Saturday, January 15, 2005

SEE HOTEL RWANDA:I should stop seeing movies, there will never be one this good again

I exaggerate, but Hotel Rwanda was one of the best movies I've ever seen. It shamed me as a human (human morality failed), an Internationalist (the UN failed), a Westerner (Europe and America failed), and as a Democrat (Clinton failed). Yet it gave me hope that when good people stand up life can be preserved.
Eric and I had to travel 100 miles to Portland in an ice storm, but we made it. Right now Hotel Rwanda is in limited release, I'd suggest calling up your local theaters and asking when this masterpiece will be playing.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Lutherans and Ale

On Wednesday night I ended up going to Renne's Landing with Cody from Church and drinking some. It was kind of fun, I drank a Fat Tire which was pretty good, also had a taste of this REALLY dark beer called nightwatch or black-night or something like that, was really good, sort of chocolate-ish. The only problem was I drank pretty much on an empty stomach, and I'm not used to drinking in the first place. Still, drinking and talking God was kind of fun. I see why it is within the Lutheran Tradition. Lutherans are so Scandinavian they need a little inhabition to get talking about the most important stuff.
In other news I got my Old Lutheran T-shirts last night. One says "Peace, Love, LUTHER" the other says, "Old Luther, founded 1483." With them I am well pleased, they even fit me.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

You might be a future pastor if

I'm working on my finacial aid thing for LTSP and got to thinking.
You might be a future pastor if:
1. You exegit your Seminary financial aid form.
2. The financial aid form asks for projections of future income and you think “only by God’s grace and will shall I exist at that point.”
3. The form asks, “Net earings” and you write down “I know not but I ask God to help me.”

Monday, January 10, 2005

The Fool continued

Amul-Bei was rather mellow. To my right a B’doli seller, clothed in a puffy two piece outfit that contrasted brightly against the mellow sandstone Amul-Bei was constructed from, was trying to coax his burrow toward a well. There a woman, his wife I assumed since she wore the same red outfit except her face was veiled, was pouring a bucket of water out into a trough for the pack animal. To my left a family of nomads leaned against the wall, the white garbs draped over their bodies pegged them as pilgrims, and watched the B’doli-man’s struggle with mild amusement. They were thinking “we know how to handle our animals,” I’m sure of it.
I’m a pilgrim, just like them. I thought.
According to Timmothy’s Historim erz, which I re-read on the blimp ride across the Westernmost Sea, the wall where the Purile family were resting was originally constructed by the Amul’s priesthood to defend against incursions by the pagan nomads. Then in their year 311 PF, that is Post Foundation, a combination of trade ties with the Nomads and a revelation to the High Priest that the Nomads were to bring yearly sacrifices to Amul opened up the city.

I'm starting to something again

Today I treated Sabbath properly, I worshipped God, rested, and the only work I did involved religious studies... and I started writing for pleasure again. I think this is going to be a long piece about a king who is told by a prophet to go to the 7 monothiestic communities in the known-world and be forgiven by them for killing his father and marrying his mother. And the adventure beings.

The Fool
By Chris Halverson

As I looked up the sloping sandstone minaret of the Cathedral of Amul, the Purile’s god, I thought of a verse of their scripture, ‘salvation comes from above.’ I had read that the height of the tower was intended to remind the nomads of the area of that verse, and I suppose to the cow herders the… seven, maybe eight, story tower was impressive, though it was nothing compared to my Palace I had left in Torvettii.
“E’scuse me sire,” said a Purile beggar slouched below me in the shadowy corner of the twofold gate I was entering.
I rested against my staff and reached for my Alms purse at my side, “Here,” I said, gently tossing a nicked bronze Jortall into his dusty open hands. His large mouth broke into a toothy grin and let out a fast string of Purilei that was too accented for me to make out, though he did say, “Moray,” many times, which means thank you or blessings.
“You are welcome,” I said in the best Purilei I knew.
He bowed low against the sand, melting into the shadows of the gate as he slunk away from me.
So I entered into the city of Amul-Bei. Translated the city’s name is the Cathedral of Amul, or perhaps more properly the House of Amul. It was still early morning, rather cool, as desert mornings tend to be. I had spent the night a few clicks to the north, sleeping just out of sight of a nomad family that I ended up watching for most of the night. I awoke before the nomads did, a rather impressive task if I do say so myself, and headed into Amul-Bei.