A table of congealed cloud rested between two gods, and a small array of the most powerful mortals and immortals in the world. This clandestine meeting, representing the most power gathered in one place since the great war had begun, was shrouded by the power of the twins, each a complement and contrast to the other, and took place in an abandoned castle far behind enemy lines, so long abandoned that trees had begun to grow through the flagstones, though many were warped and twisted. The white goddess spoke first to the gathered group. “The fiends have overrun the world, my kin are almost routed entirely, and your peers are a dying breed. Our world is dying, in a word.” Her brother, a huge dwarf shaped godling darkly clad in metals and carrying an enormous scythe nodded in agreement. “We have all foreseen it, those diviners among you have seen it as well. There is but one hope for our world.”

The air in the room crackled with power as each god targeted half of those gathered and directly spoke to their mind, streaming a complex strand of images and calculations into each. Inspiration hit those gathered, as well as small bursts of anger or hope. “This spell would kill us, every one! And both of you as well, even gods are able to die. What you propose is suicide!” The outburst, from a young human, who would have spent decades gathering the power he now held in another age, held both disbelief and a note of fear that was mirrored in most of the others. Hope had long since left those present, and all wished to go out with a fight.

Both gods nodded, the brother speaking after a moment. “Yes, you will all die, and even if my sister and I were to survive, our time would be even more limited; we barely exist now with as few worshipers as we have, and many of our kin have already fallen. What we offer is a chance that some shall live, some to remember this sacrifice, and some to begin anew.” A rain of fire began outside, the land itself was beginning to resemble the hells and abyss that its conquerors had crawled out of. “We have searched far, and one greater than us guided our search. The conditions are right, this world will support a number of races, is young, and will seal itself shortly. Our people may yet be safe there.”

Several of those gathered began to nod, fey and ogres, orc shamans, human and elven wizards, and even an ancient lillend. All gathered were among the most potent channels of magic their world had seen in ages, and all tired from long years of fighting an endless enemy. The lillend spoke, a haunting voice etched with a tiredness few deities would have known. “I will support the spell. Better a few with a chance, than none at all.” Others began to voice their support, among them, finally, the young man who had initially voiced disbelief.

The goddess took them all in and nodded. “I will keep the memory of this event and our world alive, I promise you this. Our people have a fighting chance there. Thank you all for this sacrifice.” And so, over the next day, the great ritual was begun. A few groups of beings would be saved from the damned planet, not many, not even most, but a remnant. The blood of twin gods would be spilled, their power mingled with mortals and then expired in a single moment to shunt the fortunate few into a world unknown. A slender birch tree in the room twitched. The world ended as a red sun rose from the dawn.
Omega ended as home to numerous races and gods mere hours after the Migration had been completed. The world, under siege for so long by innumerable and relentless fiends, now stripped bare of all divine protection and that of its last few remaining great powers simple capitulated. Small patches of survivors were overrun as their illusory protections were stripped bare, or wards failed as their creators fell. The red sun rose over a world washed in blood. Lifeless, but for parasites not native to it, and unattended to by the gods who had crafted it.

Elsewhere among the stars, not Omega’s stars, but stars somewhere, a bright yellow sun rose above mountains topped by clouds and climbed into a young blue sky. Three figures lay sleeping, each on an entirely remarkable bed of metal, wisps of cloud or soft heather. These beds were remarkable, in that they each held a god, and had formed of their own to cushion their divine charge. Across the world, dozens of small groups of survivors roused themselves, some in forests or steppes, others in hills or fjords, others even under the face of the world.

The gods rested, dreaming the unknowable, and slowly began to awaken. Twin sister and brother woke first, confused and alarmed first at their own waking and second at this new setting. This world was not their own, neither was it their domain from what seemed not so long ago, before the war. No, this was a new world, with new laws, lands and even gods. The third roused itself, creaking up from his bed of heather and settling into the ground, roots latching through the heather to gain sustenance for itself.

The birch was the first to speak, creaking grumpily after having straightened itself out, with a slow earth drawl. “So thats what you two have been up to this whole time is it? World going to ruin and you pack up to leave, where have you even taken us too anyway?” Tegid, god of trickery and death, for that was the true identity of the birch, loomed over the other two gods as he spoke.

Lampros, goddess of air and beauty, stared back glacially and gathered her hair behind her as she replied, “Would that you had come to us to aid, rather than creep about as you always do, we might have spared some few more of our mortals. We have been carried along with those we were able to save to a new world, Genesis. Saiwn and I both thought our pure essence forfeit in this gambit, yet your strength added merely left us drained. Even you are diminished here, with none of your dead to rely on.”

Tegid arched an almond eye and mossy brow at the accusation. The dwarf god, skin bronzed by the sun and forge, beard as black iron and eyes burning coal and far beneath both of his kin, reached under his cloak and withdrew a great scythe, a scowl on his face. “My sister convinced even I to commit to this sacrifice, but I am glad of your contribution, forced though it may have been, if not for your presence. Our people are here on this world, a mere fraction of them true, but a fraction nonetheless. We must guide them as best we are able now, lest we become as wraiths, forgotten and lifeless.”

The lone goddess smiled with a nod. “Of our many races, only six now have been preserved. I would put forward that each of us tend to two apiece, shaping them as we will and aiding them in this new world. I can already sense other races native here, and even other gods beginning to take notice. We are weak yet, with few followers and limited resources. Our efforts must be combined that we all might live.”

Saiwn nodded slowly at his sister’s words. “Aye, there be wisdom in the faerie’s words.” Lampros shot a glare at his familiar term, but let him continue. “I will take custody of the dwarves and ogres, they both know to respect the earth and might benefit from my guidance.” The other two nodded, accepting his decision.

“And I will tend the humans and gnomes, fair creatures they are, both have much potential to guide.” Lampros set steely eyes at Tegid and lightning crackled through her hair with the breeze. “That leaves you the orcs and elves. Do not set them upon each other Tegid. The dead may be yours, but the living are ours, do not expedite the process.”

Tegid smiled slowly, as trees are prone to do, and nodded grandly. “I see. I shall refrain from influencing the orcs and elves against each other, and guide them to prosperity.” The twins nodded, carefully and regretting the need to split their people like this. “Then I suppose we should begin our tending. Farewell for now, dear cousins.” The last Lampros and Saiwn saw of Tegid was a small sapling vanishing into the ground, as if time had reversed the life of a tree to seed. All the while Tegid smiled happily to himself. “But nothing to keep me from setting them on the others….”

The first example used for the Word of God is as a person, Person rather. As an aside, whenever I write, I will differentiate my use of god(s) and God, including the other forms and pronouns used to describe the Judeo-Christian God of whom I hold a belief in as a personal savior, with capitalism. In this instance, Word of God is used a few times in the NT (New Testament) as a name or title for Jesus Christ, see John 1:1 and Revelation 19 to piece together that pairing (as well as citing that Christ was indeed there from the beginning, and not a later manifestation/inception of God.) In this usage, Christ is a communicator, since words are typically used to communicate and rarely of use otherwise.

Another meaning is of the literal words of God, ie. He spoke to Moses from the burning bush, a familiar story to many. There are several times in the Bible where God speaks to man and the words are recorded, either directly, or in summary. Genesis shows God walking in the Garden of Eden with Adan and Eve, literally talking with them daily. Later, Moses talks with God, and is occasionally so affected even physically by the event that the rest of the Israelites can hardly see around him for a time afterwards. One powerful example of God speaking to Moses is when God tells Moses “I Am that I Am” and goes on to tell the Israelites that “I Am” sent him. This is a claim to be self-existing, not having a beginning nor an end, as Nietzsche has said. During Christ’s incarnation (a period when He was fully God and man, a deep paradox in and of itself) He spoke to many, and those words are called out in many Bibles with red letters, giving rise to the term “Red Letter Day” for a time of unusual import. These “red letters” of the Gosples are also the words of God.

As above I mostly touched on the literal speaking of God; the red letters and “I Am” statements where the actual words have been recorded and are able to go through. Closely tied into this are those words that God and Jesus (separated here for ease of mentally picturing, though they are both “God”) spoke, but where the idea was of the message is all we have, not always the direct words. This is viewable in many of the prophets, where occasionally you get the whole dialogue (Jonah and Job, some may recall, actually had verbal slugfests and questionings with God.)

The next facet is a kind of Will of God, visible in the beginning parts of Genesis as well as in other parts of the Bible. Gen 1:3 (NIV) states,

³ And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

His word, in this case, was a sort of extension of His will. Word -> Action. The Psalms are full of times detailing when God’s word acts in this manner.

The form of God’s Word pertaining to the main focus of Sys Theo is the Bible, the conglomerate of all of the other forms. As the primary remaining means of revelation to man by God, this study is appropriate. The Bible itself is a remarkable book, having been written across millennia (roughly 1500 years,) in three major languages, and by a number of human authors. Containing history, poetry, teaching and prophesy of future times, the Bible has a wide range of content from a purely human perspective.
From the assumption that the Bible is sole source of Truth, the Bible gains a second, more important, purpose than a mundane book. Because we hold to the belief that the Bible is the Word of God, meaning here the divinely inspired words written through a human medium, “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.” (2 Tim 3:16) In what could almost be the thesis statement of the Bible, though it comes near the end, Paul, who is speaking to a younger believer in a role of leadership, relays the truth that being Inspired, the Bible is useful for a great many things. As Systematic Theology is the study of what the Bible tells us on any given topic, this passage dovetails neatly with a study of systematic theology and reminds what purpose the Bible holds; that of teaching and correcting.
A question of what is the Bible, meaning why is the Bible 66 books, and why those particular 66 books, is natural at this point, to both the studies believer and also to everyone else. Many other books, or sections have been put forth through history as Canon or on the same level as the Bible, and some believe that parts of the Bible out to be omitted for various reasons. Wisely, the very next chapter deals with this issue, and if it does not do so to the extent I would like it to, I’ll take a break and write up my own separate section for this issue.

But first, an introduction to this great tome of a book. Weighing in at several pounds, almost 1,300 pages, and approximately 0.2 font size, I knew from the get go that this book would quite possibly the most ambitious undertaking I’ve had in a long time. Further, this is a systematic theology, which is ” any study that answers the question, ‘What does the Bible teach us today?’ about any given topic.” The reason this book is so large and dense (trust me here; I can read Shakespeare without too much difficulty, I have a feeling I’ll be working this book like a tough bit of steak) is because of that definition, given in this first chapter. A book such as this is a sort of Christian Wikipedia; information on a great many topics, occasionally flawed and therefore most worth studying with a careful, “Borean” eye and through the lens of the Bible itself.

It would seem appropriate that the first chapter of Sys Theo (which I shall frequently abbreviate for ease of typing) is an introduction of this topic of “systematic theology.” Grudem begins the first paragraph of the official chapter with the above definition of what a systematic theology is, quoted from his mentor John Frame. Shortly thereafter he continues with a definition of “doctrine” which is “what the thole Bible teaches us today about some particular topic.” In non-Biblical terms, roughly speaking, doctrine is to systematic theology what physics is to science as a whole; a more focused part of a whole.

Wayne moves on to a short outline of the major doctrines and outline of his book; the doctrines of the Word of God, of God, of Man, of Christ and the Holy Spirit, of the Application of Redemption, of the Church, and finally, of the Future, for a total of seven major parts. The entire book is fifty seven chapters long, so at a chapter a week, I should be done about by my birthday next year, when I turn the ripe, venerable age of twenty four. This distinction of seven major doctrines brings up the need to mention the difference between major and minor doctrines, important because there are a great deal of differences in beliefs concerning both in Christianity today, and can frequently become the focus of aggression.

Major doctrine, in my words, are the real meat and potatoes, those points that I would say all true believers would agree on, or that are foundational tenants of Christianity. Among these, but not limited to, are the fallen nature of man, man’s need to be saved from this fallen nature and their inadequacy to do so themselves, and Christ’s sacrifice enabling the salvation (saving) of man. There is much more, and all of which merit much more expanding, but the general idea is presented, and all of which I will either cover in review, or expand upon myself at some point.

Minor doctrine, therefor, are the things that are less structural in a saving faith sort of way. Not quite foundational, but important in the way that they give a fuller, more perfect understanding in what the Bible teaches on said topic. Christians frequently disagree on these points, have for millennia, and likely will until the world ends. Spiritual gifts, the Millennial Kingdom, and TULIP (actually an inter-connected group of five doctrinal issues) are a few of these. Saving grace isn’t affected by these for the most part, but they do affect daily living. Minor doctrine is to major doctrine as Chemistry is to Physics in the above analogy; more specific and involved.

Back to the actual book, Grudem moves on to explain what his focus of Sys Theo is not; namely a Biblical Theology, Christian Apologia, Historical Theology, or even a study on Christian Ethics. While all of those have a finger in the pie of systematic theology, which in turn has a finger in each of theirs. I’ll cover each a bit more in depth sometime in the future, as each deserve much more than I could dedicate in this post. Systematic theology, further boiled down is what God wants us to believe and know, and a stumbling point becomes when the “total weight of the teaching of the scriptures” is applied, rather than cherry picking certain passages to fit your view of things.

Integral to any study of the Bible from a truly Christian point of view are two initial assumptions, and I’ve quoted the stated versions of them here.

1. “That the Bible is true and that it is, in fact, our only absolute source for truth”
2. “That the God who is spoken of in the Bible exists, and that He is who the Bible says He is: the Creator of Heaven and Earth and all things in them.”

Those are powerful statements, and the entire Christian faith hangs on them, the apostle Paul himself said,

“12Now if Christ is preached, that He has been raised from the dead, how do some among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? 13But if there is no resurrection of the dead, not even Christ has been raised; 14and if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, your faith also is vain. 15Moreover we are even found to be false witnesses of God, because we testified against God that He raised Christ, whom He did not raise, if in fact the dead are not raised. 16For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised; 17and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins. 18Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. 19If we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied.” 1 Corinthians 15 : 12-19

As the purpose of these reviews is to study a systematic theology, and I personally believe in those assumptions, this blog will continue on holding to both of them, unashamedly.

The chapter ends with a subsection titled “How Should Christians Study Systematic Theology?” which I will outline. We, that is Christians studying sys theo, should study with Prayer, that meditation and communion with God that has been given to all Christians. Which honestly looks rather silly just reading it plain, but as the wisdom of Christ is foolishness to the world, we get to run with it, after all, basket ball players and baseball pitchers get those silly arm warmers, and we’ve been praying for over two thousand years. With Humility, there are issues here that have been under discussion, both gentle and violent, for hundreds of years, and are not likely to be “solved” pre-kingdom come. Inevitably everyone has some “baggage” (to steal a picture from my dad) that is simply wrong, and a careful, honest study of scripture will eventually point us in the correct direction if we are willing to admit we might be wrong when presented with the entirety of the facts. I struggle here personally as an extremely opinionated person; being wrong is loosing, and I hate loosing.

Reason is another part of how to study. Much of the New Testament was written in Greek-influenced areas of the world in a time when logic was the ultimate virtue, and Paul especially was a logical reasoner. Feelings are frequently a tainter of thought and can get in the way of our foundational assumptions here. If we accept those assumptions, then there will be truth only in the Bible, and while we may encounter seeming paradoxes (the Trinity being one) we must do our best to understand them and accept that there are some things that human thought simply cannot comprehend.

Aiding the reasoning process is Help from others. I have personally been blessed with an abundance of wise and godly men in my life, my father and grandfather among them, and both of whom I do not hesitate to call upon when I need the help. Along with Help is looking at All the evidence available. Properly understanding the entire context of passage, as well as all passages on any given topic is necessary to come to the most perfect conclusion possible.

Finally, Wayne Grudem gives up a final way to study; that with Rejoicing and Praising. This is only logical, anyone making a positive discovery will cheer, shout happily, fist pump, break out the champagne, or some combination thereof. While our discovery will not be anything truly previously unknown to humanity, it is rather a progression along on that journey to become closer to Christ, as we are commanded.

The chapter ends with a small slew of extra goodies, as all chapters in the book do. Questions for personal application, always beneficial to help one “dig deeper” on their own, a list of special terms to search back for, and a bibliography for further reading are the first few. A Scripture memory passage relating to the content of the previous chapter, (here Matt 28 : 18-20) and a closing Hymn, usually relating to the chapter as well, though a general hymn of praise here “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” close out the book.

As I said earlier, a chapter a week (which is doable for me) will take me just over a year and I will truly do my best to not only stick to that reading, but also to this weekly review. There may be times I flat out disagree and am totally wrong, there may be times I agree and am totally wrong, and I know there will be times I agree and am right, and times I disagree and will be right. It is my hope that going through this study I become better able to present a logical and correct systematic theology in the future and grow from this study. My hope would also be that whoever reads this blog is edified as well, and point out where I might be wrong myself in my conclusions or stated beliefs.

In closing, I do plan on having a few posts each week, and this series only one those. Even if you totally don’t care about systematic theology, either because you find it a waste of time, or just don’t believe as me, I would urge you to read along with me, and ask me some questions when you have them. I bet it won’t hurt, and you might learn a thing or two. Until next time, Adieu!

The curious thing, however, is not that my grandparents recognized who is probably the most iconic comic female superhero of all time, but rather that they prefer the old costume to the new one. And by the way, that older version I picked was a bit more modest than most; the corset usually shows a bit more cleavage, though this one is less diaper than modern swimsuit bottom. Here’s the Lynda Carter TV series rendition, featuring that horrid bottom.

See what I mean? So compared to the corset of truth, and diapers of patriotism, this new, far more mosdestly (and dare I say comfortably?) dressed Wonder Woman is “tacky.” For those of you at home, Tacky is “showing poor taste and quality.” I won’t comment on the quality, though I’m definitely not a fan of most people running around in spandex, but the taste bit was rather ironic to me. Yes, I will admit she now looks a bit more grungy, though maybe I’m biased in actually liking that look a wee tad. But at the very least, she’s much more covered up than before.

I know the comic world is going through a huge group of changes right now, with more reboots occurring than in  recent memory. The X-Men series of films have hit their fifth movie in the last few weeks, Green Lantern is out, and the Avengers movie should be out next year. The world’s first black Batman has been released, Barbara Gordon, the Batgirl turned wheelchair-ridden Oracle, is now able to walk again after 23 odd years.   Even Star Trek is getting some new love. So big changes happening all the time. I’m a big webcomic guy, and one of these day’s I’ll do a review of the ones I read and why, but particularly germane to today’s post is The Gutters a webcomic making fun of the comic industry at large, drawn by a multitude of artists from other webcomics and written by a Red Bull addict of great talent.

All that to say is maybe I’m a little crazy (which I am, no doubt, either you know this or you don’t know me yet.) I may be the only person I know who likes the change, but I admit I do like it. Remember folks, unless you’re older than 55 or younger than 3, just say no to diapers.

Habits.

I once was in pretty good shape. I’ve been thin for a number of years, having been a bit chubby as a kid growing up, but once I hit High School I was involved in some sort of sport every year or so. I played waterpolo, ran track and jumped, practiced with the wrestling team, and played indoor soccer at various points during those four years. My team also won the Broom Hockey tournament at Hume Lake my freshman year (Chet is still indeed my buddy.)

Then I lost it a bit. I went off to Masters and did actually play intramural flag football, at 5′ 8″ and maybe 145 lbs, I was one mean offensive linesman. Don’t laugh, its true. I also did a bit of longboarding with the other guys in my hall, which is a bit more involved than you might think. But for the most part I stayed up far loo late and did too little physical activity. Since then I’ve played softball with a few different teams, though I’ve been off for a season or two now.

Enter my brother John. John is a beast, a 6′ 3″ (at least) monster of roughly 12,000 lbs and a 24 pack of abs. He’s in the navy and has trained for SWC and the Seals before blowing out his knee, and is currently making sure he’ll be ready for the next time. He’s also my little brother, one of three, and who are now all taller than me, and still growing. John works out. He’s ripped, sculpted, and as I said before; a beast. He’s also in shape.

Fast forward to last Thursday. I’d just gotten my Y membership the week before (after having dallied doing so for too long) and hadn’t forced myself over there for one reason or another. Me being the genuis I am, I decided to go swimming, which I truly do enjoy and figured would help me stay to build up a habit. Plus, I saw that the pool was heated and memories from 8 years ago (getting up at 430 in the morning to practice before class) told me that the advertised 80 F was most likely a pipe dream. But I got there, changed into a new pair of boardshorts (a totally sweet red and grey one that my family had trouble picturing me in,) showered and took the plunge…

Into a very comfortable warmed pool. I was shocked. And this was after having been in the sweatroom for a good 20 minutes or so waiting for a lane to open (I’m not big on sharing.) Feeling good, and confident that I’d be alright, I started off, going from one side to the other. Once there I realized that I was tired. Really tired actually, but I kept at it and made it back to my starting side. Again, I was tired, but something new; I was out of breath! Now, I’ve been saying for a good two years or so (at least) that I’m out of shape, and I get dirty looks for it, because I am on the thinner side. And something to do with the fact that my blood is roughly 98.3% sugar and animal fat, mmmm.

So after one complete lap, I was winded. Not good, I guess I’ll just have to press on harder. Another half lap and I had to wait a few seconds before continuing. I finally finished up my second lap, stood up out of the pool and went to clean up, dry off and go home. This week I increased my load 50%, all the way up to three laps and mostly in breaststroke. Next week I’m planning on going to four or five, maybe more. Ideally I’ll be going more often than two or three times a week.

But this rather pathetic story brings to mind a few maxim’s the “Use it or loose it” one being foremost. Because I’ve been so out of it, I’ve lost almost everything I once had, and I’m having to build it up again. I’m trying to write more often now because I’d rather hone my writing skills than loose them (which is why I’m here for the third time this week.) But that’s really the way it goes  with any habit; the good ones are a pain to grow into, the bad ones are a pain to grow out of, and both have a huge impact on your life.

Another one for me is Bible reading. I went a long time not doing any, except for Sunday’s at church. I’ve read enough and frequently enough that pretty much any part of the Bible is familiar to me, and I can wing a lot, but its not the same as actually getting in and reading it every day. I honestly learn something new almost every time that I go through a passage, either something I’d missed before, or something that I’m only now understanding. My post on Love was actually influenced greatly by recent reading I’ve done this year, and I’ve truly grown to love the book of Romans. I don’t read every day, but I’m getting there, and I’m doing my best to get better.

All that to say, there are a number of things I’m just not what I once way, not all for good, nor all for bad. As human beings, we are creatures of transition and change, though some of us are much more sedentary than others. I’ll be the first to admit I do not like change for the most part. I eat at the same restaurant every Tuesday, love my truck no matter how much gas goes up (there’s something I think we could all agree on not changing, just set it at a dollar and we’ll all be good,) sleep in the same position on my queen sized bed. Seriously, I flipped it a few months ago because there was a dent in the springs on the side where I sleep. But sometimes change is good, and for me, going to the gym is a good change.

Now don’t get me wrong, I grew up with Hotwheels and Matchbox cars like everyone else (I remember a metallic blue racer that was totally ‘wicked sweet’) and really liked any enjoyed the tracks  you could put them on to race against other’s. I enjoyed games like Burnout 3, with its crash mini-game to rack up thousands of dollars of property damage, though I still am horrid at the actual racing aspects of car games. But “He’s Just Not That Into You” applied to me. Cars were something to get you from point A to point B in something less than a few hours of walking.

I was wrong. Cars are more than just a mode of transportation, they are an expression of yourself, a political statement, an object of patriotism, and just plain fun. Some mix therein for people of whom cars hold meaning at least, there are people for whom a car ignobly preforms the purpose of point A to point B. These people should take the bus.

I learned to drive on my mother’s Explorer, a giant beast of the “Soccer Mom,” a title that does nothing to fully express the amount of work she did for my brother’s and I growing up. Before she’d had a minivan and station wagon (which I’m sure has at least $20 in quarters under the speaker grills in the back.) For her, it was the only thing big enough to cart around four growing boys, a single friend, herself and my dad to any family trip, such as Church (though dad always drove when he was in the car.) As an added bonus, it could carry a lot of stuff with it, and could support more on the roof. The thing also has a fair beast of an engine, which I’m sure she enjoyed when towing stuff around. The Explorer symbolized the family for her, and said “I need something bigger than a sissy little minivan and more practical than a ‘Swagger-wagon’ and I don’t care that I’m now large enough to need binoculars to see a little car in the lane next to me.”

But for me, it was just this utterly ridiculous tank that turned horridly, never had the right radio stations saved, and held a number of frustrated groans after another day of dad trying to teach me to drive. I did indeed eventually learn and later passed my test with dad’s Passat, complete with a turbocharged V4 German engine. For my dad, it was a car that was kinda sporty (see the turbocharged engine) and yet also conservative enough for a paster to be seen owning. And it is a fun car to drive, having taken it to Fresno in the past and driving home, I had to change the music to keep myself from speeding. Its just fun and easy, and with a car that small you can really almost feel like you’re racing as you turn at higher speeds. For me, its a vehicle with the purpose of getting  you somewhere and having fun at the same time, or getting nowhere and having fun at the same time.

After getting my license I was given my dad’s old ’95 Ford Ranger, “Ratbert” as I’ve affectionately named him. This car has hit 94 mph accidently once in its life (of course the speedometer is a bit off so it was probably much lower) going downhill, and struggles to get past 80. Going uphill… yeah its not so pretty, right lane for me and I’ve had semi’s pass me, no joke. But its mine, and its a Truck. I love trucks, and dysfunctional as it is, I love Ratbert. Since my family has owned the car, we’ve had to replace the wheels a few times, the brakes, and an Oxygen Sensor. Thats all. I’m pretty sure Ratbert would take me through a volcano and be alright, minus a little cosmetic aging.

For me, Ratbert, and other trucks are the freedom to go pretty much anywhere. I went to do a little offroading with a friend a few years ago, and got better milage then than I do in the city, though that may be a product of my driving. More recently, I drove up to Yosemite and back over two days, and got to do a bit of driving there as well, amidst the beautiful scenery. Trucks can also tow things, got a motorcycle that needs transporting after its chain shreds? No problem, 1000 lbs of brick from you grandmother’s planter is nothing, though you will feel like you’re riding a bit low. People with trucks are also a bit more popular with others (or used, as you prefer,) you’ve got a truck and you’ll be invited over for moving parties and for that bit of furniture that needs moving. And, they’re Prius replant (see a bit later.)

And then there is the Ford Mustang (cue the drooling.) What is perhaps the most iconic and most American car in the world was introduced to us on the mass production assembly lines in 1964. Complete with that most American of means of locomotion, the Internal Combustion Engine, the car gets you from point A to point B by a series of controlled explosions. Get that? Order though controlled chaos. And it looks good doing so. There is something about the first few generations of this car that just reek of American beauty, and the Mustang is a car that no matter when it was built, you can still tell was a Mustang.

Unique to its time, the Mustang was a true consumer’s car, with options to put Wall Street to shame. The freedom to choose was entirely in keeping with a strong heritage of America; never before has there been a nation on this earth as tolerant to religion and pure choice as America. And here was the car that lets you choose almost everything about it. And on top of that, its a monster under the hood, a “I’m going to rip something’s face off, and its going to enjoy me doing it” kind of monster. With the muscle to back it, the Mustang has been, and remains an icon of American freedom and will to move by blowing things up while having fun. The car took 18 months to top 1,000,000,000 built.

The years gradually came and went, the Mustang went through a few years of looking plain ugly, and a number of oil crises later left some people looking for a way to get from point A to point B while saving a little in gas money. Enter the Prius, introduced to Japan in ’97 and the rest of the world in ’01. From Latin and meaning “To go before” the Prius is a vehicle that gets approximately 3500 miles per gallon, at an excitement level slightly below getting your tooth pulled. Now don’t get me wrong here, the Prius (the plural of which is evidently ‘Prii’ a term I shall be mockingly ignoring for ‘Priuses’ henceforth) will get you from point A to point B at a speed roughly that of a speeding… something slower than a Cheetah, at least if you want the advertised MPG (cue the “I want my MG’s” television jingle.)

There is another reason for a Prius, which is related to a lower gas usage (which we know is rather unpatriotic due to America’s foundation having been based on gunpowder and blowing things up, a reason we like guns so much,) and that is for the environment! It is cleaner, uses less gas, and produces fewer environment unfriendly emissions than most other cars on the roads these days. Just pay no attention to the obscenely high rate of emissions during construction….

The Prius has become something of a snobbish icon, a “Holier than Thou” trophy of the left to snub those heathens who are killing off the environment and supporting wars for oil. As a matter of contrast, it took the Prius about a decade  to reach a million units sold.
Another comparison, the Prius had 5 colors total, and for a decently upgraded Prius (read, I checked the most expensive model, our of 4 different choices) you will run around $31,000. A Mustang has 6 different coupe models, and 5 convertible, the option to choose manual over that pathetic “standard” choice in terms of transmission, and 9 base colors, with stripes available. All told you can spend hours with all the choices and spend anywhere from a fairly affordable $24,000 to about $55,000 for the drool inducing Shelby GT500 monster in vehicular form. Oh, and a Mustang can tow things if it needs too.

On the extreme polar opposite end of the Prius, and heavily favoring the Mustang is the fastest production car in the world; the Bugatti Veyron. This is the dire half-celestial cousin of the Mustang, on steroids. Conservatively estimated at putting out 1,001 horsepower (Bugatti  says the true number is closer to 1,200) and with a recorded top speed of 267.856 mph (at a fuel economy of a modest 3 mpg.) With a 0-60 of less than 2.46 seconds, a 0-248.5 of 50 seconds, and a 250-0 time of 10 seconds flat, this is the car I would love to own. Just to further prove the amazingness inherent to this vehicle, it chugs 1.388 gallons of gas a minute, traveling 4.166 miles over that period of time. True beauty of engineering there

So, we now live in a world where the Prii are attempting a takeover of the noble Mustang, and the fight does not end with cars, but is extending itself to SUV’s, trucks and even motorcycles. In my humble (and not so humble) opinion, there will always be an element, a Remnant, of America that holds to its true heritage and remembers what automobiles are here for. They’re not here to get you from point A to point B, thats what we have public transportation for. They’re here to show what and who you are, to occasionally make a political statement, and most importantly to have fun. Stay explosively my friends.

I’ve had the itch to write again, which means I come once again to my blog here. Summer is dawning upon us, school is ending and the yearly glut of weddings has arrived. Normally this means little to me, but this year it seems every second or third friend of mine is attending a wedding, either as a part of the “party” (which unless you’re the guy in charge of the bachelor party it really isn’t,) or as one of the two focal points. This all culminates with a few other factors to lead me to thinking about what “Love” really is.

So just what is love? Is it an action, or a feeling, or both? Perhaps something else entirely, the dictionary seems confused slightly on this issue. As a noun, Love means any of the following; an intense (like camping) feeling of deep affection, a person or thing that someone loves (which is a cheat in and of itself, defining a word using a form of itself?) or even a score of zero in tennis. Thats right, tennis needs love too. But that’s not all! As a verb to love is to feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment too. My conclusion here is that the dictionary believes love is a feeling or to feel something.

The infamous Urban Dictionary has numerous definitions, the second of which is respectable long miniature essay ending with a quote from Sophocles. I like the first especially though, short and sweet, “Nature’s way of tricking people into reproducing.” Beautiful, boiled down to the base (pun slightly intended,) Love a way of perpetuating the human race, whereby we either rise above our animal companions here on Earth, or join them somehow.

I prefer the definition given by an assassin droid from the Knights of the Old Republic games. Shocking isn’t it? “Definition: ‘Love’ is making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope… Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds.” -HK 47 Beautiful isn’t it? Nothing at all about romance, feelings or even (specifically) about another being, let alone one of compatible reproductive organs. But in those philosophical words of an overly cynical (remember, I’m the one saying that here) imaginary droid from a game touched most recently by George Lucas, are true gold I believe.

In the grand scheme of things, I’ve only recently begun dating my girlfriend, and before asking her to fill that role in my life, I actually asked her father’s permission. Regardless of the vintage nature of the request, and the fact I hadn’t ever done something of the sort before, I truly feel that it was the correct thing to have done. And we all know how I feel about “feelings.” (Or maybe you don’t, in which case ask and maybe I’ll write on it sometime.) Before eventually granting my request, much to my joy, he sat me down and we talked for a bit, mostly about what Love is and our thoughts on the matter.

Now, I will say here and now that the next time I say those words to a female not of my family (though I do say it to them rarely enough) they will be immediately followed by “Will you marry me?” or some suitably cheesy equivalent query. I will also admit to having used that word “Love” (and honestly felt them, inasmuch as an 18 year old is able) with once person before, and I will say; it is a terribly powerful word. The nuclear missile, as it were, of words in the relationship world.* But on to what Love has been developed in my mind and taught to me.

Love is a mixture of emotion and action, both choice and not. Part of loving someone is to cherish them. Cherishing in this sense is nurturing and caring for, during both their “lovable” and unlovely moments. Cherishing is a chore at times, and at others flows naturally out with no effort at all, and make no mistake, even the most perfect (inasmuch as is humanly possible) person is never always lovely. Even the most beautiful person looks terrible after a weekend with the flu and not enough tissues. Period. The same thing goes after a particularly distressing emotional bout. Say another loved one (the Greeks had it better than us, holding claim to three different words for the concepts we call Love) has recently passed away, or betrayed the trust of said person.

Everyone in this world has something that will eventually break them down, and typically the more stoic and reserved person they are, the more spectacular the breakdown is. I speak from personal experience here having experienced some of the most reserved people I know to break down, and it is never a pretty sight. Even when this breakdown occurs, and especially now in truth, is where the cherishing of a person comes into play as a part of love. Being a shoulder to cry on, a person to drive on the way to Starbucks to talk, or just to be close to and empathize with, these are all parts of love.

To do so on that most intimate of levels known to humankind, Marriage, requires something far closer to true love than many these days find. When that person is struggling, love knows and hurts for them, wanting to do its best to help that person, to hold them and shield against everything bad in the world. And in this situation, that cherishing and shielding is amidst trials no one else may ever know about.

Further, Love abides amidst hurt from the other party. We hurt worst those we know the best, and frequently, those are those we love. Knowing much more about a person opens up them to reveal their weakpoints, their faults, their fears. Whether one wishes to admit it or not, true Lovers, and in descending strength down, know how worst to hurt the other, and it happens sooner or later in a moment of anger. Abiding those barbs and vitriol is painful, both as a betrayal of trust and as a true strike against us, but wise is the one to look beyond that, or best, overlook it entirely.

Similar to cherishing and caring for, is growing and nurturing and self sacrifice. Even after someone has past that period of hurt that cuts deepest, they still need building up. Love helps heal the hurts, after having salved them closed and stemming the bleeding, resetting the broken bones of a broken spirit. Being healed and recovering hurts though, hurt and pain cause more lashing out of one sort or another, and so abiding once more becomes important, even necessary.

Love is also waiting for the other to be ready, while being forceful when needed, and wise to know when the need is real, and willing to compromise when the time for that comes as well. Rare is the circumstance two people feel exactly the same about any large decision, or small for that matter. Love says “Lets work together here to decide” and doesn’t press all out to win every single time for the sake of being right or getting their way.

And finally, Love is sacrifice. While few are the times that we are called to lay our lives down for another in America, and only “Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die.” -Rom 5:7, sacrifices need be made every day, to some level or another. Love finds out what is best for the other, and weighs that heavily into what the possibly paths ahead are. Recognizing the other as more important than oneself, and that you are willing to act on this knowledge, is a huge step in and towards love.

So what then is Love? Love is a state of being and choice to place another above yourself. While the “warm fuzzes” are indeed warm, fuzzy, and adorable, they are also pernicious and fickle, prone to leave at the slightest discomfort. The word “Love” is tossed around more frequently than the price of gas rises, and has truly lost much of the meaning it was meant to have. Indeed, love frequently is used as a cleaner substitute for Lust, most marriages and relationships based on that last about the same amount of time a professional politician’s word does.

Love, as it is and was meant to be is self-sacrificing, persistent, and other-serving. To love is to  sometimes consciously make the decision to go against your instinct to put yourself first or ahead of another and inconvenience yourself. It is also to trust another to do the same for you, but to not take advantage of that trust or knowledge. Simply, Love is a Verb.

*It is at this point that cheesy song popped in my head, not having realized earlier what my title was fully

Meat, glorious meat, now wearable to go along with Denny’s baconholia! Ok, so Denny’s is a little late to the party, but lets not blame them too much; it takes a bit to make the great wheels of commercialism to move occasionally. But I digress, we are talking about fashion (and comfortable fashion evidently, even given its reported 40+ lbs weight.) An argument was made (that I agree with and later supported) that due to the intentional actions of certain celebrities who will remain unnamed (see, I’m so nice aren’t I?)  fashion is being stretched to its limit for shock value. This is a result of the great historic pendulum, that subtle shift from conservative to outrageous and then back again, only now this shift is being carried forth, rather than let swing naturally.

I must admit not I am somewhat of a romantic of kinds, and I truly believe that fashion has progressed a bit too far. Were it us to me, everyone would be clad in denim and some comfortable shirt material (probably silk in warmer climates) for casual wear. Given formal circumstances we’d be in something closer to these:

Yes, long flowy gowns and chainmail, tunics, leather and blood. What can I say, slightly wrong age to have been born in? I’ll even take the gowns and dresses of the 1700-1800′s, though they’re slightly less practical. Though again I digress.

Fashion has been so used nowadays that only the absolutely most outrageous costumes even warrant comment. For modesty’s sake I shant post any of the more randy examples as far as material:skin ratio go, but you all know what I’m speaking of. And so it comes down to a world growing more and more jaded to the “ordinary” or at least expected. So certain people will try to push the envelope to be “edgy” or noticed. And that becomes a trap, ironically enough. Because they become know for being so, the moment they cease to entertain the crowd with their one trick pony, they’ll be left in the dust for someone/thing else.

And what’s more, fashion itself is taking hits as well. Because what was once an avenue to provoke thought, or the imagination, the clothing fashion industry is loosing elements to create newly inspirational shock value items. In fact, it truly would be shocking to find something rather on the modest end of things become highly fashionable, because they are so ordinary and bland.

This change will of course occur eventually, it always has in the past, and I am a true believer in the cyclical nature of history, including even of fashion. (Take a look at how the silhouette has changed for women over the past 1000 years, it’ll amaze you.) Point in case; hip-hugger jeans, once what everyone would wear, now being phased out, and the underwear that went along with them. Poodle skirts, what are those? Elephant bell bottoms? All of those and more being or have been phased away. Kennedy himself brought a coma-inducing blow to the men’s head-covering industry, and that is only recently beginning to struggle back awake (I’m ahead of the curve still: my Indiana Jones hat is pretty spiffy I must say.)

But, perhaps for the first time in JD consumed-recorded history, fashion has truly hit a point it never has before. It doesn’t shock. We expect now that certain people will dress up in meat-skirts (and check out those killer wedge heels,) or perhaps next academy awards we’ll see a teddy made of banana slugs woven with some third world child’s intestinal tract. The trend will move on, without too much fuss, though some of us will groan and avert our eyes either in shame or distaste. But it will indeed move on, eventually. Still those who rose to fame on the sinews of the meatskirt will try their best to push it ever further. It’s only fashion after all, and someone has to care for those poor Ugandan unfortunates, how better to get the attention they need?

I may or may not include a short review of the print itself, depending on my mood, personal feelings of it, amount of time I have left before its “due” and so on. My decision to undertake this exercise is in part due to the fact my color photography class for the semester was canceled, a game on myth-weavers I’m running, and the fact I’ve gotten lazy and my creative muscles need the exercise.

And now, with my rambling for the moment done, StarCraft 2 resting, a cashew cookie and glass of grape juice within reach, the time for me to begin has come.

As I’ve been writing this, and more especially, as I’ve looked it over as its done, I find it appropriate that I wrote this for the one bridge I have photographed. In many ways this blog is a bridging of many aspects of my life, and this project that I’ve started is another of sorts. Bridges are fascinating thins, and while the bridge itself is of only minor import in the short (which I will likely be adding onto at a later time,) it fits and I’m really glad I was able to link it in there.

And so, after three rounds of StarCraft 2 with my brother (Battlecruisers are sick) some of my amazing handmade hot chocolate, and a chat with my brother in the Navy, here we are, in all of its 1435 word glory. Rip apart and digest it as you will please, but tell me what you think and how I could do better.

A few hardy old souls will swear that old paths eventually come to life, weaving new routes through the woods and forests like the blood-vessels of a truly living creature. Dryads and other fae tending them as the blood in your body does you, never seen, but present, in some way and strings just beyond the corner of your eye. This is during the day, when the sun is alight in the sky and pleasant thoughts wander languidly.

Rain does some strange things to one’s head, not the least of which is getting it wet. It can make even the most common, well-known roads a strange and fearsome  creature; an ever lengthening serpent lurking underneath awaiting some short chance to steal you away forever. The fog that so frequently accompanies drizzles likewise lends itself to that eerie feeling of traversing something alive. Breath, some say, of the demons that have made their home of those familiar roads. Demons that only come out in the darkest moments and hours.

During one of those periods of life when seems most at ease with putting one out of ease, a young man was traveling down a familiar stretch. A journey from one town to another on foot, a few days journey, was no unordinary feat for him; a wanderer and floater at heart, he rarely stayed in one town for long. His life had been lived on a long circuit of a number of towns and villages, never staying much longer than to meet with a few old friends and work a few odds and ends and resupply. He would attend church while in town and leave a half a step ahead of a hoard of mothers looking to settle him down.

Just two days ago now he’d fled his latest stop only a quarter step ahead this time, and laughed to himself now about his carelessness, a deep and rich chuckle ringing out into the early morning mists. Sensing their master’s mirth, his two dogs lolled their tongues, seeming to grin, and shook their thickening coats. His only constant companions, though he often joined small groups of travelers for a few miles or days at a time, the dogs were a large pair of huskies he’d found abandoned as pups and raised himself some time before, now entirely loyal to their savior.

Today, the mists seemed to be hanging thicker than usual, and the clouds overhead promised rain soon. Neither were of much worry to the rogue, his coat was thick enough and oiled to prevent soaking, and his pack was likewise warded. The road was one well enough traveled that it had clear markers for turning, and he’d frequented it himself he was sure a passage in the dead of a moonless night wouldn’t be much more difficult than in the mid-morning sun. Well, if this midmorning had sun, that great light seemed to have decided to sleep in late today. No matter, the cool was refreshing and he was making good time.

A rustle in the bushes froze the dogs in their tracks, pointed almost painfully rigidly into the thick of the foliage. The man himself paused, contemplating the chance to hunt some fresh meat and weighing it against his plans of making it to the next village before the rains would certainly become harder. Shrugging and shaking long brown hair out of his eyes, he unlimbered the bow he’d stored on his back, the only weapon that had ever felt right in his hands and only one wanted. A shrill whistle sent the dogs crashing into the brush, mirrored by a third sound, much softer and fleeing the scene.

Following the sounds issuing forth from the undergrowth, the young man joined the hunt, weaving around branches holding his bow close. The clouds’ promise rang true now, a light sprinkle growing slowly into a drizzle, the mist gathering closer to the ground and swirling weirdly. The barks grew closer and farther in short turns, never getting too far away before a small clearing broke out and revealed their quarry.

Tall birches, mostly bare, lined the glade’s perimeter loosely, and long soft grass padded the floor thickly. Standing in the center, and surrounded on either side by a barking dog, haunched back tense and ready to lunge, was a white doe. An albino certainly, yet perfect in every respect, a dream of a creature standing frozen. The young man slowed and then stood, bringing his bow to bear. The rain was lighter here, more of a mist, and the fog lay writhing on the ground and snaking around a bridge that looked mostly forgotten by time beyond the clearing.

Lightly twinkling in the air, as if carried by the rain and the slight breeze, came laughter to his ears. A sweet flowery smell, almost like perfume, wafted through the air, not overpowering, but faint and pleasing. The doe paced back and then forward, uncertain as what to do. Arrow back to ear, he took a breath in and then released, arrow streaking out. Somehow, the arrow missed, the light laughter continuing stronger and slightly maliciously now the hunter bit back a curse. He redrew and fired again.

Another miss, and another strengthening of the imagined voice. Angered, he loosed a shrill whistle, his big dogs lunging eagerly at the fair creature. And midair, they seemed to change their minds. Always before they’d been perfectly obedient to their master, but now they seemed as unable to harm this white hind who now seemed to have lost all concern for the levity of her situation. Indeed, now that  his ire was raised, the young man began to notice a profound change.

Fading away was the white doe and taking its place was a vaguely human shape, elongated features giving it a vulpine look. The huskies circled the figure affectionately, and were given pets as they neared. Transformation complete, what appeared to be a young woman stood across from him, fair and unassuming, yet exotic beyond mortal means. Her laughter matched that which had been whispering to him, and her white dress and long mossy hair were interwoven with delicate white blossoms unfamiliar to his eye.

“Now now then fair traveller,” The woman’s voice was deep and breathy, though almost flitting as though coming through leaves. “Are you so ready to harm that which gave you your companions. That which has been your constant companion as you wandered otherwise alone?” She frowned and the dogs lowered their ears and started growling. “Perhaps this will make you more mindful in the future.”

Both dogs bolted out to either side of him, getting ready to flank. Edging back, the hunter turned hunted felt thorns behind him, and a quick glance back showed a thicket had sprung up, blocking his way. Charging now, the dogs were close, quietly loping towards him with ears back, padding softly over the thick fog-covered grass. With only one direction remaining the young man bolted, praying for all the speed he muster.

Rushing past the woman who was fading quickly, a whisper caught him as he fled, “Take care now, my love. I’ll see you again before too long.” Fear powered long strides, and the old brigade was rapidly drawing near. His pursuers were gaining yet he kept pressing on. Up to the brigade, onto the bridge and beyond, some familiar trees beaconed to him, a welcome change from the unfamiliar glade he’d just left. Bursting onto the road he’d left earlier, lungs gasping for air he fell as a pothole took his step away from him.

The dogs, just feet behind him quickly overtook the young man, whimpering and now licking him. Startled and confused, he shied away from them for a moment and then realized all was well. The rain had began again, in earnest this time, and his clothes were slightly muddy, but he was free, and safe. Looking back into the undergrowth, he strained for the bridge, not remembering it from past trips along the road, but certain it was just beyond sight.

Though he searched for some time, he wasn’t able to find it again, and perplexed, continued on his path, cold, wet and confused. Before too long he was on his merry was, spirits reborn and renewed, and mood jovial once again. As he set up his camp for the evening he noticed a pure white flower with his food, smelling faintly of the glade, and a note on creamy paper with a flowery scripted note. “I  told you darling, and here is my reminder. We’ll meet again, remember me then.”