Resolved: an Intervention.

I make a lot of silly little resolutions , reader, that honestly don't have any deep theological meanings. Not that all resolutions should have that weight, but should I be so comfortable to make promises to only myself and God so frequently?

Resolved: to always consider the persons involved in a meal as more important than the quality or quantity of the food. 


Resolved: to never go to the campus dining hall alone, but always with a friend. (For God had given me so many friends to leave me without excuse other than neglectful apathy)


Resolved: to always remember to be at least partially intentional about my conversations over food, to pray for blessings before, throughout, and after a mealtime's conversation. 


You don't know this, reader, but I both value and esteem consistency and transparency in conduct and integrity fairly highly. (Also, my sentences have been looking funky lately. I blame Greek.) But my own conduct has been sorely derelict lately. Shall I speak differently about persons when they are present and when they are not? No, that would be gossip. Shall I honor persons with my time and affectionate prayer more than others? Would it be wrong to respect certain persons differently? (Besides one's parents and those in authority.)

So I reasoned with my self, and I came to the conclusion that in matters of the consistency of the spirit, the only thing that must be retained in all circumstances is one's core identity. Mine is Christ; I will never be unashamed or act differently around spiritual Jews and spiritual Gentiles, as the apostle Peter once did. However, in other matters, I can see that it would be acceptable for me to be more respectful around my grandparents than around my friends. Yet my language shouldn't change-- why should I feel comfortable to break character when the beloved Director is always helping me with my lines? Perhaps it's only the topics of conversation that could differ from person-to-person that I speak with. I wouldn't need to evangelize Christians, after all.

I often find myself being the initiator at Irvine and at home. Forgive me, reader, if I'm not more talkative elsewhere; burning my light at both ends tends to burn me out.

By the way, we finished our adapted Aesop's Fables in Greek! Well, that's not the exciting part. Those fables are fairly entertaining, even if the morals are often faulty. For this week we're translating adapted versions of John 9, the story of Jesus healing the man born blind. While it isn't *exactly* the Bible's manuscript, it's still pretty exciting. And how fitting, to translate this as my first portion of Greek New Testament!

Resolved: to use my backspace less.
Resolved: to use the "strikethrough" feature more often.
Resolved: to never grow weary of doing good.
Resolved: to write in pen rather than pencil, when answers are less logical than mathematics.
Resolved: to never lose sight of the brevity of this life or the length of eternity. 
Resolved: to clean my room.
Resolved: to never complain about driving Calvin places.
Resolved: to stop muddying up my eyes. 
-------------------
He answered, 
"The man who is called Jesus made clay, and anointed my eyes, and said to me, 
'Go to Siloam [Sent] and wash';
so I went away and washed, and I received sight."
......
"He [Jesus] applied clay to my eyes, and I washed, and I see."
John 9:11, 15b
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Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost but now am found; was blind, but now I see. 


Jesus is kind of amazing. And He was funny. And He definitely was a man of God who kept the Sabbath. And He *is* the miracle, the sign from God. All the other stuff, like walking on water and changing water into wine into pee--that's nothing, man. He's more than a prophet; He's more than a king. He's more than a teacher; He's more than a martyr. He's.

EDIT: 02/08/12
Saying Jesus' miracles and signs and wonders were nothing was a comment that, frankly, even if used for its intended effect of being juxtaposed with the incarnation, was inappropriate. I rend my garments.