Approaching Horizons

Purpose Driven Death

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 03:38:00 +0000

Nice concept. I won't be able to go, though.

What's Your TW?

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 12:43:00 +0000

Theological Worldview that is. Randomly browsing through some pages I found this quiz. Although a little untrusting on such tests in general, I do like to take them, if for nothing else than they make you think. What I find interesting about this one is that it lists me as more postmodern than fundamental. My friend Rey the Tony-Jones-fan-of-the-moment will laugh... well try it for yourself and see if it works for you.

You scored as Reformed Evangelical

You are a Reformed Evangelical. You take the Bible very seriously because it is God's Word. You most likely hold to TULIP and are sceptical about the possibilities of universal atonement or resistible grace. The most important thing the Church can do is make sure people hear how they can go to heaven when they die.

Reformed Evangelical

79%

Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan

75%

Emergent/Postmodern

61%

Fundamentalist

54%

Neo orthodox

50%

Charismatic/Pentecostal

50%

Roman Catholic

39%

Classical Liberal

39%

Modern Liberal

25%

Could You?

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 09:20:00 +0000

An excerpt from Piper's book God is the Gospel. Quoted by Francis Chan during his message at the YS Convention:

"The critical question for our generation--and for every generation--is this: If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever say, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?"

1 Corinthians 13 - The Message Remix

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 10:23:00 +0000

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything as plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere.

So no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.

1 Corinthians 13:1-3 from the Message Remix

1 Corinthians 13 - The Missionary Version

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 06:46:00 +0000

Pic Courtesy of David Dennis

If I could speak the Qur'anic Arabic tongue like an Arab Muslim, and like the angels of Paradise, but have not love, I am only like the Arabic adhan piercing into the ears of a reserved Englishman.

If I had the gift of foretelling one's qismat, and if I could fathom fully the mystery of predestination and all the knowledge of the religious mystics, and if I had the faith to cast out the jinn from a soul possessed, but have not love, I am nothing.

If I were to give ten times the amount of zakat for the poor, and surrender my body to the sword of martyrdom, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind. It does not envy a fellow missionary's success story among Muslims. Nor does it boast about its own number of baptized believers. It is not proud to admit deficiencies and shortcomings among its own ranks. It is not rude when approached by aggressive Muslim missionaries who likewise pursue a religious agenda. It is not easily angered by the constant bombardment of objections and insults against the Christian faith by well-trained Islamic apologists. It keeps no record of wrongdoing in regard to historical Muslim-Christian relations and terrorist acts carried out in the name of Islam.

Love does not delight in evil and harm that erupts in Muslim lands as a result of natural disasters and wars. Rather, love rejoices in the truth that whosoever calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved, even if the one calling is a Muslim.

Love always protects the identity and testimony of the sincere Muslim seeker. Love always trust in the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, regardless of how many days, months, or years may be required. Love always hopes in the mercy of God, even for the hardest of the fundamentalist Muslims.

Love always perseveres no matter how discouraging the prospects of Muslim evangelism may appear. Love never fails.

As hard as we try on this side of life, we will never be perfect communicators or perfect imitators of the Gospel. There will always be some measure of cultural distortion, and some degree of misunderstanding, and some innocent mistake of offense. Languages, idioms, and meanings of words will inevitably change in time. New knowledge will replace old knowledge. The "new man" will continually overtake the "old man." Though we will only be able to convey the perfect message in part, these three will always remain: knowledge, contextualization, and love. But the most perfect of these is love.

Not The Most Important Issues

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 05:57:00 +0000

Racism, global warming, abortion, homelessness, poverty, war, crime, AIDS, etc. are NOT the most important issues in life, Here's a quote:

And they would be wrong...in thinking that those issues are the most important issues in life.

They aren’t. They are life-and-death issues. But they are not the most important, because they deal with the relief of suffering during this brief earthly life, not the relief of suffering during the eternity that follows.

Or to put it positively, they deal with how to maximize well-being now for eighty years or so, but not with how to maximize well-being in the presence of God for eighty trillion years or so.

~From John Piper's message

Agape

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 06:21:00 +0000

Created this picture using montage-a-google which I found via Marko's blog

Just something to add to the month of hearts.

Season's Greetings

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 06:38:00 +0000

This is pretty late.. but here's the GYMN family and guests celebrating last Christmas in red.

Christmas in a Little Barrio

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 12:01:00 +0000

This is a story from my childhood book of Holidays Around The World. Among all the stories is this Christmas tale of the Philippines.

In villages, or barrios as they are known in the Philippines, many people live in little one-room houses. The houses are built of palm leaves and bamboo.

In a little barrio by the sea lived Piit, Ulalia, Inggo, and their father and mother. Their home was a nipa-thatched hut on the swampy shore of a cove beyond which was the sea. When the strong winds from the south blew, their little hut trembled like the nipa palms lining the strip of land. At night, if they had a candle to light their home, they closed their bamboo window to keep out the wind. If not, they opened it wide so that they could at least look out into the starry night.

One day, Father, who was a fisherman, suddenly fell ill and after a few days, became paralyzed. Although he could talk and swallow food, he could not move a leg, a hand, or an arm. Mother had to feed him and to take care of him as if he was a child. Thus it fell upon Piit, who was ten years old, and Ulalia, his sister, who was a year younger, to work for their living. They had to leave school and henceforth take their father's place in the sea, under the sun.

At first they thought it was easy. Piit knew how Father had worked so hard. But always Father smiled, as if he never grew tired. Work was fun. Sometimes Piit had helped him drive those bamboo poles deep into the sand under the sea, not too far out, just beyond the nipa swamp surrounding their little hut where the sea began. Or, after three months, when the oysters had grown at the bottom of those poles and were ready to be gathered, sometimes Piit would jump into Father's banca and accompany him out to the open sea, there to watch him dive again and again into the water and reappear with armfuls of the craggy, brackish oysters of the sea. Father would laugh and shake so heartily, sometimes the oysters all spilled back into the sea.

But to work alone, without Father, was different. Not daring to venture out into the open sea, Piit and Ulalia confined their hunt to the waist-deep swampy water around their hut where, their bare feet sloshing away in the mud, they would stumble upon the rough clusters underneath. With bare hands or pointed stick they would pull and pry and shake the sharp hard shells off the stones or the stumps of nipa palms. Their hands and feet got bruised and scratched; their bodies soaked in mire and salty water. At the end of the day, their wrinkled hands and feet were numb, their bodies cold. Mother would give them hot steaming rice to eat at sunset. Before they fell asleep she would tell them to pray to God to give them strength.

In the morning, Mother was up before the sun. She would count the oysters, a hundred a heap, and leave them at the foot of their ladder for sale to the people passing by. If there had been a big catch, she would set aside some extra rough shells, break them open with a knife and scrape off the oyster meat into earthen jars where she knew oysters keep for days. When Piit and Ulalia awoke, she would send them out to peddle in the streets in town and with the money they earned, to buy two gantas of rice for their meals at home.

Months passed. The work soon became like a game to them. Sometimes they even thought it better than school. But alas, the time came when they had exhausted the hidden oysters in the swamps. Every day they gathered less and less. Now they could not even fill up a basket. They could not even buy one ganta of rice to eat.

Mother kept silent. She could not, no, she would not tell her children to go out into the sea as their father had done before. Fear gripped her heart. But she spoke not a word of it. Piit and Ulalia did not know what to do. They staked out bamboo poles in the swamp but these they knew would not bear oysters overnight, not until months and months later. It would be a long, long wait. They were hungry. They were all hungry. All day, every day, Inggo had only rice water to drink and his thumb to suck. All night long he cried as if his whole body would burst. The next morning he, too, was sick.

The night breeze became cooler. From the low window of their nipa hut, Piit and Ulalia watched the shadows of the fishermen as they set out to sea, this time much earlier, for the nights were getting longer, the days shorter.

Then Piit looked up. He scanned the darkening sky above the sea.

"There is no star," Ulalia whispered, as if she knew what Piit was thinking. "And we have no light."

They were sitting side by side on the worn buri mat laid out on the bamboo floor close to the window. The rest of the family had gone to sleep huddled together on the far end of the mat.

"Soon it will be Christmas," said Piit. He, too, was very careful not to raise his voice above a whisper, for Mother had just dozed off from tiredness. Inggo had been feverish and restless the last three days, and it was all Mother could do to rock him in her arms to sleep.

"I wish—I wish how I wish we could have something for Christmas," sighed Piit.

"Yes, and Inggo and Father well by then," whispered Ulalia.

But the days and the nights passed and Inggo was still feverish. Now he was shivering from cold. It seemed Mother could never gather enough warmth in her arms to wrap around the chilled little body.

And then came the time of the early morning Masses, the misa de gallo, held every day in church, nine days before Christmas. Everywhere the cool air was filled with a certain festive joyousness. Everyone could feel it as he trudged dutifully on to town.

Except Piit and Ulalia. Although they had Mother's permission and they had resolved, cross their hearts, to wake up at the stroke of dawn, they never did make it to the Mass in town. Like Mother, they, too, were too tired from the day's work to wake up earlier than usual. The church bell would peal its last beckoning call, a few hurrying feet shuffle nearby on the dirt road leading to the church, the gay chattering and giggling of neighbors echo through the stillness of the holy dawn, yet there they were, these two—Piit and Ulalia who had promised each other to wake up this one last time—still curled up in deep tired slumber.

Not even the delicious smell of sticky rice puto bumbong and bibingka cooking at roadside stands a few meters from their home could tickle their nostrils and get them started. Not even the firecrackers and kuwitis bursting into joyful thanksgiving after the Deo Gratias of the Mass, would as much as stir a muscle of their motionless little legs. Nothing. Not even Mother's gentle push on their shoulders, "Children, children, you mustn't oversleep. There's work to do. And you know I count on you!"

Piit and Ulalia slept on and on and on.

Until the sun came up, hot and bright upon their brown unwashed faces. That was what always woke them up.

And today it was the day before Christmas.

Inggo was still feverish. He had become thinner and paler. It seemed he had only a flicker of life left in him.

Piit woke up early. Without telling Ulalia, Mother, or anyone, he took Father's knife and his banca and rowed out, around the cove almost into the sea. The suns was
just rising on the horizon. A slight breeze brushed past him. His banca lifted and fell idly on the little swells. He had been here often in the past with Father. Now he had only to follow what he remembered was the glassy path which led to Father's bamboo poles standing upright in a row like a fence set upon the sea.

As soon as he was within reach of the first pole, he made a grab for it and quickly fastened his banca tight to it. Biting the knife between his teeth as he had seen Father do, he dove straight down to the bottom of the pole. As fast as he could pry the sharp shells off the poles and gather them up in his arms, he surfaced back, his chest heaving as he hurled his load down into the banca. Up and down he raced until he was so tired he thought he would stop breathing.

Once, a wind rising in little puffs and gusts heeled the banca over to one side and almost spilled the oysters back into the water. Pik scrambled onto the opposite side, but as the wind suddenly dropped, the banca soon righted itself. For fear of losing his already big haul, he decided to head back home. He was getting weak with thirst and hunger and exhaustion, but now joy hammered hard in his heart.

Mother had begun to worry and wonder where Pitt was.

She had called out to the winds for him. She had sent out Ulalia, who was working alone in the swamp, to look for him. This boy, she muttered to herself, was giving her added trouble. But when she saw him rounding the cove jubilantly with his banca-load of big fresh oysters, she completely forgot all her fears and anger.

"My biggest catch, Mother," Piit called out to her between breaths, "and all by myself ! By myself, you know that!"

"Yes, I know, I know. I can see that," was all Mother could say.

It did not take them long to sell all of Piit's new catch. Before the end of the day, Piit and Ulalia counted twenty centavos left over from their earnings after having bought the two gantas of rice for Mother.

They laid the coins on a flat stone by the roadside and divided the money equally between them for each to spend as he pleased.

"Ten for you, ten for me," Piit counted.

"Wait, wait. Don't you think we should tell Mother first?" Ulalia asked.

Piit agreed. And they put the twenty centavos together again.

But Mother knew before they could tell her about the surplus. "That will be yours. Buy yourselves anything you wish."

"Anything, Mother? Really, really?" The two cried out loud with delight, skipping away. They climbed down the ladder and parted.

The stars that appeared that night glimmered brighter than ever. The crisp evening breeze sweeping the waters of the sea kept rhythm with the song in the hearts of the two happy children. Soon they were lulled to an early sleep as their mother once more told them the story of the star that shone so bright the Three Wise Men knew for sure it was the star that would lead them to the manger of the King of Kings.

Father hummed a lullaby for Inggo, lying still beside him:

Sleep, little babe
A star shines in the night
To guide you in your flight.
Smile, little babe
A star shines from afar
To bring joy to your heart.

As the church bell rang at last for the Christmas midnight Mass, Piit and Ulalia suddenly awoke. The bright stars beaming on their faces were like the warm stinging rays of the morning sun that often roused them in their sleep.

Inggo started to cry, "Ma . . . Ma. . . ."

Mother dragged herself close to the little one to cuddle him. No longer shivering nor feverish, now he began to cry for milk.

And there was milk.

"I bought that, fresh from our neighbor's carabao," said Piit

"There!" said Ulalia, as she struck a match to light one ittle white wax candle. "I bought that."

"Why, it is Christmas day, I had almost forgotten," Mother exclaimed. "A merry, holy Christmas!"

Why Jesus is Better than Santa Claus

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Sun, 16 Dec 2007 09:52:00 +0000

Another one I resuscitated from the chain letter cemetery.

Santa lives at the North Pole ... JESUS is everywhere.

Santa rides in a sleigh ... JESUS rides on the wind and walks on the water.

Santa comes but once a year ... JESUS is an ever present help.

Santa fills your stockings with goodies ... JESUS supplies all your needs.

Santa comes down your chimney uninvited ... JESUS stands at your door and knocks, and then enters your heart when invited.

You have to wait in line to see Santa ... JESUS is as close as the mention of His name.

Santa lets you sit on his lap ... JESUS lets you rest in His arms.

Santa doesn't know your name, all he can say is "Hi" to the little boy or girl, "What's your name?" ... JESUS knew our name before we did. Not only does He know our name, He knows our address too. He knows our history and future and He even knows how many hairs are on our heads.

Santa has a belly like a bowl full of jelly ... JESUS has a heart full of love.

All Santa can offer is HO HO HO ... JESUS offers health, help and hope.

Santa says "You better not cry" ... JESUS says "Cast all your cares on me for I care for you."

Santa's little helpers make toys ... JESUS makes new life, mends wounded hearts, repairs broken homes and builds mansions.

Santa may make you chuckle but ... JESUS gives you joy that is your strength.

While Santa puts gifts under your tree ... JESUS became our gift and died on a tree.

It's obvious there is really no comparison... Jesus is still the reason for the season.

Beowulf On My Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 12:54:00 +0000

The graphics were straight out of fantasy, the story was deceptively intriguing and the movie house was state of the art but what remained on my mind after watching the movie was the song.

Deep in the heart of darkness sparks a dream of light
Surrounded by hopelessness he finds the will to fight
There’s no surrender, always remember
It doesn’t end here, we’re not alone

Just wait though wide he may roam
Always a hero comes home
He goes where no one has gone
But always a hero comes home

The whole song is sung here.

via ...of Personal Legends and Magic Moments... were you can find more detailed lyrics of the song.

The Innkeeper

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 06:24:00 +0000

In our stories of Christmas and in most of the plays the innkeeper is often portrayed as a bad man, callously sending a pregnant young woman to the back of the inn. But can we really say that for sure? Couldn't he be the one man kind enough to let a couple into his already overflowing place? Couldn't he and his wife...

...rise up early, stay up late,
To help the pilgrims go and come,
And when the place was full, to some
Especially the poorest, they would say,
"We're sorry there's no room, but stay
Now if you like out back. There's lots
Of hay and we have extra cots
That you can use...

...says a poem describing the innkeeper in a different light. Read the all the stanzas of the tale here:
The Innkeeper

Oh Really? Genius?

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 04:46:00 +0000

At first I was saying "right on!"... but then I realized there's an implied insult here. Something along the lines of a reader saying "oh, yeah... it would take a real genius to figure out what all of these mean."

I also think of Wiley E. Coyote, after failing to catch the woodpecker, and falling from a really high place or getting blown up or worse, he remarks "Genius...Super Genius."

Oh well, Wiley's one of my favorite cartoon characters anyway.

A Song of Christmas Past

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 08:15:00 +0000

We once held a Christmas event in church for the youth BUT it was held in July, months ahead of schedule. "Christmas in July" We decorated the halls with twinkle lights and gave the guests a good meal and sang Christmas carols as the sun went down. That being said, the song "Christmas is All in the Heart" by Steven Curtis Chapman held center stage. It's enchanting melody and simple lyrics give the message that Christmas is always worth celebrating even on a non-Christmas-sy date or environment. ESPECIALLY on non-Christmas-sy dates and environments. Here's a part of the song:

And even if no white snow falls, that’s all right because
The joy can still be found, wherever you are
‘Cause Christmas is all, all in the heart

No, it’s not in the snow that may or may not fall
And it’s not in the gifts around the tree
It’s in the love heaven gave, the night our Savior came
And that same love can still be found wherever you are
‘Cause Christmas is all in the heart
And the joys can still be found, wherever you are
‘Cause Christmas is all in the heart
It’s all in the heart

From the album "The Music of Christmas"

Some of you reading this may live in places where Christmas will be seemingly impossible to celebrate. That may not be so here where I am BUT I'm quite the perfectionist and often nostalgic about the holidays. I always compare one Christmas celebration against those held in the past, and rarely do my Christmases reach the ideal that I want. Reflecting on the song reminds me though, again and again, whatever the circumstances, it's not what's outside that matters the most. There's always one event that gives me a reason to celebrate. I pray the same be true for you, through any time or season you face, may it always be Christmas in your heart.

Prince Caspian Trailer

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 09:37:00 +0000

Of the making of fantasy movies with spiritual themes there is no end. Next month will see the advent of "The Golden Compass." Though this movie has so far escaped the furor that accompanied the Harry Potter movies, a similar storm will likely break out over it, what with it having an overtly atheistic creator and anti-church theme.

If you want to check out the Golden Compass, here's an article that has a useful overview.

You might want to check out Prince Caspian, the fantasy movie I want to see, which will out on May 16, 2008.

...Narnia fans are in for a long wait...

Christmas: Even Though It's Still November

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 05:27:00 +0000

All Saint's and All Soul's have come and gone while Bonifacio Day, the next holiday, has yet to make an appearance. And yet the air's already filled with the festive atmosphere of Christmas. Malls belt out ballads through their sound systems and our neighbors have already decorated their gate with twinkling lights and snowmen. Newscasters announce "X days left to go before Christmas" and bells and balls are in very high demand. I seemed to hear the voice of carolers at our own gate a couple of days back although I never went out there to check (so i wouldn't have to pay them the obligatory sinsilyo).

Okay, that last statement may prove that I still have Grinch in my blood but don't get me wrong here, I really do love the season. After all:

Filipinos celebrate the world’s longest religious holiday. The Christmas season begins on September 1st, as chillier winds and Christmas carols start filling the air, and ends on the first week of January, during the Feast of the Three Kings.

-states the trivia section of the WOW Philippines Website.

In honor of that idea, I'll be mentioning Christmas more than a couple of times in this blog. Yes, even if it's still November.

Heart Operation

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Wed, 24 Oct 2007 08:25:00 +0000

Here's a message that struck a chord for me. I found it while traipsing through a chain letter cemetery. Some of you may have read this already but tell me what your thoughts are in the comments...

"Tomorrow morning," the surgeon began, "I'll open up your heart..."

"You'll find Jesus there," the boy interrupted.

The surgeon looked up, annoyed. "I'll cut your heart open," he continued, "to see how much damage has been done..."

"But when you open up my heart, you'll find Jesus in there." The surgeon looked to the parents, who sat quietly.

"When I see how much damage has been done, I'll sew your heart and chest back up and I'll plan what to do next."

"But you'll find Jesus in my heart. The Bible says He lives there. The hymns all say He lives there. You'll find Him in my heart." The surgeon had enough. "I'll tell you what I'll find in your heart. I'll find damaged muscle, low blood supply, and weakened vessels. And I'll find out if I can make you well." "You'll find Jesus there too. He lives there." The surgeon left.

The surgeon sat in his office, recording his notes from the surgery, "...damaged aorta, damaged pulmonary vein, widespread muscle degeneration. No hope for transplant, no hope for cure. Therapy: painkillers and bed rest. Prognosis:, " here he paused, "death within one year." He stopped the recorder, but there was more to be said.

"Why?" he asked aloud. "Why did You do this? You've put him here; You've put him in this pain; and You've cursed him to an early death. Why?"

The Lord answered and said, "The boy, My lamb, was not meant for your flock for long, for he is a part of My flock, and will forever be. Here, in My flock, he will feel no pain, and will be comforted as you cannot imagine. His parents will one day join him here, and they will know peace, and My flock will continue to grow."

The surgeon's tears were hot, but his anger was hotter. "You created that boy, and You created that heart. He'll be dead in months. Why?"

The Lord answered, "The boy, My lamb, shall return to My flock, for he has done his duty: I did not put My lamb with you to lose him, but to retrieve another lost lamb." The surgeon wept.

The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him. The boy awoke and whispered, "Did you cut open my heart?"

"Yes," said the surgeon.

"What did you find?" asked the boy.

"I found Jesus there," said the surgeon.

- Author Unknown

The Education System and the InfoTech War

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 10:34:00 +0000

This is a short film clip of US college students. I don't reside in the US, but the problem posed and the questions asked of the film remains the same for education in my country. What say you?

Hat tip to YSMarko

Confessions of a Camera Aficionado

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 02:38:00 +0000

There is an instant, still and sweet captured forever. Data, embedded into a computer's memory, that when looked upon again, evoke remembrance. You return to that day, you live in that instant, when the pixels before you mean more than their collected dots. No one can come into that view of the past, history relived, as you can. For your view and your perspective is yours alone. Though there were some with you that day--they view it differently, through the lens of their own eyes and lives. That time, that place, that very moment--is all at once uniquely your own.

But the moment loses focus for the day was spent also in part on the camera. For although the scenario can be photographed, the photographer must focus on his trade. The light as it approaches the horizon, is it too little or to much? The focus and the frame, too far or too near? and on and on, the little nuances of the art. One can, of course, capture the scene and yet still live in the moment, but that is rare. And rarer still are those who can do it consistently.

And so there are the moments when I just want to throw the camera in the sand, let it drift into the waves, and run through the shoreline breathing in the spray of the ocean, sinking to my knees in the sand, taking in all life has to offer.

That's My King!

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 10:28:00 +0000

Here's an amazing video that I encountered a while back. To really get the most of this it would be best to download the entire thing and turn up the volume before you start.

The sermon is by S.M.Lockridge (1913–2000) known for his preaching across the United States and around the world.

If you liked it you can also grab a copy of the manuscript or download an MP3 of it here.

In the Blogosphere

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 10:10:00 +0000

What Youth Want

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 11:41:00 +0000

We who know that money can't really buy you happiness often think the young fall into this trap. During seminars when we ask participants the question "What do youth want?" somehow money always makes it into the list.

In a recent poll made by MTV on youth ages 13-24 "What makes youth happy" turns out money isn't as interesting to the youth as most think it is. here's a quote.

"...when asked what one thing makes them happiest, almost nobody in the poll mentioned money or anything material."

So my question is how many stereotypes from our generation do we attribute to younger generations?

You might like the rest of the article:
Youth Poll on Happiness

A Sound Like Thunder

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 04:20:00 +0000

Well, this one scared me. Though I find the verse a bit out of context... it's a good one. Make's you think...

Have You Got Your Game On?

noreply@blogger.com (Alvanman) — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 05:04:00 +0000

I love basketball. I can relate to all those guys who think being in the NBA or the PBA would be the ultimate dream job. You love your work, you're at the forefront of your game and you're actually being paid to do the thing you love. For the past week or so I’ve been feeling like that. I’m in the youth ministry and somehow my spirit soars. I love the work and I'm somewhere on the forefront of the game. I haven't been actually been paid yet...but the truth is I would pay to be here. Here is where I want to be, this is what I want to do.