Action Figures

I have a wad of 2o dollar bills on my dresser. It staggers the mind how many action figures I could buy with that money, if only I were eight again. When I was eight, every time I got a bit of money I would go to Target and buy an action figure. Usually it was "Star Wars", occasionally it was some other random thing that looked cool at the time.

I was just thinking about why I don't get action figures any more. Their are a couple reasons I can think of:

1) I'm saving up my money for something big (like a wife)

2) I just don't have the imagination

That second reason is the one that really intrigues me. Why can't the proverbial grown ups, twenty-somethings, and teenagers play with action figures? I'll tell you - it's not because we are too old, it is because we are not young enough. We've been thrust out of the land of Narnia and black suits guard the entrance.

You can actually see it happening slowly. When kids are really young, all they need is one action figure for a good dialogue, and two for a war. Then they need the bigger sets with the plastic bushes and whatever else helps out the scenery. Finally, they need something that moves. Oh, I don't know. . . robots (Lego makes "robots" now you know).

I really wish I could go back to the point where I can play with Playmobil the way that Ben does. He goes up there and he fights wars. He actually fights along with his men. He has a whole army of Playmobil guys, but only one of them represents him. This guy is the leader, and his name is Nadar (for whatever reason Ben really likes this name). I think most kids set up their guys and make them kill each other (that's how I did it anyway; I was ruthless). But for Ben, it's like he's one of them. Of course, this is the one character that never dies. All the projectiles just seem to miss him.

Another update on my movements

Hello people,

If you are from Moscow, ID please know that I'm already missing you people. If you are from Pensacola, Fl I hope that we can hang on the beach. And if you aren't from either of those places move as soon as possible, because those places are the bomb-diggity.

Guess what? I now have a job on the beach. Faced with an option of being:

1. Unemployed in Greenland

2. Got a job on the friggin' beach

. . . I choose the latter option. You can drool if you want but it's not really as good as it sounds. It isn't that great being on the beach if you are stuck in a hot kitchen. It's a job, is what it is. A job is a job (even if it's on the beach). Anyway, it's a lovely place called "DJ's Beach Cafe." If you are ever there stop by and give me a shout.

Another hypothetical Donut

Yeah, if you are the 5000th visitor you will be rewarded with a hypothetical donut. It is an award that most people only dream about.

Israel's plight- My plight

Deuteronomy 30:1-4 (ESV): "And when all these things come upon you, the blessing and the the curse, which I have set before you, and you call them to mind among all the nations where the Lord you God has driven you, and return to the Lord your God, you and your children, and obey his voice in all that I command you today, with all your heart and with all your soul, then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you, and he will gather you again from all the peoples where the Lord your God has scatterd you. If your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there the Lord your God will gather you, and from there he will take you."

I was reading over this passage for my Lordship class, and the grace of God struck me full in the face. Here is something Mr. Appel pointed out to me in class, God said
"When all these things come upon you. . ." God knew that Israel could not keep the terms of the covenant. Again and again Israel wandered far from the Lord. And again and again the Lord restored them.

This is me I tell you. I am Israel. I am the prodigal son.

This is bad, certainly. But I'll tell you what's worse. When I am not being the prodigal son, I am being the elder brother. I forget that, just a few days ago, I was wallowing with the pigs.

But God is gracious. He convincts me. And He forgives me even for this.

Praise Him!

If I didn't share this. . .

I would be quite heartless. I want you to prepare yourselves, because (obviously I have no idea, but) I think this is how music in heaven will be.

This is Hoppipolla and með blóðnadir by Sigur Ros.

In a doctor's office for 2.50 hours

I have little to do but observe people. There's a woman sitting a couple seats down from me. She looks like she could be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties. She has three children with her. A baby girl stays perched in her arms, probably about 5 weeks old (I don't really know). She keeps pulling off the bracelets on her mother's wrist and throwing them to the floor. I never found out her name. "Seth, share the blocks with Eden." Seth is about five I think, Eden about three. She reads to them "Green Eggs and Ham." I remember this one. And then "The Cat and the Hat." I remember that one too. The mother is tired of reading stories to them. So they read to each other.

Seth and Eden are looking at a book full of animals. Seth is naming the animals for his little sister. This animal to the left is an. . .





eel.

And this:









Is an even bigger eel.

I love it. I can imagine myself reading to my little sister. I am six and she is three. I cannot read, but that really does not matter at all. Like Seth, I am an excellent interpreter of pictures. And I am quite confident in my assertions.

Or, the more likely scenario is that my sister is reading to me. Even as a three year-old my sister is quite brilliant. She says "And all these words are what they say" as she turns each page. There is no arguing with her logic. She does not like it when I say "uh huh." I must say, my sister's whims are really quite arbitrary. She would rather I just say "yeah." So I say "uh huh" a lot, just to get on her nerves (I really haven't changed much since then). And I pretend to not listen. So she says "Robbie, if you keep doing that then I'm not reading."

Ah, timeless.

I am continually amazed by Easter

So I learned a verb for Latin today. Shocking, I know. Anyhow, this verb is "pasc," and it means basically to bring livestock to food. Being the diligent (albeit ignorant) Lordship student that I am, I wondered if this was where we got "Pascha" from. Pascha, in case you don't know, is another name for Easter, used frequently in the Orthodox church. So I jumped to Google and typed in Pascha. According to OrthodoxWiki (which any Greek person can edit, so you know it's right), it's a transliteration from the Greek, which is transliterated from the Hebrew for Passover. Cool. Yet still I wonder. So I break out ye olde Whitaker's Words (a free Latin translator) and typed in Pascha. It popped up with "Easter, Passover." Yea, verily, this I knew. So I typed in "pasca" on a whim. Pasca means water mixed with vinegar, a traditional drink of Roman soldiers in the field and the drink of slaves. 

If your reaction at learning this is at all similar to mine, you're clapping hands over mouth in wonder. Because Easter is all of these. Easter is the new Pascha, the true Passover, when the blood of Christ, the Lamb of God, is poured out on us and protects us from judgment. It is the time of pascamur, when we are led like sheep to the manger, to eat of the Body that was placed there for us. It is when we remember that Christ drank pasca for us on the cross, when He took our place, the place of a slave, and drained the bitterness from our cup. Yet we also remember that He drank the pasca because He was the conquering Warrior, who was in the field because His work was not yet finished. 

Anyhow. Our God has an incredible way of tying things together. He is the Master Storyteller.