Woo WOO

I've written two semi-lengthy posts already in this space. I deleted both of them because they were stupid. I probably have something interesting to write about, but it isn't coming to me now. I give up.

I want to want to write, but lately I just don't.

Fudge.

Indian Giver of me

Sometime in prayer, fessing up to your sins with God can be difficult. Not the sugar coated confession, but the call-it-out-for-what-it-is confession, where spades are spades and the gritty dirty details are painstakingly pried out. Granted, He already knows the details but I think we need to give it up ourselves.

Have you ever been honest enough with God to not only admit you have sinned, but tell Him you plan on doing it again? I have. I don't know if it was a plea for help or what, but I do know that if you want to grow closer to God, you have to give Him everything. I have to assume that everything includes even telling Him I plan on defying Him because I suck and that I hate even having that notion stir in my heart. If there was ever a time when I felt the lightning was going to strike me down, it was then.

If I want to grow in a relationship with God, I can't keep any of me to myself. This isn't exactly the problem. I offer myself to God asking to take all of me and mold me and use me. After about a minute (sometimes as much as an hour!) I snatch myself back so I can go sin some more.

I am an Indian Giver of me.

There is no good thing in me apart from God. Not a single thing.

It is an understatement to say God's grace astounds me. No lightning, just love and forgiveness. And I just don't understand it.

My Next Band (name)

One of my favorite games is to come up with awesome band names for my "next band." Here are a few:

1. Yassir Arafat's New Haircut Club
2. Octal Butt Movers
3. I fractured My Spleen By Loving You
4. Monkeys Make Good Meatloaf
5. Why?
6. Swivel Chairs Make Me Dizzy
7. Which Arm is My Left Arm?
8. Oh, That Arm.
9. My Shoes Are Made of Apple Juice
10. 4
11. 5
12. Enough Fish For Everyone
13. Beards & Wasabi
14. Cups For Hands
15. I can Hear My Toenails

For every one of these I've probably forgot 5,000. If you have any good ideas for band names, post 'em.

Coworkers with kids vs. those without

Conversations about your kids or kids in general at work are like deep, dark secrets: you really need to be careful who you share them with. Trying to tell a story about your kid(s), no matter how awesome the story is, with a coworker who doesn't have kids is like explaining the Internet to a 103-year-old. They don't get it and they don't care. I don't think there's a worse punishment for a coworker without kids than suffering through a kid story.

However, for the coworkers who have kids, especially if their close to the same age, kid stories are awesome. When you think you're going through something unique that no parent has ever seen, and the other parent can totally relate, it is very refreshing. I like talking about my kids to other parents, and I like hearing their horror/hilarious stories as well.

That's all.