God's Bank

All our regular pastors were away this week at church, so we had a member of our church, Roger, who was a former Church of Christ minister, but has since converted to a Baptist give the sermon. The sermon was based around the idea of money, and how it is presented in the bible and what we should do with it. This was a story that Roger told to our congregation.

There was a rich man, who was considered successful in ever sense of the word by his peers. He was an admired and respected man, and he was well liked. On his way to work one morning, he had a heart attack and passed away. At the gates of heaven, his life was reviewed and he was deemed worthy to enter the Kingdom of God. He was shown to his room, which was nice, nothing like the opulence he was used to, but it would certainly be a comfortable place to stay. The man noticed that there was no food in his room, so he set off to the shops to stock his pantry. He found an adorable little grocery store, and there was a beautiful angel serving at the cash registers. The man finds that the store has all his favourite foods, and he quickly fills his trolley with the food he loves. He then lines up to pay. The line is quite long, but the man doesn't mind. Afterall, this is Heaven! Where else would he rather be? The man is greeted with a smile by the angel as she scans his items. The time comes to pay, and the man pulls out his Visa card and gives it to the angel. The angel scans it, and says with a sad smile, "I'm sorry sir, this card has been declined." No problem, thinks the man, I have plenty of other cards. He pulls out the next card in his wallet, and once again, the card is declined. The man pulls out every one of his credit cards "surely one of these must work?!" he says to the angel. The angel examines all the cards and hands them back to the man, "I'm sorry sir, you do not have the right card to purchase from the Kingdom of God. You need a card from God's Bank, it's white and has a single magnetic strip." The man immediately replies "well where can I get one of these cards?" Again, the angel smiles sadly and says "if you have funds with the bank of God, you would have already been issued with a card." The man now appears angry "Well, where is the Bank of God? I will go and deposit all I have into my account." The angel replies "There is only one way to deposit money into your account. Everytime you give to others on Earth, whether it be your money or your time or your belongings, you invest in the Bank of God, and it is held in trust for you until you arrive in Heaven. The only funds you have in Heaven are the funds you spend on others on Earth."

10 Things I Love

I was tagged by Leia, from The Other Side Of The Mirror.

Obviously, this is an original post :)

10 Things I Love

1. God. God has changed my life in ways you can't even imagine.

2. Damien. Damien is the love of my life. I would shrivel up and die without him.

3. Izzy Dog. My baby, my princess, my puppy dog, my best friend.

4. The Simpsons. Only the best show. Ever.

5. Kai Hiwatari. He's a character from the anime Beyblades and my first ever crush. Yes, I realise he's a cartoon character but I don't care! He's sullen, cynical, and has LOTS of issues. Kind of like me. Guess that's why I'm so drawn to him. He's the one crush I've allowed myself to keep since meeting Damien because I know it can never eventuate. He is just a cartoon character after all :P

6. Water. There's something so relaxing about being by the water. The ocean is best, but any body of water will do. It's where I go when I need to re-connect with life.

7. The Internet I think this is pretty self-explanatory.

8. Lazy Days There's nothing better than spending the day in bed.

9. Nursing, Nursing is my dream. It's taking me a while to get there, but one day I will be a Real Nurse.

10. Best Friends. These girls are my sisters, and they mean more to me than they could ever know.

Apples & Bananas

If tomatoes wanted to be melons
they would look completely ridiculous
I am always amazed
that so many people are concerned
with wanting to be what they are not
what's the point of making yourself look ridiculous?

You must learn that you cannot be loved by all people.
You can be the finest apple in the world, ripe, juicy, sweet, succulent
and offer yourself to all
But you must remember that there will be people who don't like apples.

You must understand that if you are the world's finest apple
and someone you know does not like apples...
you have the choice of becoming a banana
But, you must be warned
If you choose to become a banana, you will be a second rate banana
but you will always be the finest apple

You must also realise that if you choose to be a second rate banana
there will also be people who do not like bananas
Furthermore, you can spend your life trying to be the best banana
which is impossible if you are an apple...

Or you can seek again to become the finest apple.

God has a sense of humour...

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I am actually not a great fan of TS Eliot, but this poem really speaks to me. Maybe because I identify so much with Prufrock.

LET us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.


In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.


The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.


And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.


In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.


And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.


For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?



And I have known the eyes already, known them all
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?


And I have known the arms already, known them all
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?


Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…


I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.


And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.


And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”


And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
And this, and so much more?
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”


No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.


I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.


Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.


I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.


We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Dulce et Decorum Est

This is my favourite poem by Wilfred Owen.

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est

Pro patria mori.

There is a reason...that reason is God

You are who you are for a reason
You're part of an intricate plan
You're a precious and perfect unique design
Called God's special woman or man

You look like you look for a reason
Our God made no mistake
He knit you together within the womb
You're just what he wanted to make

The parents you had were the ones he chose
And no matter how you may feel
They were custom-designed with God's plan in mind
and they bear the Master's seal

No, that trauma you faced was not easy
and God wept that it hurt you so
But it was allowed to shape your heart
So that into his likeness you'd grow

You are who you you are for a reason
You've been formed by the Master's rod
You are who you are, beloved
Because there is a God