As I attempt to finish my third thesis chapter tonight, his memories linger like the stirring of a pond’s surface. Every few minutes, thoughts of childhood trips to his pool — complete with mandatory dunking and far too much horseplay — overcome my desire to write, and my eyes begin to slightly water. I rarely cry, and Uncle Ronnie was far too much of a free-spirit and sarcastic man for me to remember any sweet sentimental moments that might cause me to lose focus.

But he’s still there, just the same. I doubt I can make the funeral this weekend because of the amount of work left to complete, but I can’t help and pray that my final memory of him remains the one that defines our relationship. He was rough around the edges, but sometimes the best men need a little polish.

Uncle Ronnie, you are missed. I’m sorry we didn’t get a proper goodbye.

Today is a reading day for my Dante class and the thesis, but I hope to be able to finish Of Mice and Men sometime soon. Somehow, that was one of the few American classics that I never made time to read. But after reading the first line, I can’t put the thing down.

The agenda — The Australian crime-drama “Animal Kingdom.” What a movie. If you get a chance, watch this thriller; with echoes of Scorsese and last year’s “The Town,” the film slowly burned to a point where I felt genuine concern and fear for the characters. I was reminded several times of the intensity of “Winter’s Bone” during the film’s climactic moments, and Guy Pearce — a scene-stealer in nearly everything — provided a stable voice and performance that offset the wonderfully sardonic, sinister characters of the family.

Well worth an evening off.

With the advent of the New Year, reflection becomes all the more necessary. The Lord has graciously placed the most wonderful woman alive in my life (and imparted an extra measure of grace in that she agreed to be my wife), so being able to learn from experiences and understanding the glory of God must constantly remain on my mind. Marriage carries with it a responsibility to unconditionally love another individual; constantly remembering this responsibility… that’s another issue. I was reading Sacred Marriage, by Gary Thomas, earlier this week when I found a passage that speaks about a husband’s responsibility to progressively sanctify his family towards the ultimate goal of reflecting God’s glory. This responsibility both challenges and inspires (and mildly overwhelms) me. As the future head of a new household, my responsibility to make decisions that guide my wife towards the Lord is one that will require both daily wisdom and a reflective remembrance of how the Lord has imparted grace to me. Continually dying to self and serving my future wife is the greatest responsibility now laid upon me — as another new year begins, I thank God for the grace and responsibility to become more like Him each day; I thank God for the grace shown to me in my imperfections; and I thank Him for the grace that is this year. Lauren, I can’t wait to be your husband. I love you.

2011 promises to be the best yet.

Marriage to you will be nothing short of the greatest adventure.

Very few times in my life have I claimed that it feels as if no time at all has passed since I last saw a friend or loved one — there is always the knowledge that different experiences and memories are waiting to be shared, and so we find ourselves not only reminiscing, but also growing in our friendship by sharing recent events. Not so with this town. Though quaint, I have little desire to recognize any change or see the improvement in you Lynchburg. Granted, I may be a bit calloused because of a few of my students from last semester. But I argue that callousness is valid.

What follows is the best response to a class assignment all semester. The topic? Medicinal stem-cell research. The response? Still makes me laugh.

“By the context of this particular article, the focus is on the greater good. But that is not always the best way to look at things, simply because it has a very pragmatic perswation to it that is and could be potentially dangerous. Such as the stem cell reasurch and taking the furtalized egg and allowing the zigote to be experimented on. The fact alone is the same as abortion Murder at a primitive state of existence before the brink of the wond’s gift to the world. Once the Zigote is created the human life is born once consption yeilds fruit another human bring has been added to the population. It is once again is the apithy towards the sactity of human life that makes it an evil feat. Though good can come of it, and it may help save another through transplantation. It doesent justify the decinigration of another without consent of what the other alternative may be.”

Let the games begin.

Currently reading –

• Irwin Shaw – Short Stories: Five Decades
• August Wilson – Fences
• William Kennedy – Ironweed
• George Washington Cable – The Grandissimes
• Psalm 44
• T.S. Eliot – The Wasteland and Other Poems

Currently watching –

• Zodiac

Not today.

More updates to follow soon. Until then, enjoy The Suburbs.

Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity! It is like the precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down the collar of his robes! It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion! For there the Lord has commanded the blessing, life forevermore.

Psalm 133

Words of encouragement. God bless you brothers.

I couldn’t agree more. Regardless of the spirit in which you protest, burning a flag never comes across as just a representation of your feelings in a particular moment.

It comes across as a challenge, and as an act of cowardice. Those who feel obligated to burn flags and commit other acts of spinelessness do so because they lack the intelligence and fortitude to create a meaningful, purposeful, articulate, and intelligent demonstration of their feelings. In other words, they are primal, basic, animalistic beings who act simply because their arms and legs allow them. In what world does sport completely equate national identity? Even in the sporting empire that is the English Premier League, you deserve ridicule and nothing less than complete denouncement from the rest of the clubs. We too have our idiotic fans (as evidenced by fans from the L.A. Galaxy mocking Brian Ching’s failed attempt to make the World Cup squad), but I’ve yet to see any one of us burning a flag in protest of a player or owner’s birthplace. That’s not team-spirit; it’s sheer stupidity.

This weekend’s game just became more than a world cup game — when you burn my flag, Liverpool fans, then you not only destroy any affections I had for your sport and league, but you remind me that the unredeemed mind willingly substitutes sport for national pride. If that be your answer, then I hope that we send you home in shame.

I understand that the entire nation doesn’t support these flag-burners, but know this — I’ve yet to see a single article from the English Press denouncing them. I see where your allegiance lies, o’ Queen and country, and I reprimand you for your apathy and stance. You anger me like few sporting incidents have before. See you Saturday.

Go Yanks.

I am working this summer at a bayside recreational vehicle resort — my job, which is largely enjoyable despite it’s routineness, consists mostly of long days and more words spoken than any normal man should have to say. Rv campers are an interesting breed, and I’m learning to speak a language completely foreign to me. I’ve used the terms “rig” and “driver’s side-elbow” more times in the past two weeks than in my previous life (a phrase used intentionally — academia feels distant when I tell people that our campground features a fully-stocked camp store with over twenty-five different types of beer).

As a result, the only time that I find for my daily run is either late in the evening or early in the morning. Until last night, I managed to run in the two hours I have in the morning before work; however, yesterday was a different story and after ten hours of work, I came home with very little energy or desire to run. I really cannot remember putting on my shoes to go out the door, but I suddenly found myself breathing the cool Eastern Shore air, reveling in the smell of freshly turned fields and the sight of the homes near mine slowly going to sleep. Every year, the first late-night run of the summer seems to catch me off-guard with it’s beauty — normally, the dependable sights of my running route are enough to keep me going. Yet last night provided me with another treasure.

At several points during my run, I run past shadowy woods that sit about fifteen feet from the road — lamps are present on the route, but they are sparse enough to allow various sections of near complete darkness. My arms and legs disappear and if not for having memorized the layout of the road, I would most likely run straight into one of the many ditches that line it.

Last night, however, I was accompanied by a most beautiful sight — thousands of fireflies that filled with the woods with a translucent glow. Regardless of where I was, as soon as I passed away from the glow of the street lamps and the few remaining houses that stubbornly refused to acknowledge the night, I was greeted by the sight of mini-flashes lighting the way. These lights became just as much a part of my run as the road itself — anytime a car would pass by, I would glare angrily at the driver, hoping that my glare conveyed the sense of frustration I felt at missing even a few seconds of what I considered my personal cathedral of unexpected beauty (perhaps a better title for this post).

Tonight was a much different story. While the local forecast had deemed rain the flavor of the day, the skies, though brewing and dark, refused to open. It was only when I returned home from another day at Castaways that I noticed the colors of the sunset mixing with the lightning of the clouds. In a word, it was mesmerizing. Beautiful sunsets are plentiful during Eastern shore summers, but to view the sunset through the lens of a lightning storm reminds me that my God is a God of infinite variety; He takes pleasure in captivating His people through claiming all hours of the day and all moments of beauty for His own.

While I usually provide a running (no pun intended) commentary to anyone within listening distance about how I enjoy having my days (as opposed to evenings) off to enjoy the summer, yesterday and tonight’s shows have convinced me that I am in the thoughts of my Lord. Being stuck behind a desk during the day just gives me different chances to see Him light up His world. As I finish these thoughts, John Mayer’s song Gravity (randomly playing on Pandora) parallels my thoughts nicely — just keep me where the light is.

I’ve never been a huge fan of the band (okay – so I knew one song), but I am a fan of A.C. Newman. Since he just so happens to be in this band, I gave it a try tonight and have not been dissapointed.

Neko Case is in fine form, and the whistling is second only to Andrew Bird. The album goes best with a cup of coffee and a sunny day, but I’ll accept a late April thunderstorm and a few essays to grade as a temporary substitute.