Random thoughts...

First of all I'd like to say that I knew and predicted that UCLA would beat Oklahoma on Saturday. Something about my Bruins this year that has me cautiously excited.

The Yanks look good right now, despite their loss in Toronto today. The division isn't out of the question, especially since they end the year with 3 against the Sux. Again, cautiously excited...as much as you can be about a team that "technically" wouldn't make the playoffs if the season ended today.

Thirdly, fantasy football is genius. Right now I'm watching a game between a team I really can't stand (the Raiders) and one I am pretty apathetic about (the Chiefs). But, see, the thing is, my fantasy week rides on players in this game. So I'm watching attentively, cringing every time Priest Holmes touches the ball and making faces any time Kery Collins throws to someone other than Randy Moss.

We went and listened to Don Miller today. Dude is good. His message was so simple and yet profound. I guess that's what makes him a great writer and communicator. I seriously recommend hearing him or reading anything he's written.

Lastly, I've mentioned to some of you that I'm currently taking a creative writing class (which I hesitate to mention because it will inevitably change the way you read this blog..."That's not very creative"..."I could have written that"..."What a waste of seemingly infinite Internet space" and so on). I've decided that, on occasion, I'll post one of my "works" here so that y'all can see what I actually do in seminary. Also, because there are dedicated readers in California who wonder (Hi, Mom and Shannon!).

Here's a piece I wrote based on the painting American Gothic. You know, the one with the farmer and his wife. (It might be helpful for you to look at it for a while first)

We lived our American dream. We labored and sweated for years on end. See the home we built from the ground up? Simple, yet beautiful. A family sprung up, like crops we waited on each winter. They brought us joy and wonder. Now they’ve gone to build their own dreams and we sit alone again in a house that’s too large. The upper floor lies undisturbed, abandoned really.

We created a façade, like wax fruit placed on a table to appeal only to the eye. But our faces won’t hide the truth; happiness evades us. We stand here as a monument to pointlessness.

This dream has not been sweet, but repetitive and demanding. It might seem as though we’ve “arrived,” but, if so, then why can’t I put down my tools?