Scott: Hey, no pointing. It makes me nervous.
Sullivan: I wasn’t pointing. I was air-rubbing your teeth.

Ever take a grief nap? I sure have.

Carla: There’s a book I wanna read.
Éa: Me, too. But I finished it.

“As for you, you shall not seal a covenant with the inhabitants of this land—their altars you shall smash” (Judges 2:2, RA).

Sullivan said yesterday that every conversation with me feels like an argument. That’s the sort of comment that prompts change in me, I hope!

the third of three poems submitted to the bad poetry competition in celebration of Matthew’s 42nd birthday:

After a party one weekend in Wheaton

(optionally sung to the tune of “My Favorite Things”)

Come help me clean up the saag and the red dal
Green bits of mucus and loogies in highballs
Moist wet congealments of fatbergs and thongs
Bet it’ll take you forever with tongs!

When the turd falls
When the pus dries
Need a napkin bad
I simply wrap towelettes around all the mess
And then I have made a fad!

Round ground pork meatballs
And six chocolate hair wads
Leftover skin tags from yours and my dadbods
Brown chunks of something I don’t recognize
Rub it all out with the sweat of my thighs!

When the squits land
When the bowels void
Too much egg yolk through
I simply wipe hankies with ointment galore
And try not slip on poo!

But if we get soiled and covered in feces
Looking like accidents involving Reese’s
Something you pull from a festering clog
We can still use it as stuff for our vlog

When the Musk calls
And POTUS bawls
Upon seeing that
We’ll engorge our profits on all of the press
And buy ourselves tubs of fat

the second of three poems submitted to the bad poetry competition in celebration of Matthew’s 42nd birthday:

Thoughts on Toejam

Pustule grease between my toes
Oh-so-moist, and in it goes
Sucked down my gullet, slurp yum-yum-yum
How it’ll smell when it wants out my bum!

Will I need tongs or strong vacuum birth?
How to squeeze out such congealy girth?
Will it right squish? Will it ka-slop?
Or will it be hard like the stuff in wood shop?

the first of three poems submitted to the bad poetry competition in celebration of Matthew’s 42nd birthday:

Shet

I’d yet get debt to bet that
if you let sweat wet your tête at
Brett’s jet set vet fête,
I fret they’ll never let you and your pet back into the Met.
That’s a threat.

Latitude, longitude, aye, aye, aye
If your don’t change your attitude, it’s bye, bye, bye

“You almost have to give your happiness up to accomplish your goals” (Mike Tyson).

Welp, that settles it: A single game of Civilization VI on its fastest speed (other than battle turns) took me 10.5 hours. I will never play it again.

Do what you’re doing. Don’t worry about the rest.

The first chapter of Judges is all about how most of the tribes of Israel failed to drive out the Canaanites and other non-Israelite peoples from their inherited land. It’s just like yesterday and Civilization VI.

Jesus’ lordship is His salvation.

a post-hoc contribution via WhatsApp to a house church discussion I missed:

Since the prompt last Saturday (“How do we do our part in cultivating the fruit God seeks?”) was mine but I wasn’t around to help discover answers, would you permit me nine sentences in reply?

Having been thoroughly convinced of God’s lovingkindness—well, as convinced as one can be about the thoughts of a typically invisible, inaudible spirit—I find myself frequently emphasizing the value of direct effort toward the exercise of emotional and relational virtues. In other words, I tend to see God’s good fruit as habits to practice rather than virtues to receive. Just as nothing succeeds at mastering a musical instrument more than practicing the musical instrument—not reading books about music, not talking to composers—nothing will succeed at developing love, joy, peace, patience, and the rest of them more than trying to think, speak, and act in love, joy, peace, patience, and the rest at every possible juncture.

I daresay God agrees. :)

Direct effort is better and more powerful than any other spiritual discipline toward the goal of bearing good fruit. And I mean this very situational, down-to-earth, “if...

“Since all his visits were beneficial, his step or holler through a doorway got a bright welcome“ (Toni Morrison, of her character Stamp Paid in Beloved).

I’m very rarely Stamp Paid with Sullivan. I need to change.

“She was half a girl and half a flower[.]”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, of the first titular character in “Rags Martin-Jones and the Pr-nce of W-les” (1924)

Might makes blight. ✏️ 🎤 🎵

Remember: Jon Levenson says that the controlling metaphor in the Hebrew Bible for the relationship between Israel and YHWH is that of a suzerain and vassal or a king and subject and that love from the Israel side is therefore primarily expressed as glad, grateful obedience. When we say we’re going to love the Lord our God with our all hearts, minds, souls, and strengths, what we’re saying is we’re going to gladly obey Him with all of ourselves.

Just be grateful.

You said it was a long-term plan. So why start now?

— Éa

Self care is a necessary evil.

If something matters to Carla, then it matters to me.

A remarkable exchange between characters in Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning:

Ethan Hunt: I swear your life will always matter more to me than my own.
Grace: You don’t even know me.
Ethan Hunt: What difference does that make?

All are welcome! Come on in!
Said the man in the mack with the Tommy gun. ✏️ 🎤 🎵