With

Reading the NT I am struck with Jesus' passionate fixation about togetherness. When he speaks to his disciples, it's not about the mansion, it's about who is there, WITH him.
I think it is fascinating how we, in the US, mistranslate the Greek to read, "there are many mansions...", when a better rendering would be "many quarters..."; the NIV does a better job with: "are many rooms...".
So it's about being together in the Father's House, not streets of gold; it's not about getting some fancy mansion, one for each...
How many Americans would fall away from their idea of faith if it were revealed that heaven is really just one big youth hostel where everybody shares what they have with their roommates, and everybody eats rice, beans and corn tortillas?
Or better, how many would flock to the loving, passionate embrace of Jesus when they found out it wasn't about marble alters, red carpet and golden candleholders? :)
That the streets of gold have nothing to do with the inhabitants? that all present are simple sharecroppers of faith, humbly and simply living in borrowed space, paid for by Another?
Would it matter?
Would we get it?
Or do we just like the "jesus" thing because he makes bread happen?

crepusculance

I seem to be most Aware when God's Creation seems most active.
It is the mid of day or the nigh of night that I become cloaked with some creeping form of distraction and/or self-absorption.
My scariest dreams are those that do not involve God, but instead pit my natural complement of forces against any Nemesis. I am doomed.
Perhaps my day becomes clouded with caffeination, a process not unlike the childhood experience of simultaneously striking several keys from an manual typewriter, causing a tinny coagulation of typeface at the ribbon.
Perhaps my crepuscular freedom is simply being loosened of expectation, to be able to focus on something, or worse, comprehend during the initial reading of some form of written word. (Seriously; how many times do I have to read a phrase to understand what the #&$%! I'm reading. My poor biology students...)
I think is has something to do with peace in the natural order of things-- I see birds gleaning berries in the morning dew, not concerned with what they might have to do come this summer; squirrels playing in trees openly, uncompressed by the fear of predation.
If God cares for the birds, how much more would he care for me, right?
Except I know me; you don't.
I can see how God cherishes you, and will take care of you and tend you and love on you, because you are not like me. I know me, and God knows me.
That is why I am comfortable in the servants' quarters, not so much the Big House. The prodigal has come home, but never entered the banquet room.
Pitiful.
So perhaps the beginning of the morning or the beginning of the evening is a window of hope for things to change?
Perhaps I won't say something stupid or hurtful today?
Perhaps I won't be mean-spirited today?
Think brutal thoughts today?
Barricade myself in with fear-induced mental constructs and strategies today?
Nope... screwed that one up already.

Maybe this evening?
Father forgive me, for I have sinned.

Cornel West and the Yellow-Breasted Chat

I miss most of it.
Sitting in a room, or at a computer, or in traffic, I miss most of what life offers.
Even now, a half-full cup of coffee grows cold on my back porch as I sit here in this darkened room, listening to car alarms, and trying to gather my thoughts, thankful that my 1040 is in on time but mindful that I'm a day behind on my OYB.
I remember seeing the bird a year ago, but never taking the time to research it's handle.
Yellow-breasted chat. This year my annual mulberry visitor has been visually and vocally verified. And now I wonder... how many years has he been visiting my backyard when the mulberry tree shares its fruits to my avian friends? How many of its generations have partaken of this arboreal banquet, and I'm just now getting a clue?
Eddie Carson is a valued friend and colleague at HCHS.
Eddie is not normal.
Praise God.
Eddie is constantly challenging me to expand my awareness of my world.
And my dingy little construct of "normal" bears some expanding.
Carson yesterday shared with me a text, Race Matters, by Cornel West, and I am just starting to peruse his pensively penned piece, increasingly aware that I have no idea how many parts of my surrounding environs live each day.
What would it be like to wait on a corner downtown for a taxi, watching said conveyance pass me bye repeatedly, for an hour, yet stopping for those who have less melanin?
How would that mark me?
Would I allow it?
Would it make me stronger or wear me down?
How have I been the taxi driver?
Am I even aware?
Do I even know if I change my behaviors upon cognition of plumage, or do I operate on some unconscious or subconscious plan?
God, help me be a better man.

Little birdies

Some would consider me a bit of an outdoorsman. My favorite weapon is the bow and arrow. I've slain wild beasts with my bare hands and a knife. I cannot only kill 'em, I can clean 'em and cook 'em. I'm no stranger to hard work, especially if I'm helping someone else and it involves construction. And I like birdies.
Since I was a small child, I have been fascinated with wild creatures, from ants to dragonflies to whatever keeps digging in my trash. When I started studies at A&M, I learned there was a taxonomy for non-game birds beyond "some kinda cheechee bird".
Though I have SO much to learn about God's creation, I find birding a rewarding recreation. Perhaps it is because they are vocal, and I am attention deficit.
Perhaps it is because I know the common locals, so I feel some form of competence.
Or perhaps I'm just an over-grown kid who still gets lit up by some new bird call or some new species eating mulberries in my backyard.
So next hunting season, don't be surprised if my arrows never leave the quiver, and my field guide shows wear and tear.
That's how I roll.

Plant sperm

How weird is it that we talk about allergy season, about pollen, but we never make the connection: pollen is plant sperm.
Not that there's a huge awakening to be anticipated in this botanical epiphany; just a sober confession that it's not always about us.
The flash flood brings much needed sediments to the vegetation of the flood plane.
The hurricane and tornado trims back old growth and resets the seral timeline.
The plague serves the ambiant carrying capacity for all things K-strategic.
Even war (read your Old Testament) has a balancing role in Creation.
Unfortunately we continue to build cities in deserts, neighborhoods on new flood planes (the concrete/freeway/parkinglot-induced runoff has to flow somewhere), landscape our communities with specimens better served in jungles, and bulldoze our forests for ethanol or even... shrimp?
Once upon a time there was God, and He created a Garden.
And God created adam to tenderly work the Garden.
And adam sneezed, and it was good.

Apes with Wallets

I'm about done!
How long?
How long will media perpetuate the notion that we are brute beasts, locked into basic instincts that are beyond our self-control?
As a youthworker I first experienced this awakening when listening to the jargon associated with young people, sex and condoms. The argument went something like, "Well, teenagers are just dogs in heat, so you can't keep them pure, so make 'em use a condom... it's safe sex."
Which is a lie from the pit.
The students I worked with were intelligent, insightful and more disciplined than the political socialists that were polluting our times with their propoganda.
That's the problem.
Because if an impulsive teenager is able to discern, then they are less likely to spend Daddy's money on some shiney trinket from Apple or Motorola. So... create the notion in an inverted delivery that students are endangering themselves (faux concern), because they are not "taking precautions" (condom= safety belt?), and since they can't help themselves (the lie), society must educate them (propoganda).
Horse hockey.
Is it any wonder these last few generations of adolescents have felt betrayed and abandoned by their elders? Is it any wonder that piercings, tatoos, and self-mutilation are increasing geometrically with every year? The pain has to reside somewhere...
And the worst part is, this latest generation of youth don't even know it's happening (think A&F or Hollister).
When the social experiment is finished, and we've been reduced to apes with wallets, what happens when we lose our wallets? (How much Mandarin do YOU speak?)

Amazingly Faithless?

Mark 6:1-3 "...they were amazed. 'Where did this man get these things?' they asked. 'What's this wisdom that has been given to him, and he even does miracles.' Isn't this the carpenter? ...And they took offense at him."
They took offense at him.
They observed he had amazing insights and wisdom.
They took offense at him.
They knew he even healed the sick.
They took offense at him.
We take offense at him. "Who gives you the right...?"
"Your Jesus is not my jesus."
"...But, I don't want to." --What? Die to yourself?
They took offense at him.
v.6... and he was amazed at their lack of faith.

Confessions, part 1

Matthew 27:41-42 "In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him. "He saved others," they said, "but he can't save himself! He's the King of Israel! Let him come down from the cross...' "
So they acknowledge that He saved others.
They acknowledge that, yet they pressed for his illegal execution.
They put him on the cross, then challenged God, to His face, to dare bring him down-- so that THEN they would worship Him.
Right.

Texas Springtime?

As I look outside at the blaring sunlight this February morning, it strikes me that Spring has sprung. Perhaps it is the flowers that are erupting; perhaps the temperature already in the 70's. Perhaps it's the singing of the mockingbird and the white-winged dove, not the casual winter ditty, but a heart-felt serenade; or maybe the 3 species of butterfly that just fluttered by my window. And even though the scarlet oak has clung to some of its plumage to this point, there is the tender pale green growth of my shrub's apical meristem.
It's the upper Texas Gulf Coast, where the saying goes, "If you don't like the weather, wait a minute." Even now clouds are shrouding what once was a clear morning. As my hot tea grows cold, I can see once again the Metaphors of God outside my window pane. Things change; people dye and die and are born and borne up. There is so much going on, most of which is simple distraction and mindlessness, that we miss the yodel of the blue jay, proclaiming his recent victory over the the recent plague which erased every jay in my neighborhood, killed by mosquitoes tracing their bloodline to a traveling Yankee. Crazy.
So things change in the midst of being the same.
The sun is shining again.
God, grant me the serenity to not miss it.

Haulin' Bones

Exodus 13:19—“Moses took the bones of Joseph with him, because Joseph had made the sons of Israel swear an oath.”
Picture this: Moses trying to herd the sheep of Israel through uncharted lands, constantly battling whining and mutiny in the ranks, and on top of that he’s having to haul the bones of a dead ancestor.
It’s 2008 AD and families are still doing this.
How much of the patterns of interaction between our families, the disputes, the alliances, have NOTHING to do with us personally, but are instead some sicko hand-me-down from a parent or grandparent to whom we feel an allegiance?
How often do we replace an opportunity for reconciliation with a response that perpetuates our role as pallbearers?
Contrast that with the command of Christ to die to ourselves, to take up our cross, and to follow Him; to consider family as strangers for the sake of cross; to return good for evil. No wonder our families cried out, “Crucify!” No wonder the churches of today often live out the insanity of our forefathers, deciding what families are in or out based on old history.
I wonder how our present families would be different, if we put old bones to rest and used that energy to nourish the living amongst us?

Take this job and...

Thessalonians 4:11... "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you,..."

I am amazed how many times the scriptures mention work of one's hands. And if you go to BibleGateway and do a search on "work", well you may as well pour yourself another cup of coffee because you have a lot of references to read through.

Work is obviously important; even the God of the universe spent the vast majority of what we call time in this mode. So why are some so unsatisfied in their jobs?

This morning I read an interesting piece by William C. Taylor about the four things that are correlated to job satisfaction: 1) Does your company make a difference in the world? 2) Do you like the people you work with? 3) Does your opinion count? and 4) are you challenged to learn new things in a changing world? The hidden fifth question, which has little bearing on actual satisfaction, is how much money it pays.

Which is sorta funny when we hear people say their job doesn't pay enough, or when the boss thinks solving employee satisfaction is to give them a raise. Sure it's nice to be rewarded ($) for hard work, but if you hate showing up on Monday morning, and you know you are going to die any day now, what's the point? How many miserable, empty-souled rich people are already out there? Consider our Christian missionaries...How many genuinely satisfied families are on the edge of poverty yet thankful to God for the simple meal before them? and why does our culture insist on perpetuating the notion that money = happiness? Is it the "emperor's new clothes"? Which makes me wonder, "What are we trying to hide?"

Our own emptiness?

Is that why some extremely wealthy people are soul-suckers? They derive pleasure in creating in others the same horrible feelings they hide behind their facade of austerity? Like the "apprentice of despair" cascading like dominoes of soul-death into some morbid fellowship? And minions flocking around their feet like so many pigeons in a park.

Crazy.

How many times do we say, "No thank you, I'm quite content," where we stare into the face of more-ness and shrug at it's impotent power? Perhaps that's why I love the apostle Paul's approach to each day: "I might live today and get to be with friends, or they may kill me and I get to be with Christ... either way, it's all good." Or the writer of Proverbs when he writes to put your own knife to your throat when the rich offer you delicacies, so that you don't develop cravings you can't afford.

Simple is good. I'd rather have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with friends, than lobster and champagne with people I don't trust.

As you walk into the rest of your day, may God grant you the serenity to slow down, cast your cares on Him, and see the beauty around you, whether in the face of a loved one or the simple flutter of a pigeon on the canvas of a wind-swept sky.

You are Beloved of Him.

True satisfaction.

Dog Sense

One of the great values of living with dogs is they reflect to us things about ourselves that we often do not see. Perhaps it is because they are pack animals, creatures tuned into a social context. They make us laugh; they can comfort us when no words can reach us; they help us understand ourselves. But they also lick their butts.

This early morning I was painfully aware of how distant I've grown from God, mainly from my own distractions and simply not spending time cultivating our Relationship. At this point in my journey I am aware what lack of discipline produces in my spiritual life, whether the discipline to read or pray, or especially the discipline Not to say it, look at it or dwell on it. It is this latter discipline, the intention to NOT, that anchors me from drifting away from my Lord.

Dogs have an issue that disgusts me, and though I'd like to think that we can't relate, I now see we share this struggle with discipline: to NOT roll in it. When I was much younger and would let the dogs out, they would occasionally disappear, leaving me distressed and worried. Upon seeing them return my immediate response was to run and embrace my furred friend, only to encounter the most horrid stench. What manner of prankster would do this to my dog? Which neighbor punk poured it all over my little mutt poodle?
And then one day while walking the dog, I saw the rite before my eyes... my dog ran over to a rotting corpse and did this wierd shoulder dive/roll thing, coating himself from neck to ribs in grossness. One mystery solved; another created: why? I soon read how wild dogs rub in a fresh kill or carcass to bring back its scent to the pack. Dogs still carry that instinctual behavior somewhere deep in their being. Unfortunately for all involved, my pack did not eat rotting road-kill.

And this morning I realized that I've been rolling in it again, right back to old, deep patterns. And I really need a bath.

Book Review: Donald Miller's "Searching for God (knows what)"

Rarely do I enjoy a book or written material to the point of repeatedly laughing out loud, but I did with this text, often annoying the students I was accompanying on a school trip.
Perhaps it is Miller's energetic run-on sentances, dripping with the self-reflective voice akin to a Woody Allen flick; or perhaps it the direct, blunt, in-your-face, I-calls-it-da-ways-I-sees-it attitude that drives his sarcasm and word play. I truly enjoy this text.
As an example of the genre of literature that tickles my soul, here Miller describes his first vague impression of the Christian scriptures, reflecting from a recently attended writer's workshop.
Miller writes:
"You would think some of the writers of the Bible would have gone to a Christian writers seminar to learn the magical formulas about how to dangle a carrot in front of a rabbit, but they didn't. Instead, the writers of the Bible tell a lot of stories and account for a lot of history and write down a lot of poems and recite a great deal of boring numbers and then conclude with various creepy hallucinations that, in some mysterious way, explain the future, in which, apparently, we all slip into Dungeons and Dragons outfits and fight the giant frog people. I forget how it goes exactly, and I mean no disrespect. But because it is so scatterbrained, and has virtually no charts and graphs, I am actually quite surprised the Bible sells." (p.49, Searching for God [knows what])

"I drove Daddy's car!"

I love the magical thinking of children.
Their ability to simplify and sythesize along the path of least resistance.
It's like nephew who proudly proclaims, "I drove Daddy's car," when I know this meter-long creature could not reach the peddles, much less see over the dash without a booster seat. Of course what they meant was, "I sat in Daddy's lap while he was driving, and I even touched the steering wheel when he wasn't looking." It just seems so much easier to proclaim the former; the latter only clogs up one's delivery.
I wonder how much we are just like these fantastic children, thinking we are running our own lives, making the big plans, accomplishing all those goals?
I wonder if perhaps we're just sitting in Daddy's lap, oblivious to the bigger picture but participating in the Adventure as best we can comprehend?
God, forgive our childish arrogance.

Heresy

I believe in God the Father, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord. I believe in the Holy Spirit. But I don't think the theological construct of the Holy Trinity is directly attributed to in scripture; it's more a theo-philosophical contraction probably created to arm the illiterate from the serious threat of gnosticism or other heretical beliefs that Jesus was either not God's son, or was not really human?-- a mystical vapour or something?
My biggest struggle with swallowing the idea of the Trinity, as postulated by systematic theologians in my conservative circles, is I keep choking on what the Bible reads. I have been trained to say that God is 3 in 1, like a shamrock, or the Presbyterian fish-overlapping-ring thingy... kinda like a sanctified Venn Diagram. That Jesus is equal to the Father who is equal to the Spirit who is equal to Jesus, which is fine for a mantra, but I'm not seeing that directly stated in scripture. That point was cinched when I was asked to memorize a "proof text" in theology class as evidence of it, yet the scripture only mentions the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; the synthesis is parabiblical.
To complicate things, I believe that God is Spirit, and that God is Holy... you could say that God is Holy Spirit. And I believe that this God is like a Father to us even today, opening wide His arms of love to adopt those who would repent (not wanting anyone to perish); a father TO whom Jesus, His only true son, submitted and prayed, "Not my will be done but Yours."
I believe that Jesus was born of the virgin Mary, that he grew in stature and wisdom, and that he not only taught the way (prophet/teacher), but he provided the way (priest/sacrificial Lamb). Jesus was the man through whom the Holy Spirit entered our tactile, prehensile world. God walked among us in Jesus' footsteps, sinless, yet was differentiated enough from the Father that prayer with the Father was an earnest part of his daily life... even Jesus had to set aside time to be with God the Father... so how does that fit in boxed-in theology cubes?
Are there only 3 facets to reflect God to us? Why not 4 or 5... Creator, Ruler, etc...
So if you ask me, do I believe in the Trinity, let me simply reply, "Probably; what are YOU talking about?"

Halo3 and the Secret Weapon

About every decade I have a personal scavenger hunt; I try to find where I left my old copy of C. S. Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters. The first time I read it was shortly after buying it during a high school discipleship group (late 70's); it was a little spooky, but mainly weird and less than relevant.
In college I read it and it was too relevant, and not weird enough, which was spooky. As a youth pastor fresh out of seminary, Lewis' work was entertaining but theologically tenuous... I was scary!
As a middle-aged, motorscooter-riding science teacher in a laptop-required high school, married to a technophilic graphic Artist, I'm looking again for my copy... I think I'm almost mature enough to appreciate it now! Somewhere buried in a box of books, abruptly translocated with the best intentions of painting the book shelves, is my old copy of the Letters. I don't remember too many of the specifics of the dialog between the demons, Uncle Screwtape and his apprentice, Wormwood, but I do remember one particular section of Lewis' fiction-- where Wormwood is told of the greatest weapon useful in defeating God's Kingdom. Distraction.
Yesterday I escorted the Artist to several computer stores where she was looking for various gizmos to upgrade her computer and integrate her new Mac. I'm already attention-deficit, but you put me in a store of plasma screens showing "Happy Feet" or "Planet Earth", I'm doomed to a standing coma, waiting for my cellphone (set to 'stun') to jumpstart my reentry into life as I left it a few minutes (hours) ago, dialed in by the Artist, who has now cleared the register and headed toward the door.
We are so absorbed by our technologies in today's world that we become oblivious to the world around us. We roll up our tinted windows of our SUVs, plug in the IPod, crank the AC and pick up the cell phone... and that's just to back down the driveway toward some tall guy on a scooter. (smile). Distracted.
It's almost entertaining to see students feverishly "taking notes" during lecture, or perhaps entering "data" into an ExCel spreadsheet, except when I call on them, they respond as if they just got the vibrating/loud cellphone call in the plasma screen section of CompUSA... blankly blinking at me as if I just queried them in Swahili. Surely they weren't gaming or checking MySpace? Distracted.
Now for those who are adequately ruffled because of where this is going, especially in light of the title, be at ease... I will not curse your gods by name--if I did, you might show me my own hypocrisy. Instead I will invite you to join me in considering what little time we have left in a day. I will not accuse, but simply confess... I traded my quiet time with God tonight for a football game.
Good night. Jim Kelley
(originally written Sept.30, 2007)

Cheesy Christian Music?

At last night's Tribal Gathering, as the menfolk tended the burning cowflesh with open flame, T-Man challenges the concept of whether there really is such a thing as "Cheesy" Christian music. His point was directed at the notion that, if a person, wandering the Prodigal's Path, hears some old tune on KSBJ and it quickens his heart toward fellowship with the Father, and if all forms of music have that appeal to someone out there, then is it right to call that music "cheesy"?
I responded: "Is Barry Manilow's music 'cheesy'?"
Case closed.
His point being that all Christian music has value.
My point being, yes, even cheesy Christian music.
So the point now being, what is "cheesy", if it is not some subjective construct-- and the counterpoint being exactly that... it IS a subjective matter.
So now, reader, we enter dialog.
What is "cheesy" Christian music to you? What are some examples?
For me (and perhaps reflective of my current ambient hue) it comes to a clone-perpetuating sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice ideology that tries to bring smiles to everyone, and if you aren't happy, well "smile anyway %For me (and perhaps reflective of my current ambient hue) it comes to a clone-perpetuating sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice ideology that tries to bring smiles to everyone, and if you aren't happy, well "smile anyway %$&*, 'cause people are amp;*, 'cause people are lookin'!"

Which reminds me of my Mentor group meeting this week. I meet on occasion with a dozen young men associated with a Christian organization, and this week we were discussing 'worship'. In the awesome dialog we shared, I discovered that only 2 students are actually participating in worshipping communities, while at least half were actually HOSTILE to how they have experienced their home churches... phony, pretentious entities who are more interested in outward conformity than authentic community. Wow! these guys were candid.
They went on about how most of the Christians are hypocrites.
"No," I corrected, "We ALL are."

So what's the solution? Are we supposed to walk around with angry, bitter hearts, discouraging each other? Of course not-- Paul admonishes us to encourage each other (Eph.4).
But it also calls us to be truthful, not phony, as the Golden Boy Preacher used to call it, "Shellacking a layer of 'jesus' over it and pretending everything's OK,"...even though something smells really bad.
And my challenge to you: Is that smell the cheese in "cheesy"?
JK (no, seriously)

God Cries?

Today was a hard day. 2 students I care about buried their daddy today after the funeral service this afternoon.
I knew the funeral was coming; even asked the Artist over bfast at Frenchy's what it would be like to get that phone call. I just can't imagine getting that call as a teenager. I prayed earnestly this week that God would do a miracle and bring him back; when I heard the final news that he was taken off life-support, my heart just turned to soup and drained out of my chest.
I've heard the text on several occasions, so when the Lutheran preached the short verse, it wasn't the first time I heard the verse... it was just the first time I heard the verse in a neighboring church, watching two young girls I care about sob over the death of their daddy. What do you say? I don't know; all I know is that Jesus wept.
So if I'm sitting there weeping and snotting all over myself as daughter #1 reads a love letter to her deceased father, and Jesus also weeps at scenes like that, maybe there is hope for a clod like me?
God, please hold those girls so tight that they smell Your sweet breath. God, hold me so tight that when I pass over, it will only seem a bump in the ride. Please remove any wicked way in me, that I might kneel in Your presence. Please teach me to be holy. Please teach me who You are, because I forget that You can cry.

One Day Every 24 Hours

It's Sunday evening.
I'm 14 hours from students coming through my classroom door, and I haven't done MY homework yet.
I'm about one hour from leaving for home-group.
I've spent 4 hours since yesterday evening trying to get my computer at home to work, and now I'm not really sure why.
I have stacks of important papers that need some form of action, and I don't even know where to start. Some have been there for weeks.
I haven't read my Bible in 2 days, but the lawnmower is fixed, my yard looks better and her shower works.
God, Is it OK that I don't have it all together?
Because I failed to meet my expectations, does that make me a failure?
Maybe I should push away from the keyboard... after all, the computer is fixed for now...?
I'm done.
--Jim

God and Motel 8

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where your options seem to have all run out?
Have you come to a place within your mind that there really is no hope of success, or that some dreggy alternative will have to suffice?
And then suddenly you find that there's a comfortable room for you at Motel 8?
I have. Somewhere in the panhandle of Florida is a crossroad community of hotels and restaurants, and in both coming and going we found no place to stay in any of the hotels nearest the interstate. Both times, as I'm weighing the pros and cons of sleeping in the truck, the Artist comes out of the Motel 8 office waving her recently rented room keycard. So why is it so hard to hold onto hope for just one last chance? Why do I not give this last abode the same optimistic expectation that I just extended to the last 6 places that turned us away?
And why do I treat God that way, when He continues to prove Himself faithful to me?
How often I have such a low expectation of God's response towards my supplications, only to find once again that He is consistent in His merciful providence. So why is that?
Do I fear coming off as some selfish piglet, making demands that might smack of entitlement? Or am I just afraid of that final rejection, that if there is going to be a surprise it is a pleasant one?
God is good, all the time. Lord, help my unbelief.