On Nicknames

[This blog post was somewhat inspired by a YouTube video I did as part of a series called PIKnIC. Click here to see that video.]

Nickames are an interesting thing. Sociologists say that we assign them to the people we care about most, whether that be a strong sense of like or dislike. I don’t know whether or not this is always true, but it’s certainly something worth thinking about. I mean, really, what’s in a name? We often speak of names as expressing someone’s character, but in our day and age people are frequently assigned names based on the way they sound, resulting in this not being true. More likely, a name simply is a way to get someone’s attention, and a nickname makes that process a little bit more fun.

There is a biblical precedent to nicknames, or in some cases total renaming. There are many examples, though we are not going to take the time to look at all of them right now. One great example is Jacob wrestling with God all night before God changes his name to Israel, literally meaning, “He strives with God.”(1) From him come the Israelites and, more loosely speaking, the modern nation Israel.

My personal favorite example is when Jesus changes Peter’s name from Simon to Peter(2)(3), then tells him that upon himself as the rock he will build the church(4). Of all of the examples, this could probably most be said to be a nicknames as he is frequently referred to by both names throughout the remainder of his life. Further, Peter was impulsive and headstrong, but later freaked out when confronted by a young girl – calling him Rock was akin to the biggest guy around being called Tiny.

The third and final example I want to very quickly look at it is found in the book or Revelation. #scary (#not really)(5) In addressing the seven churches scattered throughout Asia Minor (a much bigger discussion than this blog post allows, though something I would love to discuss with you) Jesus promises to give the one who endures a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”(6) This shows once again the use of names that I mentioned in the first paragraph, dictating character, showing our new nature at glorification(7).

Throughout my life I’ve had a lot of nicknames, whether things I liked to be called or things people called me to give me a hard time. Let’s just hit a highlight list here: Pete; Jerm; Jhirmack; Funky Joe; beaNie; Moscow; Jem. I want to talk briefly about the one I used the longest: beaNie. It was juvenile, but it lasted for about 10 years. Back 1997-ish I went to Charlotte, NC on a mission trip with my youth group. We went with another youth group, in which there was a girl named Jill. She loved Mr. Bean. She decided I looked like Mr. Bean, which I did much more back then. She began calling me that. And it stuck. And now you know the proverbial “rest of the story.”

I don’t think I know a more interesting nickname than my Aunt Pete. She and Uncle Butch (actual name John) of course have two children, Hank (again, actual name John) and Sis (actual name unknown). Welcome to central Pennsylvania. Pete’s actual name is Melinda. Her father wanted sons but instead had three daughters. He gave them all as nicknames the names he had chosen for his sons. Interestingly her sisters share nicknames with her husband and son, Hank and Butch.

In reality, what we call each other is of little significance. I will never understand Ray J. Johnson Jr. or Carley Ray Jepsen’s choice of “Maybe” as what she would like to be called, but in the end that doesn’t determine who we are.



(1) Genesis 32:22-32; 35:1-15
(2) Sometimes the name “Cephas” is used instead. This is a language difference between Greek and Aramaic, much like Jose and Joseph.
(3) Petros/Cephas is Greek/Aramaic for “Rock.” Either way, the exact word used here refers more to a small rock or even a pebble. The word used later refers to a large rock, such as bedrock. As such, Jesus is not referring to Peter as the rock upon which the church will be built, but instead himself. This argument for the papacy simply does not hold water.
(4) Matthew 16:17-18; John 1:41-42
(5) Did I really just hash tag my blog? I’m sorry about that.
(6) Revelation 2:17
(7) This is once again a topic for too broad for this post, but a summary can be found here</>.

[This blog post was somewhat inspired by a YouTube video I did as part of a series called PIKnIC. Click here to see that video.]

Nickames are an interesting thing. Sociologists say that we assign them to the people we care about most, whether that be a strong sense of like or dislike. I don’t know whether or not this is always true, but it’s certainly something worth thinking about. I mean, really, what’s in a name? We often speak of names as expressing someone’s character, but in our day and age people are frequently assigned names based on the way they sound, resulting in this not being true. More likely, a name simply is a way to get someone’s attention, and a nickname makes that process a little bit more fun.

There is a biblical precedent to nicknames, or in some cases total renaming. There are many examples, though we are not going to take the time to look at all of them right now. One great example is Jacob wrestling with God all night before God changes his name to Israel, literally meaning, “He strives with God.”(1) From him come the Israelites and, more loosely speaking, the modern nation Israel.

My personal favorite example is when Jesus changes Peter’s name from Simon to Peter(2)(3), then tells him that upon himself as the rock he will build the church(4). Of all of the examples, this could probably most be said to be a nicknames as he is frequently referred to by both names throughout the remainder of his life. Further, Peter was impulsive and headstrong, but later freaked out when confronted by a young girl – calling him Rock was akin to the biggest guy around being called Tiny.

The third and final example I want to very quickly look at it is found in the book or Revelation. #scary (#not really)(5) In addressing the seven churches scattered throughout Asia Minor (a much bigger discussion than this blog post allows, though something I would love to discuss with you) Jesus promises to give the one who endures a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”(6) This shows once again the use of names that I mentioned in the first paragraph, dictating character, showing our new nature at glorification(7).

Throughout my life I’ve had a lot of nicknames, whether things I liked to be called or things people called me to give me a hard time. Let’s just hit a highlight list here: Pete; Jerm; Jhirmack; Funky Joe; beaNie; Moscow; Jem. I want to talk briefly about the one I used the longest: beaNie. It was juvenile, but it lasted for about 10 years. Back 1997-ish I went to Charlotte, NC on a mission trip with my youth group. We went with another youth group, in which there was a girl named Jill. She loved Mr. Bean. She decided I looked like Mr. Bean, which I did much more back then. She began calling me that. And it stuck. And now you know the proverbial “rest of the story.”

I don’t think I know a more interesting nickname than my Aunt Pete. She and Uncle Butch (actual name John) of course have two children, Hank (again, actual name John) and Sis (actual name unknown). Welcome to central Pennsylvania. Pete’s actual name is Melinda. Her father wanted sons but instead had three daughters. He gave them all as nicknames the names he had chosen for his sons. Interestingly her sisters share nicknames with her husband and son, Hank and Butch.

In reality, what we call each other is of little significance. I will never understand Ray J. Johnson Jr. or Carley Ray Jepsen’s choice of “Maybe” as what she would like to be called, but in the end that doesn’t determine who we are.



(1) Genesis 32:22-32; 35:1-15
(2) Sometimes the name “Cephas” is used instead. This is a language difference between Greek and Aramaic, much like Jose and Joseph.
(3) Petros/Cephas is Greek/Aramaic for “Rock.” Either way, the exact word used here refers more to a small rock or even a pebble. The word used later refers to a large rock, such as bedrock. As such, Jesus is not referring to Peter as the rock upon which the church will be built, but instead himself. This argument for the papacy simply does not hold water.
(4) Matthew 16:17-18; John 1:41-42
(5) Did I really just hash tag my blog? I’m sorry about that.
(6) Revelation 2:17
(7) This is once again a topic for too broad for this post, but a summary can be found here</>.

On Nicknames

First Date

[I know I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry, but I will not make excuses. I've been posting primarily on my YouTube channel. My intent has never been to neglect this. Please bear with me as I strive for balance.

The forthcoming post is a part of the February in March series that I started at the beginning of last month and am still working to complete. This is based on the concept "Words." Further, it is based on a poem originally posted here in August of 2010, one of my earliest posts.]

Those of you who have known me for a while know that I wrote a lot of poetry several years ago. That being said, I scarcely write so much as a stanza anymore. It simply doesn't happen. Occasionally though something will move me in that manner. The verses flow in unison with the blood in my veins. My heart races as I see the words materializing on the paper. It's a beautiful thing.

I've never been a fan of form. Emphasis has always been difficult for me, leaving meter as the bane of my existence. The only real exceptions to my hatred for form are the Sestina and Haiku (which is arguably not a real form in the English language). Occasionally, in order to push myself out of a box, I have to make an exception to this rule.

There is an ancient French form called a Paradelle. It includes a very complex pattern of line re-use, followed by a large amount of word re-use. The first poem ever written in this form was Billy Collin's Paradelle for Susan in his 1998 book Picnic Lightning. Yes, you read that right - this ancient form has been around for a whopping fifteen years. In actuality Collins coined the style in order to critique heavily formulaic poetry.

About three years ago I decided to write a poem inspired by the form. It was two stanzas long, with each stanza using an identical list of words. The goal, which I never accomplished, was to reach 54 words. This one is 15. I got up to about 25 before I stopped. This particular one, entitled first date, is definitely my favorite. I hope you enjoy.

You and I.
The date.
The chairs and the table.
Under the surface? A mystery…

Table and chairs date under a surface mystery.
The you. The I.
And the the.

While I'm sure some of you do not like the second stanza, I feel it is an accurate definition of the awkwardness that surrounds a first date.

[I know I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry, but I will not make excuses. I've been posting primarily on my YouTube channel. My intent has never been to neglect this. Please bear with me as I strive for balance.

The forthcoming post is a part of the February in March series that I started at the beginning of last month and am still working to complete. This is based on the concept "Words." Further, it is based on a poem originally posted here in August of 2010, one of my earliest posts.]

Those of you who have known me for a while know that I wrote a lot of poetry several years ago. That being said, I scarcely write so much as a stanza anymore. It simply doesn't happen. Occasionally though something will move me in that manner. The verses flow in unison with the blood in my veins. My heart races as I see the words materializing on the paper. It's a beautiful thing.

I've never been a fan of form. Emphasis has always been difficult for me, leaving meter as the bane of my existence. The only real exceptions to my hatred for form are the Sestina and Haiku (which is arguably not a real form in the English language). Occasionally, in order to push myself out of a box, I have to make an exception to this rule.

There is an ancient French form called a Paradelle. It includes a very complex pattern of line re-use, followed by a large amount of word re-use. The first poem ever written in this form was Billy Collin's Paradelle for Susan in his 1998 book Picnic Lightning. Yes, you read that right - this ancient form has been around for a whopping fifteen years. In actuality Collins coined the style in order to critique heavily formulaic poetry.

About three years ago I decided to write a poem inspired by the form. It was two stanzas long, with each stanza using an identical list of words. The goal, which I never accomplished, was to reach 54 words. This one is 15. I got up to about 25 before I stopped. This particular one, entitled first date, is definitely my favorite. I hope you enjoy.

You and I.
The date.
The chairs and the table.
Under the surface? A mystery…

Table and chairs date under a surface mystery.
The you. The I.
And the the.

While I'm sure some of you do not like the second stanza, I feel it is an accurate definition of the awkwardness that surrounds a first date.

First Date

On Saints: Valentine, Patrick, and More!

::A very similar post to this was written and never published on February 17. I have repurposed the post, almost unchanged, for St. Patrick's Day.::

St. Valentine's Day is obviously over. As such, this post is over one month late...or just under eleven months early. My friend Brett posted the drawing to the right on Facebook on February 15, which is some of the inspiration behind this post.

Unfortunately, Brett is not big on self-promotion and the like, particularly with regards to his drawings. As such, he does not have a website to which I can send you to check out his other stuff, which is pretty great. When we were in high school his notebooks would become comic books, and he still posts to Facebook some wonderful (but much shorter) comics. This is of course a self-portrait, one of my favorite series that he has undertaken(1). That being said, let's get down to the matter at hand.

As you probably know, I'm Protestant, not Catholic. We do not venerate anyone as all who are in Christ are saints. Even so, I find the tales of the classic saints interesting, especially those with holidays bearing their name, as they are cultural institutions about whom I know nothing. How did they get holidays? How can I get a holiday(2)? And what do cards, hearts, and candy have to do with Valentine?

Honestly, no one really seems to know a lot about him. Nearly all of the history surrounding Valentine comes to us from later hagiographies. Fortunately, there are a few constants.

Valentine is by all accounts promoting Christian marriage in some way, generally by performing them. Christianity was illegal, and consequently helping Christians in any way was illegal. Some say that he restored the sight of the blind daughter of Judge Asterius while imprisoned, resulting in Asterius being baptized and Valentine being released, only to be re-arrested by Emperor Claudius for performing the sacrament and later beheaded.

Outside of this we have little but rumors, conjecture, and variance. Such is unfortunately the case with many of the saints. While I love a great story, true or false, the inconsistency irks me. In that his story is rather filled-in and consistent, St. Nicholas is a bit of an anomaly.

Another drawing by Brett? Don't mind if I do!

I wanted to do a series on the saints through and possibly even beyond St. Patrick's Day (aka tomorrow, or maybe today depending on what time it is right now). I really did. Was Patrick really a total lush? No, Alfred Guinness had not even invented his elixir yet, and Patrick was not a heavy consumer of uisce beatha(3). But what else do we know? What do we know about anyone historically?

History is an interesting study. The "good guys" always win because the story is told from their perspective. We make up the rest. We as a society come to pathologically believe it. I'm sure each of the saints had a lot of good qualities, but they were not perfect. They were merely humans. Most of what they did has been forgotten, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.


(1)Series is not the correct word. Really, it is just a collection of drawings that happen to follow a theme. Either way, I very much enjoy seeing Brett's drawings of himself in various circumstances and guises.
(2)Just kidding - I hate holidays.
(3)This Gaelic phrase, from which we derive our word whiskey, literally means "water of life," which is also what distilled spirits were called in Latin (aqua vitae).

::A very similar post to this was written and never published on February 17. I have repurposed the post, almost unchanged, for St. Patrick's Day.::

St. Valentine's Day is obviously over. As such, this post is over one month late...or just under eleven months early. My friend Brett posted the drawing to the right on Facebook on February 15, which is some of the inspiration behind this post.

Unfortunately, Brett is not big on self-promotion and the like, particularly with regards to his drawings. As such, he does not have a website to which I can send you to check out his other stuff, which is pretty great. When we were in high school his notebooks would become comic books, and he still posts to Facebook some wonderful (but much shorter) comics. This is of course a self-portrait, one of my favorite series that he has undertaken(1). That being said, let's get down to the matter at hand.

As you probably know, I'm Protestant, not Catholic. We do not venerate anyone as all who are in Christ are saints. Even so, I find the tales of the classic saints interesting, especially those with holidays bearing their name, as they are cultural institutions about whom I know nothing. How did they get holidays? How can I get a holiday(2)? And what do cards, hearts, and candy have to do with Valentine?

Honestly, no one really seems to know a lot about him. Nearly all of the history surrounding Valentine comes to us from later hagiographies. Fortunately, there are a few constants.

Valentine is by all accounts promoting Christian marriage in some way, generally by performing them. Christianity was illegal, and consequently helping Christians in any way was illegal. Some say that he restored the sight of the blind daughter of Judge Asterius while imprisoned, resulting in Asterius being baptized and Valentine being released, only to be re-arrested by Emperor Claudius for performing the sacrament and later beheaded.

Outside of this we have little but rumors, conjecture, and variance. Such is unfortunately the case with many of the saints. While I love a great story, true or false, the inconsistency irks me. In that his story is rather filled-in and consistent, St. Nicholas is a bit of an anomaly.

Another drawing by Brett? Don't mind if I do!

I wanted to do a series on the saints through and possibly even beyond St. Patrick's Day (aka tomorrow, or maybe today depending on what time it is right now). I really did. Was Patrick really a total lush? No, Alfred Guinness had not even invented his elixir yet, and Patrick was not a heavy consumer of uisce beatha(3). But what else do we know? What do we know about anyone historically?

History is an interesting study. The "good guys" always win because the story is told from their perspective. We make up the rest. We as a society come to pathologically believe it. I'm sure each of the saints had a lot of good qualities, but they were not perfect. They were merely humans. Most of what they did has been forgotten, and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.


(1)Series is not the correct word. Really, it is just a collection of drawings that happen to follow a theme. Either way, I very much enjoy seeing Brett's drawings of himself in various circumstances and guises.
(2)Just kidding - I hate holidays.
(3)This Gaelic phrase, from which we derive our word whiskey, literally means "water of life," which is also what distilled spirits were called in Latin (aqua vitae).

On Saints: Valentine, Patrick, and More!

My Favorite Photo of Myself (February in March)

::I can't believe I've let it go this long. Apologies. Anyway, yesterday I started a project called February in March. I took a photo of the day thing for February and am now making something (whether it be video, blog, or other) about each day. Today is my first blog post in the project. Expect a post explaining a bit more soon.::

Somewhere out there, probably in my grandpa's house, is a photo of me that is pretty well-known in my family. It is a photo of several firsts for me. It's the first time I met my sister Amanda. It's the first time I held a baby. It's my first memory.

Obviously this is not the photo in
question. It is, however, a photo of
Amanda, grandma, and me.

Those of you who know Amanda know that she is almost 3 years younger than I am. When this photo was taken she was at most a few days (though more likely a few hours) old(1). I was of course not actually holding her - no one lets a two-year-old hold a newborn. My grandma was holding us both. I had no idea of this at the time.

Since I couldn't go to the hospital for the delivery, I stayed with my grandparents when Amanda was being born, as I did for the birth of my two other sisters as well. I waited very impatiently for my new friend. I was quite disappointed when I discovered that babies do little outside of sleep, eat, cry, and poop. She had no interest in Legos except putting them in her mouth, and Transformers were even less fun to her. When I eventually found this out I was ready to send her back, but I didn't know any of this just yet.

Sitting in my grandma's lap someone handed me the baby. Excitement and pride beamed from my face as someone snapped a photo. This was it, the moment I became a responsible older brother: I'm helping by holding the baby!

Here we are 28 years later. Amanda and I have not always been as close as we thankfully are now. But that one moment when we first met sitting on our grandma's lap is to this day my favorite photo of myself.

(1) I always tell people that I've been holding babies since I was a baby myself, and it's true.

::I can't believe I've let it go this long. Apologies. Anyway, yesterday I started a project called February in March. I took a photo of the day thing for February and am now making something (whether it be video, blog, or other) about each day. Today is my first blog post in the project. Expect a post explaining a bit more soon.::

Somewhere out there, probably in my grandpa's house, is a photo of me that is pretty well-known in my family. It is a photo of several firsts for me. It's the first time I met my sister Amanda. It's the first time I held a baby. It's my first memory.

Obviously this is not the photo in
question. It is, however, a photo of
Amanda, grandma, and me.

Those of you who know Amanda know that she is almost 3 years younger than I am. When this photo was taken she was at most a few days (though more likely a few hours) old(1). I was of course not actually holding her - no one lets a two-year-old hold a newborn. My grandma was holding us both. I had no idea of this at the time.

Since I couldn't go to the hospital for the delivery, I stayed with my grandparents when Amanda was being born, as I did for the birth of my two other sisters as well. I waited very impatiently for my new friend. I was quite disappointed when I discovered that babies do little outside of sleep, eat, cry, and poop. She had no interest in Legos except putting them in her mouth, and Transformers were even less fun to her. When I eventually found this out I was ready to send her back, but I didn't know any of this just yet.

Sitting in my grandma's lap someone handed me the baby. Excitement and pride beamed from my face as someone snapped a photo. This was it, the moment I became a responsible older brother: I'm helping by holding the baby!

Here we are 28 years later. Amanda and I have not always been as close as we thankfully are now. But that one moment when we first met sitting on our grandma's lap is to this day my favorite photo of myself.

(1) I always tell people that I've been holding babies since I was a baby myself, and it's true.

My Favorite Photo of Myself (February in March)

"On Vegetarianism...and Not," or "Praise the Lord and Pass the Meat"

I distinctly remember October 2005. I was living in Maryland, and for the first time in my life I was responsible for purchasing and preparing my own food. This newly found responsibility brought with it the new freedom and responsibility to make decisions about what I should eat, specifically with regard to meat.

I'd long been curious about vegetarianism and veganism but had never taken any steps toward it. I found the animal rights books at my local library, one of which stood head and shoulders above the others based on the reviews: Animal Liberation by Peter Singer(1). In that book Singer laid out a laundry list of atrocities regarding the factory farming and meat processing industries.

As I read Singer, I also spent a great deal of time in the early chapters of the book of Genesis in the bible. Genesis, as the book of beginnings, begins with creation and God charging Adam and Eve with responsibility to care for the creation, a responsibility that carries to us today. As I considered and researched Singer's points in light of the framework of Genesis, I starkly saw this as a stewardship issue. Then Singer made the point that connected the dots for me: every purchase is a vote for the system. Buying (and consequently consuming) animal products is what keeps the system going.

Case closed: time to become a vegetarian and work toward being a vegan. I bought no more meat; I began purchasing non-leather shoes and belts; I drank soy milk, which I later found out is by no means the best alternative; I bought soap not made with animal fat (which is actually quite disgusting); I was amazed at the way dead animals creeped into so much of what I bought. At this point in my life though, it was an easy change to make.

Over the years I learned a lot about things like complete and incomplete proteins, the dark side of soy, and several other things that made me much healthier. With each passing day I learned, and vegetarianism became easier.

About six months ago I began praying for God to loosen my conscience on this issue. It was tough for those with whom I was sharing meals as they felt the need to make everything meat free, despite my insistence that they didn't need to do so. On rare occasions I felt like I was missing out, such as when I couldn't eat the Dublin burger(2) at the Barley House in Concord, NH. I had it with a black bean patty, but the whiskey gravy is made with beef broth. I was able to substitute Guinness cheese sauce, which was delicious, but it wasn't the real thing. Five months I prayed and received an answer of "not now."

One of several meat grilling stock
photos from my Facebook page.
Be sure to like me on Facebook.

Then, suddenly one day, yes...what? Umm...ok, cool.


So, first things first: to Li'l Woody's for Macklemore's (no longer existent) Heist burger! But wait - then I have to explain to people why I'm eating meat, and that's going to get old really quickly. And besides, I'm the vegetarian guy. Everyone loves seeing the vegetarian grilling their absolutely delicious hamburger. You know what? I'm going to keep not eating meat.

Then a week ago at church we started a new series called "Who Do You Think You Are?" based on my pastor's new book by the same name. It deals with identity, whether we find it in Christ or something else. I've been searching my heart, looking for areas of my life in which I find my identity in things other than Christ. We were created in the image of God. Our dignity, value, and worth come from that, whether we believe it or not. Anything else we look to for those things will fall short. When we let those things tell us who we are, we are believing the lie. Only Christ is our true and best identity.

This is right before I found out you have to
cook it. And take it out of the plastic.

This is exactly the role vegetarianism was filling for me. I was afraid to eat meat because I was "the vegetarian guy." I had placed my identity in vegetarianism instead of Jesus. Repentance looks like worshipping God for this realization as well as the change in my conscience. That, and eating meat in accordance with what he changed in my heart.

I've had some chicken. I need to slowly re-introduce meat into my diet for the sake of my body, which is not used to digesting it. I also need to learn to cook meat: I'm a great vegetarian cook, but my attempt to cook chicken was very dry. I will learn by doing it. It will take time. But for the moment, I'm hungry and my identity is in Christ...who wants to buy me a burger?



(1) I would now call Singer my favorite philosopher, despite the fact that I completely disagree with him on many issues. Animal Liberation was the first of many of his books that I have read.
(2) From the menu: peppercorn charred, whiskey gravy, creamy blue cheese, crispy onions.

I distinctly remember October 2005. I was living in Maryland, and for the first time in my life I was responsible for purchasing and preparing my own food. This newly found responsibility brought with it the new freedom and responsibility to make decisions about what I should eat, specifically with regard to meat.

I'd long been curious about vegetarianism and veganism but had never taken any steps toward it. I found the animal rights books at my local library, one of which stood head and shoulders above the others based on the reviews: Animal Liberation by Peter Singer(1). In that book Singer laid out a laundry list of atrocities regarding the factory farming and meat processing industries.

As I read Singer, I also spent a great deal of time in the early chapters of the book of Genesis in the bible. Genesis, as the book of beginnings, begins with creation and God charging Adam and Eve with responsibility to care for the creation, a responsibility that carries to us today. As I considered and researched Singer's points in light of the framework of Genesis, I starkly saw this as a stewardship issue. Then Singer made the point that connected the dots for me: every purchase is a vote for the system. Buying (and consequently consuming) animal products is what keeps the system going.

Case closed: time to become a vegetarian and work toward being a vegan. I bought no more meat; I began purchasing non-leather shoes and belts; I drank soy milk, which I later found out is by no means the best alternative; I bought soap not made with animal fat (which is actually quite disgusting); I was amazed at the way dead animals creeped into so much of what I bought. At this point in my life though, it was an easy change to make.

Over the years I learned a lot about things like complete and incomplete proteins, the dark side of soy, and several other things that made me much healthier. With each passing day I learned, and vegetarianism became easier.

About six months ago I began praying for God to loosen my conscience on this issue. It was tough for those with whom I was sharing meals as they felt the need to make everything meat free, despite my insistence that they didn't need to do so. On rare occasions I felt like I was missing out, such as when I couldn't eat the Dublin burger(2) at the Barley House in Concord, NH. I had it with a black bean patty, but the whiskey gravy is made with beef broth. I was able to substitute Guinness cheese sauce, which was delicious, but it wasn't the real thing. Five months I prayed and received an answer of "not now."

One of several meat grilling stock
photos from my Facebook page.
Be sure to like me on Facebook.

Then, suddenly one day, yes...what? Umm...ok, cool.


So, first things first: to Li'l Woody's for Macklemore's (no longer existent) Heist burger! But wait - then I have to explain to people why I'm eating meat, and that's going to get old really quickly. And besides, I'm the vegetarian guy. Everyone loves seeing the vegetarian grilling their absolutely delicious hamburger. You know what? I'm going to keep not eating meat.

Then a week ago at church we started a new series called "Who Do You Think You Are?" based on my pastor's new book by the same name. It deals with identity, whether we find it in Christ or something else. I've been searching my heart, looking for areas of my life in which I find my identity in things other than Christ. We were created in the image of God. Our dignity, value, and worth come from that, whether we believe it or not. Anything else we look to for those things will fall short. When we let those things tell us who we are, we are believing the lie. Only Christ is our true and best identity.

This is right before I found out you have to
cook it. And take it out of the plastic.

This is exactly the role vegetarianism was filling for me. I was afraid to eat meat because I was "the vegetarian guy." I had placed my identity in vegetarianism instead of Jesus. Repentance looks like worshipping God for this realization as well as the change in my conscience. That, and eating meat in accordance with what he changed in my heart.

I've had some chicken. I need to slowly re-introduce meat into my diet for the sake of my body, which is not used to digesting it. I also need to learn to cook meat: I'm a great vegetarian cook, but my attempt to cook chicken was very dry. I will learn by doing it. It will take time. But for the moment, I'm hungry and my identity is in Christ...who wants to buy me a burger?



(1) I would now call Singer my favorite philosopher, despite the fact that I completely disagree with him on many issues. Animal Liberation was the first of many of his books that I have read.
(2) From the menu: peppercorn charred, whiskey gravy, creamy blue cheese, crispy onions.

"On Vegetarianism...and Not," or "Praise the Lord and Pass the Meat"

The End of the Ender: Speaker for the Frustrated

I finished Ender's Game. I would have finished it a while ago, but I lost the book for about two weeks. I almost checked it out of the library or re-bought it, but then I decided not to. 

When I began, my friend Biz told me to take my time. Soak it in, she said. It isn't the same the second time. It got dark about halfway through, but I expect this from Orson Scott Card. I can re-read this no problem. 

The last two chapters changed everything. I don't think I could re-read it. It would certainly not be the same if I did, but I don't think I could bring myself to do it. I mean, maybe someday, but certainly not right now. 

I bought Speaker for the Dead, the second book in the series a few days ago. "Second book" is somewhat of an unfair designation, as the series goes so many different directions. There is the main storyline, of which SftD is the second book, but then there is an entire shadow storyline which takes place simultaneously. Further, the books are not all sequels in the way that we normally designate things sequels: they are more of a web of interrelated stories. 

Herein we find my biggest frustration with Orson Scott Card: he cannot let a series end. He is too attached to his characters. On the cover of Slanted Jack by Jack L. Van Name* is a quote from Card, in which he says that he'd like to see Jack in at least a dozen more novels. Card needs to learn to write endings as well as he writes stories. 

Let's take an example: I've been reading The Tales of Alvin Maker. I have read the first three books. While I've enjoyed the series, it should be over. However, there are three more books. Card will introduce characters, only to kill them off two or three chapters later. They will interact minimally with the main storyline and bear no consequence to the plot, but a few chapters were spent unnecessarily discussing their lives. 

At least in the Alvin Maker series there is a definite end. The end is hinted in the first book and openly discussed in the second. The other four books are a matter of getting there. In theory, Card could (and quite possibly will) continue writing Ender books until he dies. There is no definite end. There is no overarching goal. There is only the universe. 

Further, Card's protagonists always have special knowledge which no one else has. They do not communicate this knowledge (whether by decision or inability), but it is absolutely necessary to the whole of humanity. Instead they carry around their secret (whether represented by a golden plow or a silken egg) bringing about destruction (active or passive) of everyone else by accident. And yet somehow these are the good guys. 

despite my frustrations with Card (a list from which this is only a sampling) I cannot not read him. He draws me in. I get attached to the characters. I never get closure, so I never stop reading. His words ring through my mind in a way that few authors can achieve. And unfortunately, as if it were written by Card himself, this post doesn't really have an ending. 

*Van Name is without a doubt the worst pseudonym I've ever seen - it seems like more of a placeholder. On the off chance that actually is his real name, he should have used a pseudonym. 

I finished Ender's Game. I would have finished it a while ago, but I lost the book for about two weeks. I almost checked it out of the library or re-bought it, but then I decided not to. 

When I began, my friend Biz told me to take my time. Soak it in, she said. It isn't the same the second time. It got dark about halfway through, but I expect this from Orson Scott Card. I can re-read this no problem. 

The last two chapters changed everything. I don't think I could re-read it. It would certainly not be the same if I did, but I don't think I could bring myself to do it. I mean, maybe someday, but certainly not right now. 

I bought Speaker for the Dead, the second book in the series a few days ago. "Second book" is somewhat of an unfair designation, as the series goes so many different directions. There is the main storyline, of which SftD is the second book, but then there is an entire shadow storyline which takes place simultaneously. Further, the books are not all sequels in the way that we normally designate things sequels: they are more of a web of interrelated stories. 

Herein we find my biggest frustration with Orson Scott Card: he cannot let a series end. He is too attached to his characters. On the cover of Slanted Jack by Jack L. Van Name* is a quote from Card, in which he says that he'd like to see Jack in at least a dozen more novels. Card needs to learn to write endings as well as he writes stories. 

Let's take an example: I've been reading The Tales of Alvin Maker. I have read the first three books. While I've enjoyed the series, it should be over. However, there are three more books. Card will introduce characters, only to kill them off two or three chapters later. They will interact minimally with the main storyline and bear no consequence to the plot, but a few chapters were spent unnecessarily discussing their lives. 

At least in the Alvin Maker series there is a definite end. The end is hinted in the first book and openly discussed in the second. The other four books are a matter of getting there. In theory, Card could (and quite possibly will) continue writing Ender books until he dies. There is no definite end. There is no overarching goal. There is only the universe. 

Further, Card's protagonists always have special knowledge which no one else has. They do not communicate this knowledge (whether by decision or inability), but it is absolutely necessary to the whole of humanity. Instead they carry around their secret (whether represented by a golden plow or a silken egg) bringing about destruction (active or passive) of everyone else by accident. And yet somehow these are the good guys. 

despite my frustrations with Card (a list from which this is only a sampling) I cannot not read him. He draws me in. I get attached to the characters. I never get closure, so I never stop reading. His words ring through my mind in a way that few authors can achieve. And unfortunately, as if it were written by Card himself, this post doesn't really have an ending. 

*Van Name is without a doubt the worst pseudonym I've ever seen - it seems like more of a placeholder. On the off chance that actually is his real name, he should have used a pseudonym. 

The End of the Ender: Speaker for the Frustrated