Ouch, it stings the soul.
I accepted a leadership role within the youth group recently. The youth pastor and I had a couple of planning meetings, I said too much, and I walked out with a three-year gym membership. I don't want to have to go to the gym. Crap. I do and I don't. It tugs at me.

So, I've been unwittingly half-assing my way through the Bible study and I was doing catch-up in the car tonight while Christian was taking a guitar lesson. It was a lesson on the praying leader. Been there, done that. Cynical as always. One question caught my eye. What do you think God would say to you. I wrote, "I miss our conversations."

Where am I in my faith? I am comfortable. See, Complacent. See, Lazy. "Enough," I think sitting there, "Where am I Lord, I feel lost." I get home and Hebrews 11 is throbbing in my head. Just read it. The faith chapter. Interesting. Faith has never really been an issue, but I get that it's definitely an illustration.

I had talked to Ernie earlier in the day. A family member in the Philippines had stolen from Ernie's mom. I had mentioned that even Jesus said he would spit us out of his mouth, in reference that her mom should consider severing various relationships with her family.

The more I thought about it when I got home, it wasn't really in context. Jesus was talking about something else, so I went to confirm it online. I love BibleGateway.com. The word search revealed it was Revelation 3:16, regarding the spitting reference.

Out of nowhere, in the total silence, Christian puts on Johnny Cash's, The Man Comes Around. Revelation stuff. Great guitar riff. Disturbing co-inky-dink. I love that song.

"Where am I Lord...".

Revelation 3:16 pops up:

"So, because you are lukewarm-neither hot or cold-I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Yeah, that verse definitely isn't in context for Ernie's mom's situation.

"Crap, what do you want?"

I started laughing out loud when I read it for the third time. Ouch. I get it. You got my attention. I love a Savior with a sense of humor. Johnny Cash and internet Bible sites. Kudos Sir! You are good!

MySpace
My hands become talons, flexing and malevolent. My utterances are monosyllabic expulsions of air, frustrated and ultimately benign. I am left with rage for this technological copulation of rudimentary double-speak and poor customer service. 54 million people can't be wrong, right? You'd hope...

The December and January of my life has been wasted. I have been in an emotional purgatory, neither direct or passive-aggressive. Polite. I have been polite and benign and socially emasculated for the sake of everyone involved. It hurt me, doesn't that count for something? Today, and for the rest of my life, no.

I am not MySpace. I can't care for your personal preferences. If I do I'm, ultimately, gay or a predator. Everyone says so, so it must be true. I am Frankenstein’s Social Monstrosity and I must be esoterically killed. Gather your pitchforks and we'll storm the castle. Wait, we're hunting me, aren't we?!?

Violent music makes it all feel better. There's a thirteen year-old girl in me and she wants to know your every minutia. She giggles and I check her into the boards and duct tape her mouth. Grown men don't care about these trivialities. Throw her in the closet and be done with it. All of it. Go angrily blogging into the night, all full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Where's my Bobble Head Jesus when I need him?

I'm back. All Las Vegas and full of piss and vinegar. Hanging with the boys, deprecating swagger, feeling all comfortably misplaced and all I can think is, "Screw you guys, Elvis has left the building."

Glad to be back homos...apiens.