Confessions of a Quirky Christian Artist

The sun begins to set on the Yellow Sea as a black-sailed galleon slowly treads the port. Clad in the red of his country's rising sun, a solitary figure watches the ship with narrow eyes and furrowed brow. The slanting shadows of rooftops hide his presence among the jittering lines of the city's skyline. The soft murmur of the ocean slurping against the dark sand of the bay is eclipsed by the dull roar of a distant thunder. The time came. Red Ninja noted the distance between a loading crane and the crows nest of the foreboding ship were close. He darted to the side of the roof he had been inhabiting, hurled his sickle/rope at the end of the crane and in one deft movement swooped onto the top of the main topgallant mast. Perched silently, he scanned the deck for his opponent. Suddenly a cutlass glanced off the beam next to him. In an eye blink the ninja had drawn his katana and spun around to see a gnarled pirate with a gleam in his one good eye. H

Preface~ To my gentle readers go my semi-sincerest apologies. This entry may take the cake for most rambling, incoherent, and generally hard-to-follow writing I have ever produced. My usual style is very free-form, meandering from point to point, backtracking and generally sounding foolish. But in this entry I think I may have perfected this style. This was written over a 3 or 4 month period in short bursts. Someday I'll hire an editor and put together a book. In the mean time… I'm sorry but I just don't have time to actually organize and edit any of this. ___________________________________________________ I am working under the assumption that a Christian should approach politics the same way they should approach the rest of life. That is, to follow Christ's command to love God and your neighbor. I think most Christian's would agree with that. The disagreements arise when we define how love can be expressed through a political pr

Last night I finished cleaning out our old apartment. We lived there for just over three and a half years. It's funny how when a family lives in a home long enough they sort of leave a history in the place. Like sediment, relics of the past settle into the cracks, crevices, and all those places you never clean. (Well, that I never clean.) When you move you have to dig down into all those dark places and unearth these artifacts like an archeologist. This little anthropology expedition reminded me of how far God has brought me over these past several years. As I uncovered the wall behind my bed I saw the stars drawn in marker that I vainly attempted to wash off. And I remembered my little, nervous sons cuddling up with me to sleep because they were too scared of sleep in the living room. They were like little sweaty heaters pressed up against me all night thrashing around like angry alligators. When we moved here they were… let's see… I think around 4 an