The Christmas Poem

Every year I write a Christmas poem. I just finished a draft of this year's poem, and I'm quite happy with the way that it is going thus far.

I feel it is an odd thing to do, writing a Christmas poem, as I don't celebrate holidays. However, I do celebrate th birth of Christ the savior. I strive to celebrate this every day so that I don't need a specific day. Christ is not for one day a year, or even one a week. He is not a fashion or fad, nor does he have a point when he becomes irrelevant. He is the living Word of God, come down from Heaven.

I write this not to guilt you about celebrating a holiday, but to remind myself of these truths. God is good, but I'm forgetful.

Every year I write a Christmas poem. I just finished a draft of this year's poem, and I'm quite happy with the way that it is going thus far.

I feel it is an odd thing to do, writing a Christmas poem, as I don't celebrate holidays. However, I do celebrate th birth of Christ the savior. I strive to celebrate this every day so that I don't need a specific day. Christ is not for one day a year, or even one a week. He is not a fashion or fad, nor does he have a point when he becomes irrelevant. He is the living Word of God, come down from Heaven.

I write this not to guilt you about celebrating a holiday, but to remind myself of these truths. God is good, but I'm forgetful.

The Christmas Poem

The Ladder

I wrote this last Tuesday, so one week ago today. Since then I've been having difficulties with my internet connection and have as such been unable to post. Enjoy.
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Today was a day like any other. I got up this morning and went to work. I went to my second job, which I only do one day a week, but it was still the same old get up and go to work.

I get to work to find that yesterday began a lot of rearrangement of the shirt store that I work at. We are discontinuing several designs, so the designs on the wall needed to be moved around to compensate for the open spaces. This got to be my job.

The shirt store has pretty high ceilings. This meant that rearranging the higher shirts involved the use of a ladder that I believe to have been 16 feet. This is quite high, almost three times my height. Initially I was afraid, but the fear quickly abated as I moved the shirts around, gradually leaning more and placing more trust in the ladder. 

Occasionally the ladder shimmied.  With each shimmy, my confidence grew: it had happened before, so what was one more time?

After about an hour, my theory quickly developed a hole. As I leaned out to move something, I felt the ladder shimmy. This time, however, it did not stop at a shimmy. It was not a leg skimming across the floor to find 4 points that were in the same plane, as opposed to the three with the wobbly fourth leg. It was not even a warning that I needed to get down. No, I was near the top of the ladder, and it was coming down.

When I felt this, I knew I had to get down. I started climbing. Four rungs in, I realized this was not working: instead of getting down, I was riding the ladder to the floor. It was absolutely falling faster than I was descending. Without even realize what I was doing, I jumped. About 3 feet in front of me was a shirt press with 400˚ metal; a few inches to my right lied a corner; to my right, metal hangers.

As I was landing, I was also trying to catch the ladder. Somehow, by the grace of God, I landed on my feet. My knee bumped the side of the ladder on the way down, and I got a small scratch on my wrist from the counter. I was otherwise unscathed.

My boss, who saw the whole thing happen, is freaking out. He makes sure I'm ok, and then says, "You landed on your feet." Until he said this, I hadn't even realized I had landed on my feet. He kept repeating, "You landed on your feet." He was every bit as amazed by this as I was.

He yelled to the back and let everyone know I was ok. For the rest of the day, I made sure I had the ladder all the way open and the locks on the ladder engaged. It was an awesome showcase of God's grace, but I also know not to put God to the test.

In case you're wondering, I didn't catch the ladder.
Today was a day like any other. I got up this morning and went to work. I went to my second job, which I only do one day a week, but it was still the same old get up and go to work.

I get to work to find that yesterday began a lot of rearrangement of the shirt store that I work at. We are discontinuing several designs, so the designs on the wall needed to be moved around to compensate for the open spaces. This got to be my job.

The shirt store has pretty high ceilings. This meant that rearranging the higher shirts involved the use of a ladder that I believe to have been 16 feet. This is quite high, almost three times my height. Initially I was afraid, but the fear quickly abated as I moved the shirts around, gradually leaning more and placing more trust in the ladder. 

Occasionally the ladder shimmied.  With each shimmy, my confidence grew: it had happened before, so what was one more time?

After about an hour, my theory quickly developed a hole. As I leaned out to move something, I felt the ladder shimmy. This time, however, it did not stop at a shimmy. It was not a leg skimming across the floor to find 4 points that were in the same plane, as opposed to the three with the wobbly fourth leg. It was not even a warning that I needed to get down. No, I was near the top of the ladder, and it was coming down.

When I felt this, I knew I had to get down. I started climbing. Four rungs in, I realized this was not working: instead of getting down, I was riding the ladder to the floor. It was absolutely falling faster than I was descending. Without even realize what I was doing, I jumped. About 3 feet in front of me was a shirt press with 400˚ metal; a few inches to my right lied a corner; to my right, metal hangers.

As I was landing, I was also trying to catch the ladder. Somehow, by the grace of God, I landed on my feet. My knee bumped the side of the ladder on the way down, and I got a small scratch on my wrist from the counter. I was otherwise unscathed.

My boss, who saw the whole thing happen, is freaking out. He makes sure I'm ok, and then says, "You landed on your feet." Until he said this, I hadn't even realized I had landed on my feet. He kept repeating, "You landed on your feet." He was every bit as amazed by this as I was.

He yelled to the back and let everyone know I was ok. For the rest of the day, I made sure I had the ladder all the way open and the locks on the ladder engaged. It was an awesome showcase of God's grace, but I also know not to put God to the test.

In case you're wondering, I didn't catch the ladder.

I wrote this last Tuesday, so one week ago today. Since then I've been having difficulties with my internet connection and have as such been unable to post. Enjoy.
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Today was a day like any other. I got up this morning and went to work. I went to my second job, which I only do one day a week, but it was still the same old get up and go to work.

I get to work to find that yesterday began a lot of rearrangement of the shirt store that I work at. We are discontinuing several designs, so the designs on the wall needed to be moved around to compensate for the open spaces. This got to be my job.

The shirt store has pretty high ceilings. This meant that rearranging the higher shirts involved the use of a ladder that I believe to have been 16 feet. This is quite high, almost three times my height. Initially I was afraid, but the fear quickly abated as I moved the shirts around, gradually leaning more and placing more trust in the ladder. 

Occasionally the ladder shimmied.  With each shimmy, my confidence grew: it had happened before, so what was one more time?

After about an hour, my theory quickly developed a hole. As I leaned out to move something, I felt the ladder shimmy. This time, however, it did not stop at a shimmy. It was not a leg skimming across the floor to find 4 points that were in the same plane, as opposed to the three with the wobbly fourth leg. It was not even a warning that I needed to get down. No, I was near the top of the ladder, and it was coming down.

When I felt this, I knew I had to get down. I started climbing. Four rungs in, I realized this was not working: instead of getting down, I was riding the ladder to the floor. It was absolutely falling faster than I was descending. Without even realize what I was doing, I jumped. About 3 feet in front of me was a shirt press with 400˚ metal; a few inches to my right lied a corner; to my right, metal hangers.

As I was landing, I was also trying to catch the ladder. Somehow, by the grace of God, I landed on my feet. My knee bumped the side of the ladder on the way down, and I got a small scratch on my wrist from the counter. I was otherwise unscathed.

My boss, who saw the whole thing happen, is freaking out. He makes sure I'm ok, and then says, "You landed on your feet." Until he said this, I hadn't even realized I had landed on my feet. He kept repeating, "You landed on your feet." He was every bit as amazed by this as I was.

He yelled to the back and let everyone know I was ok. For the rest of the day, I made sure I had the ladder all the way open and the locks on the ladder engaged. It was an awesome showcase of God's grace, but I also know not to put God to the test.

In case you're wondering, I didn't catch the ladder.
Today was a day like any other. I got up this morning and went to work. I went to my second job, which I only do one day a week, but it was still the same old get up and go to work.

I get to work to find that yesterday began a lot of rearrangement of the shirt store that I work at. We are discontinuing several designs, so the designs on the wall needed to be moved around to compensate for the open spaces. This got to be my job.

The shirt store has pretty high ceilings. This meant that rearranging the higher shirts involved the use of a ladder that I believe to have been 16 feet. This is quite high, almost three times my height. Initially I was afraid, but the fear quickly abated as I moved the shirts around, gradually leaning more and placing more trust in the ladder. 

Occasionally the ladder shimmied.  With each shimmy, my confidence grew: it had happened before, so what was one more time?

After about an hour, my theory quickly developed a hole. As I leaned out to move something, I felt the ladder shimmy. This time, however, it did not stop at a shimmy. It was not a leg skimming across the floor to find 4 points that were in the same plane, as opposed to the three with the wobbly fourth leg. It was not even a warning that I needed to get down. No, I was near the top of the ladder, and it was coming down.

When I felt this, I knew I had to get down. I started climbing. Four rungs in, I realized this was not working: instead of getting down, I was riding the ladder to the floor. It was absolutely falling faster than I was descending. Without even realize what I was doing, I jumped. About 3 feet in front of me was a shirt press with 400˚ metal; a few inches to my right lied a corner; to my right, metal hangers.

As I was landing, I was also trying to catch the ladder. Somehow, by the grace of God, I landed on my feet. My knee bumped the side of the ladder on the way down, and I got a small scratch on my wrist from the counter. I was otherwise unscathed.

My boss, who saw the whole thing happen, is freaking out. He makes sure I'm ok, and then says, "You landed on your feet." Until he said this, I hadn't even realized I had landed on my feet. He kept repeating, "You landed on your feet." He was every bit as amazed by this as I was.

He yelled to the back and let everyone know I was ok. For the rest of the day, I made sure I had the ladder all the way open and the locks on the ladder engaged. It was an awesome showcase of God's grace, but I also know not to put God to the test.

In case you're wondering, I didn't catch the ladder.

The Ladder

The Night I Met Adam Savage

Last night was a pretty normal evening. After work I got on the light rail to go home, just like I always do. I sat there, playing Sudoku or reading the New York Times or Jailbird by Kurt Vonnegut. I can’t recall which, but these are the things I do on the light rail. I was somewhat engrossed in my activity for a few stops. Then I randomly looked up.

Seated about 10 feet in front of me I noticed that Adam Savage had gotten on the train. Adam is the kind of celebrity who can go out in public without being mobbed, but is often recognized. In many ways he’s a local celebrity. However, his locality is not physical: it is in the hearts and minds of nerds, geeks, and other science fans wherever they may be found. Adam is sitting there, by himself, reading. He reads books, like a real person. He also takes public transportation. In my mind, Adam is a serious celebrity, just like Wil Wheaton, MC Frontalot, or T.M. Maple. Yes, I really am that much of a nerd.

So what do I do? I don’t want to go fanboy. I’ve been on both sides of this strangely, and neither is desirable. I also don’t want to let this opportunity pass me by. After all, this would be a much less intersting post if the title were “The Night I Almost Met Adam Savage.”

I make my decision. I have about 4 more stops before I get off, which gives me sufficient time to choose the perfect 2-3 sentences. I’ll go over to him, as I’m getting off the train, and say these sentences. It’s not overbearing, but it’s there. “Excuse me, Mr. Savage? I just wanted to thank you for Mythbusters. You’ve answered so many of my questions in a way that I find both entertaining and informative.” Something like that.

Nervousness builds as we approach Beacon Hill Station, where I’ll be departing after speaking my peace to Adam. If I see him stand up to leave before Beacon Hill, I’ll have to make my move early, but why would he get off at SoDo or Stadium Station? And as I hoped, he didn’t. No one ever does this time of night. We enter the tunnel to Beacon Hill Station. I stand up and take a deep breath. I approach Adam, hereafter addressed as “Mr. Savage” (the way in which I chose to address him).

I walk toward Mr. Savage. I’m about 3 feet away, past the door through which I will be exiting. I’m at the point of no return, or at least no non-awkward return. Mr. Savage looks up at me. Myth busted.

What myth? The myth that this was Adam Savage. He wasn’t. He wasn’t Adam Savage at all. He was a balding redheaded gentleman who bore a resemblance to him, but was indeed not him at all. Sometimes you can’t believe everything you see.

Last night was a pretty normal evening. After work I got on the light rail to go home, just like I always do. I sat there, playing Sudoku or reading the New York Times or Jailbird by Kurt Vonnegut. I can’t recall which, but these are the things I do on the light rail. I was somewhat engrossed in my activity for a few stops. Then I randomly looked up.

Seated about 10 feet in front of me I noticed that Adam Savage had gotten on the train. Adam is the kind of celebrity who can go out in public without being mobbed, but is often recognized. In many ways he’s a local celebrity. However, his locality is not physical: it is in the hearts and minds of nerds, geeks, and other science fans wherever they may be found. Adam is sitting there, by himself, reading. He reads books, like a real person. He also takes public transportation. In my mind, Adam is a serious celebrity, just like Wil Wheaton, MC Frontalot, or T.M. Maple. Yes, I really am that much of a nerd.

So what do I do? I don’t want to go fanboy. I’ve been on both sides of this strangely, and neither is desirable. I also don’t want to let this opportunity pass me by. After all, this would be a much less intersting post if the title were “The Night I Almost Met Adam Savage.”

I make my decision. I have about 4 more stops before I get off, which gives me sufficient time to choose the perfect 2-3 sentences. I’ll go over to him, as I’m getting off the train, and say these sentences. It’s not overbearing, but it’s there. “Excuse me, Mr. Savage? I just wanted to thank you for Mythbusters. You’ve answered so many of my questions in a way that I find both entertaining and informative.” Something like that.

Nervousness builds as we approach Beacon Hill Station, where I’ll be departing after speaking my peace to Adam. If I see him stand up to leave before Beacon Hill, I’ll have to make my move early, but why would he get off at SoDo or Stadium Station? And as I hoped, he didn’t. No one ever does this time of night. We enter the tunnel to Beacon Hill Station. I stand up and take a deep breath. I approach Adam, hereafter addressed as “Mr. Savage” (the way in which I chose to address him).

I walk toward Mr. Savage. I’m about 3 feet away, past the door through which I will be exiting. I’m at the point of no return, or at least no non-awkward return. Mr. Savage looks up at me. Myth busted.

What myth? The myth that this was Adam Savage. He wasn’t. He wasn’t Adam Savage at all. He was a balding redheaded gentleman who bore a resemblance to him, but was indeed not him at all. Sometimes you can’t believe everything you see.

The Night I Met Adam Savage

Just a Brief Thought

Tonight I was holding a little girl at church, about one and a half years old. She generally cries when I hold her, but tonight she decided it was ok. There was initial crying, but it quickly subsided. She was unsure that she liked me, but I kept putting on music, so everything was ok. She was playing with my hair, when suddenly she came to a realization: there is hair on my face!

Tug, tug: it's real. She pulled at it and ran her fingers through it. She smiled. It's the first time she's ever smiled while I was holding her. And it was one of the greatest moments of my life.

Tonight I was holding a little girl at church, about one and a half years old. She generally cries when I hold her, but tonight she decided it was ok. There was initial crying, but it quickly subsided. She was unsure that she liked me, but I kept putting on music, so everything was ok. She was playing with my hair, when suddenly she came to a realization: there is hair on my face!

Tug, tug: it's real. She pulled at it and ran her fingers through it. She smiled. It's the first time she's ever smiled while I was holding her. And it was one of the greatest moments of my life.

Just a Brief Thought

I thought I did this already...

Really? I didn't post about my hiatus? Odd. Anyway, about a month and a half ago, I decided to take a hiatus from some things, which directly lead to not blogging. I need to reanalyze my entire life. Things are complicated (as always), and I haven't analyzed everything in entirely too long. I still have a goals list from 2, almost 3, years ago.

I still haven't done it. But I need to. So much to learn, even more unlearn; that's life.

It's not to say I won't post until it's done, but probably not. It's not a time to be putting things out before the world. That's all. Sorry to all my non-existent readers.

Really? I didn't post about my hiatus? Odd. Anyway, about a month and a half ago, I decided to take a hiatus from some things, which directly lead to not blogging. I need to reanalyze my entire life. Things are complicated (as always), and I haven't analyzed everything in entirely too long. I still have a goals list from 2, almost 3, years ago.

I still haven't done it. But I need to. So much to learn, even more unlearn; that's life.

It's not to say I won't post until it's done, but probably not. It's not a time to be putting things out before the world. That's all. Sorry to all my non-existent readers.

I thought I did this already...