Knock, knock

I have had a persistent knocking in my heart and in my head lately. That's not right, it has been a knocking, but it has been a feeling that is tough to quantify. It started last Saturday night at work. A regular customer came into the store to pick up some books he had ordered, but they had been reshelved so I asked him to wait while I had co-worker bring them up to the front. While he waited another customer came up and had a pile of books in her hand. One of the books was my favorite book of pretty much all time:
I started talking about it with her, quickly, and Dr. Higgins, the first customer I dealt with, started looking over her shoulder. The more we talked about it the more animated she became, Dr. H started to ask a couple questions. She paid for the books and after I had put them all in a bag for her she turned around to Dr. H, took the COD out of the bag and handed it to him and said "here, you can have it" and then walked out of the store. Dr. Higgins looked at me and I at him and we had the same expression on our faces: "what just happened?"

Last night I had another customer come in to return some books. One of the books she returned was a book about the First Easter. It was published by Concordia Publishing House. She said she was returning it because, get this, she didn't "like the theology" behind it. I looked at her and said "huh?" She said "I like to think Jesus was sent to live. He wasn't sent to die." I was at work, so I felt that I was tied, but I wanted to tell her that if that had been the case there would be no Gospel message at all.

A few weeks ago I was watching the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and I heard this line: "You better take care of me, Lord. If you don't you'll have me on your hands." That struck me. Sometimes I wonder if I don't sound like that when I pray "give us this day our daily bread," does it come out more "you know, God... gimme gimme gimme..." That whole prayer gives me a tough time, sometimes. Jim's last post about "abba.... father" really got me thinking about the whole Lord's Prayer thing. I'm trying to work through it all, but its been a tough, tough thing. Its almost scary.

I'll have more to write about this I'm sure.

many of you proably haven't heard about the little afghan boy named qudrat (pronounced COOD-raht)-- he was born with a very bad heart defect-- basically the arteries going to and from his heart were backwards. the arteries that took the blood from the heart went into the heart and the arteries that took the blood to the heart took it out. basically that means that the little guy wasn't getting oxygen rich blood. his father brought the qudrat to camp phoenix (the main us camp in afghanistan). qudrat was whisked here to indianapolis and had surgery on his heart. it was a success. he was about 14 months old, or so, but was the size of a four month old. after his surger qudrat became very, very healthy. he porked up (in a big way) and he had the most wonderful oldman/baby-toothless-grin. he was the cutest little guy. he looked like a little afgan buddah, truthfully.

qudrat, who was here with his father, was released from the hospital, but had to stay in indianapolis for a few more weeks because he had been exposed to chicken pox (chicken pox is not a common disease in afghanistan). as a result, through the newspaper and television qudrat became our little brother, or grandson, or nephew. in short, he became a happy, chubby, little buddah-like part of the family. its just been kind of a sad day on a certain level.

My father had a close call today, I suppose. He has been complaining about a pain in his leg the last couple days and today it really hurt him quite badly. He decided he needed to go to the doctor, he made an appointment the doctor sent him to the hospital for an ultrasound (I thought they only did those on a pregnant woman's distended belly, alas, I was wrong) on his leg to rule out the presence of a blood clot. I am happy to report there is no blood clot, there will probably be a "follow up" (I think that's medical speak for "another 70 dollar doctor visit tomorrow"). This last year with my father's health has me and my mom on some pins and needles.

On my way home from work yesterday I saw a funny sign. There is a "discount tabacco" store on one of the roads I drive down. Its on a major intersection corner. The sign said this:

ALL
SMOKE
DISC UNTED

It took me a second to realize what it said. Somewhere along the line the "O" had either fallen off or not been put up to begin with. I'm not going to go too far with this, I just thought it was funny.

The Dead Homey Shot

Whenever I get a bottle of Jim Beam (which isn't very often, by the way) I always reserve the first shot as a memorial. I call it the "Dead Homey Shot." Luckily, I don't have many friends that have gone on to the other side.

The DHS started as kind of silly joke between me and a former roommate in college. We would pop open a bottle and take a couple shots. One day, probably after watching a movie like Boyz 'n the 'Hood or Do the Right Thing one of us said "this is for the dead homeys" and took a shot. It became a tradition. It became almost a ritual.

Sadly, though, I do have two homeys that I toast. The first is Adam. He died about five years ago. He and I became very close in the summer of '99. I'll write more about him sometime in the future. I also toast, now, to Amy. She died in a car accident last December. I didn't find out about it until just a few weeks ago. So she is part of the Dead Homey Shot.

Is it morbid? Does it sully the memory? I don't think so. Its my way of remembering them and the good times I shared with them.

So, this one is is for the dead homeys.

Rest in Peace.