The Purpose of Life and the Meaning of Death and Stuff

After performing my journal-slaughtering-morning-ritual, I now give you the short version of seventeen pages worth of deep meditation and devotion.

My revelation:  God doesn't let bad things happen. 

 Bad things happen.  

God gives the means by which we fight the bad.  Satan wants us to think that God doesn't care. Because if we believe he doesn't care, we're not going to look to him.  If we don't look to him, we don't find the answer to life.  

When things are good, you don't really feel it.  When things are bad, you feel it like like bricks being thrown at you. And God doesn't seem to do much about it.  

We expect that if God were good, he would destroy everything bad in the world.  He would just kill Satan right here and now.
So what about the world wide flood?  He gave humanity a chance to live right.  Their hearts said, "No."  Now.  The flood was not a lovely thing.  It was chaos and death and total destruction.  From God.  God made that happen.  Does that make God bad?  No.  In fact, the flood brought life.  A second chance to humanity.  God doesn't let bad things happen.  He let's us choose.
What about Jesus's death?  He brought that upon himself.  Upon his friends and family.  Imagine watching your best friend and only hope get spat at and cursed and tortured in front of you.  You think a good God would let that happen?  We miss the point.  Judas missed the point, and killed himself before he saw it.
They just had to wait three miserable days.  Just three miserable days and then Jesus came back to life, and left us with hope.  

There's a quote that says, "It'll all be better in the end.  If it's not better, it's not the end."
 So where are we now?  Still in a pretty crappy place.  But now we're left with a chance to live.  Life=God.  God=life.  We can't have one without the other.

God gives us second chances until the day we die.

I Heard the Bells Worth Fighting for: Guest Post by Sam, Henry, and David

There are some things I can't put into words.  Things I can't state in such a raw, real way as these men did.  Thus I turn this post over to them:

Henry:                                          I heard the bells on Christmas day,

There old, familiar carols play.

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth good-will to men.

David:                                Oh my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer.

by night, and am not silent.

Sam:                     I know.  It's all wrong.  By rights we shouldn't even be here.  But we are.

Henry:                                      Then from each black accursed mouth, 

The canons thundered in the south, 

And with the sound, 

The carols drowned, 

Of peace on earth good will to men.

David:                                 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from saving me, 

So far from the words of my groaning?

Sam:              It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo.  The ones that really mattered.  Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end.  Because how could the end be happy?  How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?

Henry:                                               And in despair I bowed my head, 

"There is no peace on earth," I said.

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth good will to men."

David:                                               All who see me mock me;

They hurl insults, shaking their heads: 

"He trusts the lord; 

let the Lord rescue him.

Let him deliver him,

since he delights in him."   

Sam:    But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even the darkness must pass.  A new day will come.  And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.  Those were the story's that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too small to understand why.

Henry:                                    Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, 

God is not dead, nor doth he sleep!

David:                                   Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One,

you are the praise of Israel...
They cried out to you and were saved;
In you they trusted and were not disappointed.

Sam:    I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand.  I know now.  Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't.  Because they were holding on to something.

Henry:                                                     The wrong shall fail.

The right prevail.

With peace on earth good will to men.

 David:                                     Even the darkness will not be dark to you.

The night will shine like the day,

For darkness is as light to you.

Sam:                There's some good in this world Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.

Character of the Month: Uncle Billy

Several posts ago I made a 'Character Challenge' in which I asked several questions that made one observe how they relate to story characters.  The after effect was painful because I couldn't and still can't stop finding more characters I find beautiful and itch to write about.  And I didn't want to feel like a creativity looser and re-post the same challenge over again.
My brain is a brat.  I find I constantly need to entertain it.  So here's another game for you, Ms. Brain, that I hope will keep you content and occupied:

Character of the Month:

Uncle Billy(It's a Wonderful Life)

Yes, I grew up watching It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas just like any other child.  Every time I re-watch this I find something new about it that I never payed attention to.  This year it was Uncle Billy.  This is the first time I'd realized how much of an Uncle Billy I am.

Uncle Billy.  A pathetic, joyful little man with a terrible memory.  He loves people, though when the time comes to be sarcastic in defense of those he cares about, he doesn't hesitate.  He's joyful.  He's an old man with the rambunctious perkiness of an eight year old boy.  He tries very hard.  He wants to do everything right, please everyone.  But his brain works slowly and he can't seem to keep himself from getting distracted.  He ties string around his fingers to help him remember things (which I may or may not have been inspired to do myself).
His confidence in himself is low.  Making mistakes is one of his greatest fears and enemies.  I've found myself in his position in the end, many times as of late, perhaps not in as dire of situations, but there non the less.  And I always wonder how he deals with it.  He's just made one of his all time biggest mistakes.  He's just been yelled at by his closest friend.  And in the end he comes in all animated and full of joy again, giving up a huge amount of money to help his friend.   That's probably the one thing I can't relate with.  If I were him, I would have stayed in my heap of misery, feeling like a failure.  Instead, Uncle Billy chooses to become one of the hero's of this story.
 

On Walls

One.  I've discovered a new phobia. I have the fear of bare walls.
Two.  I have a new hobby too.  Taking pictures in my basement.
Three.  I wrote this poem at a writers camp.  The challenge was to observe something generally considered ordinary and mundane and see if you can discover some kind of unexpected beauty, then write a poem about it.
This poem is dedicated to my basement.  It's good to be back.  Writing in a blog titled 'A Blue Box in the Basement and a Cup of Coffee' didn't feel right writing from anywhere else.

Room Kind of Love

You enter in

My hollow heart.
Where have you been?
Where did you start?

You sit inside me,

Against my wall.

You cry for help,
As though I'm not here at all.

I breathe on you
From my vent above,

Cooling your tears.

A room kind of love.

Wall Painting

I'm not the only one. 
You can vent too.

You can talk to me, 
Like I talk to you.

Your plug to the left,
My outlet to the right,
Though these walls are mute,
Take my input tonight.

I know all you hear
Are my hissing lights,
The electric hum,
My creaking pipes.

But you look sad,

And I don't know why.
But I'll lock you in,
While you cry.

Ceiling painting by Dr. Elemis Pott and the Pizza Angel

Wallace 

The giant blob fish portrait by Grace Wyka that sits proud and resolute on my wall.

View from the window

Another View 

Wall paintings and wooden sword 

Wall painting