psalm veintitrés

Numerio 23 happens to be my great-grandfather’s favorite psalm.  He and his wife would read it together every night before they went to bed.  Pa has been a regular church-goer for as long as I have known him, which happens to be about 28% of his life.  I suppose I’ve always thought of him as the patriarchal leader of what scant faith our extended family displays.  But I’d never really given a lot of thought to his faith until this week.

To be honest, I’ve never quite known where most of my extended family (roughly 30 of us) stands with respect to Christianity.  Led by Pa, with hands joined and mouths drooling over whatever deliciousness was spread out on grandma’s counter tops, it had become tradition to recite the words to the lord’s prayer prior gorging ourselves.  Some would recite the words whole-heartedly, and some of us would mumble through not quite sure when to be thankful for temptation and where ask to be delivered from his kingdom.  I always found this odd, given that religion isn’t a subject that I remember ever having more than one or two surface level conversations about with anyone besides my sis, mother & father.  Maybe we’ve always just assumed that everyone believes something similar, and that’s good enough… even though it does not at all reflect reality.  I think it might have been just one of those things we did because Pa wanted us to, and that’s as good enough reason as any.

Since I have jettisoned my faith in Christ, the recitation of a prayer that means nothing to me has made me fairly uncomfortable, but I would mumble through out of respect and love for my Pa.  But there was no faith behind it, which makes me feel like a liar.  Going forward the lord’s prayer will forever remind me of him, and make me thankful for the time that I had with him.

We don’t know how much time he has left, but we know that his hours are short.  And it’s comforting to believe that he had the confidence that “goodness and love” did follow him all the days of his life.  If he will be dwelling in the house of the lord or not, I cannot say.  What I do know is that Pa will always dwell in the hearts of those of us who love him and are loved by him.

Psalm 23

A psalm of David.

 1 The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
       he leads me beside quiet waters,

 3 he restores my soul.
       He guides me in paths of righteousness
       for his name’s sake.

 4 Even though I walk
       through the valley of the shadow of death,
       I will fear no evil,
       for you are with me;
       your rod and your staff,
       they comfort me.

 5 You prepare a table before me
       in the presence of my enemies.
       You anoint my head with oil;
       my cup overflows.

 6 Surely goodness and love will follow me
       all the days of my life,
       and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
       forever.

$780 tears

I’m waiting to board a flight to STL via Washington D.C. to see my family. More specifically, to see my great-grandfather who has fallen suddenly ill and with a pretty dismal prognosis. I am scared that I won’t get there in time… despite my creative booking efforts, the earliest I could reasonably make it back to Illinois was around 10am tomorrow.

It sucks to be this far apart from the people you want to be with and there-for at a time like this.

Renaissance

I’ve got a very strong temptation to try to catch up with the past… oh… four months of blog silence.  When you line it all up, I feel like I’ve been enjoying my very own renaissance… if only it were that grand, but it’s still pretty nice.

  • Skiing: OMG fun.  And having invested a small fortune in gear, it had better be.  But being this close to pretty good snow and really, really good snow it would be unacceptable not to take advantage of it.  I wasn’t half bad for a guy raised in the midwest when the season started, but after a lot of practice and a weekend enjoying the best. powder. ever. in Whistler I’m feel’n pretty damn good.  I’m glad I’ve found people to ski with… in particular, people who push me to try new things and get better.
  • Lifting: while it’s been going well, it’s been boring boring boring not power lifting anymore.  I miss Illini Powerlifting.  I miss the camaraderie.  I need goals and to be pushed, which leads me to…
  • Boxing : it’s a new thing that I’m not sure I’m going to stick with, but for now, it’s really damn exciting.  I’ve found an awesome boxing gym close to home and went for my first lesson this weekend.  Is it wrong to enjoy getting hit?  Does that say something about me?  One thing’s for damn sure, I need to learn how to jump rope…  I haven’t done that since I was 7 and my coordination hasn’t improved much since then.
  • Opera : by far, one of the coolest new things I’ve experienced as of late.  We (a handful of friends) went to see Tosca.  Everyone dies.  Sorry for the spoiler.  I have to say that there are some great lines that came out of it… one of the best ones, delivered by the skeeziest of all evil characters ever crafted (Scarpia) as he tries to seduce (essentially, rape) the heroine… “you make me forget God”.  Somehow the setting and the pure evil that flowed from the man just made that line so laced with crazed-obsession in the guise of love that it was almost laughable.  But nothing compares with the heroine’s declaration “Questo è il bacio di Tosca” – “This is Tosca’s kiss” as she repeatedly stabs the evil Scarpia.  Ah, tragedy.
  • Valentine’s Bash: what do you get when you get an audience of angstful, scorned lovers with objects of affection that have lost their meaning?  And let’s say you add in some liquid nitrogen, a sledge hammer, a machete, tar & feathers, and a blow torch??  You get an evening of entertainment wallowing in the pain and suffering of others that is much worse than anything you’ve ever been though!  The basic premise is to get on stage, tell your harrowing story, and summarily destroy your (hopefully) last reminder of your love lost.  The things that were destroyed, and the stories that were told, were unreal.  For example, imagine your boyfriend leaving for Africa and bringing you back a wonderful lil trinket of his love… and the clap! Letters were burned, pictures were pissed on (yes, literally), dildos were frozen and shattered… the list goes on and on.  Best damn Valentine’s day ever.  And, no, I didn’t bring anything of my own…

I’m sure there’s more that I’m forgetting, but those are some of the more interesting snippits.

Oh… and I’ve posted new pics:
http://picasaweb.google.com/kmwoley