Thoughts,Songs,Writings,Rants,Encouragements, and Life

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Big day tomorrow

Paul Alan-

Time for bed sleepyhead
You've got a big day tomorrow
Tell the stories to me some other time
Get some rest and I'll do my best
To shoulder the sorrow
No room for shadows in those little blue eyes
We're gonna be fine she'd say
We're gonna be fine

And there's never been a broken promise
And she never has let me down
There never was a doubt she'd always be around
Her heart was an ocean of sadness
But I never did see her cry
She's got to be a holy angel
Who's given up her wings so I could fly

Momma's boy pride and joy
It's a big day tomorrow
The world awaits you and we can't let them down
Dream your dreams and swim upstream
Though no one may follow
I'll cheer the loudest and always be proud

She'd leave the light on in the hall
Chase the shadows from the walls
And come running if I'd call

Pack your clothes time to go
It's a big day tomorrow
We're starting over though I can't tell you why
Hand in hand we'll make our plans
Beg or borrow we'll find a way to get by
You your sister and I she'd say
We'll find a way to get by
And she found a way to get by

Tuesday, February 27, 2007


Pray, don't find fault with the man that limps
Or stumbles along the road.
Unless you have worn the shoes he wears
Or struggled beneath his load.

There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt
Though hidden away from view.
Or the burden he bears placed on your back
Might cause you to stumble too.

Don't sneer at the man who's down today
Unless you have felt the blow
That caused his fall or felt the shame
That only the fallen know.

You may be strong but still the blows
That was his if dealt to you
In the selfsame way, at the selfsame time
Might cause you to stagger too.

Don't be too harsh with the man that sins
Or pelt him with word or stone
Unless you are sure - yea, doubly sure -
That you have no sins of your own.

For you know, perhaps,
If the tempter's voice should whisper as soft to you
As it did to him when he went astray
It might cause you to falter too.

Author Unknown


The song is called Don't Cry by Scott Riggan. I changed the name Emily to Amber though.

Goodnight Amber
There's so many things
That worry me
But whatever comes
We're gonna be alright
Goodnight Amber
Do you wonder what's
Become of me
Give it a day or two
I'm comin' back for you
And it's, it's gonna be alright

Don't cry - close your eyes and I'll be with you
Though I - I feel like I'm farther than the moon
Don't cry - I know you know how much I miss you
But I'll be home soon

Goodnight Amber
You're so many miles
Away from me
But you've always been
Forever in my heart
Tonight, I'm wondering
Is this the way
It's gotta be
If it were up to me
We'd never be, we'd never be apart

Leave the light on for me
Leave the light on

Sweetness to my ears

Been a while since I have posted some of the things I have been listening to. Here are a few:

1. Denison Witmer
2. Jason Reeves
3. Colin James Hay
4. Coblie caillat

Monday, February 26, 2007

My Girl

So if you didn't already know this, my girlfriend Amber now has a blog of her own. She has already posted three times. Two of them about her experiences in India. Go ahead and visit can see her on the right side of my blog under My Girl.

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Bridgetown ministries

A few months back my small group and I decided to go downtown with Bridgetown ministries (link under the support these sites section to the right)to feed the homeless, give them clothes, let them shave, get hair cuts, and feet washed. Since then the group has gone down a few times since. Hopefully these boys will see what it means to have compassion and show compassion towards those in need.

I put myself in Texas Jack's hat and got the humbling opportunity to wash his feet, pray for him, be ministered to by him, and hopefully minister to him as well.

Couple photos below:


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Saturday, February 24, 2007


MLK (U2)
Sleep, sleep tonight.
And may your dreams
Be realized
If the thunder cloud
Passes rain.
So let it rain, rain down him.
So let it be.

Sleep, sleep tonight
And may your dreams be realized.
If the thundercloud passes rain,
So let it rain.
Let it rain, rain on him

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Friday, February 23, 2007

The Grover Song

(Monster in the Mirror)

Saw a monster in the mirror
When I woke up today
A monster in the mirror
Though I did not run away

I did not shed a tear
Or hide beneath my bed
Though the monster looked at me
And this is what he said:

He said, "Wubba, wubba, wubba, wubba, woo, woo, woo."
Wubba wubba wubba and a doodly do.
He sang, "Wubba, wubba, wubba" so I sang it too
Do not wubba me or I will wubba you
Do not wubba me or I will wubba you

Told the monster in the mirror,
"No, I am not scared"
Then I smiled at him and thanked him
For the song that we had shared

Well, the monster thanked me, too
He smiled right back and then
The monster in the mirror
Sang his song again

He said, "Wubba, wubba, wubba, wubba, woo, woo, woo."
Wubba wubba wubba and a doodly do.
He sang, "Wubba, wubba, wubba" so I sang it too.
Do not wubba me or I will wubba you.
Do not wubba me or I will wubba you.

If your mirror has a monster in it
Do not shout
This kind of situation
Does not call for freaking out

And do nothing that you would not
Like to see him do
For that monster in the mirror
He just might be you

Singing wubba, wubba, wubba, wubba, woo, woo, woo
Wubba wubba wubba and a doodly do.
Wubba, wubba, wubba, you can join in, too
Yes, if you wubba me then I will wubba you
If you wubba me then I will wubba you.

Going wubba, wubba, wubba, is the thing to do
Every time you wubba us we'll wubba you

We wubba you

Here is a link to the song

Mr. Jones

A friend of mine from Ireland put this cool video together. It is set to Ben Folds song Mr. Jones.

Thursday, February 22, 2007


Portland made a wonderful trade today. I can not be any happier, unless we dumped Magloire as well.

Portland gave up struggling shooter Juan Dixon for former Oregon Duck star Fred Jones from the Toronto Raptors.

I believe this will be a good fit for Jones and that he can immediately contribute to this young and growing Blazer team.

You can watch a little of the dunk contest a few years back (when he was a Pacer)...Jones is in there somewhere. Oh yeah! He wins the thing!

Don't look now, but we are on a two game winning streak. And man are we fun to watch again ,or listen to in some cases.

Thanks to some great performances by Jack, Roy, and Aldridge. Portland is beginning to look exciting again. Some are using the "p" word. (playoffs) I am not so sure however that we can or can't make it yet. Give the Blazers five more games and then I will make my decision.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007


I took the first verse from Folliot S. Pierpoint's Hymn "For the beauty of the earth," and rewrote the rest of the hymn and gave it a chorus. So here it is:

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise

For the life that you gave
For the Father and His son
For His blood by which were saved
By the wonder of your love
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise

Oh the Joh you now bring
We stand in awe of our king
Oh these hearts of ours must sing
You are our all our everything

For the touch of your hand
For the light that will not fade
For the hope which you command
A path for us you have made
Lord of all to the we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise


For the whisper in our ears
For the vision that we've seen
For the breaking of our fears
Fueling a passion inside of thee
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise


Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise
Now send us out of this space
Tp spread your heart to every place

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Come Lord

Beautiful infinite God
Come and come consume our thoughts
Powerful conquering king
We lift our voices to sing

All of our hearts
All of our souls
Fully devoted to you our Lord
All of our life
All of our days
Consecrated to give you praise

Come Lord, come and invade
Be the breath in our lungs
Spark a fire in this place
Come Lord, your welcome to stay
Be the beat in our hearts
Lead the steps of our day
Come Lord, capture this space
Be the joy in our lives
And the light of our faith

And so we have come here
To lay our pride down
To life up our hands
And worship you now

Yes, we have come here
To remember our God
To commune with each other
Giving thanks for the cross

Come Lord, come and invade
Be the breath in our lungs
Spark a fire in this place
Come Lord, your welcome to stay
Be the beat in our hearts
Lead the steps of our day
Come Lord, capture this space
Be the joy in our lives
And the light of our faith

Sunday, February 18, 2007

The Beatles

"As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot."
-John Lennon

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Big thought

" we can do no great things-only small things, with great love."
-Mother Teresa

Friday, February 16, 2007

Colorizing God

So often we limit God and His wonderful attributes. And yet He is limitless. It is like taking the primary colors and telling them that they cannot mix with each other to create the billions of other colors they are capable of conjuring up.

Lord, do not let me limit you or underestimate you. Paint those billions of colors in, on, and around my life.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

a broken heart

" If this heart of mine is breaking, it is because God is teaching me what true love is and what it means to love and truly know love. He is teaching me I am empty with out His love."
-Benjamin Christensen

Friday, February 02, 2007

fiction continued

What seemed to be a wonderful idea of sleeping under the stars quickly receded as the illuminating rays of the sun began to penetrate the lids of my eyes and began to burn tiny holes into each of my precious blue iris's. I sat up slowly, back aching as if I were perhaps a retired coal miner from the Midwest region. I am twenty-three, I should not be feeling like this.

Scanning the immediate horizon, I found my companions still waging war with the conscious and unconscious sides of their imaginations. I glanced at my eight and a half foot fly rod, the pains of this worlds skin (my body) vanished into the mornings cool and very welcome mist.

Assembling the two piece rod and reel in a record amount of time, the amateur that I am, the task was complete in less than two minutes. I began dressing the a dry fly as quickly as my stubby, short, numb, and senseless fingers would permit me. Holding my rod in my left hand, with my right hand I grabbed my very expensive and much appreciated hat and converse all-stars. I stepped bare footed into the souls of the most comfortably worn in shoes in the world and half skipped, half ran to a place I had spied the day before. A place where I knew some unsuspecting salmon would find his match in an unsuspectable enemy known as a dry fly.

The location was a few steps upstream. I had to be careful however not to announce my presence to the waiting water dwellers who was coming. As a kid learning my fathers beloved sport and past time, I used to get in trouble for sloshing around in the lakes and streams we frequently explored. I was also told to not sing, hum, mumble, talk, or even think really. “You will scare the fish away, and thats no fun for the both of us.”

Even then my father was teaching my to get outside of my world and experience the world around my that I seldom visited. It wasn't that I was so selfish to only think of myself and my own well being. It was more the fact that fishing was an adventure for me. I enjoyed every minute of it. Although I usually could not sit in one specific pocket for more than ten minuscule minutes. I do not have ADD or ADHD or even my knew version of the two Selective Attention Deficit Disorder. I was a dreamer and was in another world completely. My father was just reminding me that their were other worlds as well, co-existing right beside me. I have to thank my father for ushering my into the wide world of fly fishing. For without him, I would never had been able to experience anything as wonderfully awesome as the first moment the fish strikes and you tug the line gently and make the fish furious and cause him to panic as you hook his upper lip and penetrate his fishy ego to prove that really he is not as invincible as he imagined. The truth is, in those moments, you do NOT catch the fish, he is the one catching you! From that moment on, you are captured and held hostage to the world of fly fishing. You are addicted to every movement and second that leads to the next catch of you and of the fish itself. Good thing I only catch and release, because if I did not, this catching and hooking could cause some serious damage to my soul itself and how everything seems to be right with the world when the fish is gently placed back into the mass of water and frantically swims away to warn the others of the intruder in their midst.

At this time however, I was not willing to let them know an intruder was in fact in their midst. So I crouched low, hovered a little, holding fly rod behind me as I traveled upstream to my desired location. The Duschutes is one of the colder rivers to run in the state of Oregon. My father wears waders and boots. I however choose to wear my beloved All-Stars and feel the freezing water invade every crevice upon my feet. I love the feeling of being invaded and ambushed by rushing water.

There is nothing in this world like the freedom of frolicking with and orchestrating the dance of catching a playful freshwater salmon while being in tune with the Creator of the Universe I so casually and ignorantly walk through. I am no tree hugger. I am no environmentalist geek. The earths core will do what it does. I am no Oscar nominated religion freak. Dogs will pee on trees. Fish will swim to the sea. Man will ultimately be the cause of his own death. I will catch and release, but the few that cannot be let go of, because of the story or for the body's need for nourishment. I am one who enjoys the Wonder of this world. I am a fumbling nincompoop trying to figure out the origin and reason for each beat of my heart and why it feels so lonesome when I am not enjoying this world as God created it to be enjoyed. I am captured by the hooks of this beautiful and yet so wretched world.

I have reached the section of the river that I have longed to mine fish from with my fly rod. It is a simple area; rocks on the other side of the flowing river, a soft but swift current, a few old tree stumps, and a bit of shade from the morning sun. I am in the pocket, at least I hope I have found a good pocket. Hunched low to the rivers fringe, I begin stroking my paintbrush back and forth across this specific territory of untouched liquid of joy.

The rod and I are one. The strokes are light, but precise. Ten o'clock and two o'clock respectively. This is how my wrists flick back and forth, back and forth. Careful not to snap the line or let the fly dabble the water during any of this motion. I have reached a point where I no longer tangle my fish noosing lasso in trees or when the line is eventually let loose to flow the river.

A breeze hits my neck and pricks my skin to the effect of bubble wrap in a mail order package, I am that package. Trees sway and dance, I am hearing their aged voices, almost whispering their wisdom of breezes and fly fishers past. Birds let loose their songs as only birds can do. The water breaking at my shins is cool, rushing somewhere, like a middle aged woman on a brisk walk, hands swinging from side to side. I am seeing things as one can only do when you are in the grasp of the pocket itself. Creation is singing and I am hearing the simple melody rise not just as it touches and pleases my ears, but as it is penetrating my soul.

One last flick and the fly is afloat and meandering along side the rock ledge I just cast it near. The river begins to pull. Pull at the fly. Pull at the line. Pull. Pull. Pulling...I am held captive in the rivers own time and energy. The pulling continues. My heart is in this completely. I can no longer distinguish between rod, fly, river, sky, sun, fish, moon, and most of all, ME! I awake in the trance to the next level of intricate dance moves. A subtle pull on the line lets me know someone is creeping into my world.

The tail of a beauty salmon bursts through the waters surface, spraying river drops in my direction. Does he know I even exist? Will he take the bait? A twist of his tail and he is gone. He is playing the fly. Playing me really. He really can't be interested in this fly. Perhaps I should move on? The SADD sinking in. I am ready to cut my loss, but I have spoken to soon. The tail snaps again. I bring the line in a few inches, making sure to keep it loose and help keep the illusion alive.




The rush a poker player gets the moment he knows he has won the hand with the worst bluff of his life!

Damn! Missed my chance. I have failed to set the hook again. I have yet to master this portion of the fly fishers game. Again I wait. Should I stay or should I go? Wait! Maybe just one more try. I begin to reel my line in a bit more. The hope of catching this sucker still sweet in my mind. I am almost not present in my act of fishing when the salmon attacks the fly with all he has got. The match has begun! Woo hoo! I can not contain my excitement. Darwin's game of survival has begun.

I get as low to the ground and waters edge as I can. Careful not to loosen my grip on the rod. Careful not to take my eye from the fish at the end of my line. I lend him a few feet of line. Let him have a bit of freedom. Trick him into thinking their might be a small chance of escape.

In my mind the only thought is: can I land this sucker in the next thirty seconds or the next fifteen minutes. As usual when I give myself options, another one so easily appears. As it turns out it is the forty second audible option.

Thirteen inches pulsing with life now wriggle in my hands. I am caught in this hopelessness of fishing. Alas, catch and release is my thank you for the mornings welcome and longed for worship session.

My newfound friend and I chat a for a few seconds.

“You know flint, (he is flint gray) this would be a whole lot easier for you and me, if you would stop flopping around like a two year old in the bathtub and just let me remove this fly from your lips.”

“Gurggle burp uuughghhh gurggle!”

“Okay if that is how you want to play this game!”

I give him a terse flick on the head. He begins to see it my way. He remains motionless for a while. I quickly remove the hook from his mouth and gently lower him to the waters edge, where his game of playing dead is done and his freedom is again in his sights. I will probably never see him again. I rather liked him. One of the better fighters I have had a chance to do a few rounds with.

I prepare to do the waltz another time, but when my near sighted eyes scan the horizon for the next possible fly resting place, I behold the source of terror and fear of many a fly fisher like myself on the Deschutes...