he didn't say so himself.

"Bingo! Ambulance Bread is a complete departure from anything I've done in the past! It's not a thriller. No one gets shot or beheaded or pistol-whipped," said Hank, who held a certain penchant for doing all three in the course of a single paragraph. "There will, however, be a horse that falls out of a second-story window and breaks all of its legs," he added parenthetically.

"Well, that sounds just great, Hank!" chortled F.R., not remembering ever witnessing an author in both the glorious zenith and twilight of their career. "I bet you'll have a lot more to tell us in the months ahead. Now, on to some unfinished business from last week..."

The meeting lasted another two hours, a mixture of caffeine and apathy. Hank left after shaking everyone's hand, the expressions on their faces bearing the same likeness as the mourners at his father's funeral. He wondered on the way to his dime-sized apartment whether or not he was making the right choice to kill Sid Little. Stripping down in front of his bathroom mirror, seeing the tattoo on his arm, he realized that the choice had already been made; he simply had to follow through.

The month that followed was grueling. Sid Little stood like a barrier between Hank and the Canaan-land of Ambulance Bread. To get there, Sid had to be slaughtered, burnt like an offering. The pages of Book Eleven: Deathwish Granted! slid by at glacier speed, Hank relishing the moment when he could finally vanquish Sid from the literary world forever. And then, to his utter amazement and joy, it happened, on page 287:

Sid reached to open the door, knowing that the person waiting on the other side was THE ONE: the person responsible for ruining the last decade of his life. It could end. Tonight. Sid opened the door. "It's you!" he cried.

BANG! The shot rang out like a cannon.

Sid fell to the ground. Dead.

The typewriter felt like a dagger in Hank's hands. It was complete. The next hundred pages practically wrote themselves, a mishmash of familiar faces from the ten previous adventures, all huddled over the mounded dirt of Sid Little's grave.

Hank sat back in his chair and breathed the air of a free man. The flowing milk and honey of Ambulance Bread was close at hand. He would begin in three months, after a brief sabbatical to study up on ambulances and bread.

The next meeting of the Vicious Circle met in an inner sanctum of MoMA, home to some of the most beloved specimens of creativity in the world. The chairs -- which numbered thirteen -- were again set in-the-round, though B.Z. Quain, the group's resident fictional-science-as-social-commentary writer, reminded them it was actually a triskaidecagon.

"And thanks again for that dazzling insight, B.Z.," began F.R. "Now, why don't we begin with Hank telling us how things are going for Sid Little?"

Hank beamed. "He's dead."

The room was flooded in a lush sangria of applause and bravos: everyone was elated at the news. It was as if the very notion of the thriller novel had been extinguished in that instant, its replacement the heady tomes of oblique metalinguistics.

"So on to, what was it? Ambulance Bread?" asked P.R. coyly. She was beginning to become enamored with Hank, a man who was willing to throw everything away for the sake of higher art.

"Yes, yes, Hank. Tell us how Ambulance Bread is coming along," said P.K., rubbing his stubbled head like a man who'd just been shaved for lice.

"Oh," said Hank, sorry to disappoint, "I haven't started yet. I'm taking a short break to do some research."

"On what?" inquired T.L., who appeared to be wearing a monocle.

"On ambulances and bread, of course."

"Very funny!" said F.R., slapping Hank's leg. "Good one! Best be getting on to other things. But keep us updated, Hank."

The meeting slogged on until midnight. The MoMA nightwatchman walked them out, locking the door behind them. Hank said his goodbyes and hailed a cab. He stepped inside to disembark when B.Z. popped into view.

"Care to share the ride?"

"You're the triskaidecagon guy, right?" Hank said with a grin. "Sure. Couldn't hurt to save a few dollars."

The taxi bolted from its position, causing both men in the back seat to grab at the handles above the door.

"There's something I need to tell you," said B.Z. "It's about Sid Little."

Hank looked puzzled. "What about Sid?"

"He's... I'm not sure how to say this... he's in my book."

"I don't understand."

"Nor do I," said B.Z. "Let me backtrack: I've been working on a new story for the better part of the last five years. It's about the seminal data that spills out from distant black holes, but it's really about moral ambiguity. Anyway, my main character is a MIT grad named Bob Zamber."

"I'm guessing that's what B.Z. stands for?"

"No. The B.Z. doesn't stand for anything."

"Really?"

"Really. But here's the problem," said B.Z., "this morning when I turned on my computer to do some revising, my story had a new chapter. With Sid."

"And you didn't write it?" Hank asked, already mentally dialing the number for his attorney. "Sid Little is my intellectual property, you know."

"Yes! Of course I know!" B.Z. said, becoming quite animated. "It gets worse. Sid wasn't as nice as he was in your novels."

"You've read my novels?"

"Everyone in the group has. Though they would never admit it," B.Z. said, flushed. "Hank, listen to me. Sid did something very bad in my book."

"What?"

"He killed my main character. He killed Bob Zamber."

Hank leaned up through the plastic barrier running through the middle of the taxi. "This is my stop," he told the cabbie. He settled back into the seat, gathering his things. "B.Z., I'm not like the rest of you guys. I'm plainspoken. Normal. I say it how it is. So, if you want Sid to be in your book, I suggest you take it up with my agent. Or my lawyer."

"Hank, you don't understand. I didn't write him in, he just appeared!"

Stepping out of the vehicle, Hank hesitated for one final suggestion. "Then why don't you do what I did? Kill him."

"I'll try that," Hank heard him say as the door slammed shut.

The month that followed exceeded Hank's greatest expectations: mornings were spent in a Guggenheim-designed bread factory located in New Jersey, afternoons were spent in an ambulance that wove like a jetfighter through the bombfield of New York traffic. Hank scribbled notes furiously, each detail providing a new steel girder for the colossal story he was erecting. He'd never been happier, and to that end, as a mental buffer, to ward off any sense of guilt in his newfound pleasure-monging, he imagined that he hadn't killed Sid Little, he'd simply left him behind to wander the wilds of Montana for eternity.

The Vicious Circle chose a meat packing plant as its next meeting place. The floors had been scrubbed spotless, the remaining carcasses hung in neat rows against the back wall. Hank remembered hearing the myriad examples of the significance, none of which came to mind as he entered the room to the pungent odor of cow's blood. He was the last to arrive, and seeing the forlorn visages of the other members, he got the distinct impression there was a reason as to why.

"Hank," began F.R., "we've all been talking, and I've got some bad news."

"What is it?" Hank asked, running the possibilities through his mind, wondering if he'd forgotten to pay the club's quarterly dues.

F.R. hung his head low. "You can't be a part of the Circle anymore."

"I don't understand," said Hank, addressing the group. "I thought we were all becoming... friends. I love it here." Hank gazed around the room, all hooks and beef. "Actually, I don't love it here. I mean I love being a part of the Circle. Did I do something to offend all of you?"

T.H. Ornasis, an esteemed neo-Norse mythologist, spoke first. "The problem isn't you, per se. The problem is Sid."

"Sid? That's preposterous! Sid is a work of fiction!" said Hank.

"Some have said that we are nothing but the fiction of a higher power." P.K. stated, an armchair sage. "Preposterous as it is, your benevolent hero is wreaking havoc! Two days ago, I discovered that the Big Brother of my latest dystopian distillation was none other than Sid Little."

Tears in her eyes, P.R. made her own confession. "I've been writing romance novels on the side. The money is really good!" she said, a preemptive defense. "Last week, Sid showed up as the third member of a love triangle. My heroine is falling for him! My editor is threatening to stop my advance."

"Everyone has had similar experiences," said F.R., cutting the emotional tirade short.

"Even you?"

"F.R. hasn't written a word since his Pulitzer in '68," whispered C. K. Templeton, an F.R. protege.

"We have no other choice but to ask you to leave," said F.R.

"You're wrong," he said. "There's another choice. But it will require all of us working together." He chose his next words carefully. "We all must leave, right now, and write Sid Little out of our lives forever."

"You mean, slay him?" asked T.H., already mentally sharpening his battleaxe.

"Slay. Exterminate. Kill. Yes."

"I'm writing a fictionalized treatise on my dysfunctional childhood," said I.L. Pinkmouth, who hadn't spoken since the day he'd joined the Vicious Circle five years ago. "Last week, Sid turned up in my book as a fifth grade bully. He's a horrible character, but you can't possibly expect me to kill a ten year old!"

"It's the only way," said B.Z. "I should know. I've done it."

The news that B.Z. had murdered Sid - if only fictionally - stung, a knife in his back. But you told him to do it! Hank reminded himself. His own personal destruction of Sid was treasonous, but reconcilable. Involving others, though, brought a new atmosphere to the situation: they were gods, laying waste to an ill-conforming creation.

F.R. took a quick poll. Everyone agreed, by next month, if Sid wasn't gone, Hank had to go. The party disassembled, wordless, only nods and glances exchanged as they disembarked to carry out their dirty deed.

Over the next seven days, Hank's apartment turned into a command center. Phone calls, faxes, and emails came in from every quadrant. Sid was on the run, but they were finding him, cornering him, cutting him off at all borders. Thus far, Sid had been hanged, quartered, hit by a train, struck by a car, electrocuted, knifed by a mime, and, Hank's personal favorite, flattened like a pancake by the cartooning satirist H.P. Joyce. The war was being won, and its primary constructor, five-star-general Hank Henegarde, could feel in his bones that soon Sid's white flag would rise.

Ten days had passed, and no one had heard from Sid. Hank toyed with the idea of writing him into Ambulance Bread, marginalized as a side character, a bum on the street, a carnival barker, a lone tenor in the church choir, but decided against it: a kindly notion but a lousy idea. Maybe I'll dedicate the book to Sid, he thought, notating such in his journal.

The ordeal had opened the door to a relationship with P.R. Her guilt-ridden admission as a closeted romance writer (penned under her actual name: Tiffany Kimbersoul) softening her to a pillowy pulp of her former self. She'd even been spotted wearing pink while out on a date with Hank.

The New York Public Library seemed a fitting setting for the post-war edition of the Vicious Circle. Hank and P.R. entered as a couple, sparking a murmuring din that swelled until F.R. announced the beginning of the meeting.

"Good evening, everyone," said the chairman. "I have two announcements tonight. The first one is this: after ten years of service, I am stepping down. My replacement will be the man who has done more than anyone else to solidify the image of this assemblage: Hank Henegarde."

Hank was stunned at the statement, as was everyone else, though they could not deny its truth. For the first time ever, the distance between the thirteen seats had been bridged, the circle made unbroken. For better or worse, they needed each other.

A consummate gentleman, Hank rose to meet F.R. at the center of the Circle for a handshake, a passing of the torch. Hank could see in the old man's eyes that the act was not entirely selfless. I'm returning to my typewriter, he thought he heard him whisper.

"Wait!" said Hank. "You haven't made your second announcement. What could it possibly be?"

"My retirement from this illustrious body leaves a void to be filled. We have, and always will have, thirteen members." F.R. raised a hand toward the back of the room. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

All eyes turned toward a man walking down the dark hallway of books. He stopped at the edge of the Circle, a tiger about to enter the ring. Hank stared at the man. The man stared back. The two of them bore a striking resemblance: it was as if skilled artisan had taken Hank and chipped away all the bad features to create the man.

"What's your name?" asked Hank.

But he already knew the answer.

Why

2005-02-15T22:09:00.000+08:00

Why, O Lord, is it so hard for me
To keep my heart directed toward you?
Why does my mind wander off
In so many directions?
And why does my heart desire
The things that lead me astray?

Let me sense your presence
In the midst of my turmoil.
Take my tired body,
My confused mind,

(My restless soul into your arms)

Give me rest.
Simple
Quiet
Rest.

My wife gave me a CD for valentines day: Lounge Worship 2. It's so laid back its practically falling off the chair. These lyrics are attributed to Henri Nouwen. How cool is that?

Forty Days of Purpose: One to Five

2005-02-10T13:25:00.000+08:00

Whilst I planned to blog each day, sometimes there just aren’t enough hours! Oh well. Here’s a compressed version of the first five days.

What on earth am I here for?

Day 1: It all starts with God
Warren’s very first sentence is this: “It’s not about you.” This is an incredible challenge. My life is not about me, but how oh so much I wish it were!

Day 2: You are not an accident

Day 3: What drives your life?
This is a really interesting question. Is God really driving my life, or am I a leaner driver desperately trying to control a swiftly moving vehicle, thinking I’m doing a good job?

Day 4: Made to last forever
Perhaps foolishly, I’ve agreed to lead a home group for the 40 Days. We were talking in depth about this one last night, probably because yesterday was Day 4. Even when we know our purposes, life can seem frustrating. I put this down to that, being made for eternity and in the image of God, life on earth is not going to fulfill that eternal longing to be with Him. It’s a complex and difficult issue, I think.

Day 5: Seeing life from God’s view
This one today really got me going.

How do you see your life? … People have said, “Life is a carousel: Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down, and sometimes you just go round and round” or “life is a ten-speed bicycle with gears we never use” or “life is a game of cards: you have to play the hand you are dealt.”

Think about it for a moment. How do you really see life working? What kind of metaphor can you build to describe how life works? What it’s all about?

The best I could come up with is music: Life is a tune, or a song. Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes simple or complex, or both at the same time! It can be beautiful, ugly, funny and boring. But it should always be passionate, and artistic. Warren goes on:

Your unspoken life metaphor influences your life more than you realize. It determines your expectations, your values, your relationships, your goals, and your priorities. … If you think life is a party, your primary value in life will be having fun. If you see life as a race, you will value speed and probably be in a hurry much of the time. If you view life as a marathon, you will value endurance. If you see life as a battle or a game, winning will be very important to you.

You get the idea. The point is that our own perspectives don’t really cut it in determining our life view. But God’s perspectives do. In life God will test us, but He also trusts us with much, and in relation to eternal life with God, this is only a temporary assignment.

More later. It's going be one heck of ride!

Goals: Scriptures 2 of 12

2005-02-10T11:23:00.000+08:00

What on earth am I here for?

For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesians 2:10

(This is the first of the memory verses from the 40 Days.)

I love how powerful this when it is applied personally. Consider:

For I am God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for me to do.

How's that for a meaning to your life?

Forty Days of Purpose

2005-02-10T10:27:00.000+08:00

We're doing the Forty Days of Purpose at church. Its actually the second time I've done it, and I'm looking forward to getting new insights, and a deeper understanding and relationship with God.

When I was reviewing it, I tried to remember each of the five purposes that Rick Warren identifies as being core to our existence. They came in a natural order for me: Worship; Discipleship; Fellowship; Evangelism; Ministry. Every time I think about them they change order slightly, but Worship is definitely up there as #1; Discipleship, Fellowship and Ministry in the middle; Evangelism lower down.

I think that this may be tightly coupled to how God made me: not that any of the purposes are any more important than any other, but they have a natural order in my life, a natural priority. Worship is definitely number 1. Whenever I think about what God has made me for, worshiping, music, praise, all come instantly to mind. It's what occupies mind most the time, most days. Even at work, behind a computer, I'm usually listening to something (right now CounterMoon from Donald Fagan's Kamakiriad). On lunch breaks I'm song-writing whilst working around - or at least groove-writing.

Discipleship & Fellowship are also something very important to me - growing like Christ, and helping others to grow to their potential I've always loved to do. I have difficulty separating this from Ministry, but I think I'll have to look at that more closely this time. I think Evangelism is more prominent at the moment, as I've been reading a lot about it in Warren's previous book - The Purpose Driven Church. This is very much based around the question: How do we get unchurched people to meet Christ?

And that's really the point, I'm feeling more. How do we get more people to meet, and stay with Jesus? How can I do that better? 40 Days is not just an evangelism tool, or a church programme to fill in a few weeks. It really is a tool for living.

Goals: Scriptures 1 of 12

2005-01-13T21:05:00.000+08:00

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.
2 Corinthians 10 : 5

The Christmas Stash!

2005-01-11T09:14:00.000+08:00

Hey,

I think I've stumbled upon a strange phenomena: AntiStashDiscussionism: The inability to talk about what you got for Christmas.

As usual for this time of year I've been asking people what they got for Christmas. Its a way of getting involved in people's lives, finding out what they like or dislike, rejoicing in their happiness, sharing in their joy. However most people don't want to play along. They deprecate the receiving part of the gift exchange, as though it really is of no importance.

Now don't get me wrong: Gift giving is very important. I do honestly believe that there is a more important reality in gift giving than there is in receiving. I think we ultimately gain more when we give an appropriate, sought after gift that will give great joy to the receiver, than in receiving a gift. How do you feel when you give a gift that you think someone is going to enjoy immensely? How do you feel when the gift is received with great excitement? How do you feel when it's not?

The point is that the giving has immense value when received in joy and with excitement. When I've given people gifts that they didn't want or had no interest in, I've felt crushed. Especially if I'd gone to the trouble to hunt down that particular something for that special someone. You want you gift to bring a smile to their face. You want your effort to be rewarded. Your joy is wrapped up in theirs, and so gift giving is a risky proposition: going about it carelessly will likely cause you more pain than joy. However thoughtful gift giving can be more rewarding than receiving anything.

And this is where AntiStashDiscussionism comes in. Refusing to talk about your gifts robs people of your joy, and ultimately of their own. The joy of Christmas is about giving and receiving. It takes both to make the joy, not just one part of it.

So talk about your gifts. Did you like what you got? Let the person know, and don't hold back if ask. Don't brag, but don't be shy either. Rejoice in your gifts. After all, God wants us to rejoice in His gift to us, doesn't He? Imagine how you would feel if people rejected the gift of all you could give.

TC&GB, pk

(p.s. I got a knife block from my wife! Its great to finally have good, sharp knives to cut and book with. We also bought ourselves an espresso machine. Making good espresso is an art form to be learnt!)

Resolutions

2005-01-10T13:55:00.000+08:00

So, lets start 2005 in the traditional sense: New Year's Resolutions.

Now I've never really been big on resolutions, per se. I've tried the standard "I will do this!", "I won't do that!", but it was never inspiring enough to hold, and led to the inevitable discontent with my own will. I don't think it works for most people. In fact, I suspect it works for very few.

Mostly I believe this is due to the "will" or the "won't". They are so vague, and do nothing to empower the resolve within you. There is no plan of action. The bad of the "won't" is not replaced by a positive alternative. The good of the "will" is susposed to be it's own reward. I think we need something more. I know I need something more.

So I've turned to goals. These are not resolutions, but rather definable, measurable, and hopefully achievable targets for the coming twleve months. Last year I achieved but one of the list I made, and I've learnt a lot from the experience. Accountability is a wonderful thing. Understanding my own limitations, and what reasonable expectations are, is another. Managing time, including time for relaxation, is important.

At first these were "achievement" goals: What do I want to do? What do I want to achieve? This year though I'm broadening the scope. The goals are not only what I want to achieve; they include the consideriation of what is good for me, what is helpful, wise, and fair (Titus 1:8-9).

The Twelves:

Read 12 books (1 per month, on average)
Write 12 songs & 12 short stories
Learn 12 verses of scripture. Really learn them - word for word in the most hepful translation (Message, NIV or New Jerusalem by default), including reference

Pray daily
Get out of debt
Maintain accountability
Lead and / or write a study for home group
Take time to practice and develop my musical gifts, including taking bass lessons again

It is not a big list, and there are others I'm not posting here. They are in no particular order; certainly not in order of priority! It covers personal development in mind, spirit and creativity (yes, the body is lacking!), as well as time out to enjoy myself: something I've really lacked this year, I think. Over the years I'm sure it will grow to a more holostic approach, encompasing all that I want to become, and all that God calls me to be. Jonothon Edwards' Seventy Resolutions makes for sober reflection.

As goals, they are things to work towards, rather than iron rules that require an iron will. They will take time, and a certain amount of intention, but I guess that's the point, really.

pk

Gabriel

2004-12-20T14:30:00.000+08:00

Over at Faith*In*Fiction, and through Infuze Magazine, they're having a Christmas story competition. Now I haven't written anything substantial in the way of fiction since high school, but I thought this might be a good way to start practicing again. I hope you like it.

"Gabriel", He called me. He always used my full name. Others called me Gabe or Gaby or Ria maybe. But He always used my full name.

"Gabriel". And He always calls twice, which I don't quite understand. I mean, does He think I can't hear Him? His voice is plain and clear to those who want to listen. Does He think I won't respond? I was created to respond. What other choice is there?

"Gabriel, I have a message for you."

"Yes, I'm listening."

“Gabriel, I want you to appear to Zachariah, whom I love. There I will give you my message.”

“Earth, Lord? It’s been such a long time.”

“Yes Gabriel. It’s time. Be joyful! Wonderful things are happening.” With His blessing He sent me out.

It had been a while. I remembered the long days of dwelling on earth when He himself would visit His creatures. In those days He’d use me more often: messages to his people; appointments and ceremonies; inspiration to give Him their best praise and worship; speaking to his chosen to bring them all home. Those were busy days, days I’ll never forget. Days that started a long road, He said, days in which He never stopped working.

I sometimes wonder if He rests. He never seems to. He did once, that I know of, at the end of creation. Everything was good. There was no evil, no disappointment, no fight to be fought. Then He rested. It was good. We played. We worshipped. He dwelt amongst us, amongst them. Now He is always working. There is so much to do, He says, so much to win back.

Earth is not far, yet it is so different to Heaven. Be joyful, He told me. Over what, I wondered. Even the brightest days are dim, and those that dwell in His presence are so few. Those He called as His own were now a long way off, and disappearing further into their own self concern. I watched a man sitting by the side of the road, crying out and reaching for things unseen. People didn’t stop. They didn’t help. One of their own was in pain, trouble and need, and all they could do was walk by. He had said wonderful things were happening, but what was this?

I waited for Zachariah in the Temple, and coldness came over me. It wasn’t so much the presence of evil as the lack of God. Surrounded by stone with few adornments and little light, it felt hard to believe that He would meet him here. It was so sterile. Infertile. Barren.

When Zachariah entered I noticed how low he hung his head. He had been chosen to offer the yearly sacrifice, a great honor. I waited. Never once did he look up, and whilst going about his duties not once was he truly in worship. And yet, He had said He loved him. Zachariah walked about the chamber mumbling prayers, beating his heart, and burning a meager amount of incense. The fire was failing, threatening to go out. The coals were growing cold.

Still I waited. Zachariah was preparing to leave when I appeared. “Zachariah, be bold and strong, for the Lord your God loves you.”

The poor man was paralyzed with fear. He dropped the incense burner on the floor, making a loud clang, and reverberating throughout the silence. Finally he looked up at me, the first real sign of God in this place, and then quickly looked away, embarrassed and afraid. He groped on the floor for the burner.

“Zachariah, do not be afraid. I have a come from the Almighty, who gives you this message.” It was always like this. He spoke to me when the time was needed, neither before nor after, but in the moment. It was fresh, strong and powerful. It was lovely, tender and passionate.

“Do not be afraid. Your prayers have been heard. Elizabeth, your wife, will bear a son from you. Name him John. Be happy! Leap for joy! Shout and sing to God for His blessings to you! Many will delight in his birth. He will achieve great stature with God, and do great things for Him. He will be filled with His Holy Spirit from the time he leaves his mother’s womb.”

Still was he in awe. As he listened his eyes grew wider and slowly lifted to meet my own. Yet his face remained dark and puzzled. Why would he not believe? This was incredible news! God Himself was intervening in his life!

There was more. “Many of Israel’s children will return to God because of him. He will prepare them for God’s own arrival in the style and strength of Elijah. Parents and children will be reconciled, and skeptics swayed towards God. By John will the people be ready for His coming.”

What was this, now? What is this message? God’s own arrival? Was He finally bringing His creation home? Praise to the Father of all mankind!

Finally Zachariah spoke, stumbling over his words. “What? How can this be? This can’t be right! I am too old, and Elizabeth has been barren for years! How can you expect me to believe this? You have the wrong man!” He hung his head again and shook it from side to side, mumbling, “No, No. I don’t believe it.”

“I am Gabriel, the messenger of God. He sent me to bring you this incredible news!” The poor, broken man would not allow himself to believe. Where was the joy? Where was his delight? God was granting him his heart’s desire, and glorifying Himself through it!

“Zachariah, everything is possible with God. But as you won’t believe you won’t say a word until the day your son is born. Be silent before God and man!” He fell prone to the floor, and as he rose he looked up to me as if to speak. His mouth opened and he gestured for words, but nothing came. Confusion, anger, and wonderment all covered his face. His very demeanor changed from an empty, dutiful servant, to a marveling child of God. Perhaps there was hope in Zachariah.

“What I have spoken will be true in God’s time. You’ll see, and then you’ll speak.” And I left.

I could not wait to return to Heaven, to His side. There was so much to do, to be said, to bring about. God was at work! “Be Joyful!” He said. “Wonderful things are happening!”

Liar, Lunatic, or Living God?

2004-12-17T14:33:00.000+08:00

I don't care who you are. You have to deal with Jesus at some point.

I want to be truthful, and right, and honest. Its a lofty goal, and a good one, I think. But it's also really hard to do. Lets face it, we all, myself included, would rather lie and cheat and take the easy way out if we could get away with it. We know that being truthful right down to our core is necessary.

So then, there are certain things I can't ignore if I'm going to be honest. The answers to these questions shape how I will live. Once I know these questions, ignoring them is living a lie. If they are not resolved, I'm fooling myself that they don't matter, when they do matter. They matter very much, because they define who I am. Am I a lie, or am I truthful? Things like poverty and opulence; power and democracy; and even honesty and lying. What is the value of each? In which way do I want to live my life? What are the results of living each way? If I know the answers, even unconsciously, in my inner most being, I can live my life and be happy with it, rather than challenge.

Which brings me back to my first statement. You have to deal with Jesus. This is an important person. He changed our times, literally, to B.C. to A.D. (Or B.C.E or C.E., if that feels more comfortable to you - its the same demarcation however, regardless how what you call it.) He turned the world upside down and started something that hasn't stopped. It didn't take years to take off. It wasn't a timid, local, or restrained movement. The followers of Jesus took the world by storm. They were so convinced by their beliefs that many died for them. Would you do that for capitalism? Communism? A political party?

So what's it going to be? Look at his life:

Claimed he was God
Healing and other miracles
reportedly rose from the dead

I challenge you: look at the evidence. Don't just ignore this, or you are living as a lie. There are a few choices: Liar, Lunatic, or actually was who he said he was.

Ever been a liar? Ever get caught out by your own lies? When I (try to) lie I have to keep it simple. No big claims. No major differences. Only little things work as lies, and even then it's pretty dodgy. Anything bigger than a small adjustment is just going to come back and bite you. One way or another a lie won't stack up to the truth. But what Jesus talked about was big things. Life and death issues. Big events. Big claims. If he were lying on those things there would've been some evidence, something that contradicted him. Surely someone would've worked that out by now. I mean, come on, it's been 2000 years, give or take. But I can't find it. Not in the historical records we have, and not by anyone actually taking a rational look at it.

So maybe Jesus actually believed what he said, but he was deluded himself, in short, a lunatic, a mad man. Maybe so. What do we know of people in this state? Ever met anybody you suspected of being even slightly deluded? What words would you use to describe them? Self-absorbed? Self-obsessed? Critical? Condemning? Inflexible? Predictable? Friendless?

Compare that with Jesus. He showed incredible love and concern for people. Often he put them above his own needs and desires., spending long times with them, and coming to their aid. We hear of him spending time on his own when others would be busy with other things: mostly late at night or early in the morning when they would be sleeping. Jesus had friends. He had lots of followers. People wanted to be with him. They wanted to talk to him, and listen to what he had to say. Yes, he was critical of people. Sometimes he had to let the big guns out. But by far his demeanor was kind. I don't think he was soft - certainly he stood up for what he believed in, even to the point of death - but he was only harsh when absolutely necessary. Mostly, he just loved being with people.

So where does that leave Jesus? Just some guy, who said nice things?

How would telling people to be nice to one another get a man crucified? What government would execute Mister Rogers, or Captain Kangaroo?
Philip Yancey

No, there has to be something more to this guy. He was either deluded or a liar that we can't trust, or what he claimed was somehow true.

My Favourite Book

2004-12-08T08:48:00.000+08:00

I'm not actually going to discuss my favourite book, although it happens to Bridge of Birds by Barry Hughart. (My brother gave me it for a birthday back in high school. I don't think he realises just how good a choice it was.)

No, this blog entry is more about the annual vote and tally that the Australian Broadcasting Commission (ABC: one of the 5 TV channels we have here) does. They put on good show really, counting down the top 10, and building the suspense to the top 3. Here is the site with more info. (For the top 100, go to the top 10, and then select the Top 100 link. Why do they make these things so hard!?) For the lazy among you:

The Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin
The Bible
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
Cloundstreet - Tim Winton
Harry Potter and The Order Of The Phoenix (book 5) - J.K. Rowling
Nineteen Eighty-Four - George Orwell
The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy - Douglass Adams
Tied:

Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

A Fortunate Life - A.B. Facey

I've read a few of these (#'s 1, 3 & 8), don't think I'll ever read a few (#'s 5, 6, & 9b), and the rest I'd like to read. As usual, its a matter of time!

TC&GB, pk

Broken

2004-11-24T15:06:00.000+08:00

This is a meditative poem written by a friend of mine. She read it during communion last Sunday.

Broken

Have you ever actually looked at the bread as it’s being broken?

Hear the crack of the crust
as what once was whole
becomes fractured
then split open

Can you see the way the fibres cling together,
until they are torn apart,
… kind of like sinews

And now there are pieces,
Jagged-edged remnants
that barely resemble the original form

Have you ever looked at the wine as it’s being poured?

Look at the rich, red colour,
vibrant and full of life,
the way it flows freely,
abundantly even

Have you ever noticed how just one drop
can mark something (or someone) for life?

Jodie McCarthy 2004

Tolstoy on the walk

2004-11-09T14:45:00.000+08:00

If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side?

Actually, I don't know what he was talking about here, or from where it is quoted. As I'm sure he is for many reading this, Tolstoy is an author I'd like to read, but haven't yet. This might help though.

The quote is taken from the back cover of the liner notes of Brooke Fraser's CD, "What To Do With Daylight".

TC & GB, pk

Why is it so hard to get started?

2004-11-08T15:05:00.000+08:00

(Wow! two posts in one day... I wonder if anybody actually reads this stuff, though!)

After reading Troy's and Heather's blogs, and a few others that link from them to other places, (such as Faith In Fiction) I've become really interested in writing again. I say again, as I haven't written anything substantial for the last year or so.

Over the years there have been numerous ideas. Stories that came and go. I think they were ok ideas - at least, I could see they weren't too bad. General pulp fiction in a lot of ways, but hey, I'm no pro! Maybe something got started. Maybe the ideas just stayed in my head, residing in the Buena Vista Social Club of the mind. Waiting to be rediscovered, happy just to exist. Why is it so hard to get started?

Music, songs, short stories, devotions, prayers. Nothing seems good enough, evenly polished, "right". Never totally happy with letting go, half finished creations stand in my frail shadow, glaring at my inner eyes. Their yearning for the light can be strong. Desire for the acceptance of my creativity and expression is overpowering. My pride and fear of failure is crushing. The tension is unbareable. I am the tightrope upon which judgement walks: is he just technically skilled at what he does, or is it art? Learned tricks of balance, or beautiful movement suspended high in the air? Why is it so hard to get started?

I read recently that the people who think of themselves as creative, are actully the most creative. This I can definately work on. Think of myself as creative? Having something to offer? Something good? That's a challenge.

TC & GB, pk

Romans 8:28

2004-11-08T13:34:00.000+08:00

Bible Gateway: ROM 8:28

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (NIV)

This is one of the (far too few) verses I have memorised. (Well, ok, almost memorised. It's certianly one I know, but I'm never too sure of the reference.)

One of the things that I find really important about this verse is NOT

that God works everything for good; or
that God works in all things.

No, the point for me is those 4 little words: "those who love him."

God is a jealous God. He want's our love, and will continuously work to get it. This is not only an interpretation of difficult times for those that love God, but also for difficult times for those that don't know God, or have chosen not to love him. The rain falls on the godly and wicked alike. We who love God know all is, and will be, turned for our good, as God is at work. Those that don't know Him, cannot be so assured. Praise God He is at work!

A question: does God take rest, even now? He instructs us to do so in the Sabbath (originally Saturday, now Sunday); God is a god who leads by example. Does He take rest? Is His work continuous work?

I don't have any highly thought out answer here. I do know that God's work, and the repercussions of God's work, affect my life more than I know or appreciate. God is still working in me (there's a lot of work to do, let me tell you!). God also lets me rest from His work in me, because He loves me. He doesn't want to tire me out, get me frustrated (or get Himself frustrated?!). His love is everlasting, even when I don't respond, and especially when I love him and when we work things together for His good, which is my good.

TC&GB,

World Friendship

2004-11-01T15:52:00.000+08:00

I'm constantly amazed at how far the world reaches, and how close computers and the Internet make it seem. I discovered the other day that Heather and Troy also blog. They are friends of ours in Madrid (Spain), on a mission establishing an English speaking church - MountainView.

We met them whilst living in the Netherlands, and attending Crossroads. We still pine for those days in many respects. It's been well over a year now that we've been back in Australia, and it's still all I can do to hold myself together if I think of Europe and our friends there for too long. Zoe, Bram, Jante, Gerard, Troy & Heather, the Crossroads gang, our adopted parents Jos & Jaap. These all are people that we feel honoured to have been friends with; that we will stay in contact with until our live's ends; that hope to meet up with again, the sooner the better. Thanks for letting us be a part of your lives. We've been truly blessed.

God called us back to Australia; that we know for sure. Why, though? I don't get it. I think perhaps we're in training for something bigger. We face obstacles and difficult situations, but I think we're learning to rely on Him more and more. At least more than we would have living longer in NL

For those who have been trained by it, no discipline is pleasant at the time, but painful.
Bobby McFerrin on Hebrews 12:11.

Here is to life-long, world friendship. God be praised for the age in which we live.

Lyrics: Change Me From Within

2004-10-28T22:00:00.000+08:00

I came across these old lyrics of mine, from a long while back. I can still remember the tune too. Time to do something with it.

Change me from within
Come beneath my skin
O Father,
Lead me to your living water

I want to leave behind
My old and sinful mind (life?)
Holy Spirit,
Come and move, and Change me from within

Musicianship vs Performance

2004-10-26T09:10:00.000+08:00

(Long time no blog... I've been having trouble blogging from work. Just have to be a little more paitent, I guess!)

Read this this morning about lip syncing and performance and Saturday Night Live. Got me thinking about the nature of musicianship vs performance. I think we often get the two mixed up. We expect every great performer to be a great musician, and vice-versa. Really, boys and girls, its not the case.

I don't believe that lip-syncing is in any way acceptable. If you're going to perform, then perform. Don't tell people you are, and then wimp out because you don't feel like, or are not up to it or whatever. However I also know that there are many great musicians out there that aren't great performers, and don't want to be. They enjoy making great music, and that's all they want to do. Bernie Taupin comes to mind. Billy Joel is one of those that I respect as a great musician, but I think sometimes he tries too hard when performing. He always seems much better - more relaxed - when he's just playing and singing, rather than putting on a big rock star act.

As a musician myself, I'd rather make great music, and leave the performance to those that can pull it off. But still - perform. I don't ever want to mime to a backing track if I am there to play. I have mimed to a track once - for a video. To me that was acceptable because at the point the music was not the central focus. If it was in front of a crowd, just for a performance when they were expecting live music, then I'd be hypocritical. Something I don't ever want to be.

Another Blog: Trying to be Human

2004-10-08T13:57:00.000+08:00

My brother is (was) over in New Zealand for the funeral etc. of Granna. He just sent me an email telling me about his personal blog. My brother? blogs?? He's at: Trying to be Human.

I remember when we were young I was right into programming, and he was a bit careful about it - not too sure about how or what to do. I don't think he was as captivated by computers as I was. Not a bad thing - he just invested his time in other stuff.

Now I work with computers and he's a teacher; he does stuff I haven't been game to do for a long time - like blog.

Ain't life funny.

pk

End of a Long Weekend...

2004-10-04T20:00:00.000+08:00

Don't we all love Long Weekends? The corporate "stop and slow down" for a few days; maybe go away for a couple of nights out of town; spend times with family, or friends; a little bit of extra time to do what you want, or at least, more than what you need to...

Oh, well. No rest for the wicked...

Friday night I disassembled my wife's marimba. If you don't know what a marimba is, its like a very large xylophone - wooden keys, metal resonators, played with mallets. In the eight bags it goes into its fairly heavy. She was out at a rehearsal, so it took me about an hour to do it on my own. I think the fastest we've done it together is about 15 minutes.

Saturday she was at a rehearsal & gigs all day, so I had to take care of our son. He's just turned 2, and true to his age is into everything. Sometimes it so hard to keep track of him; I feel like I need not only eyes in the back of my head, but a complete circle around it. Man, he's fast! We went down into Freo on the bus, which he absolutley loved. Apart from a tiring day, it was kinda fun. Just hard work being constantly on the look-out.

Sunday I was playing at church in the morning, then my wife had a radio gig over lunch, and finally I was playing in the evening. The gig was cool. Only, it was nothing like what they said in the published programme (don't look for her name - it isn't there!). After the gig of course we had to break down the marimba again, and load everything up into people's cars. After playing at church in the evening I was pretty exhausted, but she wanted to go out. So I dragged myself out to a local cafe, and a bit of drive, and felt ok. It was nice to be out with just the two of us.

Monday - the long weekend day. Relax? Not really! We're looking for various bits of furniture and managed to find something in the Quokka - a bookcase for her music and books. Not a bad bargin, either. Then off to some friends for lunch. Running after our son is always on the agenda, and I feel I can never relax, except if he's asleep.

Might go and do some of that now, actually...

' Night all

pk

Granna

2004-09-27T15:58:00.001+08:00

My Granna's died, aged 94.

Granna's Death Notice:

Carter, Alice Fanny (nee Bush). Peacefully on September 24, 2004, at Nelson Region Hospice. Loved wife of the late Clem. Dearly loved mother and motherinlaw of Hilary and Peter Kan (Perth), David and Olina (Auckland), Jan and the late Clem. Loved grandmother of Julie and Christine, Christopher and Philip, Jude and Ben and all her greatgrandchildren. Aged 94. A Cremation Funeral Service for Alice will be held at Christ Church Cathedral, Trafalgar Square, Nelson, on Friday afternoon, October 1, 2004 at 2.00pm. Marsden House Funeral Directors FDANZ

My mum flies out this afternoon to be with her family. My dad and brother go on Wednesday. I'm not going - maybe I'll regret it later. I haven't seen her since I was about 15 or so, and since then we've only had sporadic email and phone contact. She was actually quite good with a computer, considering she grew up in a world without telephones, airplanes, or televisions, or computers. I didn't think I'd be that sad, but it is, after all, family. Today is hard day.

ChurchBass: Practicing Worship

2004-09-22T09:24:00.000+08:00

Hey,

I belong an email list called ChurchBass of great guys and gals who (not surprisingly), play bass in Church. It's one of the few online communities I've been part of long-term. You can find out more at www.churchbass.org.

Here's one (part) of one of my recent posts:

How much do we practice worshipping during the week, away from the church or rehearsal or people watching us, and simply worship? I mean just God and me, one on one?

I've probably written of this before. I think that as musicians in church it is all too easy to get caught up in the "on stage" (or platform or whatever) thing. It's all too easy to enjoy the performance, and forget about why we are there, and what our job is: to lead the rest of the people in worship of our God. (us WITH them, not us for them, or to them, or set apart from them - but that's another post!)

One of the significant ways I have found to counteract that temptation, nay, sin (as it focuses on me, and not the Almighty), is to practice worshipping on my own. We (presumably) practice our instruments and the songs to avoid wrong notes and musical train wrecks, but do we engage in a practice of worship to avoid leading the people astray? We practice technicalities in order to improve on our musicianship; do we practice different ways of worshipping to improve our relationship with God, and our appreciation of who He is and what He has done?

Musical practice is vital, and I think we would be amiss to ignore developing the gifts God has given us. I also think that we can easily stay worship infants if we don't consciously practice worshipping. Both are important, but in different ways.

I haven't thought this through entirely yet, but my inkling is that this is different to Quiet Time, where we wait and listen on God, or learn more about Him. Personal Worship Time (as opposed to Personal Practice Time ;-) is about actually worshipping God. Sitting down (or whatever) and saying to God, "Now I'm going to worship you, because you deserve it. I'm not purposefully looking for anything from you, Lord. I just want to explore ways of worshipping you." Perhaps its just a different way of having a QT.

Sometimes, when I know what I'll be playing on the coming Sunday, I'll try to "live with the songs" throughout the week: worship with them day in, day out. The idea is that when Sunday comes around it's just an extension of my personal worship times, taking the pressure off playing, allowing me to just worship. (Confession: that used to happen a fair amount, now I'm pretty lazy... ;-(

Ok, rave off. I hope you're encouraged, rather than laden with another "do this" chore.

TC&GB,

pk

Welcome...

2004-09-20T15:32:00.000+08:00

G'Day, Howdy, Hello...

Well, I guess this is how you start a blog - you just write something.

Actually, I've been thinking of starting this for sometime, but never really gotten around to it. Now I've started, is there any going back? ;-)

See you for a first real post sometime soon.

pk