Working out might be working...

So I got a gym membership finally and I've been mostly faithfully working out 3 times a week.  I was a little skeptical at first if (1), I'd actually stay consistent with it, and (2), if it would even be worth all the effort.  I mean, not to sound full of myself, but due to my high metabolism, I kinda don't need to work out to "look in shape."  But I know that I'm not in shape.  I start huffing and puffing when I walk up a flight of stairs!  I struggle with lifting things that I used to toss around like it was nothing.  And, frankly, I'm a Morris Man, and that means I like being STRONG.  Right, Dad?  That's what he always told me, anyway.

I still have memories of him doing chin ups on the rafters above our patio.  He was pretty ripped.  And my brother, sheesh, he's a fricken TANK.  But, uh, in a good way.

So, now I'm on the path toward health and strength.  And people watching.

There's this "gym rat" who is ALWAYS at the gym where I go- he walks around in his tight black tank top and cell-phone-carrying-arm-band, picking out the most outlandish workouts I've ever seen (balancing on a halfball while holding a 45 lb. weight, for example), then pretending to be on the phone with someone talking about how he's still at the gym.  I kinda just want to put my arm around his sweaty little frame and say, "It's okay, man.  You're cool.  You have friends.  You don't need to prove anything."

Well, my goal is to gain 5 pounds of muscle, and be able to run a mile in 7 min.  Think I can do it?

Took long enough...

I think I'm realizing daily how this mourning process works.  After being dumped by DC- it's been a roller coaster day to day.  Some days I try to convince myself that things are "better this way" and that "God's got another plan" and yada, yada.  Then the next day I'm writing the most depressing songs of my life.  Here's  a clip from the latest:

Now I'm half-asleep, waiting on my knees for my damn savior to come
And there's no pearly gates in sight.
And through half-open eyes I live a half-lived life...


You get the idea.  Sigh.  I feel bad for Julie.  She has to see me and wonder what the heck is going on.  I think the pain of DC is just going to linger for another year at least.

I've been somehow able to read this book given to me by Tracy called "The Forgotten Ways" which basically outlines why churches that do what was done to me are becoming obsolete and irrelevant in our modern world.  When churches cannot handle honesty and work from a hierarchical top-down leadership structure, it's a dangerous setup for power trips and burn-outs and lots of scars.

Sometimes I imagine myself as one of the disciples, following Jesus around.  Sometimes I'm Peter, gung-ho and headstrong to keep the faith (and failing miserably).  Sometimes I'm doubting Thomas- skeptical and a little unsure of all of this.  Sometimes I'm John, just feeling loved by God and in harmony with everything. And sometimes I'm Judas, thinking that at any moment I'm just going to pull the plug on all of this and sabotage everything.  Right now, I think I'm Bartholomew.  What did he do?  I think he just kinda followed people around nodding and stuff.

Hope this isn't too depressing- just needed to get it out with the thought that maybe someone will read this and identify with something.

Drink Peet's.
Tim