Grampy

We walked together down the road

Well, only you were walking

I was pretending to be a toad

Skipping along beside you.

You said you liked my smile

And you asked me to never stop.

You liked to wander in the wood

Hunt for fish and deer and stories

The wild was your neighborhood

And the animals, your buddies.

Your hobby was telling stories,

And I hung on every word

Until I’d heard them many times

And then I told them back to you.

About the bird that pooped on your head

How you tricked the teachers in school,

The people that you witnessed to,

And the horse that didn’t like you.

On Holidays and picnics,

Your giant video recorder

Was always on your shoulder;

You told me I’d be on TV someday

And you said you liked my smile.

Although your hands shook bad,

You drew a silly picture

In every birthday card.

At dinner, your puns were corny,

And didn’t always make sense,

But you always laughed the hardest,

And that made me laugh, too.

And whenever you came over,

You would sit down on the couch,

And let me play the piano

All the songs that I’d made up

For as many tedious hours as I liked.

You clapped for every piece,

And snored through a couple,

And prayed through many more.

I’ve been so busy lately,

I haven’t seen you much

But when I finally saw you,

You’d really changed so much.

The room was dimly lit and warm

And your red chair looked very soft

But you never stood up to hug me,

Because you can barely move at all.

Throughout our conversation,

You never cracked a joke;

When you spoke, it was a whisper

Though you used all your strength.

And when I said goodbye to you,

You took my hand in your own

I wondered if you recognized me

Or if I was a stranger to you now.

But as you said, “God bless you,”

With eyes more gentle than before,

You said you liked my smile.

And that was enough for me.

(c) Copyright April 24, 2014 - Curious Cognitive Content

"It is finished."

"When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, 'It is finished,' and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." John 19:30 ESV

Did you ever consider those words, "it is finished"? These words are profound. Centuries of promises and prophecies led up to this moment. Thousands of people - prophets like Joel and Isaiah, kings like David, fathers like Abraham - longed for this day (Hebrews 11). Types and shadows in the old testament, such as David defeating Goliath just as Jesus defeated sin, and Abraham offering up his son Isaac just as God the Father offered up his son Jesus, spoke of this ultimate story.

Jesus himself endured much before he could say these words: Temptation (Hebrews 2:18), rejection (Isaiah 53:3), torture (John 18 - 19). He was forsaken by his own Father, who he had loved and been loved by for all eternity (Matthew 27:46).

So when he says, "It is finished," he is saying this: The prophecies have been fulfilled. The law has been completed. The horrible price for sin has been paid. The role of the High Priest is finished. There is nothing more to be done.

And for us, these words have huge implications. It is finished. That means that we can never add anything to our salvation by doing good works. It also means that we can never ruin our salvation by any sinful thing we do. The work of salvation is complete. It is sealed with the blood of Jesus. It is done.

It is finished.

Blood work

I went to the doctor's office yesterday for my yearly checkup. And I had the dreaded "blood work" done. All my life I have avoided this. Yes, I'm an adult. And yes, I go to the doctor every year. But somehow I managed to evade having my blood sucked out of me every single time.

There were two things I was thinking when I went to the doctor's yesterday. The first was, will I be alright? I can't say the word "blood" without feeling weak in the knees. The second was, maybe I have a tough streak in me that will suddenly come to life! You know all those stories where the main character is a wimp, but when they have to do something very hard, they suddenly rise to the challenge and become heroes? I always hoped I was one of those characters.

So I sat down and the needle went in, and I just closed my eyes and thought, "Is that all? Easy!" Then I realized I could feel the blood leaving my hand and streaming up to the needle in my arm. That made me shake and tremble. It didn't hurt, but it forced me to think about blood and I hated it. But soon, that was over to.

I stood up, happy to have it over and noticed that my vision was a little black. I must have stood up too fast, so I sucked in my stomach, because that would help keep the blood from rushing to my head too fast. But my vision only got worse, and everything sounded weird. The nurse made me sit down again and handed me water, and all the while I was resolved that I would not faint. I broke into a cold sweat all over, but I succeeded in staying conscious.

I left the office feeling slightly disappointed with myself for not becoming a hero. As if not feeling effected by having bloods drawn would have made me hero....

How do you react to getting blood drawn?

Baklava

I made Baklava. It was surprisingly easy. Mine came out a little messy, since the photo above is of my best one. But it tasted like Baklava, which in case you didn't know, tastes a little like honey.

The recipe I found is here. I would highly recommended serving it with unsweetened tea or black coffee, since the Baklava itself is so sweet.

Prayer

"...The snares of death confronted me. In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears. Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations also of the mountains trembled and quaked, because he was angry."(Psalm 18:5-7, ESV, emphasis mine) 

San Andreas Fault

As Christians, I think we feel our prayers go like this, sometimes:
Us: "God, there's this problem, and I could really use some help."
God: "Oh, ok. I'll look into it."

Sometimes prayer feels like this:
Us: "God, there's this problem, and I could really use some help."
No answer.

But this is not what we see in Psalm 18. There are three points to look at in this passage, which I highlighted above.

First of all, David, the writer of the Psalm, is desperate. He was being pursued by King Saul who wanted to kill him, because David was to be the next king. When David writes, "The snares of death confronted me," it is no exaggeration. Sometimes, we can feel really desperate, too. Maybe someone we love is sick. Maybe we don't have a job. Maybe that college we wanted to go to was too expensive. Maybe our friend just died. It could be anything - big or small - that causes us grieve or pain or despair.

Secondly, David writes, "My cry to him reached his ears." Does it feel like there is no answer? God really does hear us when we pray, even if it feels like there is a delay in His answer. And His timing is always perfect.

Lastly, we are given an extremely vivid picture, "The earth rocked and reeled; the foundations also of the mountains trembled and quaked..." Try to picture that. Can you see the earthquake? Can you see giant mountains shaking? And do you know why? It was "because he was angry." God was angry! His response to David's prayer was anger?

He is angry when His children - those for whom Christ died - are feeling pain. He is angry at the enemy that causes this pain, whether that enemy be sin, Satan, or the consequences of a fallen world (such as death and disease). He did not answer with a shrug of the shoulders and half-hearted help. He answered  as a Father caring for his own. He answered as a warrior and declared war on the enemy.

You see, He loves you that much. And in the end, you can say with David, "For this I will praise you, O Lord, among the nations, and sing to your name. Great salvation he brings to his king, and shows steadfast love to his anointed...." (Psalm 18:49-50, ESV)

The Spider that ruled the hall

In a quiet house, all quivered with fear

For there was a horror dwelling near.

It shifted around from wall to wall;

It was the Spider that ruled the hall.

Eight legs scratched the wall in a hurry,

Propelling it past in a flurry.

Passersby would stop and start staring,

“Didn't the Spider sit over there?”

All feared it greatly though none knew why,

All wished the Spider would leave or die,

Yet no one touched it – no one at all,

So it lived on and haunted the hall.

One day the Spider simply vanished,

But the minds of all remained blemished,

For still all tiptoe through the wide hall,

Fearing the Spider once on the wall.

(c) copyright - curious cognitive content - June 6, 2013

Becoming Fred

It started with a story. Actually, many stories. But they all had something in common: one of the characters does something wonderful that requires courage and love and self-sacrifice. They made me want to laugh and cry and see the story over and over again, but most importantly, they made me admire that character to the extent that I wanted to become that character.

The problem arose when, motivated by these emotions, I tried to duplicate the situation of the character to some degree. Was the character (we'll call him Fred for now) a biologist? Then I wanted to become a biologist. Was Fred a viking living in the jungle? Then I wanted to be a viking living in the jungle. Did the Fred go on an adventure in Antarctica with a battered jeep? Then I wanted a battered jeep, and somehow, I would hitch a ride to Antarctica, too. Was Fred a girl who excelled in gymnastics? Then I would take up gymnastics also. (These examples may be a little exaggerated.)

Eventually, I realized that this stupid. It was not Fred's situation I admired at all; it was his/her character. And again and again, the thing that made me love his character was his self-sacrifice which was motivated by love and achieved through courage. Fred gave up his dreams so he could work to provide for his impoverished family. Fred died saving a spaceship full of passengers. Fred took a bullet to save his friend. 

Then came my next error. If I wanted to be like Fred, then I would go out of my way to be self-sacrificing. If I wanted to read webcomics, I would do the ironing for Mom, and think all the while of what a wonderful person I was becoming. See? I put aside my own desires just to make Mom happy; wasn't that admirable of me? 

I had entirely missed the point - again. Fred's self-sacrifice had been motivated by his love for his family. Mine had been motivated by the desire to be someone like Fred, in order to gain admiration from others, and to feel good about myself. My so-called self-sacrifice was selfish. 

The more I thought about my motives, the more I realized that nothing I will ever do will have a perfectly good and pure motive. No matter how noble the action, no matter how much self-sacrifice it took for me to do it, there will always be some secret, selfish reason why I did it. But even if this is the case, it doesn't mean I should stop doing good, noble things. The ironing blessed my mom, even if I got a significant amount of selfish self-satisfaction out of it. What it does mean, though, is that I need to stop ironing because I'm trying to be like Fred, and instead, iron because I love my mom. 

And thus I come to the ironic conclusion. I must start living my own life - the life God has given to me - and not Fred's, for that is the only way I will truly become like Fred. 

The Amazing Adventures of College Girl #2

Some stories end with a moral. This story begins with one: never leave leftover lunch in your bedroom. If you must leave leftover lunch in your bedroom, be sure that it does not become covered by a sweatshirt and forgotten for a week. Perhaps you can guess the outcome.

I was putting my clothes away. It was nighttime, and the room was dimly lit but cozy. My room is small, but it was designed in such a way that everything echos. I could drop a pencil on the carpeted floor and it would sound like a 50lb boulder had fallen. 

Anyways, I was putting my clothes into the dresser when suddenly, a loud POP! bounded and rebounded off the walls of my room. It was as sudden and loud as a gunshot and quite unexpected, so I did the expected. I ran out of the room. 

We turned on every electrical gadget in my room, but no light bulbs, fuses, or batteries had exploded. I searched under the bed to see if someone had accidentally left a balloon there to keep the dust company. There was none. I could have let it go and forgotten it. But it was already night, and I would have to sleep in this room. What if more mysterious pops came along while I was sleeping?

Then something stirred in the back of my mind. I remembered that day that a salad had been packed in an airtight container and stuck into my lunch. I also remembered that I had forgotten a fork that day, so the salad was never eaten. And I think it was on my desk. 

Because my room is so small, I made it a rule that everything had to be neat and tidy except for the top of my desk. Thus, if anything happens to get left on the floor, it is instantly added to the pile on my desktop. Probably not a good idea. But I diverge. 

After digging through textbooks, socks, hair products, candy bar wrappers, and old receipts, I found the salad - the decayed salad. The container it had been in was open, and the lid was sagged outward, evidence of high pressure for a couple days. Funny fact about salad; it releases gases as it decays, and gases have enough pressure to pop off lids. 

This is where I would express the moral of the story, but I already did that. Now excuse me as I dig out the other leftovers lurking on my desk....

 

Cyclomen Haiku

Pink petals in bloom
Butter-fly delicacy
Unparalleled

The Amazing Adventures of College Girl

Background: My calculus class starts at 2:00 pm and is two hours long. Most classes are only one hour long, so at 3:00, halfway through class, the hallway outside is full of chatter and footsteps. And one more thing you need to know: my watch is is broken.

I had my first calculus test of the semester, and naturally, my instructor decided to make it two hours long. The test was 10 problems long, and I was working at a nice even pace. Suddenly, a loud chatter filled the hall, and I knew it was 3:00. An hour had sped by extremely fast, and I only had an hour to finish. My hand took off like a rocket, and my pencil rushed over the pages of the test, hoping to finish in time. 

Finally, I sighed with relief, convinced I had finished just a couple minutes early. I turned in my test, and walked out into the hall, where a large clock was fixed to the wall. It was 2:45. I had taken a 2-hr test in 45 minutes because I thought I was running out of time.

Moral of story: always fix your watch.

(Click on picture to enlarge)
...sorry for the very unoriginal comic strip. My head exploded so I can't think of anything better right now.

The Day

I knew this day was coming.

It comes for everyone, sooner or later. It starts with small and seemingly insignificant choices, each choice steadily becoming more and more important. Soon, one begins to shiver at the mere thought of the approaching day.

Eventually, one may cry and sniff when one thinks of the day, but these actions only serve to confirm the certainty of that day's approach.

And then the evening before the fateful day arrives, one feels the lump in the back of one's throat, the pain of a headache, the tiredness of eyes, the heaviness of a mind that has finally given up fighting the inevitable.

The day itself dawns like every other day. But it is different from every other day, because of the horrible dread it holds: that horrible hacking and coughing! That tiring sneezing and sniffing!

And now that day has come for me, just as I knew it would. I stand, crushed, incapacitated; beneath that awful weight so lightly called a common cold.

Wasting Time

For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. (Romans 7:15 ESV)

So Organized

When there is so much to be done,
My weapons are a pen and pad
With which I write and write a ton
Of lists (quite messy, I might add).

I stuff them into the drawer, 
And sip my coffee, feeling pleased.
List-writing can be such a bore,
But my mind has been greatly eased.

Two weeks later, I steal a glance
At those lists from two weeks ago
And stare quite as if in a trance
For I have no work I can show.

Then with a sudden, new resolve,
I once more take my pad and pen
And new lists begin to evolve
To be stuffed in the drawer again.

The Happiest Car I Ever Saw....

There is a car with such a wide smile
It has worn for mile after mile
And, although it seems to be wide awake,
I think that its big grin is all a fake -
Because, while I looked and I admired,
I saw that it's wheels are always tired.

Remember 9/11

I heard the rushing, roaring sound
Of planes far too close to the ground
I heard awful, terror-struck cries
As people looked up at the skies.
I saw the planes so swiftly glide -
With the stately towers collide.
I saw the towers melt away,
Beneath the very light of day.
I saw the fierce flames leap up high
And heard thousands of voices cry
- then cease.


I see the tears on every face
Of one who lost a friend's embrace
I see a vengeful anger rise
In more than just one pair of eyes.
I see the orphans' sober gaze
Through the black smoke and filthy haze.
I see the husbands mourning wives
And families mourning loss of lives,
And all through out the city now,
I see sorrow on every brow
- sorrow.


I see the grey ashes and dust
And bent metal taken by rust.
I see the graveyard bare and sad
That once in life and joy was clad.
I see my close friends coughing hard,
Their lungs and limbs and bodies marred
By toxins in that deathly air.
Compassion was what brought them there,
To quench the hellish, fearful flame
And to rescue the hurt and lame
- rescue.


And all throughout the coming ages,
One thing rings out on history's pages:
Remember 9/11.



"Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard." (Isaiah 58:8)

The Trees on Campus

 

A clump of trees stood high and tall,

They grew within a grey-stone wall -

A wall made up of buildings old,

Constructed by grey bricks so cold.

Yet happy were the trees in there,

Although they missed the forest air,

For they brought smiles to the face

That admired their stately grace.

The shadow land

Upon the pavement grey,
In the soft light of late day,
I beheld the shadow land.


There is no color there,
And all is so bleakly bare,
Yet it whispers of beauty.


The land has nothing new:
Our world copied in grey-blue
And it lacks all dimension.


Now the trees seem more green,
The sky a prettier scene,
And the world much more lovely:

Because of the shadow land.

A row of three,

(Mahogany?)

Bored folding chairs

That put on airs

As if they were

Much fancier.

On another note, I am needing a new camera; my pictures have been getting grainier and grainier.

No Picture Today....

For want of a picture, a post was lost;
For want of a post, the audience was lost;
For want of an audience, the blog was lost;
For want of the blog, HOMEWORK GOT DONE!!!!!
And all for the want of a picture.
(But as it happens, you get a post anyways).