Jesus is better than "consolations."

be Thou my Consolation,
my Shield when i must die;
remind me of Thy Passion
when my last hour draws nigh.
mine eyes shall then behold Thee;
upon Thy cross shall dwell:
my heart by faith enfold Thee:
who dieth thus dies well!
-(Verse 10, "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded," Lutheran Hymnal #172, http://www.lutheran-hymnal.com/lyrics/tlh172.htm)

Today I've got about 30 minutes before I need to go eat dinner and head to my night class, so I'm going to squeeze this short and smorgasbord-y post in.

04/24/13 A.D.; 5:51:12 P.M.

Springing from the idea of a "consolation" prize, which of course is given to losers of competitions, perhaps as a reward for participation, perhaps as a reward for being good enough to place but not quite good enough to enter the winner's circle. A consolation prize is a pittance given to appease any possible immature [and, furthermore, un-Christian!] responses to failures  losing.

Jesus is NO consolation prize. Jesus is better; He is the consolation of the believer's loss of the fleeting and damning pleasures of sin, He is the consolation of the believer's sinful thoughts that seek to instill regret and doubt on that Christian's deathbed, mourning the death of the old man of the flesh. Jesus is better than "consolations" because dying to self in order to live for Christ is not worthy of remorse. Jesus is better because He alone can give true winner's wreaths, which do not perish, and He alone can bring peace and joy and real comfort and consolation to a man on his deathbed.

04/24/13 A.D.; 5:58:47 P.M.

"RIGHTS" OF DINNER GUESTS: The Animal Inside of You Takes A Bite Of My Heart Tonight.

In philosophy 5: contemporary moral problems, rights were contrasted with obligations as an integral part of the discourse concerning ethical treatment of animals. Mind you, "rights" were never decisively given a foundation, but whatever. Rights and desserts come from God. But do animals have the "right" to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, etc.? No, saith EVEN the phil. prof. here at UCI.

To illustrate his point, he used an analogy of dinner guests.

Suppose I invite some students over to dinner, who I know are all vegetarian (by medical necessity or principle or another reason, it matters not. They are vegetarian). I serve them brisket, baby-back ribs, tri-tip, Korean BBQ, and a whole roasted turkey.

Have I transgressed their RIGHTS to a vegetarian-friendly dinner, because I, their host, invited them to my house knowing that they have dietary restrictions?

No, saith the phil. prof. That host has merely failed his obligation. So too, we have obligations towards animals, but they do not have "rights."

04/24/13 A.D.; 6:06:20 P.M.

An analogy for the case of Calvinism.

Evangelism is like CPR. You should educate yourself on the means of salvation and the process of proper placing of your hands or your words, of breaking bones (!!!) appropriately, of recognizing the signs of those perishing, etc. etc. However, regardless of how much you know about CPR or of the gospel, no matter how earnestly and fervently you apply yourself to another person's salvation, that person will only breathe the breath of life if it is the Holy Spirit's will. That person could just as easily slip between your fingers in spite of your expertise and convincing words or firm hands. Likewise, the converse is true: no matter how inadequate your training or how little you've practiced, or how long it's been since you've done it, if it is the Holy Spirit's will, that person will live in spite of your inadequacy.

04/24/13 A.D.; 6:14:16 P.M.

Lastly, a resolution for my purity and my work ethic, O Reader.

Resolved: to leave the window-blinds open all hours when I am awake and present in my own room.

Speaking of elevated heart rates...

The last major event that happened at CCA, the school where I teach, was the direct fly-over by the space shuttle Endeavor. Today's event was much scarier.
---------
The three children playing Four Square had asked me earlier if I wanted to play with them, and I said I would. I set my water bottle down, and stepped into square one. Soon enough, a crowd gathered, and the girl standing in the "King" square informed me that the newest variation of the game allowed the king to revise the rule he and his people must abide by: saying the name of your color, TV show, vegetable, or whatever the king chose as that round's theme whenever you touch the ball.

Interesting, I thought. It took me a while to come up with a TV show I wanted to admit before my children, though. Perhaps I'd do well to restrain my TV consumption more...

The game went on, more children gathered around (for they all wanted to get a piece of the teacher!), and the usual complaints came to me as the referee. One of the boys brought an empty cardboard box that looked like it had once housed a small package from Amazon.

It was only when I looked up from the king's square that I noticed him flailing the box wildly above his head that I knew something was terribly wrong.

Bees! Swarms of bees were everywhere, whirling and buzzing in frightful cyclones, descending upon the picnic tables, a maddening swarm flying through the empty volleyball net. And there were children on the playground on the other end of the campus!

"Children, go inside. The game's over. You will spend the rest of your recess inside, alright? Hurry!"

I quickly stretched my vision towards the playground and didn't spot Simon, the boy with crazy allergies, so I turned towards the walls used in handball games. Ah.

"Simon, go inside! Inside, all of you! There are beeeeeeeeeeeeez!"

Looking back, it was kind of comical, but for Simon, who has never been stung before, I didn't want to take that risk.

"Mr. Pollard, now that you're done with Four Square, do you want to play handball with me and Peter?" a sixth grader asked me. He mustn't have heard.

"No, Jake. Go inside; there are a lot of bees coming this way." And with that, he scampered off towards the wrong door, the door for the elementary students. The other teachers were peeking out the doors, and I was grateful that there were only two more minutes before recess would've ended. Even the goofiest of my boys had listened and ran for shelter from the angry tornado.

As I was leaving school after I prayed over the students, I realized that I had left my water bottle on the ground by the Four Square court, and O! how thirsty I would be in my psych class devoted to stress. Small potatoes.