All In (Pt. 1) A little background before we dig in

All In (Pt. 1) A little background before we dig in...

by Roberto Esponja on Saturday, June 25, 2011 at 2:51am ·

Anonymous responses can be made at my blog: http://phreshwater01.blogspot.com/2011/06/all-in-pt-1.html

(It's 3.05 am, I'm tired. I didn't edit anything, I barely used spell check. You'll just have to get over that, it's probably close enough, you'll figure it out.)
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Pt. 1 The Bible: 66 of the least read and most misquoted classics...

One of the first rules of effective writing, at least to me, is not to state the obvious. That said however, I don't really know who my audience is. In fact for a good while, I didn't even know I had an audience. Mind you, not that I set out to have one. I, not unlike many others, use writing as a means of therapy (of sorts) as it helps me to see my thoughts expressed and I seem to think a little more clearly like this. I have written my thoughts for my own clarification for years now and have not shared them, recently however I have felt compelled to make those thoughts available. I'm not entirely sure quite why, as it seems to be costing me a good deal more than I thought it would on a personal level.

So, I am about to violate the a fore mentioned rule, simply to make things clear to those who may read this, but not really know me.

I am without a doubt a truth seeker, and in Jesus I believe I have found that truth. Outside of the Bible and and few mentions of him by the Jewish historian Josephus, we don't find much. So, we can't really know Jesus outside of reading the ever dreaded, archaic and boring Bible. I'm certain this is by design. (By the way, those terrible feelings subside once you take an active interest in it.)

Consequently, while I don't site my specific references, a good deal of what I write can actually be found in the Bible, and stated much more clearly, without my take on its meaning.

For your own sake I would encourage you, please, to look for yourselves at the text through the lens of your own understanding, rather than taking my thoughts and opinions (or anyone's for that matter) as factual teaching. This, as I said, was never my intent. I am just one rather messed up guy, trying to figure these things out. Again, go to the source, and ask God to reveal His truth to you. It is clearly stated within the Bible many times over that God will not refuse your request of such.

Our failure in doing so has been the key to success for many cults.

Anyway, that said, I know a good deal of the people who read this probably won't take that advice. Religion has been substituted for faith in many of our lives, and religion itself serves many crushing blows. I speak from experience, but would encourage you to press on if your quest is in deed for truth. Know that this too was problem that Jesus dealt sternly with and offered no kind words to those who would crush the faith of others under the burden of religion.

Even of  those that do take this advice, many will ask questions of God, for which the answers will prove to be difficult, or perhaps even impossible for them to accept or understand. (Jesus talks about this too.) I believe this is natural and happens whenever the finite attempts understanding of the infinite. I too have been (and still am) there, and I don't think that ever ends. To you however, I would offer this feeble attempt at encouragement; those who would not follow, can not then expect to be lead.

Of course, God will do what He sees fit, and the Bible too is filled with those for whom the answers proved to be too difficult at the time, and yet God used them as well.  I certainly could not have foreseen Him using me as he has, and to what ultimate end I may never know.

Rest assured, that you matter greatly, to both your creator and those around you. You never know who is watching or listening to you as their example and taking those things to heart. As a father, this point is shown to me in a very tangible way, but it was very much driven home to me one desperate night when I heard what I now call the five words that saved my life, "I'm glad I met you." But that's a whole other story. Suffice to say, only God knows a man's heart and the ultimate impact we have on others.

If only to that end, we owe it to ourselves and others to be the best that we can be. To my understanding, part of being the best that we can be is by seeking to know our creator, and our purpose in him through our own experiences. The best is what He desires and created for us for, however unnaturally that path may seem to take us, I do not believe we were created for the sort of mediocrity which we seem content to settle for. I have addressed this, to a degree, in many of my previous notes and so will expound not further here.

None of this is why I started writing tonight, but thought that it was good background for you to have before starting my actual intended subject.

Beer number one finished, cigar now half gone...beer number two now opened, I will continue...on to part 2

d(-_-)b

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Breathe The Breath of Life

Breathe The Breath of Life

by Roberto Esponja on Saturday, July 9, 2011 at 11:16am ·

Albert Einstein once said something along the lines of,"How could I see all this and NOT believe in God?" That's my world.

Here is the story of Blythe Day 1 (Long story short)

During labor, we lost the heartbeat in the monitor a few times, but figured that was due to it being in the wrong position, or movement, and so weren't too worried. When she was born, she was white and limp without a heartbeat, although I saw her eyes moving, she was simply, at that point, waiting for death.

(I still see it in my mind's eye in slow motion, with those piercing eyes looking directly at me, helpless...It was the worst feeling.)

That is until a nurse ran in and said,"Wait! I just read about this in a magazine!" Basically, she was born without blood as the umbilical cord had somehow suctioned it out. Life threatening to both mother and child. Until recently (at that point) children born in this state, were handed to their parents to say their final good byes.

The nurse told us there was no heart beat because the heart had nothing to pump. They pumped her full of saline and BINGO Heartbeat!

A few transfusions and some time in ICU later, and she was ready to go home.

They said they didn't know how long she had been without oxygen, or blood, so they didn't know the extent of the damage, nor would they possibly, until she was older. They told us to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

13 years later and she's doing just great, not apparently any worse than the rest of us. Probably even better!

The name Blythe, which we had picked previously, we learned means "Filled with the Spirit of God", the breath of life.

I have lead a miraculous life, it is probably the only reason I trust God, even as little as I seem to.
..So, how could I see all this and NOT believe in God?



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Pride Full...

Pride will lock the doors to all the places we need most to be.

Jesus, La Migra, and Victor Hugo

Jesus, La Migra, and Victor Hugo

Originally posted by Roberto Esponja on Tuesday, July 5, 2011 at 3:45am ·

From my blog: http://phreshwater01.blogspot.com/2011/07/jesus-and-la-migra.html


I spent most of my growing up years in Mesa, AZ. I lived about a block and a half from the Mormon Temple. Mesa's Mormon population at the time was only marginally out numbered by the Catholics, and I was neither. Religion to my world did not exist until the summer of my 9th-10th grade year.


We, my mom, step-dad, sister, and I, lived in a 2 bedroom 1 bathroom house built in 1927. We fixed up the basement and called it my room, which was fine because up to that point, I had reluctantly and miserably shared a room with my sister.


The exterior of our house was made of plaster and slat board, and the interior walls were also plaster. The walls were no thicker than the doors were and there was no insulation, heck for that matter there was no air conditioning or heating either. We had a swamp cooler and a space heater…that was it. It got really hot, and it got really cold.


The old station wagon we had was the second car I recall us ever having, and it came years after our first which we had only a short while. We didn't drive anywhere we didn't have to so, if you couldn't bus it, bike it, or walk it, you weren't going (or I wasn't at least). Bus lines at that point were nonexistent in Mesa, as far as I could tell, so I got around on a homemade bike (Red with black handlebars, I thought I was pretty cool), and by skateboard.


My normal attire consisted of out dated thrift store clothing, which was fine by me, as it never occurred to me that other options were available. Even if they were for others, they certainly weren't for me.


I later learned that I was referred to by some as "the poorest kid in Mesa". Growing up I felt a lot of things, but poor was not among them. I had no concept of poor or rich, I just thought other people lived other ways and comparison in that regard wasn't something that I did until later in life.


Growing up "poor" in Mesa, I wasn't really all that selective about my friends. In Junior High School, I became aware that I certainly wasn't one of the popular kids, but I wasn't overly concerned with making efforts in becoming so. I don't know why, I just didn't want what they had.


As a result of my “social indiscretion”, I was friends with, among many others (for example the small percentage of Black kids residing in Mesa) the kids of illegal immigrants. I didn't know that's what they were, they were just my friends. They lived differently than I did, but heck, everybody else did too.


As friends of that age do, we studied together, I ate dinners at their houses, slept over, all the normal stuff. It never crossed my mind to wonder why I had to have my friends translate anytime I spoke to their parents or even why they didn't speak English, as many other people did. It simply was just that way to me and it wasn't something I ever thought to question at the time.


Of all these friends, I am saddened to say I remember the name of only one, Victor Hugo. Man, I thought he was cool. I don't recall why now, and probably couldn't have told you why then, I just did, and I'm still a lot like that.


His mom could cook! She was the nicest lady, and although Victor talked about his dad, even when he was supposedly home, I never saw him.


 

WAIT! Are those...can it possibly be...PEOPLE?! I recall the first time I ever heard the words, "LA MIGRA!".


I was at Victor's house, when a man ran through the court yelling it. We were outside and I saw people scrambling and running. Victor ran inside and I followed, he said to his mom, among other things I didn't understand, those same words, "la migra". I didn't know what was said to his mom, I didn't know what was happening, but I saw his mom leave immediately, panicked. I saw fear in her eyes as she kissed him goodbye.


Victor and I then went about doing, well whatever it was I don't know, and I mustered up the courage to ask him what had just happened. I had noticed the place, every place, was like a ghost town in a matter of minutes and I was thoroughly confused.


He then explained to me...la migra. That he didn't need to hide, although his family did, because he was born a citizen. It is only now as a parent, that I can imagine the depth of the fears that must have been going on inside his mother as she said goodbye, and took what very well might have been her last look at her child.


In the end, that time at least, it worked out. I went home but saw Victor at school and he told me his mom had returned, although not everyone was nearly so lucky.


It was from that day I understood why certain friends were in school one day and mysteriously gone the next. I didn't pick up on a lot of things as a kid, and it never occurred to me to think about the larger impact these regular occurrences must have had on Victor as well. Like most kids I only sought to understand those things that seemed to impact me.


Eventually Victor disappeared too. I don't know what happened to him, I only know that one day my good friend was just gone.


Clearly, I still think about him once in a while.


That's tough stuff as a kid and it left a huge impression on me. Until tonight, I had really only thought of it as one more of many episodes in my life. That is until the issue of illegal immigration came up as a rather odd response to a facebook post I made. I'll spare you the details, but I began to see this experience in a "spiritual light" if you will. I began to wonder how Christians (most specifically me) could reconcile this with their faith and concluded this:


I am afraid that a good many of us have not left that childish mentality, I described above,  in only being concerned with those this things that seem to impact us. As Americans, we are used to a certain lifestyle, a lifestyle that only cheap disposable laborers can afford us. I won't even mention our roll in human trafficking, and the sex industry that actually sustains these many of these cultures.


A good deal of that we put out of our view, so we can live guilt free by not having to directly face the very real consequences our affluence imposes on others. Occasionally though, some of that cheap labor has to be done here on our own soil. We protest the folks that come here to do it, but we turn a blind eye every time we purchase products that are affordable to us only because we are able to pay these "unskilled" laborers non-livable wages, and then ship them back to the country they fled, when we deem it necessary to do so.


However...As long as we separate "us" from "them", it is easy to see "them" as mere political agendas, a liability to our assets. "They" are nameless faceless draws upon "our" limited resources taking from "us" what "we" feel entitled to.


Getting to know "them", living with "them", gives the liability a face, a name,  and a story, and "they" cease to be political agendas, "they" then become to "us" what "they" always were, people of inherent God given worth and "they" then, become one of "us".


There’s a certain book that has a good deal to say about our atrocities...(emphasis mine)
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"There was a rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate was laid a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man’s table. Moreover, even the dogs came and licked his sores. The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s side.The rich man also died and was buried, and in Hades, being in torment, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. And he called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.' But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner bad things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, in order that those who would pass from here to you may not be able, and none may cross from there to us.' And he said, 'Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—so that he may warn them, lest they also come into this place of torment.' But Abraham said, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.' And he said, 'No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.'"
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You shall not oppress a hired servant who is poor and needy, whether he is one of your brothers or one of the sojourners who are in your land within your towns. You shall give him his wages on the same day, before the sun sets (for he is poor and counts on it), lest he cry against you to the LORD, and you be guilty of sin.
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Again I saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun. And behold, the tears of the oppressed, and they had no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power, and there was no one to comfort them.
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“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.
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Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty.
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 And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, "Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" He said to him, "What is written in the Law? How do you read it?" And he answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself" And he said to him, "You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live."
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 But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.' Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." And Jesus said to him, "You go, and do likewise."

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Mercy...


d(-_-)b