Morning Prayer: Psalm 119:33-40 (Book of Common Prayer)
Teach me, O Lord, the way of thy statues, and I shall keep it unto the end.
Give me understanding, and I shall keep thy law: yea, I shall keep it with my whole heart.
Make me go to in the path of thy commandments; for there-in is my desire.
Incline my heart unto thy testimonies, and not to covetousness.
O turn away mine eyes, lest they behold vanity, and quicken thou in thy ways.
O stablish thy word to thy servant, that I may fear thee.
Take away the reproach that I am afraid of; for thy judgements are good.
Behold, I have longed for thy precepts: O quicken me in they righteousness.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Reality TV.
Having recently become addicted to both Project Runway and Top Chef, it strikes me that the judges critiquing that we all hate to love, is the socially acceptable way to gossip and feel that it is entirely justified.
In no other format can one be so blatantly honest and brutal, with the expectation and hope that one will be.
This results in the participants being challenged and pushed to greater heights, but it is also demoralizing and often heart breaking. Can these crushing critcal blows be dealt simply because competitors signed up to be subjected to it, and knew what they were getting into?
If the ultimate end is good, why can't I still get enough of the 'these were the worst' section? Because I love to see the judges be a little ruthless, maybe talk trash where I feel that I can't. The perfect set up for a slightly skewed Nation, and certainly for a flawed human being.
Am I living vicariously through the bashing of the judges, and is there something fundamently wrong about the drama created?
Perhaps. Yet I'll still tune in next week, waiting to see the score, hoping to know what not to do, next time.
In no other format can one be so blatantly honest and brutal, with the expectation and hope that one will be.
This results in the participants being challenged and pushed to greater heights, but it is also demoralizing and often heart breaking. Can these crushing critcal blows be dealt simply because competitors signed up to be subjected to it, and knew what they were getting into?
If the ultimate end is good, why can't I still get enough of the 'these were the worst' section? Because I love to see the judges be a little ruthless, maybe talk trash where I feel that I can't. The perfect set up for a slightly skewed Nation, and certainly for a flawed human being.
Am I living vicariously through the bashing of the judges, and is there something fundamently wrong about the drama created?
Perhaps. Yet I'll still tune in next week, waiting to see the score, hoping to know what not to do, next time.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Weariness by Longfellow.
O little feet ! that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath
your load;
I, nearer to the wayside inn
Where toil shall cease and reset
begin,
Am weary, thinking of your road !
O little hands ! that, weak or
strong,
Have still to serve or rule so long,
Have still so long to give or ask ;
I, who so much with book and pen
Have toiled among my fellow-
men,
Am weary, thinking of your task.
O little hearts ! that throb and beat
With such impatient, feverish heat,
Such limitless and strong
desires ;
Min that so long has glowed and
burned,
With passions into ashes turned
Now covers and conceals its fires.
O little souls! as pure and white
And crystalline as rays of light
Direct from heaven, their source
divine;
Refracted through the mist of
years,
How red my setting sun appears,
How lurid looks this soul of
mine !
________________________
This morning I was returning from a long journey and I saw a man collecting recyclables from the stoop of an extravagant house. Having said hello, he asked me if I had a garden of my own, and I told him, no, but I wish I did.
After a trek of so many miles, it is freeing to think that I might still yet invest in the ground, in the peace of the springtime and the possibility of new life with all its beauty and grace.
I am weary, my soul seems lurid indeed, but I found peace in the prospect of what could be and the rest that I might have if I learn to love myself and my surroundings and perhaps beautify it in some small way as well.
Must wander on through hopes and fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath
your load;
I, nearer to the wayside inn
Where toil shall cease and reset
begin,
Am weary, thinking of your road !
O little hands ! that, weak or
strong,
Have still to serve or rule so long,
Have still so long to give or ask ;
I, who so much with book and pen
Have toiled among my fellow-
men,
Am weary, thinking of your task.
O little hearts ! that throb and beat
With such impatient, feverish heat,
Such limitless and strong
desires ;
Min that so long has glowed and
burned,
With passions into ashes turned
Now covers and conceals its fires.
O little souls! as pure and white
And crystalline as rays of light
Direct from heaven, their source
divine;
Refracted through the mist of
years,
How red my setting sun appears,
How lurid looks this soul of
mine !
________________________
This morning I was returning from a long journey and I saw a man collecting recyclables from the stoop of an extravagant house. Having said hello, he asked me if I had a garden of my own, and I told him, no, but I wish I did.
After a trek of so many miles, it is freeing to think that I might still yet invest in the ground, in the peace of the springtime and the possibility of new life with all its beauty and grace.
I am weary, my soul seems lurid indeed, but I found peace in the prospect of what could be and the rest that I might have if I learn to love myself and my surroundings and perhaps beautify it in some small way as well.
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