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January 27, 2005

Where Is My Heart Commitment?

I was digging through a box of old stuff today (I'm a notorious pack-rat, despite April's herculean efforts to the contrary) and I found two papers. The first was a note from Matt Allison who's currently in Kenya doing missions work. The other was from someone who'll remain un-named, but penned the words included in this post in response to a note I wrote on a wall on Catacombs at the end of my final semester at Covenant.

But first Matt (and I sure miss you brother):

Josiah,

* Burn Galactive Civ for me and give it to Morris (if you can), don't worry about a crack if there isn't one
* Be my Sunshine
* Light up my world

- Matt

and the other:

Brothers, may I call you brothers?

Very seldom have I written on these walls (but not for any good reason) so I figure now that I have my diploma I need not fear. To my left is a note from a catacombian who made alot of friends and enemies - I have had the "privilege" of playing both roles. But no mater how I felt towards Tater (there was a time when I used that word as a term of endearment) one thing remaind constant. His love for me was greater than my love for him.

Now, just what the hell (feel free to censor that word if the Spirit leads you) does this pitiful story of mine have to do with catacombs? Maybe nothing. But maybe, just maybe my mistakes (and not only to Tater, but to other catacombians and CovCol people as well) can be a lesson to the next generation of naked galoots. And maybe that lesson is this: if a brother/sister/RD-mother rubbed you wrong, remember they are still family. That means we shouldn't let the overpriced, marriage obsessed, doctrinally holy, dangerously insular sun go down on our anger.

With all that said I've just now realized that this wall and message will probably get painted over w/out anyone ever seeing my rant. That's funny. Serves me right for thinking all my ducks are in a row now.

- Hasta La Victoria Siempre

So, to the author of that last piece, who probably doesn't know I ever read it and bothered to write it down: rarely is there a day that goes by when I don't think of you, if that's worth a damn.