Life in the Express Lane

The time has been great since my last blog. My time in Eureka seems very short, as well, especially when it feels like I was in Ada the day before yesterday and I'll be returning tomorrow.

The weather has changed a bit. When I went downtown to Mika's, I chose to drive rather than walk due to the biting wind and stinging cold. Call me a whimp, but I still have not acclimated to this climate. Getting there, but Oklahoma will ruin my process again. 

I suppose that in reality, the temperature difference isn't that great. However, Wednesday I'll be 19 degrees warmer in Ada than I have been in Eureka. Needless to say, I'm excited. 

The story I want to tell you happened Friday night at Wal-Mart. I was busy making hats and trying to study Greek when I needed a color to finish a hat. The responsible thing to do would have been wait until the morning. But I have to have some spontaneity, right?

I took to Washington, the closest place to purchase yarn at 10:00pm. I get to Wally World, find my skein (I only needed one), get out my three dollars, and find that only three registers are open and all of them are packed, typical of the mindless-consumer model. I spot an express lane for ten items or less (should be ten items or fewer, grammatically speaking, but cheap junk covers a multitude of sins). I normally have to count my buggy before I whip into one of these lanes, but I was fairly sure I fit the requirements tonight. 

Naturally, the cart in front of me was a fairly full cart... In the express lane. The lady with ten plus items in the ten items or less (should be fewer) lane sort of flustered me. Who did their shopping at ten, anyway? 

So I thought of ways to show hostilipality, or the fun gesture of hostility guarded by hospitality. I was wondering if I should offer to unload her cart onto the conveyor belt, or ask if I could help her in the parking lot after I checked out. 

As I was considering ways to make her feel guilty, she turned around and asked, "Would you like to go in front of me?"

Of course I felt ashamed. 

I accepted and felt very unworthy of her kindness. I handed the cashier my three dollars. While the cashier was counting out my forty-eight cents in change, I took a closer look at the woman's purchases, the items that I was so quick to judge. Battle tops, like the ones I played with when I was a child, most likely for grandchildren. Several cheap, single-serving, heat and eat meals, most likely for a person who didn't have a companion, who lived in loneliness and was forced to break bread alone. 

I took a look at the battle tops and told her that I played with those as a kid. The cashier then handed my change back. 

The woman smiled back and told me they were for her grandkids. She got one for both of her two (or three, I forget exactly) grandboys. 

I told her they would enjoy them very much and that she made a very good selection. She thanked me, and I told her good night as I started for the door. 

Oh, how beautiful is the human story. At our core, in our souls, we are so brilliant. Why do we always try to mask that light in ourselves and in one another?

Next Door Evangelism

So I received words of triumph today! I was working in my room when I heard a gal tell me hello from the hallway. 

She told me thank you. We had a deep theological conversation a week and a half ago and that conversation encouraged her to go back to church last Sunday. 

I never intended to make her a church goer, or returner. I have no proof she'll keep going. However, by just trying to be her friend and talking about something I'm passionate about, I did something splendid. 

Sending her back to church wasn't splendid, mind you, but seeing her excited about a rendezvous with her Creator was. 

This experience was just a reminder to me about what evangelism really is. Evangelism, or message or light, isn't about going up to strangers and asking if they have a personal relationship with Christ, and then proceeding to tell them they can find it if they go to such and such church. 

No, rather it is doing the work of the gospel. It is loving people, wasting time on them and with them. I did not intend to go "win one for Christ" but I did set out to know her and to become her friend. And... I shared my story and my thoughts and my feelings and I didn't boil my thoughts down but displayed my personal matters in all of their glory, open for her and the world to see.

Next door evangelism is a beautiful thing, and I'm glad to have been a part of this case. 

Dead Man's Cell Phone

I went to the theater last Saturday night.  My friend, Casey, and I watched Eureka College students in Dead Man’s Cell Phone, which was a bizarre and black comedy.  The play was weird, even by my standards.

In the course of the story, a woman, Jean, finds a dead man and elects to keep the man’s cell phone.  Eventually, through the twists and turns of the plot, she is killed and meets up in an odd purgatory like place with the dead man, Gordon.  He has been alone in this place for the course of the play, because in this version of the afterlife, the person a character loved most was reunited with that character for eternity.  The whole thing does not make much sense until Gordon explains it like so, “most mothers love their children the most, the children their fathers, and the fathers always love the family dog the most.”  One can easily see how this version of the afterlife can be complex and/or interesting.

So Jean and Gordon begin to speak and it comes out that Gordon did not love anybody except his self, and that Jean, who obsessed about the dead man whose cell phone she collected, loved Gordon more than any other person in the world.  So, in Jean’s death, she was united with Gordon, breaking what would have been his eternal solitude.  Jean then explains that Gordon’s mother loved him so much that she committed the rest of her life to mourning her son.  Gordon, feeling loved, disappears to wait until his mother dies and to wait for that time when she will arrive to him.

Jean is then left alone.  She can hear the sounds of all the conversations of the living (it may only be cell phone conversations- the idea is that, like words on paper, the air retains words) but she is alone. 

In that moment, I looked at the woman left loveless and alone for eternity, and I distinctly thought, “That is Hell in the truest sense.”  The idea of a loveless solitude for all eternity is possibly the worst Hell imaginable, much worse than any sort of physical torture. 

Jean discovered that she loved Dwight (Gordon’s brother) the most, and was reunited with him after coming back to life.  At least in this play, and maybe in life, there is still hope for those wandering souls who still haven’t figured it all out yet.  Maybe… hopefully…

Speaking for the Dead

Most people know what I am about to say quite well:

I’m weird.

There are many ways that I am considered “weird,” “abnormal,” “odd,” or a “strange one,” but perhaps where my eccentricities stand out the most is how I view funerals.  I love good funerals.

If a funeral is done properly, then it is the mightiest vessel to process grief.  You know a good funeral by how you feel at the end.  If the intent was to make you “feel better,” well, the funeral probably missed the mark.  However, if it is done to be an expression of the deceased’s life, then a funeral hurts like a very cold knife, but it breaks the last walls of grief down.  You begin to remember all of the memories and the times you shared together and you weep for the times that won’t come back in this life, and your breath is ragged with love for that person and your vocal cords make unintelligible sounds, sounds that want to say, “I love you” in a language that can only be heard by the dead.

Then… the healing can begin.  The pieces are on the floor, and the time to make the shards of glass into a new object has begun.  An invitation exists.

However, what I see in eulogies is that officiators focus on the next destination, and not the people left behind.  There is comfort in knowing that a loved one is in heaven, and that should surely be stated.  However, there are more places to draw on, and these places can make much more sense to us in our times of grief.  We can comprehend that a loved one is in paradise, but we are here in a hellish earth without them.  How do we comfort the living more?  I firmly believe it is in the remembrance, in the acceptance and slow healing of wounds.  We cannot quickly glaze over them with the Band-Aid of faith in God, but along with our faith and our hope, we must remember our loved ones, and remember all of their life.

My minister, Vicki, gave the best eulogies I have ever heard.  I remember well the ones she gave during her time at my church, and I remember my mother’s fondly.  Vicki told us about my mother’s salvation, but the comfort I found was in the story and memory of my mother.  The funeral hurt, and it ripped my soul to hear about the woman I loved so much, the woman who should have been sitting next to me, but was not.  However, in that sanctuary, surrounded by family and friends, I could feel my heart begin to wake up.  Now that the pain was comprehended, realized, and understood, it was time to live again. 

I heard of a young man who lost his mother the other day, and the funeral did not mention the story of his mother, only her salvation.  I felt the deepest regret for him- how cruel!  His time to mourn deeply and without regrets was stolen from him!  Who dares take away what was mercifully given to me!  The thing I hate most in this world may be funerals that focus more a person’s salvation than the life they left behind.  The story they lived, all of it, including their salvation, is what the people, and family in particular, need to hear.  A half-baked eulogy is like only telling the story of Jesus on the cross and NOT his ministry, which was arguable just as important, if not more so.

I decided that if I ever wanted to create a ministerial job, it would be to give eulogies at funeral homes.  To be able to tell the stories of God’s people would be my highest honor.  I would try to tell the histories of the people as they walked with God on earth and as they transitioned into walking with God in heaven- both sides of the story.

Perhaps this is why my favorite book is Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card.  The book follows a young man, met in the previous novel, named Ender, who goes from place to place researching people who have died and performing their Speaking, not a funeral, but a comprehensive eulogy of their whole life, their highs and their lows, their strengths and their weaknesses, and their triumphs and failures.  A Speaking would be slightly more humanist than I prefer, but it is closer than most eulogies I hear today.

Am I coming down too hard?  Possibly.  There is some comfort in eulogies that only talk about heaven.  However, when it comes to really working to heal a family stricken with grief, the last thing they need is to start forgetting their loved one, or to compartmentalize the time they shared with them.  Instead, the focus should be on remembering, fondly, the times shared, times that can be carried on into tomorrow. 

The Philosopher Kings

I was in Indianapolis this past weekend as an undergraduate Higher Education and Leadership Ministries (HELM) of the Christian Church Fellow. Our theme was Inter-religious Dialogue, which works fantastic with my work with the Eureka College Interfaith Challenge. Leading our weekend is Dr. Kang from Brite Divinity School, and truly a citizen of the world.

The movie was called "The Philosopher Kings" and the film looked at the lives of university and college custodians or janitors- generally, the lowest rung on the ladder concerning higher education staff.

The movie was about their lives as humans. It was about their journey as twenty-first century pilgrims. It was about not only their humanity, but mine, and yours.

As many of you know, I am a sucker for the story. They had τους καλλιστους λόγους, the most beautiful stories. There was  a tale of a man who loved art, a woman whose mother was in a coma due to a botched delivery for eleven years until the ultimate death of the mother. There was the recount of a man who was shot in the back in Vietnam, but he was also the man who opened for the Beach Boys as a musical artist.  Story after story poured out of the documentary, story after story representing so much that is right in our world.

There was a Hispanic janitor who was walking along the road one day and was hit by a car.  He lost his arm in the accident.  He asked if he had the right to sue the driver, and it turns out that he did have the right.  So the man investigated into the details, and it turns out that the driver was a father with no insurance and suing the man would send the family’s principle breadwinner to jail.  Demonstrating the highest form of compassion, he walked away; starving children would not get his arm back.

What struck me on the deepest and truest level was their commitment.  They would not have traded their job for the world.  They were “philosopher-kings,” the people who had such love for knowledge, but passion for the world which they served.  The title comes from an idea from the ancient Greek philosopher Plato, who believed the world should be ran by “philosopher-kings.”  Maybe the world should be ran by passionate janitors?  I don’t know.  However, I would like to live in a world that is regarded with as much love as they regard their work. 

As I finished the movie, I was left with a few ideas.  Some of these ideas I will visit some other time, but the one I want to visit now is their rank in society.  Often, far too often, we put a class system into place and we put, not only a faulty system, but a system based on all of the wrong ideals.

Janitors do not make much; they’ll most likely never be the presidents of the colleges they work at.  If the janitors were lucky, they were able to attend some of the classes they clean up after.  But I dare anybody to tell me that they are lower or even middle class.   Their love for this world, the communities they served, and simply the lives they lived made them citizens of the highest class.  A rank not judged by bank account, skin color, sexuality, religion, family, nationality, or even on traditional human terms.  Rather, they rank the highest on a scale based on the heart, a rank mere mortals can only achieve in our wildest dreams. 

Do all janitors feel such compassion and zeal?  Probably not.  Neither does any other profession. However, if we can learn from this set of janitors (or real estate agents, or teachers, or bankers, or ditch diggers, or…) we will soon realize that we can be higher, we can go farther and we can go better, but… we have to care, and not just care once or frequently or a lot.  Rather we have to obtain a daily system of gratitude and passion to carry us through to the level of a “philosopher-king.”

Billy Elliot!

I'm on the road while writing this blog! I am headed to St.Louis to watch the musical "Billy Elliot" with the Eureka College First Generation Student Program.  Interestingly enough,  it is the same musical I saw on my International Affairs Seminar in New York City. I'm cannot wait to see if St. Louis beats Broadway!

The story of "Billy Elliot" is one of my favorites, so I'm not depressed to see it again, not at all. However, "Billy Elliot" and I do have an interesting relationship. In the musical is a song called "The Letter". Billy's mother is dead and it was the letter she wrote to him for when he grew up. 

Of course I have to bawl every time I hear it. 

I don't mention this for pity (at least I don't think, but, hey, maybe I do) but I mention it because it's always a part of me. 

The last time I saw this back in March in NYC, Jeremy Skaggs pulled me in a bear hug during the worst parts for me. It's not often that I say this, but I hope there are more Jeremys out there (just kidding, Jeremy).  More crying people, figuratively  and literally, need a Jeremy. 

Remember, no matter how long the time has been, when the heart is ripped back open, it still hurts. 

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted"- Matt 5:6

Love openly, forgive thoroughly, and forgive quickly. It's a lesson I am still learning. 

Much love,

Clott


The Letter Lyrics (abridged)

And I will have missed you growing,
And I'll have missed you crying
And I'll have missed you laugh.
Missed your stomping and your shouting,
I'll have missed telling you off,
But please Billy,
Know that I was always there.
I was with you through everything.
And please, Billy,
know that I will always be
Proud to have known you
Proud that you were mine,
Proud in everything.
And you must promise me this, Billy,
In everything you do
Always be yourself, Billy
And you always will be true
Love you forever.
Mum

Just a Moment with Academia

Age is one of the biggest tricks ever played on us.  Today I was thinking about my school, Eureka College and its long history.  I feel “old,” 18 in body, but somewhere around 65 in spirit (just ask any of my church camp family).  However, I realized as I stared out the second floor window in my philosophy class (most of my best blogs come from that class) that there was a time before me and my contemporaries. There was even a time before my philosophy professor.  For that matter, there was a time before Ronald Reagan!  There was a time back in 1899 that a man, about my age, sat in the same classroom I was in and did some of the same things I was doing now.

For a long moment, I felt so insignificant.  That is the way of academia, though.  We are led to believe that we know the world, whether due to our human nature or the sheer amount of knowledge we process.  During some of the moments, we feel like masters of nature and the possessors of the future.  Then we take a step back from the bookcase we were studying so intently, that treasure trove where we clung to every word on every page in the desperate thirst for knowledge; we carefully look down the hallway and see that the hallway leads to infinity and bookcases of knowledge line the rest of the hallway as well. 

The individual bookcases in academia lure us into thinking that we are immortal and omnipotent, if only for a second.  However, suddenly and without grace, academia shocks us back to real life and shows us just how much we really do not know.  The confidence is eroded, but in its own way, the nature of academia coupled with the human spirit provides some of the best motivation to recover from our powerlessness.

Oh, but for that moment we are kings and queens of the best time.  For that moment, we are the masters and we are the possessors.  For those few moments of our lives, we have a handle on control and we have endless life and we, in so many ways and emotions, have the world.  Living on that constant high would be unsafe, but how wonderful it feels, for just a few, fleeting moments.

A Very Un-Colton Thing To Do

I did a very odd thing, for me, today (technically yesterday at this late hour). I got up, and I decided that I wouldn't go to church today. 

I wasn't sick. I wasn't unable. I could've gotten around in time to go, but I decided I wasn't going to. I think this was the first time I consciously decided not to go to church since the seventh or eighth grade, barring conflicts. 

I didn't do anything life changing with the time, and I mostly wasted it, truth be told. 

The sad part, to me, is that while I may have longed for literal and figurative communion with my Creator, I didn't regret missing church very much. It felt like skipping a meal- I knew I was doing it, but it wouldn't really hurt anything. 

I haven't made a deep realization about the workings of religion through skipping church. I've heard the "going to church doesn't make you a Christian anymore than going to a garage makes you a car!" line too many dreadful times to count, but I fear that I may personally be changing. I greet this opportunity with open, and happy arms, though. 

However, I'll be honest- next week, I'm pretty sure I'll be at church. I think I may have missed it more than I thought. 

Happy Halloween!

Time to Reconcile

Oh my. A week has gone by. That's a shame. I'm to blame. Where's the time gone? I fear to be shown. I need to organize, for it's time again to prioritize. 


Today was my Fall Break, and what a B E A Utiful break it was. I rather liked it. I relaxed yesterday and did just a small bit of homework. I knitted a great deal- that was nice. 

Thursday night I went with my "favorite charity case" (otherwise known as Belle Grober) to the Newman Center for pizza. The Salve Regina Newman Center is our Catholic ministry on campus and also St. Luke's parsonage for their priest.

The Newman Center had a get-to-gether to celebrate the short break, as well as to have something for those who cannot go home, like Belle (for non-regular readers, she hails from New Zealand). Hence we've taken to calling her our little charity case or project. 

All in all, the party was a nice event and I'm glad I was able to attend with Belle. We walked and talked on the way home and I ended with, "I'm sincere about this, if you ever want me to go again, just tell me."

You woulda thought I gave her the world! "Ahh! Thank you Colton!" she exclaimed as she wrapped me into a life threatening embrace. 

"What?!" I said, kinda shocked, but not really, "you're not weird because you're Catholic!"

"I know. It's just nice to be reminded of that sometimes. Ta mate! [in American English: thank you friend]"


It's rather sad that we still have such a poor Protestant/Catholic relationship. I am a Disciple, unashamedly so. However Belle is a disciple, which I am too. How often it is that we think it is the "big D" that defines us, when the "little d" is just as important. 

I have love to give the Catholic Church. First and foremost, they're the primary institution that carried Christianity to the reformation. Among other reasons is that they are still communities of faith, they may carry unique ideas, but they try to fully believe in those unique ideas, and it is ultimately another part of the One Body- that same one body of which I belong. 

In the Disciples-with-a-big-D church, we have what is called Reconciliation Ministry, which helps to mend the conflicts of opposing cultures that so often plague us. I hope that within this still-vital ministry we are or can recognize the differences between these divisions, not just between skin color, economic status, or culture, but also within Christianity.  That this ministry is or will push us to yearn to celebrate these differences that make us who we are, and also make our mutual faith so much rich and vibrant, while also noting that we are still brothers and sisters, hand-in-hand and step-by-step. 

Small Stuff

I think I survived this week.  Someone cyber-pinch me, please. 

I am SO elated! My family comes in tonight for parent’s weekend.  I missed them so greatly.  I may not seem overly sentimental, and I am incapable (mostly) of feeling homesick, but I did miss my family. 

I have a very funny story to tell all of you, my lovely blogosphere family.  A week ago my First Year Seminar professor and I were talking about the meal that we are serving on Sunday.  I was in charge of survey and ticket distribution, and it was looking like everything was about to unravel if we were not playing very very carefully.  I reassured him that everything would be okay because, “it’ll all work out.  None of us will die and we will do okay.”

He smirked and said, “I like your “nobody’s dead yet style philosophy.”

I considered this for a while and ultimately decided that I had gathered my, “don’t worry unless someone is dying” style of worrying from my grandmother Jayne.  She made a point to tell me to, “don’t sweat the small stuff- and this is small stuff!”  Everything was small stuff to Meme Jayne, except matters of life and death (and then it may STILL be small stuff, or just “another lap around the mountain!)

I miss my grandmother particularly today, and I cannot wait until Thanksgiving finally creeps in so that I can see her.  We have hours upon hours’ worth of conversation to have.  The only person that can talk more than Dad is Meme Jayne, and they are the only two that can beat me. 

I’ll blog more this week, promise.

Clott

Studying Abroad (As in "Other Places", Not "A Woman")

This is an early afternoon post, so I hope that all of those who are still working (i.e. not retired!) will see this when they are done with their duties at their occupation.

My ears keep popping today, students are restless, and the wind is blowing just right… a weather change is in the air.  I fear it is “The Change” that will start bringing the winter I dread to this corner of the earth.  Maybe not, though, and right now I would greatly appreciate the weather to change, it has been far too hot.

When the first cold snap hit, Eureka turned off the air conditioning for the dorms, so it becomes very hot if the mercury rises above seventy five degrees.  It is amazing how well cinderblock walls trap in heat!

Sam is behind me, searching out schools to study abroad.  He wants to be a German major as well as engineering, so he is searching for schools in (you guessed it) Germany. 

I wonder if I will choose to study abroad.  It is a once in a lifetime experience, but so many other things are as well!  Would it be beneficial to the education I hope to achieve during my four short years here at Eureka? 

I know that one of the two mentorships I am given will be abroad.  If I was to choose today (which is a year and some early) I would want to go journey on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela and walk the pilgrimage across France and Spain.  One of my dearest teachers, Mrs. Earle, took this trip a few summers ago.  I would probably start in Paris, make a stop at the Taize ecumenical monastery, and then walk (along with the occasional car or train) to the city of Compostela near the Atlantic Ocean to see the remains of James, the brother of John.  It would be a study of pilgrimages, as this was one of three major pilgrimages during the medieval era (the others being to Jerusalem and Rome, I believe).  It would be so much fun and yet so eye opening. 

I also would need to know a bit of French, which if I went during the Summer of 2013, I would need to start studying French next year.  Depending on how much French I would need, I still would likely start next year, but take the domestic trip in 2013 and the international trip in 2014.  Whew! 

What’s wonderful is that I don’t decide this now, and it is probably too soon to even begin consideration.  However, I look at the doors God has opened to me and I smile and I cannot wait to walk through them to explore as much of God’s creation as I can.

Right, Wrong, or Somewhere In the Middle?

I’m BAAAACK!  Not for a long amount of time though.  Next week will be quite busy with four campus events, mixed in with one service project, one Spanish exam, one major paper, and one visit from my family back home.  Oh, and how could I forget, sermon writing!  I have been contacted by the First Christian Church of Creve Coure to present the message on Sunday, October 23.  It’ll be great fun!!  I may start on the sermon this week, to be honest.  Next week is going to maul me like a bear. 

Today’s topic is a sensitive one.  It concerns the Eureka Heart House.  I love the mission of the Heart House and I believe it is an invaluable asset to this community.  Indeed, it is one of the primary reasons I knit hats (the other, besides aiding in funding the Heart House, is it is rather fun).  However, the Heart House does something I am not a fan of.

The Heart House does not serve men!  It is for single women, single mothers, homeless, and domestic violence victims.  Tis an admirable cause, but it does not include aiding men.

I know that I have the most privileged characteristics in America: male, white, Protestant Christian, straight, college bound, and middle class.  I am in the most favored position, but I am arguing for more consideration for males.  Part of me feels guilty.

However, another part of me remembers my family.  My father was a single father for many years.  Thankfully, he had a good paying job and we had a loving family and support group.  I’ve never gone hungry, homeless, or in want of anything.  I have lived the most blessed life I could think of. 

But (and there is always a but) if anything had been different, even just a little bit, how would our economic situation had changed?  Would we have been left out in the cold?

I understand that as a domestic abuse shelter, there are several precautions that must be taken in securing a safe haven for some of the most vulnerable in our society.  I would never advocate NOT having the Heart House (Ada, a community four times the size of Eureka, does not have a homeless shelter and THAT is a shame and a disgrace that needs to be confronted in such an affluent community).  Although, I do want this community, and all others, to remember that there is vulnerability EVERYWHERE, that want and pain crosses both genders, all colors, and every single stereotype. 

Talk to you all soon!  Sorry it has been so long.

Clott

Blogging for Money?

So I just checked my statistics, O Blogosphere family.  It turns out that we really ARE a family.  This blog has been visited 2,075 times since I created it 10 weeks ago.  Can you believe how short of a time I have been blogging?  I am so thankful for all that read my blog.  It certainly brightens my spirit to know how many of you are out there!  I have had most of my visits in the United States (roughly 1,900) but 90 came from the United Kingdom, and 8 from Japan (although, chances are, those were spam.  Spam from Japan- what a rhyme, oh what a time we have on this blog on a log!).

So that is good!  I want to give my heartfelt gratitude to all those that read, whether once or everytime I post.  Thank you so much.  Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this was possible.

Which brings me to what I wish to discuss with all of you today.  I can start integrating advertisements into my blogs.  For money.  Like blogging could be a job for me.

You see, Google owns Blogger, which means the ads I would display on my blog would be an extension of the ads you see if you have ever used the Google search engine.  Since Google is always trying to "read minds" they would (likely) pertain to the subject I was writing about.  I could integrate a lot of ads or a few.  The more I put in, the more money I would make. 

The technical way I would get paid is an advertisement would present a link.  Every time a reader clicked on the link, I would get paid by the owner of the website. 

So... what do you think?  Is it worth it?  Is going commercial worth it?  Chances are I would NOT make a lot of money (my guess is a couple of dollars a month).  I would plague the blog with ads... it wouldn't be horrible- but I want YOU, all of you, the people I actually write for, to make this decision with me. 

SO... please, please, PLEASE comment, or email, or Facebook, or text me, or even write me a letter.  It would be a neat opportunity, but not if it means sacrificing too much integrity. 

This week looks to be interesting... no promises on a new blog until Thursday.  I'll post on FB if I get one up Tuesday or Wednesday.

Yours,

Clott


PS- For my paper which I asked the blogosphere family with help on: I chose the topic of Inter-Faith Marriages.  Blended families, which was my most common suggestion received, was just too broad.  Thanks again!!

World Communion Sunday

How interesting it is how God works in my life.  Today was World Communion Sunday, of which I had forgotten.  The celebration would normally not be too big of a thing, except for my experiences yesterday in which Belle and I talked extensively on communion.  How God must love me to put so much effort into me!

Anyhoo! It was your typical Disciples spiel; the sermon was on the unifying acts of communion that brings us all closer to the risen Christ, so that all may see Jesus face to face.  Lovely stuff, my only complaint was that Belle was not in attendance for a more elaborate take on how I feel (well, mostly.  I’m not going to say that any speaker accurately sums up all my beliefs or feelings with every nuance included- even if I am the orator!).  I love the idea of a meal that we are called to come to; a meal that calls us to be compassionate with our companions (learned today that companion meant literally, “the one you break bread with.” Neat, eh?). 

That really is all I have today for this incredibly short blog.  I have much to do with not much time to do it in- oh the dilemma of my life! 

Much heart, much love, much peace, much spirit, and much hope for this coming week in my most favorite month,

Clott

Adventures with Catholicism

And the Red Devils won their Homecoming game!  22-18 was a close but very nice victory over the Westminster Blue Jays, and it brought a nice conclusion to the Homecoming festivities (unless you count the party at the Bowling Alley tonight, which I do not).  The sad part is next week will be utterly normal, and October will be a somewhat harder academic month.  Real life is back in swing and for the first time since starting at Eureka there are no events or holidays coming up to look to… it is just normal college.  It will be interesting to look at school as just school, to see the “daily grind” with fewer respites.  I think I’m up to the challenge.

I had the opportunity to go to a Catholic mass today with my good friend, Belle.  For those of you without a spotless memory, Belle is also teaching me piano and is from New Zealand.  She is a wonderful friend that I am thankful to know and even more appreciative that she felt comfortable enough to share her faith with me (not that it is VERY different than the protestant brand of Christianity, but there are differences; enough differences that I felt lost!).

The parish was old, “white and out”, which was in its own way comforting to see.  The hymns were like ours, except they were sung a cappella.  I think that isn’t a part of traditional Catholicism, but due to the fact that they were without an organist.  The pews were hard and wood, just like any that I would find at any of the numerous churches I have visited over the years- but with kneelers and without communion cup holders. 

Most of the service was done in liturgy, which was interesting.  Even though a few Catholics may read this, and please do not take offence, I did not like that aspect of it much.  It didn’t have as much of the individual soul.  I think that was a part of the intended effect, but I prefer it the other way.  By other way, I mean very little is said in unison, the priest/preacher/pastor prays original prayers, and in general the congregation shapes more of the service.  Although, there is some comfort in that everywhere, every mass is saying and learning what you are.  I find some of that appealing, to be sure. 

I am quite positive they did not know I was a Disciple and never attended a mass before, but nevertheless I was asked to help with the service.  I’m not sure if they grabbed me because they knew Belle, or I was young, or my “minister wannabe” factor was showing, but I was asked to be the gift bearer and to bring the chalice to the priest.  I enjoy the way this parish did the collections of monetary tithes and offerings in that they had a basket in the back of the room.  The basket was never passed, so if you didn’t give, no one would know.  I liked that a lot.  Plus, visitors could not give.  Only people who had been there for a time could have known where the collection was.  Normally, visitor confusion is never good, but I liked the inability to give monetarily to the parish.  It makes the service more of a gift then.  The bringing of the chalice was also the only way I got to participate with communion.

Naturally, the universal problem for a Disciple came up while I was there.  Communion was being served, and even though I follow the Christ who was born in a barn and therefore have an open door policy to communion, I had to understand that this meal was not served for me.  I could have gone forward to be blessed, but at the same time, it stung to be blessed by a priest and then turned away from the single most important act of worship, so I elected to stay in my pew as the congregation filed forward for the bread and cup.   

Even though I knew how Catholics believed concerning communion, I was still inwardly angry when the time came.  I was surprised, I thought I had gotten over these poor feelings, but they rose up when it was time to break bread.  I craved to be a part of the body of Christ and to commune with Jesus, to take the bread and drink from the cup and see the risen Christ face to face.  However, I respect their faith, and I understand their reasoning, but I still maintain that the Disciples have the best idea of the meal that heals, the gift from God meant to be a symbol of unity that so often divides.

Belle and I left the mass and walked back to Eureka College and I made her come back to my dorm room.  I wanted to show her one of my all-time favorite gifts.  We got back to my room and I showed her the portable communion set my grandmother Jayne had given me.  It is a beautiful set and I admire it so greatly.  She looked at it confusedly for a moment and then she realized what it was and we discussed it.  She mentioned that she could use this if the priest blessed the host.  I said that in the Disciples way of understanding, any believer can give any believer communion.  I am not sure how she felt about this (as she will probably read this, I have a feeling I will know sooner than later). 

By the end of the adventures in faith that I had today I was thankful.  Not only thankful for my friendship with Belle, or thankful that I lived in a country where I can try out so many different styles of loving one God, but thankful for my heritage.  I thank God that I was put in the place to become a Disciple of Christ with a “big D.”

On the walk home, Belle and I both agreed on one thing above all else: we loved our faith.  How wonderful is it that God can love both of us equally and fully, we who believe similarly yet so differently at the same time.  Praise to our Creator!

The identity statement of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ):

We are Disciples of Christ, a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.  As part of the one body of Christ, we welcome all to the Lord’s table as God has welcomed us.

How Hot Are the Hub-caps of Hell?

Tonight was the traditional torch light parade and bonfire as a part of Homecoming Week Festivities.  It was a blast as four hundred torches lit up the sky and blazed through the path, seeking to dispel all darkness and all thoughts of the Red Devils losing on Saturday.

(Yes, the Eureka [Christian] College mascot is the Red Devil.  What perfect Disciples humor, eh?)

As we got to the massive bonfire and it came time to throw my torch in, I had the thought that I always do when I step close enough to feel a bonfire: “Is this what Hell feels like?”

I can attribute this thought to my good friend Colin Earle, who was speaking at Steffani Silva’s sixteenth birthday party.  As part of her large party, she wanted a huge bonfire that rivaled the size of the Eureka fire I had tonight.  The party-goers could not stand within ten or fifteen feet due to the excessive heat.  As clear as water, I remember Colin saying, “I wonder if this is what the Hell is like?”

Little did they know that I was undergoing a large faith crisis at the time, so his words cut me up like a knife and I stared in awe at the fire that could be the fate for my soul. (Interesting enough, it was a rainy day when Steffani had her party.  She was freaking out, and, knowing me for the good Christian chap that I am, asked me to say a prayer to make the rain go away.  I did, but I felt very hypocritical doing it.)

I still wonder if that is what Hell is.  Is it that massive bonfire that scorches the skin?  Are souls like chickens roasted over a spit?  Is there such a thing as Hell in the first place?  An even harder question is: if there is, would it necessarily be how we conceptualize it? 

I think that Hell, assuming its existence, is much more based on the idea of utter loneliness.  It would be a separation from love in every definition and left with the cold dregs of hate, anger, fear, and jealousy.  There are things worse than physical pain.

           

Would my faith change if I didn’t believe in Hell?  Is it necessary?  Why does it exist?  Such questions, such a puny amount of answers.

An Interesting Story

“You know, it’s an interesting story,” is how most of my tales start out.  Sometimes the story is indeed interesting and sometimes, well, it’s not.  However, I will say that all of my stories are interesting to me, it is others who find them disenchanting. 

So this blog will be interesting too.  I was speaking to Meme the other day about one of my papers for English.  It was about money and the traditional American dream based on two articles, one “A Lavish Wedding Costs More Than You Think” and the other “Her Body, My Baby”.  “A Lavish Wedding” is about how the typical wedding costs are actually much higher because of the money that could have been made if the $17,000 median wedding expenses had been invested.  The second article “Her Baby, My Body” was about a woman who had a baby with the help of a surrogate.  Both are good articles, one based on numbers, the other on more “matters of the heart”.  In my work, I asked the question why people are willing to pay so much for weddings and babies, and if the answer to that is that Americans are trying to spend their way into happiness and/or attempting to buy the American Dream.  It was a delightful paper to write, and I sincerely hope that my professor will see it the same way and grade it accordingly (thankfully she is relatively easy graders SO… we will see…).

After Meme proof-read my paper (at which she is almost too good having spent so many years as a secretary; she frequently texts me my grammatical mistakes in my blogs as well) we discussed whether she thought what I said was true.  She believed that the large wedding costs in our culture were due to “Keeping up with the Joneses” syndrome.  We talked on a bit before I said that it would follow that she would perceive it that way as she and Papa eloped.  It suddenly dawned on me that EVERYONE who raised me had eloped.  Mom and Dad… Meme Janice and Papa Ted… Meme Jayne and Papa Jack... Effie and Lloyd.  Why was my life filled with quickie weddings??  I guess that they were rebels in their time… or cheap… or just in it for the love.  Who knows?

So that was my short and interesting story for you BUT! I have a request.  I have to write a LARGE information paper and argumentative paper over a topic related to marriage and/or family.  SO, if you have an idea, please comment it below, Facebook it to me, email it to me, text it to me, snail mail it to me, or simply call me and tell me what a good thing to research would be.  I have a few ideas, but I would love a few more to broaden my perspective before I choose the topic that I will write 45% of my English Writing grade over. 

Thanks!

Clott

Do It Right

Here in the real world…

Thankfully this academic week is pretty easy schmeasy.  I only had one English class, today, and it was a mid-term exam.  It is a small grade per the entire course and I think I did okay on the paper we had to revise. We had written a paper in the first week of class and today’s test was on revision of ideas.  I kinda think I did better the first time… but I hope not!  Spanish was decent and nothing big there either, Modern Philosophy is normal, and Greek is not expected to throw any curveballs, except perhaps a quiz on Thursday.  Freshman Seminar has no homework until next week- SO I get to catch up, get ahead, and breathe.  It feels nice to do that every now and then.

So this week, with all my extra spare time, I am filling it (mostly) with hat making.  I really enjoy the knitting of the hats as it is not only calming but very productive.  Right now I am in a race against the clock to finish as many of these hats in maroon and gold for Saturday’s homecoming game!  I hope to finish five before Saturday, which is $50 for the Eureka Heart House as well as five hats displaying that good ole Eureka pride.

My dearest Meme has had an interesting role in this.  Meme crocheted afghans at the earliest I can remember (she stopped after I was about five or so) and had lots of advice.  Her most important was, “If you screw up, go back and fix it.  If you’re gonna do, make sure you do it right!”

My, “It’s only charity!” excuse didn’t fly with her.  After I digested what she told me, I discerned her to be right (Meme- I don’t say it often, keep this comment near and dear to your heart).  So the hat I was working on soon became garbage when I noticed that I skipped three stiches down towards the bottom.  It didn’t become garbage until I tried to “fix” it and the hat became unraveled.  Oh the trials and tribulations of learning a new craft!

It rained here considerably today.  I feel bad when the folks here go complaining about it, knowing how many farmers in Oklahoma need the rain like most people need a paycheck.  If you, my blogging community, could, please keep praying for rain.  Also, please pray for Kathy Standridge and Chitwood Farms, because they have been holding out for some of “that wet stuff from the sky” and I know they are hurting bad for it. 

That is all from my lofty position in Darst 202.  Have a wonderful day/night and remember- if you want/need a hat- I can make it with my hands and love for the low low price of $10!!!  Start thinking of Christmas now!

Returning With a New Bag of Tricks!

Back to normalcy I come!  “The Week” finally wrapped up, my professors hold my (hopefully graded with A+) papers, and the two exams I had took the sweat, blood, and tears right out of me, but they too, hopefully, have beautiful A’s.  There is no letter prettier, after all.

Although, I must say, grades look different to me now.  Grades still have importance in my education, do not get me wrong, but I look at them with less meaning. Instead of viewing grades as almost a competition, I see them as bars by which I can judge my performance.  If I get a B, I get a B; however, it simply means “try harder”.  I’m trying as hard as I can, so I want the A’s, but I refuse to freak out over all the other letters.  Except F, I will throw myself into a tizzy over an F, and probably a D.  In fact, a C would get me down… Maybe I am not quite as reformed as I thought!

Some of this stems from how much I love my classes.  I would not trade for the world what I am learning now.  It captivates me, it enlightens me, and I am amazed at the knowledge I bring back home every single day.  I could flunk and still be happy with the education I received at Eureka College because of how it has already changed my life.  Not that I am going to flunk out because that would mean school would no longer be an option and I DO like me some school.

In other news, I knitted my first hat today!  It made me quite excited.  I did it through Bearded Men Knitting Hats.  BMKS is a student group that celebrates “No Shave November” by having bearded guys break stereotypes and knit hats to sell for $10.  The money raised goes to the Eureka Heart House, which is a home for domestic abuse victims and the homeless of the community.  Breaking down societal barriers to break down economic barriers sounds like my kind of program!

To be honest, I did not set out to join this group.  One of the sophomore ministry fellows, Zane, started the program. I thought it was a worthy program, so I donated a bit of my “God Money” (my tithe and offering) to the group to do some of that good Jesus Work.  Then Zane asked me to come to the knitting lesson today.  Not only is it another skill I get to learn, but I get to help people.  How awesome?!  I am on cloud nine right now.

Speaking of skills, I have also started to learn the piano.  My good friend, Belle from New Zealand, is my teacher.  She plays so beautifully, and she is really quite the professor.  Not that she acts necessarily friendly whilst teaching, but she surely gets the job done efficiently!  I can now play “Old MacDonald”.  I have yet to learn “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” I suppose the lamb is still on Old MacDonald’s farm.

So, while my week was not the most fun, I enjoyed life even more.  I missed you, my blogging community.  I hope that in the week that I haven’t got to talk to you, you all have not deserted me.

With God’s peace and love,

Clott

P.S.- Hand knitted hats for $10!  Colors are pick-able, and all money goes to a good cause.  Contact me if you are interested by phone, commenting, or by emailing: coldlott@gmail.com

Persecution

Sorry to all of my readers for not writing the last couple of days.  My grandparents came in and I politely spend the time with them instead; I hope that nobody minded too much.  All is well, mostly anyhow.

I may not get a blog in every day this coming week; I have three essays and two tests in the next six days, so I’m just slightly (read: all out, freak out) nervous and rather busy.  So patience, definitely need a bit of patience.  And prayer never hurt anybody.

Today Meme and I went to the Morton Pumpkin Festival, which is allegedly the largest Pumpkin Festival in the United States, if I understand right.  In reality it was just a community event that involved a lot of pumpkins but most of all a well-organized chamber of commerce.  The Morton Chamber of Commerce directs the event and they couldn’t do a better job with arranging all the pumpkin foods, craft show, carnival rides, and parade.  They did well, and it’s a well-oiled machine.  I give them a definite A+.

However, there was one odd moment.  When we were walking back to my car to head back to Meme and Papa’s hotel room, we went by the path of the parade.  The TEA Party float was going by and they were shouting their views and values.  As they passed by, people would clap and cheer and the head shouter-lady would scream back, “Protect our values!  Defend our constitution!  Join the TEA Party!” 

I was wearing my Ada High School Young Democrats shirt.

I carefully walked in front of the people who were cheering against my political beliefs and I felt afraid for a moment- you never know how mob mentality will work.  Seriously though, I realized for the first time that my political beliefs are more persecuted than my religious ones.  I’m not sure how to feel about that.  In one sense I am happy because it is nice to not be persecuted about one facet of myself.  However, what about liberal Muslims who live in the corn (or oil) fields? 

Chaplain Bruce was speaking about a conversation he had had recently (or maybe he had read an article) that Muslims, “Stay inside on 9/11 at all cost.  They fear being persecuted.”  Where has our society gone?  Where are the Christian values of “turning the other cheek?” Where is our moral compass with the persecuted?  Where is our love of ALL God’s children?  Where is any of Christ?

I’d like to think that the (low) percentage of terrorist Muslims is equal to the number of Christian war-hawks/bigots.  I do not know if I’m right, I hope for the sake of America and Christians as a whole that I am right.    

After all this, where do Christians stand, really?  Are we in solidarity with our neighbor or on the line with rocks in hand?

Now That I Have My Mouth Open... What Do I Do With My Foot?

Another day has come and gone and still I remain standing.  I received some work back and I feel slightly more confident and slightly more nervous.  I had an Ancient Greek quiz today that I do NOT feel confident about… we’ll see how that goes…  I also have my first “real” essay due in Modern Philosophy next Tuesday.  My stomach knots up whenever I think about it.

On another note, Meme and Papa are coming this weekend to visit!  It was a surprise to me last night when they called asking if this upcoming weekend would be a good time to come, but now that it is all settled, I’m very excited.  It’ll be a very fun weekend.  I certainly love my grandparents.  (And they obviously love me to drive 702 miles!)

To those of you who replied to yesterday’s blog about what should my response be to Pontiac…  I wrote the Pastor back.  I thanked him for his letter and told him about my goal to visit all 23 churches in my area, but I did tell him how Pontiac captured my heart and that I would be back sooner than I had originally anticipated.  I went on to say that I would probably be back to visit my new friends in Pontiac in early October.  I thought it was a nice compromise that satisfied both sides fighting within me.

So today’s story of the day starts with an observation.  There is more cigarette smoking here.  I do not know if it is Illinois based, or simply college based; my guess is that it is college related as for the first time I am around people who can all legally buy tobacco.  However, every time I see one of my peers puffing away, it makes me a little sad.  It is little pieces of life that they are inhaling and exhaling mixed with the toxic chemicals, nicotine, and other various things in the drag off of a cigarette. 

Anyhow, I was walking to my car to investigate a hotel Meme had found on the internet when my friend was sitting with two girls who were taking a smoke break.  He called out, “It doesn’t rub off, come over for a minute!”

So I walked over, and we talked for a minute.  We actually discussed, kinda lightly, smoking as a habit and how that contrasted with “social smoking”.  My friend believed that I thought negatively on smoking and he seemed to want my opinion on what I thought about smoking.  (I used the word “seemed” because I cannot remember if he specifically asked me or if it was intended for it to be said, but I would not have said the following without an invitation of some sort.)

“Well, I don’t think badly of smokers, I just think smoking is plebian.”  My friend, who was an extremely rare smoker it came to be known, just looked at me and said, “Ouch!” 

I wrote off this experience as yet another example of when opinions are best kept to ourselves and that what we think other people want (or what they think they want, as well) is often the exact opposite of what they wanted you to say.  Oh well, for better or worse, I have said far worse things. 

The Kink In My Plan

Today has been a good day insofar.  The Campus Activities Board brought in “Wax to the Max” which is a free craft for students to participate in.  Basically, you dunk your hand(s) into warm wax and it holds a pose.  For my hand I did a jolly Oklahoma “OK”. 

I tried to get creative and do it in multiple colors, but I failed.

Other than that, classes went swimmingly and I think I may have my HELM project in the works.  I’m pretty sure it will be similar to Last Sunday Supper, but it may take on a more environmental and health conscious mission. 

The only “kink” comes in the form of a letter.  As some of you may remember, over Labor Day I visited the First Christian Church of Pontiac (following worship I went to the Threshermen’s Parade).  Today I received a letter from the minister, Pastor Jerry, in which he not only invited me to come back, but asked that I come to Sunday School to share with the class my “presence and perspectives”.  He’s really a swell guy, but to prove his intent, he wrote that he would ensure that the cost of gas would be reimbursed.

So what do I do?  I have a church that would benefit exponentially from my presence; however, I decided weeks ago not to settle down until I completed my entire list of 23 churches (which I didn’t get to work on this Sunday, I went to Eureka Christian Church’s “First Light” service at 8:15).  Do I quit my list?  Do I decline to Pastor Jerry?  Do I compromise and go to Pontiac on a semi-regular basis? 

SO!  I actually need advice… as much as you want to give, and as many people want to give it, I’ll certainly take it!  I’m torn between what I want, what my true goal is, what they need, and most of all what God wants me to do in this situation. 

It’s not a crisis by any means, indeed, it is a good thing!  I just would appreciate a little opinion.

Although I will say that if all churches were so giving and friendly, it might make a difference.  Inviting someone to the parade, or to lunch, or just to be a part of your family is what makes them part of your family.  Just as we love because God first loved us (1 John 4:19), they might love if we first love them.  Food for thought. 

Ten Years and One New World Later

What is in a name?  I talk about names more often than I should and sometimes my name obsession makes me sound like John Proctor from The Crucible.  However, how many of you know that today has a more proper name than “9-11”?  Today is actually Patriot Day. 

So in honor of this, realistically the tenth Patriot Day (But technically the ninth as I believe that Patriot Day was first observed in 2002), I thought that I would recall a few of my own memories.

I was a third grader, and a strapping young lad, if I do say so myself.  I had a backpack with wheels that year, which I remember were very popular.  In fact, it was more common (and therefore WAY cooler) to have a backpack that was NOT an actual backpack.  They either had wheels or were a side pack or some were even designed to strap across only one shoulder. 

I headed up to my classroom on that Tuesday morning.  I was feeling nothing special; it was just an average day to me.  If I recall right, it was decent weather, with blue skies and white clouds.  I remember the general feelings of happiness and contentedness.  If I was to guess anything about that day, I think I might have been running a little late to school.

I get to my classroom and I see the television is on in Mrs. Fulton’s class.  I was confused and thought the kids must have persuaded our teacher to watch cartoons before class, but that did not seem right.  Then I looked and noticed it was news.  “Blah!” I recall thinking, “Mrs. Fulton’s watching the news!”  Back then, I didn’t have the love of news that I have now.

Then I realized something was odd in my classroom.  It was quiet.  My class, which I distinctly remember being the loudest class I had in all my 14 years in the Ada Public School System, was silent.  That is when I really looked at the television sets and looked at what was really going on.

My grandmother picked me up that day.  Again, that was something that never happened; it was always my grandfather that picked me up from school.  As we were driving to Glenwood to pick up Chase, I recall Meme saying, “It’s just like Pearl Harbor.”  I wondered silently what Pearl Harbor was, but I knew it must have been bad too.

Beyond the actual day, I only recall one other thing that happened that year that was expressly related to September 11 (although, looking back, I see that many things were repercussions of the attacks).  It was an indoor recess two weeks or a month later.  Normally I played with Legos, but on this day I played with the other boys and we built a large building out of building blocks.  It was probably two feet tall, maybe three.  We then grabbed dinosaurs and started demolishing it. 

The teacher who was on duty came by and started screaming at us.  I remember that she had the reputation of being the “mean teacher”, but I was shocked.  We were just playing dinosaurs!  She was about to put us into time out, when the other boys and I quickly rattled that we were just playing dinosaurs and that it was just part of the game.

She looked at us for a second and said, “Oh,” very softly.  She gazed around the room for a second and said, “Well, let’s quit playing that game.  We’ve all had enough of buildings being torn down for a long time.”

 I now believe that what I always recollected as anger was just sadness… fear... and the pangs that come with losing innocence.  However, that may be over analyzing the situation. 

The other thought that I have had today, one decade older at 18 instead of 8, is this.  Someone Tweeted “what we should do”, and I have thought of it off and on… it is the words to my LEAST favorite hymn in the whole history of hymns that I have ever sang, but today it makes more sense to me than ever before.  I leave you with the words to “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep

Silence”.

      Let all mortal flesh keep silence,

            and with fear and trembling stand;

            ponder nothing earthly-minded,

            for with blessing in his hand,

            Christ our God to earth descendeth,

            our full homage to demand.

Commenting Made Simple!

Okay, I know most of this information is to the right of the page (under the "About Me"), but I figured that it would be helpful to MANY people if I would post a slightly more in-depth instruction list on how to comment on my blogging.  This is very in depth.  I tried to write it as if I was talking to a person who was older than Methusalah trying to operate a computer.  So it SHOULD be easy to follow.

It is very simple, but the first time can seem a little, dare I say, frightening and confusing.  Don't panic!  A monkey with a wrench could figure this out.

After each blog there is a reddish bar that runs along the bottom.  In it is has buttons to link this blog to other sites, such as Facebook, or Twitter.  It also says what time I posted the blog.  Underneath all of that is a comments link.  It looks like text, but if you scroll your mouse over it, it will turn a different color (from gray to pink).  It will say something like "0 Comments", "2 Comments", or "534 Comments".  Click it to proceed.

You will then be taken to the commenting page.  Under the words "Post a Comment" there is a white box.  Click  in the box and the cursor comes up.  Write what you want to say (Ie- "This was terrible and my neutered cat could write something more flavorful than this!" or "This is the best article I have ever read in my life!  Please keep writing for the sake of all humanity!").  That's the easiest part! 

This is the hardest part.  After you are satisfied with your comment, look below the comment box.  There is a "Comment As:" then another small white box.  Click the down arrow and you will see many choices.  Click NAME/URL.  It will then ask for the information.  Put the name you want displayed in the name box and nothing else.  Do not worry with the URL, it will work fine without it.  Click continue.  Then click post comment.


It may ask you to put in weird funky letters.  Just type them in accurately.  Not hard, it's to stop computers from blanketing the world with spam.
You are done!*  You have just successfully commented on one of my blogs, and I thank you very much for taking the time to do so.  If you ever do get a chance to leave a comment, I invite you to do so.  I absolutely love getting feedback.



*I do not guarantee this will work as advertised.  It did, however, work for both me and Meme.  I hope it works for everyone in the same manner.