Wondering

At times I wonder what God thinks as he looks down at us, running around like millions of silly frantic little lemmings or somesuch. I was having a particularly productive train of thoughts along those lines today... so here are some of my musings.

I was watching TV and there was a preview for a mini-series about the greatest threats to Earth. So what happens if, let's say, a giant meteor strikes the Earth and kills everything, does that mean it was an accident or His plan? Does he look down and go "Damn. Forgot about that meteor... I have to start all over now!"

At my church we always sign this little book at the end of the pews so there's an account of how many people attended the service. I wonder if God approves of us signing in something resembling the Black Book of Death?

God struck down the Tower of Babel because the people were trying to reach the heavens. What does he think of window washers for city skyscrapers then? Or even airplane pilots?

So that's the end of my ramblings... Do any of you have a musing about what God sees when he looks down?

Korin

Poet's Day

This post was originally done on August 21, which is Poet's Day, but due to some technical difficulties I'm reposting it today.

In honor of today (August 21) being Poet's Day I have decided to post two poems by me.

Butterflies and Demons

Shadow Bright,

Star's darkest night

Where were you

When I hid tonight?

Shuddering from the beauties

Of a daydream's horror

In darkest fright.

Premonition...

Foreshadowing...

Sixth Sense...

Call it what you will,

You'll never know it.

Gliding on the fringes

Of all floating twighlight hours.

Sometimes flutter

Sometimes scream

Butterflies and Demons-

In my dreams.

Gliding by

On beautiful wings

To rip and tear

My peaceful scene

Butterflies and Demons

In my dreams.

Soulbreak Cry

Were it the spans of the Heavens,

Or the depths of the Sea.

Twas never so wide,

As the Space formed by me.

i cry out in my prison.

i see Your hand in the sun.

Oh My God, My God!

What have i done?

Pulled into glass peices,

Now where can i go?

Fettered in by my sin,

i scream, You say no.

One way to change this,

Sad power of Blood.

Clawing for surface,

i see where i stood.

You do now accept me,

i am bowed at your throne.

i screamed to Your Mercy,

No longer Alone.

Korin

The Love of Books

The Love of Books

"So many books, yet so little time." "Books. Cats. Life is Good." "There's no such thing... As too many books..." "Biblioholism- books, of books: the habitiual longing to purchase, read, store, admire, and consume books in excess."
I love books. I enjoy reading them of course, but there is a difference in loving books and loving to read them. I happen to love books. The way the pages rustle when you pick up a paperback, the smooth feel of an embossed hardback. The smudges and yellow spots in old books that make them look loved and well-used. Or the way the spine crackles when you open up a new book, and you know you are the first to read it. When old books open up in your hands to the most dramatic or romantic chapter, and you know that many other people have loved this book too. The gilt lined pages of an antique leatherbound book that glitters when you turn it. I love the smell of paper and ink in libraries, or the old musty and woody smell of a curious little bookshop on a corner street.
Books are amazing things, they spread ideas and emotions, facts and fantasy. The earliest civilizations tried to communicate these things through pictographs, and in a way the pictures spoke so much more than simple words ever can. We have progressed from pictographs to tablets, tablets to scrolls, scrolls to books, there have even been bizarre ways of communicating with knots in colored strings. Human beings innately have a desire to share their insights, and the knowledge that information needs to be spread.
I have a favorite bookshop too, the kind you read about only in stories. It goes by the quaint name of Caveat's Antique and Rare Books, and resides in Bloomington. You walk in and are immediately struck by the paper, ancient yellowed pieces intermingled with newer peices cover every wall, doorframe, and bookshelf. Upon closer examination you find that these papers are all quotes by famous people and thoughtful cartoons cut from newspapers. This place smells of musty paper and pipe smoke and knowledge. A single old man always sits in the cubby-hole to the right of the entrance, reading the news and fiddling with a pipe, he is the perfect picture of the secretive librarian that turns out to have the answers to everything. If you walk straght ahead there are five little rooms with a different subject contained in each one on old leaning shelves, in cardboard boxes, and neat stacks, each room also contains an old uncomfortable office chair. If you were to go left instead of ahead upon entering, you would be in a long aisle full of boxes and poetry books, and the best part of all, there is a library ladder. You know the type, they have wheels on the bottom and a track along the top of the shelf. I could stay in this place forever, but I know I must leave so as not to wear out the charm.

In closing, if you have a favorite book or bookshop, I want to hear about it! Leave me a comment please!

Korin

Homosexuality

Homosexuality

So where do I draw the line? I'm a professing and acting Christian, my faith is a part of my life. But the problem is that I'm a strong believer of "Hate the sin but Love the sinner", and this puts me into an awkward postion of how to act and what to believe of my gay friends. I can't just outright say "you're a sinner!", this approach tends to anger people and doesn't accomplish anything. Yet if I'm to believe everything in the Bible, they are living in sin. But is it a choice? Talking to one of my friends has led me to believe that homosexuality is not a choice, but rather something inborn. In a way this agrees with scripture from Romans 1:26-27, "Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion."
So if our sinful worldly lifestyle is the cause, what is the 'cure'? Is there such a thing as a 'cure'? I don't know any former homosexuals converted by Christianity so I can't really speak on this part. But are my anger issues any more or less sinful that homosexuality? God views all sins as the same, and I work on my anger but have not been 'cured' of it. Perhaps it is the effort and the acknowledgement of the sin that counts on judgement day, let us hope so, for if it is not then we are all condemned to eternal death. For my part I will continue to love everyone for who they are and let God handle the internal issues.

Korin

What does it mean to be a Christian?

What does it mean to be a Christian?

All my life I've been told that being a follower of Christ is the most important mission of my existance. But it always comes from people who don't seem to believe the words of their own mouth. In the dark hours of the night, when it's just you and an unseen presence, what do you really believe? I believe my faith is my life, it's why I'm alive.... But I often doubt that I'm doing everything right. How do I know? Am I doing everything right when I feel good about what I'm doing, or is it the other times? The times like these...

When you cradle your soul but it melts through your fingers and shatters at His feet like thousands of glass rain-drops. And part of you wants to scream and cry because it hurts and you know He can see everything, but part of you is too in awe and filled with joy to even breathe. When He reaches down and picks up all those thousands of pieces and melds them back together. Something miraculous happens then, so small you don't know if you've even seen it, the image burns in the back your mind that one of those black peices of glass is now clear and bright. It hits you with a sense of awe, that one peice is now pure, but at the same time you mourn for it. There was a strange beauty about the dull black shine of those peices and you know what was removed for the sake of purity is something of this world's views lost forever, you can never be the same. In these times, when the pain and beauty is too great to comprehend, then everything feels right. And I think, maybe, that this is when I'm accomplishing my life's mission. I'm only one, on this one planet chosen from the great expanxe of the universe, but somehow my actions make all the difference somewhere.

Korin

Welcome to my garden

Welcome to My Garden

You may have had the sanity to wonder why my blog is titled "Rose Garden under the Full Moon"... or maybe you didn't. If you came here to find out what makes up the unphysical bit that I call me, then read on, if you are here to read the juicy tidbits and political opinions of my life, this is not the place to come. Will you take a moment to walk in my garden?

Dead leaves and night creatures make soft rustling noises as you walk, the almost imperceptible squeal of a bat can be heard overhead. Cold soft white light falls from the moon, the light always seems to be marked "for you eyes only" when the moon is full. A slight breeze stirs just the tips of the hairs on your skin and seems to whisper long forgotten secrets. Roses are such beautiful flowers, even half closed in the dark... red is one of the few hues that is still distinguishible under the moon. You reach for a rose, then remember the thorns and grasp the bud carefully... You know if you make a careless move the thorns will draw blood. Tucking the rose-bud into your shirt color, turn and slip toward the ominous iron gate. The gate is ancient and secretive, but well oiled, open it just far enough to slide through and exit. I hope you will return...

Korin