The Story of Ammiel

I stood there—amazed—in that place between panic and wonder. I had never seen this kind of bird up close before, and with only one paperweight, weathered hand the merchant could force it under a flame. This majestic creature flapped relentlessly while the fire licked its almond feathered back. I winced at the sound of this forced reconstruction. Fumes filled the hollow corridors of its masterfully engineered quill. For a fraction of a second I caught the shimmer of a plated chain revolving around one talon. As I strained to read the inscription the merchant asked, “Have you ever tasted their meat?” Sickened by the realization that he was serious, I responded with only a look. He continued, “they taste better if you cook them alive.”

This barbaric notion quickened in me a rarely summoned, but always available—courage. I demanded that he release the bird, but my voice was eclipsed by an instinctual cry that poured from the belly of the foul. It was quickly losing its struggle, and as its mighty wings settled into atrophy, the inscription around one talon became legible: AMMIEL

Someone had cared enough to name him, I thought. Just one day prior he was in full flight, guiding along spotted clouds and gliding over miniaturized terrain. Now he's twitching, hoping, reaching for his last energy reserves. With his abdomen facing the sky—flames beneath him—he contorted his head toward me. I looked into one eye and was shocked once more. I caught a distinguished flair of valor. I caught a beam of righteous indignation. I understood then the phrase "holy jurisdiction". I immediately knew that I was there to witness, not to save.

Ammiel, this mighty bird, began to initiate a fervor of unrelenting strokes. Both wings extended into a uniform motion. This prophetic dance pushed wind into the flame. Each fork reached deeper and deeper into the grip of the merchant. The same fire that had refined Ammiel's plated chain was eating up all of the oxygen between him and his captor. Suddenly, the merchant lost his grip. The bird cast a six foot shadow on us as nothing stood between him and the sun. The merchant stood there—amazed—in that place between panic and wonder. Only, he already knew what I had just discovered: that bird was a kinsman to God.

the tops of muffins, the bottom of bowls

What is it about the tops of muffins and the bottom of bowls? For some reason, I've always enjoyed the last two bites of every meal. I think it has something to do with the way that all of the juices flow into a collective sensation. As an Italian man, I'm nearly overwhelmed by the thought of olive oil, garlic chunks, and red sauce stirring into a room temperature finale.
Oddly, many others enjoy those first few bites---the "tops" of the muffins, the first big scoop, or the introductory dip.

Psalm 39:4
"Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.

I've always wanted to think of my life's end like that last two bites of a bowl of spaghetti. I can't say that the beginning was delicious, but my hope is that the end will melt into a savory delight. Recently, a fear of the "unknown" had gripped my heart. I want to know that I will see several generations of my seed grow and accomplish their purpose.

As of today, there aren't any old Signorelli males. I've wanted desperately to be the first.

Like the psalmist, I've cried "Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days".

and almost as if responding to a canyon echo,...the psalmist declares:

Psalm 112:7,8
⁷ He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.
His heart is secure, he will have no fear; in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.

Peace

It's in vain you rise up early
It's in vain you sit up late
to eat the bread of sorrows
when He gives his Beloved Sleep.

Happy is the man with a quiver full of children
when he meets his enemies, when he meets his enemies
they should have been forewarned
it is by her faith that their aim in assured

It's in vain you rise up early
It's in vain you drive your car
to smoke that last cigarette
to take your place among the stars
when He gives His beloved Peace.

You're everywhere but where you need to be
but He gives his beloved Peace.

Failure

There are seasons in life. This is a season of failure for me. It all started sometime last year. I realized that I had lost every game. Every match. Every competition I was involved in. Pickup games of basketball, UNO, rock-paper-scissors.
lose. loss. lose again.
A few weekends ago I stayed in a cabin near a lake. I played bags against my brother-in-law. Chalk up another loss.

I started grad school this fall. The adviser insisted that I start with the most difficult class first because, "you teach AP English and the majority of this class is writing". I've bombed every section of the paper assignment for the class thus far.

I don't know that I completely understand why seasons are necessary. But I do know this---You can't fail if you don't try.

I had to enroll in grad school to fail this class, and
I had to challenge Marty in bags to ever lose against him.

I'd rather make a failed attempt at greatness than never know whether I had "the stuff".

At this point I think it's safe to say: I don't have "the stuff".

decorate death

Did you ever notice how we "decorate death"? Most Americans only have this sterile, detached version of mortality in their minds. We do everything we can to create a clinical and cosmetic barrier between reality and our perception.

I had this thought during church today.

They say that acceptance is the first step to moving on. The American church needs to awaken to the reality of death. Inactivity, sedentary lifestyles= death.
A twitter generation is not going to be satisfied with passive christianity. (yes, with a lower-case "c") Technologies are mobilizing emotions. Humanity is acquiring a vocabulary to articulate our inner thoughts...and the bravery through software to share them. This global dialogue is going to eradicate this 20th century version of church--complete with "one-man shows" and "monologues".

Acknowledge the death that has already taken place and stop trying to dress it up! Underneath our positions, programs, facades, and buildings(most of which are just obstructions and monstrosities) what is stinking dead? It's time to move into a new day...where the mall is a mission field. Where your hometown is your owntown. Where you take ground...instead of being buried in it.

The Best

So lately I've had this thought about being "the best". I'm watching American Idol thinking about how I'm absolutely obsessed with making music, but can't even come close to singing on that level.

I also discovered a new standard by which to measure my greatness: Blackberry brickbreaker


The idea is to break as many bricks as possible and then compare your score against the global community of addicted users. I currently rank 803,354th place....I'm assuming that this is a real number and that my blackberry didn't simply run out of pixels.

It's hard to feel like you're special when even your biggest accomplishment is "mediocre at best"(as Simon put it tonight).

I don't know that I'll have my defining moment. All I know is that I've been putting a lot of effort into things that have been minimally rewarding.

So what if I ranked 1 in brickbreaker? Then what?

I guess either you deal with the weight of defeat or unfulfillable success.

Vivacious in Valpo,

Mike (see, even an average name)

make the grade.

I beginning to think that I've been lied to.

I mean, I'm the bootstrapper...

I'm the guy who fought through fatherlessness and dropping out of the 10th grade. I'm the guy who works side-jobs.

Wait.

I'm not going to ever be that rich?hahaha

I recently had a conversation about poverty with one guy who's never been. I said something worth writing down: I don't want my definition of poverty to determine my direction.

Think about ALL of the things that we feel some insatiable desire to chase. Why do I need to be rich? (yesterday, after a long day in the dirt, I actually thought, "why do I need to be clean all the time?")
Does anyone else notice how bunk this system is? I mean, we're all doing things. Things that we would NEVER choose. hahaha

Things that shame us.

We're tired before we get home. We can't be better to our spouse than we are to the boss because he took ALL of our best energy.

I get the feeling that everyone actually thinks that we're going to solve this by working more.

I feel like I'm in a nightmare version of Animal Farm. Everyone is struggling against reality to prove a myth. We abandon families, beliefs, passions, and pleasures for more money.

This is why I'll never apologize for my 180 work days, or my summers off. I'd rather be a poor dad than an absent one.

Cheers to every idiot that serves their master and forgets their mother. Hats off to every corporate whore who never loves their brother. You've managed to kill the thing that beat me long ago- my humanity.

The quality of being humane; the kind feelings, dispositions, and sympathies of man; especially, a disposition to relieve persons or animals in distress, and to treat all creatures with kindness and tenderness. "The common offices of humanity and friendship." --Locke.