UFC night

So a few months ago I was at a UFC night; a nice little get together with all things needed at a man's sporting event- beer, chips and dip. Well I'd never watched UFC fighting, but the guys told me it was better than boxing or wrestling. They warned me that it was pretty brutal and I could leave if I needed to.

And so there I was sitting, watching, and understanding why these fights can become quite addicting entertainment. But also thinking though centuries apart we are not so different from the Romans who loved to watch the gladiators fight. Its crazy. But perhaps the most dangerous statement of the night came from one of the guys on the couch who said, "Look at these warriors!" And i think thats the danger of entertainment like that. Those men are not warriors in battle, they are entertainers. Yes, they are really fighting but they aren't fighting for anything but fame, glory and entertainment. These glorified cage fighters are to men, what Angelina Jolie is to women. A story of what the "ultimate/quintessential" man or woman is. I think what we have to remember is that they are just entertainers.

Overall it was quite an interesting night. Wonderful food and beer, nice conversation, and new food for thought.

A dicotomy

Some days I feel sad about it.

Some days I feel in love with everything else.

Some days I just say "fuck them, they don't even care that they hurt me."

But then some days I just want to call because i miss them; I want to let it all go and be friends once more.

Some days I'm mad at Jesus, for letting it be like this. For leaving me to hurt.

But then some days I am amazed at how he reaches out to me in the midst of my pain, my brokenness; when I am rejecting him, when I'm sure we've gone so far beyond repair, and I know I'm drowning... he reaches out to save me.

Some days I am a brat... and yet He still chooses to bless me... its really amazing; and today I am so thankful for that.

Flight of the Phoenix; exhaustion

I search the terrain for a safe place, soaring, but not so high anymore. My wings are worn and wilted... broken by past encounters. I long for a landing space, but see nothing. My body aches from months of pushing on through the wind and rain. My jaded and broken heart weighs me down. Can I continue flying?

I long for fire, for new birth, for the hope that comes in fertile ash. When will it come; it cannot be forced. I'm tired, how can this ache so much, how can the terrain below look so barren and dangerous?

Fire, I long for fire.