Rise

into a forgettable space
we enter our feet, our knees
some other parts
feeling rather beige, off-white
like the walls

into a utilitarian space
we bring our raw materials
lugged about throughout the week
the month
don't ask
it's unspoken

there is a layer of shimmering humanity
that hovers close to God
and soaks up his light
refracting it a billion ways
it stands for his honor
and falls for his glory
it shivers with anticipation
at every resounding word

but here we meet
far below
looking up
knowing what could be
frowning at the distance between

so in spite of ourselves
and because of ourselves
we take one step forward
we take one step upward
and rise


+

The Zero and the One

I wrote this little allegory in 2001. Enjoy!

Once, there was a Zero. And this particular Zero had a lot of things going for him; a perfectly smooth, round shape, nice clean center, and a long life ahead of him. But unlike the other Zeros he met, he was not at all happy. Certainly he was thankful for his blessings, but he knew for sure that there was something more to life than this. He wanted, more than anything else, to be worth something.

So one day he’d had enough sulking and worthlessness, and he determined to find a way to make his life worthwhile. First he tried rolling around till he was upside down. No one even noticed. He turned around backwards. Same result. Then he thought, “Perhaps if I get enough others like me together, and we work hard and arrange ourselves just right, we can be worth something together! So he sent out an invitation calling all the Zeros he knew together in one place. To his delight, several dozen came, and they stood beside each other, on top of each other, and every which way. But alas, they found that it all came to: Nothing.

Not to be deterred, our hero the Zero decided that what was needed were some tools; some outside implements to give him value. After talking around a bit, he was able to procure a plus, a minus, a multiplier, and a divider. Then he found one of his better friends who wasn’t too turned off by the last attempt, and they went to work with his new tools. They tried Zero plus Zero. Zero. They tried Zero minus Zero. Zero. They tried Zero times Zero. You guessed it. His friend remarked, “What do you even need me for? Get all these new Zeros to help you.” But our Zero pleaded with him to at least try the last tool. He agreed, so they performed Zero divided by Zero. “Undefined?” His friend exclaimed. I’m outta here!

Disappointed, but not dejected, the Zero tried some more tricks over the next few weeks. Powers, Logorithms, Matrices… he even dabbled in some Calculus, but always with the same worthless result.

Just about to throw in the towel, the Zero took a long walk. He walked past a dumpster chock full of all his previous experiments, and it only depressed him more. “Is there no way for a Zero to be worth something?” he cried to the air. He continued walking, out of his little community and into the country, where he’d never been before. He was so sullen, he stared at the ground when he walked, and scarcely looked up. Suddenly, he bumped into something. It looked like a tree, but without branches. Just then, he felt a tremendous sense of value and purpose flow into his empty soul. It was the tree! Or whatever it was. “What are you?” the Zero asked. “I am The One,” it proclaimed with a booming voice. Follow me.

Without hesitation, The One started moving to the left, and the Zero was right behind. As they came back into town, the Zero started shouting out to his friends. “Come here, everybody! I’ve found The One! Follow Him with me!” So many of his friends came behind him. And every zero that joined multiplied the total value by ten. Before long they felt more worth than any of them had ever dreamed of. Sadly, some Zeros were too skeptical of it all to come out and join them. Others tried to walk in front of The One, but added no worth to themselves or anyone else. But those who followed were glad they did.

And so, the Zero, and his friends, found that there was value and purpose to life after all.

THE END

12/16/07 - Second Anniversary of The Core Blog

Wow... two years. I can't keep a day planner, I can't keep a journal, but apparently I can keep a blog. Go me.

Although I must admit to a smidgen of procrastination on this very post. I started it two days early, and now I'm finishing it two days late. Does that count as being on time?

One year ago I summed up the first year of The Core Blog, and included links to some of my favorites: 12/16/06 - First Anniversary of The Core Blog

Now I'd like to do it again, for the second year's worth of posts. Some of this I enjoyed writing because of the humor, some because the transparency, or the creativity, or because I thought God had just showed me something really ground-breaking. I'll leave it up to you to figure out which is which.

January 11 - "OK, God, this is the part where you tell me what you want me to do."
February 9 - First United Church of Aloe & Watermelon
March 16 - No More Sissy Jesus
April 19 - The All New G-Rated Bible!
May 6 - Church of the Open Mic
June 7 - Third Place
June 21 - A Study in Contrasts
July 4 - So Here I Am
July 18 - The Inclusive Jesus
August 1 - League Leader in Total Conversions
August 14 - Death of a Salesman
August 18 - Evangelism's Code of Conduct
August 29 - Short Skirt/Long Jacket and Proverbs 31
September 27 - Perelandra and the Front Porch
October 4 - Sometimes I Wish I Were a Smoker
October 16 - I Got Soul But I'm Not a Soldier
October 18 - Area Church Makes Its Home In the Clouds
November 7 - A Fashionable Faith

Maybe it's the busyness of the holidays, but my posts since November 7 have not been as memorable. But let me throw one more thing at you, if you're the type that enjoys a good debate. Here are the posts that received 20 or more comments:

February 15 - However and Ever, Amen
February 22 - Publicity Anonymity (or, Stuck in the Middle with You)
April 11 - We Worship You... Almighty Book
June 28 - The Cross and the Bench
October 19 - Turn Your Head and Quaff

You'll notice there's no intersection between these two lists of posts. From what I understand talking to other bloggers, there never is.

Thanks to all of you for reading... even though I can't see you, and usually don't know who you are, your interest in this blog is the reason why it has far outlasted every planner or journal I've ever owned.

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.

Area Church Makes Its Home in the Clouds

DALLAS | It seems a new light has dawned on the religious landscape of America. This Sunday, First Bapticostal Church of Dallas celebrates the completion of its new campus, and the mood is, shall we say, elevated.

"You wouldn't believe the price of real estate these days," commented FBC's Executive Pastor, Jerome Bunkmaster, "Hoo boy! We must a paid a million dollars for our last piece of property, but you can't buy the space for a playground for that nowadays! I think we made the right decision."

Church leaders describe the search process for the needed 60 acres of land, conducted last year, as exhausting. With 7,000 members and climbing, the congregation needed a new home with some elbow room.

"So I looked toward the heavens," Bunkmaster said, "and pleaded with God to find us a new home. And that's when it hit me!"

As of this Sunday, First Bapticostal Church is the first church in the world to be located, literally, in the clouds. Advances in technology have opened up a world of possibilities to churches seeking relocation. Bunkmaster describes the cloud which forms the foundation of their church as a type of space-age hovercraft with a solid silver lining.

Although the inauguration is not till this Sunday, last night's Wednesday evening service served as a members-only dedication ceremony. Songs included "When We All Get to Heaven", "I've Got a Mansion in Glory" and "We'll Be Caught Up In the Air to Meet our Savior Jesus."

Members seem to like the new arrangement. Sylvia Johns joined FBC in 1944, and never looked back. "I sorta always knew we wasn't supposed to be walkin' around on the dirt like them other, um... unchurched people. Always sunny up here, too. I just can't wait for that new planned community they got slated for phase two."

Indeed, the plans call for more than just a church building. The official blueprints include a small neighborhood, a school, a post office, a clinic, a grocery store, and a Starbucks. "You gotta admit," Bunkmaster chuckled, "otherwise, the commute's a bit expensive, but no more than those pesky property taxes. And this way we'll only have to associate with our own good churchfolk. Except on Sunday mornings."

Three rope ladders will be available to visitors to climb up for Sunday morning's services, and an elevator runs for members, or visitors with a minimum $100 offering. Catapults are also provided free of charge, to accommodate the disabled.

Birthlight

We are all born once
into the pale glow
of fluorescent tubing
and flickering darkness
bathing the foreheads of
mad scientists
in lieu of OBGYNs.

Some are born a second time
into the sunlight
and everything is different.

A Domestic Foreign Culture

This morning I gave a presentation to the Women's Missionary Union of Second Baptist Church. I chose to speak about reaching out to a post-podern generation. I called the message "A Domestic Foreign Culture" because, even though post-modernism is now ever-present in our society, it is like a foreign culture to so many, who are rooted in modernism.

Towards the beginning of the presentation, my mentor Bill Baer helped me in a reading of a dramatic dialogue I wrote to introduce the post-modern mindset to those present. Bill read the part of "Mod", the Modern Evangelist. I read the part of "Post-Mod", or the stereotypical Post-Modern guy. Let me head off a few comments by pointing out that these are both stereotypes, and I know that they do not necessarily represent even a simple majority of Moderns or Post-Moderns. But I do think their conversation is informative... and hopefully interesting. So here it is:

A Failure to Communicate

Mod: Hi, I’m Tim.

Post-Mod: Hey. Lucas.

Mod: So… do you… go to church anywhere?

Post-Mod: Hm. I’m at church right now, man.

Mod: What?

Post-Mod: You know… I carry the divine spark within me… and so do you. So you and I are sitting here at the bus stop… and we’re at church.

Mod: OK, well… what do you know about Jesus?

Post-Mod: Oh, dude! I love Jesus, man! He was this killer peace-loving rebel. Hardcore, man.

Mod: So, have you ever accepted him as your Lord and Savior?

Post-Mod: Um… never said it like that.

Mod: Would you like to?

Post-Mod: OK… I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. How was that?

Mod: No, I mean… do you want to pray to accept him?

Post-Mod: I just did.

Mod: Excuse me?

Post-Mod: You know… the divine is in me, in you… in that half-empty bottle of Bud Dry on the curb. All those great mystics and gurus of the past are listening in, man! I’m talkin’ with Buddha, Mohammad, Jesus, Confucius, all those guys! So why do I have to close my eyes and use all your Thee’s and Thou’s… your churchy language?

Mod: I don’t use Thee’s and Thou’s.

Post-Mod: Well, you know what I mean… Big, Bible words, I don’t know, uh… idoltery, and… versimilitude. You know how you all talk.

Mod: Well, you can speak to God in your own words.

Post-Mod: Great! Cause I already did that.

Mod: But…

Post-Mod: Look, man… I know where this is going, ok? You don’t just want me to pray a prayer. You want me to quit drinking, quit smoking, quit cussing, quit foolin’ around. You want me to dress like you, talk like you, and go to Bible studies every week.

Mod: Well, that’s not…

Post-Mod: Hold up, man… You know what? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stomp on your spirit like that, right? You’ve obviously got something that works for you… and I think that’s great, you know? I mean… you’re workin’ that cardigan, dude. I’m happy for ya.

[Pause]

Mod: You like Jesus, right?

Post-Mod: Yeah, man.

Mod: And you believe you have God inside you, right?

Post-Mod: Definitely.

Mod: Well, do you know Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to God except through me.”?

Post-Mod: That is awesome, man.

Mod: So… don’t you want to just follow Him, and not Buddha, Confucius, et cetera?

Post-Mod: You are so CERTAIN, man! I love that. Don’t ever lose that.

Mod: Well, don’t you want to be certain, too?

Post-Mod: Nah… I’m down with uncertainty. Y’know… mystery, searching, questioning. That’s really more my bag. Wup… here’s my bus.

Mod: Oh, yeah… mine, too.

Post-Mod: Where you going?

Mod: Uh… Kearney… Street?

Post-Mod: Then why don’t you take that Camry you drove up in and stop pestering me… Before I lose my…you know, karma.

The Sorcerer's Assistants

Once upon a time there was a powerful Sorcerer who had two young assistants, named John and Martin. They were foolish boys, not at all interested in serving their master, but only in competing with one another. You see, they loved being known as the Sorcerer's assistants, and each boy wanted their village to see them as the one who is closest to the Sorcerer. They tried to grow beards like him, but produced only meager sprouts. They tried to wear his clothes when he was away, but looked ridiculous in such large sizes.

And because of their foolishness, they paid little attention when the Sorcerer often said, "Remember, my sons, that I was born a sorcerer, and you were not. Since you can never become a sorcerer, do not consider yourselves apprentices, like that stupid mouse. You are privileged to be my assistants, and nothing more."

One day, the Sorcerer announced he would be traveling for two weeks to collect the ingredients for a new potion. He said to John and Martin, "My sons, I am leaving and will not return for a fortnight. I have written a note to each of you regarding your responsibilities during this time, which are many. Do not read each others' notes, and do nothing apart from what is written in them. If you have trouble fulfilling these duties, consult the Great Manual, and you will find the answer you need. Goodbye for now!"

The Sorcerer turned around and in a moment, he was gone. The boys found their notes and read them silently.

"Oh man!" John said. "I can't do all this stuff! What does yours say?"

"Forget it!" spouted Martin. "I'm not showing you mine."

John walked to the window to see his master strolling down the path and over the hill. "Hey Martin! Have you ever wondered what's in all those spellbooks on the wall?"

"Maybe." John walked over to a tall shelf and scanned the titles. When he found an interesting one, he pulled it down and started leafing through it.

"Hey! Here's that spell that makes him invisible!" John recited a long list of nonsense, and then stood there while nothing happened.

"No, that's not it," Martin said, "You've got to pronounce the J's like Y's" Martin recited it again accordingly. Again, nothing happened.

"Well, maybe it's the inflection."

"No it's not... give me that!"

Sadly, things continued along this vein for the entire two weeks. John and Martin made a complete mess of the Sorcerer's home, and managed to turn a few lamps into ducks. And then, to their shock, the Sorcerer was standing before them.

"Is it safe to assume, my sons, that you have completed nothing on your lists?"

"No... it was too much, Master!"

"Did you consult the Assistant's Manual?" They said nothing.

"No, of course you didn't. I should punish you severely for the damage you have done, but I will not." The boys shot each other a glance of relief. The Sorcerer continued, "Instead I have merely replaced you. Say hello to Austin and Keisha." John and Martin couldn't say a word as they were ushered out, all they could think about was how young and silly Austin and Keisha looked. How could Master choose them? What was He thinking?

------------------------

We have our instructions. But how much time do we spend actually carrying them out, as opposed to splitting theological hairs with each other, or trying to reproduce a work of God on our own? After decades of neglect, many, many Christian leaders will be shocked to see God replace them with their spiritual "inferiors".

One of Us

"The darkest days of World War Two were behind us, but the road ahead was still long and treacherous.

As a United States Marine, I was assigned to a rescue operation in a recently liberated French village. Nazi officers had ruthlessly captured and tortured those villagers who stood up to their occupiers. Now they were gone, but there were rumored to be many makeshift prison cells, locked from the outside, that still contained prisoners, unaware of the liberation of their community.

Once we entered the village we began methodically searching abandoned homes and buildings, looking for the tell-tale reverse locks. We found a few, with no sign of prisoners, and one room whose captive had died. But it was on the fourth floor of a rickety hotel that we had an altogether different experience.

Before our mechanical specialist could finish picking the lock, Lietenant Marsh remarked about the rotting wood in the door and kicked the whole thing in. We entered into silence, with guns cocked, and heard muffled shouts. After a moment, our eyes began to adjust, and we saw more than a dozen men and women sitting on the floor against the wall, mouths gagged and wrists bound. Some hung their heads, others stared up at us with terror in their eyes.

‘You’re free!’ I shouted, ‘Follow us!’ No one moved. ‘Americans!’ I said, pointing at myself and the rest. Sargeant Hollock repeated the call in French. Still no response. Marsh reached down to pull one of them up by the arm and he went ballistic, flailing and slapping. Others nearby did the same to protect their comrade from the perceived threat. Marsh retreated, and we stood and looked at each other for several tense moments.

It was then that Hollock did something completely unexpected. He set down his gun, removed his helmet and all weapons and equipment. I was certainly not the only one confused, but we had learned it was easier not to question this peculiar soldier.

He moved slowly into the huddle of captives, and found an empty space against the wall. Ever so carefully he lowered himself to the ground, put is arms on his knees and hung his head. Those who had been staring at us were now transfixed by his movements, then slowly returned their own heads to a hanging position.

Ten minutes went by, although it could have been only two. He sat in the darkness, doing nothing, saying nothing. But then he turned his head to the man next to him and whispered in French, ‘Look up. We’re free.’ And he did. Then several others looked up, this time with hope and not terror. He untied the ropes on their wrists, and the rags in their mouths. Then Hollock gently raised himself to his feet and held out his hand. One by one the captives took it. Fifteen minutes later we were all walking down the stairs.

At the front door, we reminded our charges to close their eyes so as not to be blinded by their freedom. As they walked past, one of them stopped to say something to me. His voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. 'We are sorry to not come quickly. All who kicked doors and carry guns were Nazi to us. Thank you.'"

"The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to [Jesus.] Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written: 'The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.'" -Luke 4:17-19

The Parachute

It's moving day, and you're at the airport. In the last few days you've either sold or packed everything you own, and now all your cash and treasured belongings are in two carry-on bags. You board the plane, along with many others who are moving as well, bags in hand. You find your seat, stow your luggage, and settle in for a very long flight.

Eventually, after many hours of laptop time, in-flight entertainment, fussy babies and sub-par meals, you notice the gun. The man seated on your right is hunched over, loading a gun in his lap, and whispering to the man on his right. In a moment, they both look over their shoulders, nod and stand up. Suddenly there are five men rushing the cockpit, and the one with the gun is planting a bullet into the lock. "Peter! Jake!" The stewardesses call out, and two burly men sitting on the aisle lunge foward into action. The gunman throws open the door, but is caught from behind by an air marshall sitting in the front row, who immediately grasps for the gun, with no success. The copilot rushes out to join Peter and Jake in their struggle to restrain the other four. The marshall twists the gunman's arm and reaches again, until he feels a kneecap jamming into his gut. He grasps a third time, but can only watch as five bullets are decisively fired into the cockpit. And with a mixture of victory and despair on the attacker's face, the five bullets find their mark. Pilot, windshield, pilot, controls, controls. With a shouting grunt the marshall overpowers the gunman, pins him to the ground and fires a few shots of his own. He turns his gun to the other hijackers, to assure their defeat, then looks into the cockpit.

The copilot rushes back into the cockpit and notices that the pilot has been killed. He crosses himself quickly but sincerely, looks to heaven, and sits down to begin trying desperately to bring the plane out of a nosedive. The head stewardess stands in the doorway and looks frantically at the copilot until he stops, and puts his hands in his lap. "What!?" she screams. He turns around and says, "That's it. There's nothing I can do." She looks through the cracked windshield at the clouds below, which are now rushing towards them.

You observe all of this in a trance, clutching your jacket tightly to your chest. But then you notice the young man in front of you, who doesn't seem worried at all. "What's wrong with you, man? Didn't you notice we're about to die?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm not gonna die, and you don't have to, either."

"What are you talking about???"

"Parachutes. I've got about a dozen of them."

"Parachutes?"

"Sure. My eight-year old makes 'em. Earns him a little money on the side."

"Wait a second. Your eight-year old?"

"Oh yeah. Don't worry, he worked out most of the kinks from the last batch. But hey... they're cheap. Only twenty bucks."

"What a rip-off!" The lady across the aisle from you pipes up. "For only fifteen bucks, I'll sell you this inflatable mattress. Just blow it up and you're feel like you're crash-landing on a cloud!"

"Forget that!" another salesman shouts. "I'll sell you this titanium cage. That way you don't even have to jump out of the plane. Just hold on tight, and nothing can harm you! Twelve bucks!"

You immediately jump up and run down the aisle to get away from these scheisters. But you have to do something! "Maybe I should just buy the $20 parachute" you say to yourself.

"Every one of his parachutes has failed." You turn, and the man behind you is smiling. "I have two hundred working parachutes right here. Would you like to have one?"

"Yes! Of course! How much does it cost?"

"Everything."

"What?"

"You have two suitcases, containing all your money and possessions, stowed in the overhead compartment. That's how much it costs."

"But not everybody has that much. What about them?"

"I charge each passenger no more, and no less, than everything he owns. We are flying over your destination as we speak. My father is the king there, and he is ready and waiting for you to arrive so he can provide for all your needs. All of the contents of your suitcases are garbage by comparison to my father's provision. You will not miss them. Of course, the key is to get there alive." He looks out the window, at the ground below which is getting closer by the second. It's do or die... time to make up your mind.

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it. -Matthew 13:44-46

Game, Set, Match

"Ad in, second serve..." Whack! "Ace!"

"Wow... that's game, set, match, huh?"

"Guess so..." you say, still heaving. "Here... have a seat, Joe, you look tired."

"Yeah. I look tired. Are those sweat stains or Rorschach tests?"

You laugh and pull out two bottles of gatorade, then throw one right at his head. Joe catches it and guzzles it down. For three solid minutes no words are exchanged, just the sounds of breathing and gulping.

"So, uh..." Joe mutters, "I've been meaning to ask."

"Yeah..."

"You go to church, right? You and your wife?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but I know that in church they teach you to make friends with people who don't. Go to church." Joe looks at you like you're supposed to respond, but you wait, to see if his next sentence will be easier to answer. "So... I guess what I'm asking is... are you just hanging out with me to, you know... convert me?"

You know he's right about what the church teaches. And you're not ashamed of it. In fact, you've never been less ashamed of the gospel since you started making it a point to build relationships with the unchurched. It was back when you thought you were supposed to go door to door and hand out tracts and pounce on unsuspecting co-workers with cold-sell questions like, "So where do you go to church?" that you were constantly embarrased of your faith. But now that one of them is pouncing on you, the old feelings start to return.

"Joe, what are you talking about? That's ridiculous!" After all, you do enjoy playing tennis with him, although you don't have much else in common. You laugh what you hope is a genuine laugh, and hold up your racquet. "I was just looking for somebody I could actually beat." He laughs what you hope is a genuine laugh.

But the question rolls around in your brain all evening. You keep asking yourself if you were telling the truth. But despite your spiritual fitfulness, you manage to fall asleep quickly.

"Joe has made his choice. He is lost. You will not change his mind."

Morning light streams through the window and lands on your face. You open your eyes, and realize your head is pounding. But it's not a headache, it's those words. He's lost? Permanently? And you know the answer is yes. You've never heard of anyone having a dream like this before, but your heart tells you it's the real deal. God has just told you that Joe is going to hell, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Joe's question comes back to you again. Are you just his friend to get him saved? You shut your eyes hard in distress, and think about all the other non-Christians you know. Did I lie to him? But I've only got so many hours in a day...

The phone rings. It's so early.

"'Hlo?"

"Hey, God-boy!"

"Oh" you mutter, still froggy, "Hey Joe."

"Sorry, I... don't usually call people this early, but if you want to give me that rematch after work today, I'll have to pack my duds now."

"Oh right..."

And you don't know what to say.

Radical Grace

You are a sinner of the worst order. Your pride is off the charts, yet your insecurities drive you to insanity. You lie to improve your status, and steal to improve your bottom line. You murder the first person to question your value, and you sleep with anyone for money (either yours or theirs.) But really, you never sleep. You can’t. Your atrocities replay themselves like infinite, unquenchable echoes. Your eyes burn, and your lungs itch. Yet your pervasive obsession is gratification, not relief.

Many times you thought your darkness was complete. But now it is.

Until a soft breath touches your broken frame. Your nerves shift from numbness to pain, from pain to unease. The shadows escape. A heart beats next to yours and, through the fog of despair you begin to understand.

You’re being redeemed.

As the air clears, there rest two magnificent eyes, reflecting your own. But these are eyes of radical grace. Not of pity, or naivete. You can feel their unwavering gaze travel through your mind, through your heart, through your gut. Your hands are lifted, and you see two matching rings. You feel strength enough now to speak, but after two words, you are limp again.

“I surrender.”

There is a sharp awareness that you are now engaged to your redeemer. Love has pulled you out of darkness, and made you its own. Your unease melts away, and is replaced by a deep, deep peace.

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“I am with you forever.”

“Wow…. Well, can I pencil you in again for this time next week? Maybe for an hour or two in the morning? We’ll do brunch! Until then, I’ve got my lifestyle to think about.”

How quickly we forget the matchless love of Christ, and the constant life it compels us to live.

Lord, have mercy.

Choose Your Own Adventure

"Hey girly-girl, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Hm....."





"You're just gonna sit there until I spill my guts, aren't you?"

"Well, Jana! Why would I..."

"Because you love me."



"Guilty."



"Oh, Mom... I don't feel like I have any friends at school."

"What do you want friends for?"

"What? Are you serious?"

"Well, yes, the obvious reasons. But why else do you want them?"

"Gr. ok... you tell me all the time how I should try to influence the other kids at school, but I don't think anybody even listens to me, except Shayna, but she's already a good influence. What am I supposed to do?"

"You really wanna know? Or you just want your mommy to give you a big hug and a hot cocoa?"

"No... I really wanna know."

"Ok, then. I'll tell you exactly what you need..."

Turn to page 89 if you think mom should say:
What you really need is a brand-new wardrobe! Look at these outdated clothes... tsk, tsk. And your hair is soooo 2003. In fact, your father and I have been saving up for a nosejob for you, too. Also... here's a $5000 gift certificate to Best Buy. Don't be stupid with it though... Make sure you buy cd's for the absolute hippest bands, the latest I-pod, and the most powerful laptop. Then when you're done we'll work on your walk..."

Turn to page 126 if you think mom should say:
You need to get involved, you know, in clubs and activities where you can meet a lot of new people. Introduce yourself to everyone, and then remember their names. Don't be afraid to ask for help, but help other kids out twice as much. Find the good in people and tell them about it. When someone is talking to you, pretend like they're the only other person in the room, and wait till they're done to think of a response. Smile a lot, but don't force happiness on yourself or anyone. Take an interest in what people are doing, and try it yourself. Remember, when you like people for who they are, chances are they'll return the favor...

Now, dear blog reader... it's time to Choose Your Own Adventure. Pick a response, and you write the rest of the story. (Remember to read my initial blog post for reference.)