This Should Be a Holiday or Something.

Happy Birthday J.R.R. (January 3, 1892).

I think a royal decree is in order:

Henceforth, the date January 3 shall forever be observed as "Tolkien Day" or "Middle-earth Celebration Day."

So there.

The Evils of Television!! Beware!!!

A couple of weeks ago Sara and I went on a little kick and watched several movies in a row. Have you ever noticed how you don't do something for a long time, and then all of a sudden you go on a tear and just do that thing a lot? We're that way with movies. We hadn't rented a movie in months, and just over the past few weeks we've rented several. Anyway, in watching all these movies I've realized two things. One, we (as in everyone) watch too many bad movies. And two, TV shows today are better than most of the movies coming out of Hollywood.

First, we waste our time on too many bad movies. TV, in and of itself, is a pretty big waste of time. I mean, really. You turn it on at night, just to watch while you're eating dinner or something (yeah, that's real good for families), and you end up watching about five different shows that you care absolutely nothing about.

It's the same with movies. I'm here to encourage you- if a movie isn't worth watching because its boring, stupid, obvious, not original, immoral, etc. then you have the power to turn it off. You don't have to finish it. One great example that we watched was The Davinci Code. I'm not going to ramble on about how idiotic the plotline and history in that movie is. Just trust me, historical fact is not the movie's forte. But I was willing to set aside those facts if the movie could entertain me. And how could it not? It has an excellent cast, a great director and an awesome setting. And yet, the movie was just too obvious. As soon as the bad guy comes on the scene, you know its the bad guy. Why? Because it is so cliche; you tell yourself: "This can't be the bad guy, it's too obvious." And yet they don't how obvious it is, and they do it anyway. And then there's the big plot twist at the end (gonna ruin it for you here, so sorry), the girl is the heir of Jesus. YEah, didn't see that one coming within the first five minutes.

I say all that to say- We should have turned the movie off after the opening scene. We wasted two and a half hours on something that wasn't worth it. Why didn't I just stop the madness? Because I'm a mindless droid? Well maybe. But at the same time, watching movies is, well, mindless and addicting. So my encouragement is this: if it is not a good movie, something creative and thoughtful, then turn it off and go do something creative and thoughtful. Free your mind! If you want convincing, I've got some books you can read- this one, and this one. Read those when you start a movie that is just plain dumb.


The second thing about movies is this. There are several TV shows out right now that just do it better. Do what, you ask? They tell stories better, and they build character development better. I know what you are thinking, that's because they have so much more time. True, but they do everything else basically as well as the movies do it. Special effects? Come on, have you watched Heroes yet? Great actors? 24 anyone? Great directors? A certain J.J. Abrams who directed Alias, and now directs the absolutely amazing Lost. Great producers? What's that guy's name? Oh yeah, something Bruckheimer.


And the one thing that sets them apart is that they tell the story better. There are several shows doing this now, including all the aforementioned ones. They tell grand stories, with amazing character development and wonderfully crafted plot twists. I realized this fact when watching Mission Impossible III. Granted, this is the Mission Impossible series. But you've got a top notch actor, Lawrence Fishburne, and a popular second rate actor, Tom Cruise (that's right, I said it), and a lot of pretty cool special effects. But you know what I came away from that movie thinking? Jack Bauer could have done it better. I've seen more interesting stuff in a series premiere for Alias.


So maybe what we should be doing is watching less TV, and being a little more choosy in what we watch. Don't watch junk (although some might say 'it's all junk' and to you I say- go read your Puritans and leave us alone). And practice a new skill- using the OFF button.


PS- in a pretty amusing turn of events (considering how little he and I post) Tim has posted today on The Davinci Code too. this is also funny because we watched the movie together. So go read it, now.

I do not know all that many people who have not been influenced by the beautiful stories of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, especially in these last five or six years. The first time I read the Lord of the Rings I was a little boy, and this story was perfect, absolutely perfect. The kings, the wizards, the dark lord and orcs are the lifeblood of a young boy. It was as though Tolkien knew exactly what to write in order to stir the imagination of a boy to its very depths. I've read these books, and his others, several times since that first wonderful experience (I won't tell you how many time, I don't want you thinking less of me!), and in re-reading I have noted the breadth of Tolkien's vision. A little boy can read of warriors, wizards and magic rings, but he might skip over the pages of poetry, beautiful descriptions of magical lands, and the powerful stories of some of the great characters. However, as I age I love to read more of those types of things, and Tolkien was as masterful in one as he was in the other.


Now, I could ramble on about Tolkien for hours and I'm sure that I could write for pages on what I think about his stories. But don't worry, I won't. That's not the reason I wrote this post. I wrote this one to draw your attention to something that adds again (if that is even possible) to the wonderful world of Middle Earth, the author reading his own work! So if you don't know, Tolkien read much of his writing and recorded it. The quality is not great, but to hear the man himself read his work is incredibly enjoyable. And I guarantee you that Tolkien's children must have loved it when he told them bedtime stories.

So without further ado and rambling, go and listen to the master himself here.

And if you don't own the books, buy them here. It will be the best purchase you make this year, I promise!

And if you want to know a little more about J.R.R. Tolkien, enjoy this.

Four Years

At almost this exact time four years ago, I was standing at the front of a small stone church in Tennessee, watching the most beautiful woman in the world walk up the aisle. There might have been others on stage with me, and looking back I'm sure there must have been else I could not have gotten married, but the only thing I can remember is the mix of excitement, awe, terror and disbelief that I could possibly be marrying this angel.
Now, four years, three cars, a dog, a bird, a cat, two apartments and a little girl later, I feel as though I can say with some confidence that my excitement was well founded. So, in short, happy anniversary Sara. To many long years that may come!

Historians have just discovered an amazing find, a picture of what appears to be a wizard and a hobbit! Further proof that Tolkien was not merely a writer of fantasy, but a historian on the brink of revealing an incredible part of European history!
I've been informed several times recently that nobody wants to check here and see the same picture of Royce fishing in the smokies every time. So, before I get in too much trouble I've decided to do something about it. I won't do too much about it, but I'll change the picture at least. Unfortunately, although I had thought that I would have a lot of free time over the winter to read, blog and simply enjoy life, it is not to be. Next semester is looming before eyes even as the footsteps of the last can still be heard on the porch, and the one coming is a monster. So, think of me as I attempt to learn Greek in these cold months, and to read a few hundred pages here and write a few there. And when you think of me, please don't laugh...

like my daughter, who always laughs at me.

Except when she's the one being laughed at!

More Smokies!

I've been waiting for about a week to tell about my trip to the Smoky Mountains. My friend Royce was gracious enough to let me tag along with him on a fantastic fishing weekend. Unfortunately, I was not so gracious in return as I caught all the fish for him ;). We had been talking about this trip for a long time, ever since I got Royce into fly fishing. I explained to him that he was not a true fly fishermen until his waders had been wetted in a mountain stream. So we packed our bags, got all our equipment together and jumped in his Honda for a trip to Townsend, TN.

As with all good fishing trips, there were several snags. Sometimes those snags take the form of real snags, trees that interfere with one's ability to keep possesion of their lures or to catch fish (right Kyle?). This weekend we feared the snag would come in the other form that fishermen hate, the weather. We worried it would be freezing cold, because that's exactly what it had been in the mountains for the past week or two. We worried it would be rainy, and camping would be less than enjoyable. But it turned out beautifully. Except for trying to light a fire with only five logs, no kindling, and sopping wet ground to burn it on, but we prevailed!! The food was excellent, and in the form all outdoorsmen understand, meat! The coffee was nearly fatal, and the entertainment was excellent.

There is one story that must be told about Royce. On Friday, we rushed down to Tennessee and we got all our needed supplies in Townsend (ie- flies, food, yeah that's about it). We got to the camp and threw up a tent so we could get to the River. It had been raining, though, and so the river wasn't really worth fishing that night. We came to where we would try, and I told Royce to fish in one spot while I went to another. I stood in the stream for all of three minutes and realized we would catch nothing in the brown, muddy, leafy mess that swirled around me. So I got out of the river and went to break this news to Royce. I found him in a clearing near to where we had split up. He had this funny look on his face, but I didn't notice anything at first. However, he kept looking at me funny so I began to think something might be wrong with me. Then I noticed. His gray sweatshirt was several shades darker than it had been moments ago when I left him, and there were a few little individuals rivers running off him. Oh yes, Royce had been thoroughly introduced to the Smoky Mountains. Needless to say, my weekend was made right there! It hadn't taken him five minutes to do what I had been secretly hoping he would do at some point that weekend, fall in!

So we went back to camp, nearly killed ourself starting our fire and then we enjoyed some great hamburgers my wife made, and had some nice hot apple cider. We turned in after that, and as soon as we did it begin to rain. It rained until we got out of the tent (literally) in the morning, and that was all it rained that weekend.

Saturday was great. I caught several fish. Royce saw a bear. It was a great trip over all. If you want to read about my thoughts on fishing and worship go here. We had a great time, and anytime you catch a fish on your second cast (!!) you know it's great. That's right, we came to the bridge where we would start fishing and on the second cast, bam! I had a beautiful little rainbow trout to fight. I love fishing!

Time for Cider and Earmuffs

Well it has finally begun to get a little chilly here. Which means time for cider, good books, earmuffs, and plastic over the windows. I don't know how much Ruth appreciates getting all bundled up, but Kevin and I sure love to laugh at her once she is. She has officially begun to crawl and get into things (like cookbooks, our closets, dog play toys). She can pull herself up on just about anything now. Our mugs of cider have to sit somewhere safer now. She has figured out hand to mouth coordination so eating is getting easier (those two bottom teeth help!). Oh well, she keeps us in shape and laughing (maniacally at times!).

Poetry in the Fog

I thought that as well as putting pictures and other news from our life up here, I might occasionally sprinkle that with some stuff that either I or Sara wrote somewhere along the line. I'd ask you if that was okay but last time I checked, Blogger said I was The Administrator of this site, and therefore I get to do whatever I want to. Some might ask why I don't post what I write over at that other site. The reason for that is that some of the stuff I might put up here has little or nothing to do with "Throwing the Word." It could be on nature and outdoorsy things, or it could even be a little short story or two. So without further ado, here is a little something I wrote a while ago. In fact (in a twist of irony) I did post this over at the other site, but I wanted to post it here too (and I'm The Administrator, remember?!).


Poetry in the Fog
There is no sound quite like a canoe being rowed through the foggy stillness of the early morning. The barely audible noise of the bow cutting through the dark glass of still water, and the sound of the paddles as they occasionally bump into the sides of the boat, inspire the romance of man and nature. I would prefer the slower mode of river transportation in contrast with the gasoline powered, smoking, and chugging little john boats simply because of its silence, and its peacefulness. In the dark pre light of the day, with the cold breath of the fog on the back of my neck, the quiet of the river is majestic. Each swift black current breathes a good morning as I continue downstream.

The wet grass, the cold tinge of dark night, and lonely splash of a fish somewhere out in the fog inspire a feeling of freshness in the world. In such a place, the stress of any other kind of life cannot survive. It is starved for worry, and the plastic desires that seem so necessary in our busy lives. And so it is shed like a heavy coat. The experience of an old world waking into a new day is almost too much to take in.

Ahead there is an island looming, right in the middle of the river. I know it is coming because I have seen it many times before, in the daylight. As the canoe crosses the deep pool of water, I have to decide which side of the island to travel down. On the right, the water is deep, and the trees overhang the deceptive looking current, which appears lazy while being very strong. On the left, there is shallow water with several shoal banks, and underbrush is sparse on the shore. The right fork is dark, and there is a heavy feeling when drifting down that section of the river. The left is lighter, more bubbly and alive, at least on the surface. Who can say which has more life? It depends on the moment. At the last instant, the nose of the canoe glides to the left, as though it has decided for me.

The speed of the water picks up at first, and the chill of the air increases on my face. It feels wonderful to have the misty air pluck at my nose, and tickle my neck. There is no need to paddle, so I simply sit on the wicker seat of the canoe with my paddle across my knees, relishing the fact that I am here this morning. It was worth it to rise so early, and steal out of the house while everyone slept. The long drive over dark roads and only the truck drivers to share the highway with was well rewarded. And here, as the dark grey fog is slowly starting to change shades before the coming sunrise, I am alone.

I’ve reached the shallows, and the canoe is slowly moving under the trees. There is a shoal bank to my right, and I can see the dull gray rocks as the water laps up onto the shore. I can even hear the sound of the tiny waves as the lightly slap the flat rocks. Ahead, there is only fog. Then , out of the fog just ahead of the boat , I see something. Standing in the middle of the river, just feet in front of me, there is a young doe. Her head is bent down, the long elegant neck stretched as she drinks from the stream. She sees me just as I see her, and the head raises, and our eyes lock. I put my paddle in the water quickly, and I silently stop the canoe. I notice then that a little fawn is also there in the shallows, behind the mother. The two animals stand there, framed by fog, and surrounded by the river and trees. For a brief second, dragged out into a timeless moment, this scene was all there was in the world. It was as though I had entered into their own great and magnificent cathedral, one made of fresh, living nature. I had intruded on what could almost be called a holy moment.

Then the doe breaks off her gaze, and turns to the shore. She doesn’t dart away, but she simply walks through the water and into the trees, lightly picking her way through the rocks. Her little fawn turns away to follow his mother, with one last look at the strange creature that has floated into their little world. I am left to myself once more, and I am both filled with emotion from the beauty I have just experienced, and empty because such moments must always end. Now I am left with only a memory of such pure beauty, and joy that there is a Creator in this world who has brought such moments into my life. There can be no doubt that He is a poet, a master of His craft. This sonnet He has written for me is no great feat for Him, but to me it is perfect.

There is more to a river than fishing, and although I might have caught fish that day, I cannot remember. It doesn’t matter. If I had caught fish, and that was all that happened on that trip, it would have been just another morning. But the chance to see such beauty up close, that was worth more than any fish I could have caught. I have seen many such scenes since that one, but none sticks out in my mind. I don’t know if it was just the way the entire morning perfectly complemented the vision of the mother and fawn there under the green leaves, but the Great Poet certainly wrote a few verses for me that morning that will last my whole life.

A Little Bit of News from Ruth's World

(I absolutely love this picture, because really, "Whatchyoulookin'at?")


Oh yeah... so Ruth crawled for the first time this past week. If you want to call it crawling, that is. I would call it something more like a "Gollum motion," or something along those lines. Of course, the only reason she did it was because we didn't want her playing with an electrical cord, and she just had to find out what was so special about electrical cords. sigh. So, with that said I guess you could assume that Ruth's world has just gotten a whole lot bigger, and Sara's and my world a whole lot smaller.

A Blog Written While "Studying"

I’m writing this while I should be doing homework, which is about the norm for me. This is usually the time when I post something. Anyway, Sara and Ruth are at church for a women’s Bible Study and I’m sitting in the kitchen “studying Hebrew.” The semester is at it’s halfway point, which is very exciting for me because that means that I’m done with the first (and most time consuming) half of my Hebrew class. No longer must I spend hours laboring to compose a page of acceptable Hebrew composition; now I can read a much more acceptable composition (ie- the Bible). I’m also happy about this because now I can focus more time studying in my other class, which is a Philosophy class dealing with Postmodernism and Evangelicalism (sounds exciting right? Right?!??) I mean, come on! I bet you wish you were studying cool things like postmodern hermeneutics, meta-narratives, deconstructionism, and all that other stuff those crazy French guys came up with don’t you?

Okay fine, I know people only come here to see the “cute one.” It doesn’t hurt my feelings that you probably read the first sentence of my paragraph and then skipped it to see if there was anything good in this post. So you can just be that way!

Here’s what Ruth thinks of postmodernism:


And this is how Ruth consoles her daddy after a hard day of school (at least she cares!):

So now you got what you came for! I hope you're happy...