Author Archives: Joshua Menter

Floating, breathless, lifeless, weightless
But for the sinking pit in the stomach
Falling, desperate to cling to something
Brain signaling muscles refusing to respond
Falling, shivers, convulsions, hiccups
Jarring the mind free of thought or function
Falling, mind machine whirring once again
Signals, cling to something, anything, grasping nothing
Falling, tightfisted, slipping through, empty-handed
Darkness blurring with shadows moving but lifeless
Falling, clawing, plucking, grasping at nothing, breathless,
Lifeless, weightless, emotionless, flailing, gyrating,
Falling on and on, down and down, into oblivion

I wake up with black circles on either side of my nose and blood staining the whites of my left eye in two patches equidistant from my pupils.  I am more tired than I remember being when exhaustion caused me to lose consciousness four hours before, only that fatigue is deeper and hidden, like a pandora’s box buried under an old oak tree.  A few circular motions with my fingers over my half-blinded eyes clears away 60% of the crystalized mucus that burns them.  Thought, once a dull, inaudible hum, expands in my awareness to engulf me again.

How does this happen?  The only way I can describe it even remotely understandably is by making an anology.  Imagine being in a large room where many people are gathered.  Suppose that tables have been set up in close proximity to each other around a point at the center of the room.  Each table contains its own conversation, as they usually would in a large gathering.  Now, take this environment and place yourself in the center of the room, yes even at the very center point around which the tables revolve.  You first hear a tidbit from a single conversation unfolding at a table to your right.  Then a second conversation overpowers it, until all you can hear is the second conversation louder than the first and all the others in the room.  Now, as soon as you catch enough to get a vague understanding of the second conversation, a third overpowers it and the process continues.  With each new conversation you overhear, the background noise intensifies as all other conversations match the loudness of the one most recently overpowered. 

Now, allow this to run its course at a rate of one new overpowering conversation every five seconds.  By the fifth conversation, or thought, the background noise has reached the threshold of a sonic boom, but it only esalates at an increasing rate.  How long would it take for a headache to start pounding behind your eyes?  How many minutes after that would you experience your ears bleeding and the headache becoming severe?  Then imagine that going on for twelve hours without relief.  At some point, your body would get used to it and dull the pain and replace it with some other manifestation, like a stress-induced reaction.  What is my “stress-induced reaction”, you may ask?  Restlessness and numbness, a disembodiment that deadened all feeling.  It could be seen as a sluggishness or uncharacteristic calm in the face of surprises or a stoned-like facial expression.  An intense stare into nothingness.

Now then, obviously these conversations are really thoughts, in the sense of a thought being a concise abstraction building on a single concept.  Yes, that phrase contradicts itself; it has to in order to accurately describe the thoughts metaphysically.  You can imagine that this process of overpowering thoughts with a louder thought drives memory to spin out, like a vehicle spinning its tires on ice.  None of these thoughts are remembered unless it be the prevailing thought, which again changes about every five seconds.  Imagine this mechanism whirring and spinning out one forgotten thought after another long after the sane world usually retires for the night, let’s say it is a self-sustaining process limited only by the endurance and stamina of its host.  Exhaustion alone halts the system; an exhaustion deeper than is cured by sleep, no matter how long or short it is.  Restlessness and fatigue in an unintended struggle; two sides of the same coin warring for the double stamping.  Dark rings around my eyes and an earsplitting headache that rest can’t touch.  Have I gone mad?

JA Menter 3

Rest is a weapon just beyond my grasp; Surrender a struggle too easily lost;  Christ a calm in the midst of storm; Eternity a kingdom that will end this insanity.

Being a thinker-strategist, most of my conversations resemble a fencing match.  The words and the phrases they are used in is the sword weilded in my hand.  The goal is always playful banter but the sword-edges can still be sharp.  The responses I do or don’t receive determine whether my blade met steel or flesh, resulting in unintended wounds.  If the response is favorable, I continue with another playful thrust, usually predetermined but altered as the situation demands.  It should be noted that if I didn’t have a conversation planned out to some extent, it would never take place.  Someone once said that a good plan is one that can be altered.  When the response is silence, however, the only explanation I can find is that my sword wounded, when all I wanted was a friendly sparring match, engaging in serious dialogue.  This causes me to rethink my strategy and pull back to fulfill an obligation I feel I have acrued.  When there is no felt obligation or direction as to how to proceed, it becomes the person’s responsibilty to make me aware of it.  Yet, silence is decidedly not helpful in this, but often the only response I am to expect.  Is it somehow on my shoulders to break this deafening silence with thought, caught between an uncomfortable quiet and an unconscious urge to rectify something I’m ignorant of?  Something of my integrity is percieved damaged in one’s eyes.  Does not my character and my God demand I guard my reputation with honor?  The Bible talks about guarding one’s good name, for one’s reputation reflects the God one serves.  So then, how has my integrity been compromised?

JA Menter 3

Shaky knees after running are by design.  (Explanation will be forthcoming)

Written JAMenter

Lars closed his eyes and bowed his head.  The sense in his mind was drawing closer and the presence was almost audible.  He tried to fight back with everything within him, but it began to speak.  The shade was very close.
In the opening of the far wall, a figure appeared.  He wore a blue robe with a purple sash wrapped about his waist like a belt.  His red hair peeked out from beneath his hood.  His eyes seemed to sparkle with all the colors of the rainbow.  His face bore the most menacing sneer Lars had ever seen.
  In that instant, Lars felt like he was being transported to the past.  Through his mind’s eyes, he saw that he was on the banks of a river with a bird’s eye view of the swordfight below him.  The figure Lars recognized as the man before his eyes in Gnar-Angrith was beating a man barely older than himself.  This was Paladin introducing himself.
   His opponent was Lars’ father.  Lars could tell by the tall imposing frame that drooped with fatigue and lacked confidence.  Lars could sense his father’s despair as if it were a part of him.  This was right before the elves had arrived to rescue Ashúr.  The shade’s blow was about to fall.
   Through his mind, Lars retorted that the shade had been unable to finish the fight, scared off by Dorfindal and his elves.  The laugh from the shade was feral.  “That matters not. I am Paladin.”  The voice was as hard as stone.  “I drew them into a trap at Ûrkkarth.”
   “But they escaped.”  Lars projected the images of that fierce battle to the best of his understanding.  “Jhadiz and I rescued them after a long fight.  Many of your orcs were killed and Dorfindal’s host killed what pursued us.”
   Paladin laughed again.  Images flashed through Lars’ mind showing the battle on the slopes of Gnar-Angrith.  They depicted Ashúr’s swordplay with one of the Eleven Terrors and the arrows flying in that killed him.  Anger and sorrow filled Lars’ heart as he watched the images of his father breathing his last.
Lars drew Ferrang from the sheath, its blue blade glowing with his emotions.  “Enough!” He shouted and Ferrang erupted in flames.
   Paladin raised his hand over his head and a red sword of fire formed in it.  It was like an extension of his arm.  The two combatants closed with each other and crossed blades.  The initial blow sent shivers up Lars’ sword arm, but he recovered to take his position.
   Lars held Ferrang gingerly but for the emotion that coursed through him.  He didn’t know what forms and strikes he employed; only that he used them.  Still, it wasn’t enough.  An evil beyond reckoning bound his movements and Lars always felt a second slow.
   Ferrang, still glowing blue in Lars’ hand, wheeled and arched with Lars’ hand weakly attached to it.  It was as if the weapon had a will of its own.  Jhadiz only stared at the swordfight with a surprised look on his face.  Lars thought for a moment about what he was doing and suddenly felt inadequate.
   ‘Dez should be the one doing this part; he’s way better at this than me.’
   At that moment, the adrenaline and emotion of what Lars had seen in his mind’s eye ran dry and Lars’ arm dragged Ferrang slower.  Almost on cue, Paladin went on the offensive.  If Lars had previously thought Paladin’s sneer was menacing, the confident grin that formed out of it was equally disheartening.
   With the first blow from Paladin’s fiery sword, Lars felt pain in his head.  Lars remembered reading about this in his father’s journal, but he never imagined it would be like this.  His head throbbed and quivered like a gate being struck by a battering ram.
   “I need Dez’s help badly.  Why isn’t he doing something?  He knows I’m not as good a swordsman as him, yet he just stands there with that dumb look on his face,” Lars thought as he parried desperately.
   Paladin was executing a series of slashing attacks, each one feeding on the momentum of the last.  Lars could only weakly block them with Ferrang and jump away from the blow that followed.  He wished now he’d paid more attention when Dorfindal was showing Jhadiz sword moves.  He’d thought they’d be unimportant because of what he’d learned from Rillian.
   As the battle continued on, Lars grew more tired and Paladin’s attacks were harder to avoid.  With each strike, Lars’ headache intensified and his nerves numbed.  Twice, Lars wasn’t quick enough to block a stab at his thigh or arm and blood leeched out of fresh wounds. 
   With the fight worsening for Lars, the grin on Paladin’s face widened and Jhadiz’s surprised stupor changed to a horrified stare.  He seemed frozen in position, understanding the situation but unable to help.
   “He’s probably seeing Paladin’s intentions.” Lars winced. “No matter!  I’m about to die at the hand of my adversary and there’s nothing he can do about it.”
   “You will be taken to the place where spirits cannot rest.”  Lars was certain that thought wasn’t his own and it angered him.  Ferrang’s glow diminished.
   “Get out of my mind, Paladin!” Lars shouted as he closed his eyes for a brief second.
   Taking a deep breath and releasing it like Rillian taught him, Lars tried to clear his mind.  It was like dusting spider webs, except that the spiders were spinning webs faster than he could dust them away.  With much effort, Lars focused on what he wanted to do.  Ferrang burst forth with light again, brighter than before, and outshone the lamps in the corners.
   “I wish magic wasn’t limited by my knowledge,” Lars thought as the duel took on new life.
   Bright Ferrang jumped in Lars’ hand as if it had a mind of its own.  For a time, Paladin only watched as Ferrang leapt out of Lars’ grasp in a series of complex combinations.  Lars had seen Jhadiz use them on the journey through Dôrthang Ar Dae. He was sure he wasn’t using them properly, but they seemed to do the job.
   Paladin stepped back at this show of skill, however artificial it was.  Nothing seemed to faze him or steal the expression from his face.  He was only withdrawing to ready his next strike.
   Lars stood before Paladin with Ferrang at the ready.  At that moment, he didn’t know whether to press the attack or to wait.  An invisible hand grabbed him and kept him from moving.  Lars remembered his staff still clutched in his left hand and prepared a fireball to send Paladin’s way.
   Red flame burst forth from Lars’ staff, soaring toward its target as if in slow motion.  The fire gave the room an orange light.  Paladin seemed to have expected it, for, at the last second, a purple glow surrounded him and absorbed Lars’ magic.
   Lars felt the invisible hand release him.  Dropping his staff, Lars ran to Paladin, Ferrang raised over his head in both hands.  Feeding all of his strength and momentum into his arms, Lars struck the orb.  The sound rang in the small room and Lars’ whole body quivered with the reverberations.
   Once Lars recovered, he realized that all his effort had done nothing to the orb, much less Paladin.  In frustration, he swung Ferrang across the purple shield of magic.  None of his many attempts had any effect on the orb and only left Lars exhausted.
   “Paladin has retreated to his safe bubble.  I can’t do anything to break it or get to him.”  Lars thoughts were in agony. “I must simply wait for the evil he might be brewing.”  Then the next thought came as hopelessly as the last.  “He can just stay in that thing indefinitely, blocking our escape and dooming us to the slow death of starving.”
   Just as that thought vanished from his mind, a voice he deemed not his own spoke in his mind.  “There is a greater doom prepared for you.  Your flesh will burn and rot before your eyes and the stench will suffocate you.”
   Suddenly, the rock of the passage shook and convulsed, as if it were about to vomit something up.  In its wake, Lars was thrown back toward the door through which they’d entered.  Only his pack, discarded before the duel, broke his landing.  Bones that should have snapped were only severely bruised.
   Pain rocked Lars’ body as the ground in front of him split open and a purple ball on fire appeared out of the chasm. The ball grew in size and unfolded like a pop up tent.  The chasm closed up and a gigantic purple dragon landed in its place, formed out of the ball.  Out of the corner of his eye, Lars saw that Jhadiz was still frozen in place, his horrified stare mixed with gloom.
   The dragon stared at Lars with unwavering yellow eyes.  The serpent’s long tail curled up behind it, stuffed into a space too small.  The wings twitched and the hot breath from them extinguished the lamps, leaving a red and purple glow.  The dragon’s eyes, though fierce, looked sad somehow.  Lars had the strange feeling he recognized this beast.
   Again, Lars’ mind’s eye was transported to sometime in the past.  Paladin stood on a field with a purple dragon and its female rider across from him.  Images transformed into words.  Thunder was the name of this dragon, Sherreth, and his rider, Zanetta, was once a friend of Rufeo’s.
   Suddenly, the images of the dragon and Zanetta swirled and morphed into a purple orb in Lars mind.  He knew the connotation almost immediately.  Zanetta was trapped inside her dragon, this dragon, now controlled by Paladin.  The images passed and Lars was allowed his own thoughts.
   “Just because they were once friends doesn’t mean they aren’t completely bad now.  They are controlled by Paladin.”  Despair overtook him.  “I couldn’t defeat Paladin before, how am I supposed to defeat him now?” 
   Tears fell from his eyes as he dropped to his knees, hopeless, helpless, and alone.  Tears came in floods, burning his eyes.  He had failed in his quest and the weight of the past would crush him.  He was going to die.
   “Who among you represents strength?”  The voice in his head was Silvarin’s, his speech before the ship departed Alquaelin.  “There is always One greater than you!”  The voice trailed off and a woman’s voice, Nefertiri’s, replaced it.
   “You do not always see clearly what lies before you, but some paths are chosen for you…he has a chance to do something great, but knows only his sovereign can really achieve it…Remember your Sovereign!  Elavar will go before you and prepare your way!”
   Magic was Elavar’s power, a gift to mankind, but limited by one’s knowledge, an incomplete weapon.  He needed Elavar’s unhindered, infinite might if he was to prevail, and there was only one way to get it.
   Hope resurfaced as Lars surrendered the battle to his sovereign.  “Elavar, save me,” he whispered as he set Ferrang down next to his staff.
   The dragon drew himself up on his hunches and prepared to release a blast of fire.  From his place kneeling in front of the beast, Lars glanced at Jhadiz.  There was a certain calm about his features now and a brightness that flickered in his eyes.  Jhadiz never looked away from the dragon as a smile stole across his face.
   The dragon roared and the sound boomed and echoed in the small room.  Instead of drawing away in fear, Lars prayed.  “Elavar, this battle is Yours! You know best!”  Then the fire came.
   Spewing forth from the dragon’s mouth, the red and purple flames burst through the air, steamy with vapor.  Raised by invisible hands, Ferrang wheeled in front of the rush of liquid fire.
   Miraculously, Ferrang blocked and absorbed the fire so not even its heat touched Lars and Jhadiz.  The mithril of the blade glowed red with the heat before dissipating into the sword.  Lars shivered as a sense of overwhelming peace came upon him.
   Time and again, the dragon reared up and unleashed its fury.  Each time, Ferrang in the invisible hand absorbed the flames until it retained the red orange glow of hot metal.  In his orb of protection, Paladin’s grin was erased from his face and a look of disbelief replaced it.
   With each blast, Lars could see more parts of a figure robed in light gripping his father’s sword.  First, a hand then the whole arm, next the head and a leg appeared until the whole figure could be seen.  It was as if a shroud was slowly being peeled away from Lars’ eyes and he could finally see clearly.
   The figure in light turned his attention from the tiring dragon to Paladin in his purple orb.  He still held Ferrang in his hand, red hot with the heat of fire.  Walking on air as if floating, the figure came to stop before Lars’ adversary.  With a sure strike, he struck the orb with the fiery sword.
   The force of the blow shattered the shield into bits, like the pieces of a broken window.  Purple stained shards scattered across the hard stone in a symphony of sounds.  The figure stopped for a moment, Ferrang raised over Paladin’s head.
  Paladin offered an earsplitting screech that matched the look of undiluted horror that covered his pale face.  Lars had no desire, even now, to take over the fight; it just wouldn’t have been right.  Out of the corner of his eyes, Lars could see Jhadiz looking on, convulsing uncontrollably.
   “It is over!” the figure said as he made ready a final lunge.
   Light engulfed the two combatants and shrouded the scene.  A flicker revealed Ferrang plunged into the heart of Paladin, before light hid it again.  The light appeared to grow in intensity for a moment before fading and disappearing.  A breeze like the breath of a deep sigh blew over the room and the dragon disintegrated in its wake.
   “The spirits of Zanetta and Sherreth can be at peace at last.” Lars thought from his place on the floor. 
   Tears of joy, tears of thanks streamed down Lars’ checks as a sense of unexplainable restfulness came upon him.  Jhadiz stirred as if waking from a deep sleep.  He put a hand on his shoulder where the muscle twitched.  Looking around for a moment, he turned to his friend.
   “Come, Lars.  We must go.”
   “No, He is here!  I want to stay.”  Lars replied weakly, as if only barely attached to the world around him.  He was drawn to the feeling of abiding he felt when Nehru was in his midst.
   “I know He’s here, but we must go.  There is much still to be done.”  Jhadiz helped Lars to his gear and led the way through the door in the far side of the room.
   Lars followed slowly behind Jhadiz, basking for a final second before resuming the long, arduous journey.  ‘You don’t have to leave My presence; you can take Me with you!’ The thought in his head was in Nehru’s voice and left more questions than answers.

I don’t know why I’ve waited so long to write this, but this is a word picture I got after church last Sunday and I thought I’d share it with you all.

(Isa 2:10-21)

I looked and saw a rock growing out of the earth.  It grew and matured in appearance to the form of a cross, glowing with radiant light.  I knew the light I saw was the glory and majesty of God.  Then a voice cried, “Broken witness, come to the Rock; Hide in the Rock.”   Then a man that looked like me but was blurry like from a dream came to the cross and hid behind it.  The glow grew brighter still and the rock expanded further, almost as if it were being lifted up.  The man stepped through the cross and became like the rock, both in appeareance and in the glow of Its glorious majesty.  So I looked and the figure that was me reflected the rock.

My blog has been moved to http://defectivereflection.menterz.com

So, a third post in four days. That is almost unheard of, especially from me.  Undoubtedly, there has been a great deal of speculation about the cryptic nature of my facebook status of a few days ago.   I think I should clear the air.  Initially, the only thing that I was going to do that I hadn’t in a long time was cut my hair.  It’s been a really long time since I last cut it and it was getting long and unruly.  Snarls and tangles, knots and hair ripping out have been the largest single category of events that pepper my days.  I was sick of it, sick of the length of time it takes to wet it in the shower, sick of getting it pulled every time I pull it back and out of my eyes.  Now all of you are probably thinking, “Joshua, why didn’t you just say you were cutting your hair and not lead us on this crazy guessing game?”  I believe this syntax is your exact wording because you’ve finally begun to use my real name instead of a nickname I tried to eradicate from your vocabulary about eight years ago and failed miserably.  Anyway, the reason for the guessing game is that I didn’t want you to get the visual of me with my hair shaved to the length I normally cut it to.  I have shaved my hair to 1/4 inch since I was first a teenager, but not this time.  I mixed it up and I didn’t want people to noticed it as different than how I usually cut it but rather different than how it was just days ago. 

In the course of gearing up for this hour and a half extravaganza that was cutting my hair by myself with dull clippers, it was also brought to my attention that I hadn’t blogged in a long time either.  I’ve noticed and been frustrated with the fact that I hadn’t written in my story since early July, nor run since early June.  I haven’t initiated a text conversation in a long time either, so the list keeps piling up.  That night I blogged I also wrote a short dialogue (Something I hope to continue this non-gameday weekend) into my book and cut my hair, obviously.  Running was a Sunday night affair, but the week was hard because my right knee hurt like crazy.  Just today, I caught up on reading Grapes’ blog, which BTW, if I catch anyone using Grapes’ endearing “Joshie”, I will publish a disturbing short story about you and her. Don’t try me on this.  I have only to tap into my alter-memory and my vivid imagination to make good on this warning, but you may not like the resulting anecdote.  Back to my hair for a moment, there is some grooming work I need to get done before Sunday and I won’t tell you what or how because it may not turn out very good, but be surprised….or not.

JA Menter 3

“At UNL Housing, even our white blood cells are red.”  My supervisor, Gerry

This seems strange writing another post one day removed from finally returning after a month without posting, but I can’t hide this under a basket.  I have to share this.  If you haven’t read my previous post “Theory of a Dead Man,”  I recommend reading it.  Anyway, for many weeks, I’ve prayed that God would use me at work, as those on the worship team can atest.  Recently, I’ve been convicted about the lack of response in that area of my life and so the prayer has become more fervent that I would make the most of each opportunity as they present themselves.  Tuesday, an opportunity dropped in my lap and I responded.  A co-worker was struggling with a painful breakup and asked me for advice.  I was able to talk to him about forgiveness and its power and get him thinking about things in that light.  It was amazing how I knew exactly what I needed to say and I said it, a very rare occurrence for me as those who know me can confirm.  Then, today, I realized that I had only one dollar in my wallet to pay for my lunch and not enough in my check card account to withdraw a quick $20.  I did have enough to pay for a Valentino’s meal, though, and so I went to Val’s, thinking that I would have to make some bank transfers after work to cover the evening after youth and the next few days’ lunches.  When I got to Val’s, I hadn’t even gotten my first plate when a co-worker came in with her husband and were seated next to me.  Of course, I was invited to sit with them and the husband paid for my meal.  Thank You Lord for Your provision!!!  I still needed to do my bank transfers though, right?   Wrong.  Later today, as I was about to leave to go to my parents and the bank, my cousin stops by at my house with money to pay me back for a purchase I made to fix her bike.  It was an expense I’d entirely forgotten about, but it brought my total to an amount that would cover all my expenses for the rest of the week.  No more need to go to the bank this week.  Thank God again for His provision in the little details of my life.  It’s these little things that has me estatic in exclamation of His supreme goodness and the three cups of coffee I drank at Village Inn this evening garner a weak reaction in comparison. if I don’t sleep a wink tonight, it will not surprise me, but I thought I would just take some time to share this with you all.

JA Menter 3

~”From the rising of the sun to its going down, the name of the Lord is to be praised,” Psalm 113:3

Apparently, a bunch of people assumed the thing I hadn’t done in a while that I was refering to in my facebook status was blogging.  I infer this because my recorded views today (really since I updated my status) has reached a critical number.  This site has received as many views in the past three hours as it has in the previous week. But enough of this silly talk about doing what people want.

There are about eight different ways I can take this dialogue, not the least of which is what I’ve been doing in the month long hiatus from blogging.  I hope people don’t expect me to be that shallow with such a resource.  In the past month, as has happened before, I’ve thought about blogging, only to realize just in time that the only things I’d blog about right now would damage my integrity in a way that can’t be mended.  I should have been known not only by what I do and say here but also by what I don’t say or do.  I believe that what a person doesn’t do/say speaks to the character of a person just as much as what that person actually does/says.  In the light of what they don’t do/say, one might see more powerfully the merits of what they do do/say.

Enough of the abstract that I’m certain only a few of my readership will be able to follow without asking questions.  I think I have to amend my estimate of the possible directions to a larger figure. Let’s skip the shallow what and go on to the infinitely more insightful why.  I haven’t had time really to sift my thoughts this past month and produce something other than what I deem improper and unacceptable.  Work, in a large way, has stolen much of my life and energy, though the fact that I’ve buried myself in it means I allowed it to.  I’ve been dealing with a very tough issue and I believe most people have noticed my retreat from the social scene, whether that notice was cognizant or in the subconscience.  That stems largely from this issue, but the very thing I tried to escape from a year and a half ago has recaptured me and I let it.

Now is the time for honesty, more than any other time.  I was/am having a crisis of identity.  Identity in professional career, identity among peers and friends, identity in God.  I’m the biggest hypocrite I’ve seen in forever, and I mean that like an actor, not a christian who can’t practice what he preaches.  I’ve saved these slots for my thoughts on life, Christianity, God, and reflections about my own life.  To some, they are deemed applicable to them and I glorify God that they’ve been touched by these posts.  To others, the content flies over their heads, either because they weren’t meant to understand it or they have no wish to tag along with me in the digging process.  Still others might be so used to hearing complex and thought-provoking things from me that they’ve tuned out the simple things I try to articulate.  To them, the simple things are more complex than the complex abstractions. Even others make a serious miscalculation when they ask for specifics when I’ve chosen to be cryptic or vague and then get frustrated when I don’t oblige them with those specifics.

Written Aug 23 (Sun)

“I’m spiritually anorexic right now, starving myself with an attitude of busi-ness and tiredness.  It is in this time when the defenses deteriorate and the struggle for godliness in actions and thoughts is lost….God, forgive me for taking You for granted and neglecting our relationship.  Cause me to love You deeply again.  That must be my desire.  I need You in an unexplainable way. Forgive me for the times I’ve rebelled, even this past week.”

Written Aug 24 (Mon)

“I am a dying breed, a breed going extinct because no one appreciates it or thinks they need it.  Therefore, they see no need to save it.  A relic of a simpler time, a time they don’t understand because they don’t want to; it takes too much effort.  I wither away as they look on, mistaking the symptoms for something their own minds can conjure up to rationalize their deep neglect.  I cannot be but what I am but what I am is not wanted nor understood.  An ideal that has suddenly become vile is the ideal I strive for.  A question still haunts me and I must ask it—WHY?”

Written Sept 12 1am

“My thoughts sound like the dialogue of a psychiatry session.  My memory isn’t regular but images triggered by words.  Enough of it hasn’t actually happened to make me suspicious.  I was never at a reception in Glen Eyrie, Colorado but I remembered it.  The recent memories are flashbacks, like the feeling of deja vu.  In one conversation, I was brought back to the numerous times of avoidance, delay, and misunderstanding.  it had an intended point as well as an implicated one.  Some things have happened too often for them to be merely coincidental.  Some of these are getting scary, such as the thought that I shouldn’t shower because it will cause flashbacks of the time I almost drowned.  I’ve never almost drowned, so why?  Sometimes, I argue a sequence of sentences, their word usage, verbal phrasology, half the time the arguer has another person’s voice, someone I know well.  Yet I never verbalize these exchanges and the refined words die in my mind as they are pushed out by some other thought process. Anyone besides me who reads this has to be thinking I’m a psychotic nut job.  I just want it to be gone so I can sleep… and the headaches leaving would be great too.”

Written later that same day

“The things of God have become an external motivation for me with an external reward.  Eternity is not in my heart but rather an external hope.  This influences my spiritual anorexia and thought process.  A kingdom that is eternal must be made up only of things that are eternal, otherwise something in the kingdom will die.  The eternal kingdom must reside in the heart or one can’t be a part of it.  Lord, cause eternity and Your kingdom to reside in my heart and make a living.  Not like a hotel where it comes and goes, not like a workplace where it leaves for the night, but like a house built as an estate to endure as an inheritance for the generations.”

The key is in God’s response to me:

“You don’t pray, you don’t seek Me, you don’t chew on my word and meditate on it.  You don’t listen for My voice.  You shy away from My embrace which is to refresh you.  And you wonder why you are so weak in faith, so prone to fall, so profoundly and deeply tired, so stuck in a rut or a routine of meaningless failure because you fail to eat of My bread and drink of My cup.  So press in to the feast table I prepare for you.”

The long and the short of it is I haven’t been consistently in the Word like it might appear that I am.  I have only read my Bible on three consecutive days three times in the past month and that only because I was reminded to read today.  With each next day that I miss, the mental and spiritual decay is exponential and I fall far short of the standard of maturity I’ve written about and the battle I face is lost daily just as much as it’s won daily in the Word.

I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t think of me as some spiritual person or as one who writes thought provoking material and miss the fact that I’m still as imperfect as the next guy or the fact that I can also talk in plain terms without the need of provocation of thought.  Maybe blogging was the thing I haven’t done in a while, or maybe it was the fact that I wrote a little dialogue into my story tonight, or maybe I already did something I hadn’t done in a while when I ran 9 miles, or maybe the cryptic facebook status itself was the thing I hadn’t done in a while. Whatever it was, I’m still not going to say…yet.

JA Menter 3

~”If I allow rage to change who I am, the murderer has killed two people.”  Alan Eppes (Numb3rs: Season 6 episode 1)

The earliest memory I have is from when I was about 4 years old.  I was taking my sisters’ old LIFEPACs out of an old square coffee table we used to have in our living room.  This was before I learned to read, which was quite early in life, since I was just about to turn seventeen when I entered my senior year of high school.  Anyway, I only vaguely remember learning to read, like a dream of a bream’s memory, shrouded in the long years.  Nevertheless, I still remember how to read, an ability as easy to me now as walking.  It wasn’t always that way.  For a time, I struggled to read and didn’t make a real practice of it until I was in the 3rd grade.  Unlike public schools today, I was supposed to be a fluent reader when I finished kindergarten in my Mom’s homeschool.  Basically, it wasn’t until I learned to multiply and divide in the 3rd grade that I began to read a book of any length.

Luke 9:23 says, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me.”  This passage speaks of a daily denial of one’s own rights and a surrender to Christ.  Something done daily, like taking up one’s cross should become as natural as reading.  One can hardly spend a day without reading something during that day.  But is surrender that natural to us?  Perhaps we are out of practice; perhaps we have spentso many months or years refusing to surrender that we have forgotten how.  Or maybe we never knew how in the first place.  Learning, then, or relearning becomes the lesson God has to teach us as He slowly unclasps our hands around the issues we hold on to so tightly. 

 There are two concepts that deal with all issues:  Struggle and Surrender.  There are times when life becomes a struggle, a battle, a fight, both within and without.  The best example is a struggle against temptation.  James says to resist the devil.  There are also times when the only path to victory is to surrender control, the only way the things can be resolved.  Yet sometimes, these two concepts are intertwined;  sometimes there is a struggle to surrender….And all this from a fond memory I had while taking a afternoon stroll around the circuit.

JA Menter 3