Monthly Archives: March 2005

And again…

You are classical Greek! You are the language of
Sophocles, Plato, and even the early
Christians. During the Graeco-Roman period, you
were the common language of the Mediterranean,
and every intellectual yearned to know you
because of your prized status. You went through
many changes during the Byzantine period, and,
while modern Greek is your direct descendent,
much has changed.

What Dead Language Are You?
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Very Rarely Do I Do These…

…But I just couldn’t resist. Thanks to GRKNDEACON.

Who’s yo daddy??

You are Athanasius! You are willing to fight a
losing battle, just to make sure that the truth
is told. But don’t get discouraged; sometimes
it takes more than one lifetime for truth to

Which Saint Are You?
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I just saw the syllabus for Tom Schreiner’s class on Romans I’m taking in June, it’s insane! We have to read Fitzmyer’s commentary on Romans in the Anchor series as well as Moo’s commentary. Each book is about 800 pages which amounts to 16-1800 pages of reading! Of course, to supplement we have the option of reading Schreiner’s commentary on Romans as well. We also have to read the book of Romans 5 times.
Well, at least I’ll know the book inside and out by the time I’m done. That’s a blessing for sure.

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I love this picture of Van Til’s thought:

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This is the other one from the Twin Peaks fanfic site:

The Train Car

written by Ian Clary

I can’t breathe
This can’t be happening
I thought he loved me
Close my eyes
Don’t want to see
He’s in my head
Hurting me…more
Go numb
No fear
But his face is always close
This isn’t me
I never wanted it
Just some fun
I wish I was still his little girl
The pain so real
In my body
In my heart
Please, please
Finish this
Just let me die
Let me die

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It’s funny the things you find online when you search your own name:

At Her Window
written by Ian Clary

How hard I look and see only the faces it wishes me to see,
The warmth it gives is comforting, not only to the dark side of me,
Compliant to what it beckons, hypnotic to my mind,
The fuel of life that it absorbs, relates lovely to my kind.
There is a fear and love which relates to it’s dancing flame,
The slow clapping and snapping as it burns, whispers soft my name,
It’s aura envelopes me lovingly, and carries me far away,
It’s smell of burnt cedar, makes me long to stay.

But alas, when the flame is quenched, and the dreariness appears,
The purpose of my actions, understanding does not adhere.
Like a leach I suck out the life, trying to start a fire,
The love of the one with a yearning flame, I sadly can’t acquire.

So if the flame for which I yearn, will not show its face,
The taste of dread and consternation will gladly take its place.
An emptiness creeps inside, I need something to fill,
Only one smell can replace the fire, the smell of the blood I spill.

This was at a fan-fiction site dedicated to Twin Peaks that my ole friend Ben ran.

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“Is this the best place?” I asked myself.
“The sun is shining, so it can’t be all that bad,” I rubbed my eyes.  The sun was a little too bright.
I could hear the train coming now for about ten minutes.  Off in the wavy distance I could see the glimmer of its light.  It melted with its twin, the sun, into a haze of white heat.  Other than the whistle blowing every few minutes, I felt completely alone.  In utter solace.
The cigarette didn’t taste as good when days were so hot.  Not like the Menthol I used to smoke in the north country.  There was nothing like that feeling that a good Menthol gave as it cleared your sinus while you’re standing in the middle of brush, snow on the ground.
Well, there sure wasn’t any snow where I was standing.
“Where am I anyways?”

I kicked some gravel onto the tracks, half wondering if it would cause a horrifying disaster of a trainwreck that would make the papers.  Of course, if it did, I’d be just as dead and would never know.  Where do I come up with these things anyways?
I’ll tell ya where.
Standing on the edge of these glistening tracks waiting for them…

The rush of the train was intense.  I had to hold my hat as it went whizzing by.  The hobo’s riding the cars either waved or shot me the finger.  One old bugger was taking a piss off the side, managing to get it all over himself.  I don’t think I could have written something funnier than that sight!
Then came the thud.  First Jimmy, then Diane.  They came careening off the side of a boxcar that said “Pennsylvania Red” in graffiti on the side.  I managed a glimpse inside the car as they jumped and saw some poor bugger laying on the floor holding his head.
Yeah, Jimmy was at it.
They rolled down the gravel in a noise so loud I thought my ears were gonna pop.  When they finished their journey down the slope, both of them just lay there.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten seconds, Jimmy got up.  Scratched all to hell from the stones, he smacked the dust off his pants and grinned.  He turned around and helped the lady out, being the gentleman that he was.

Tall and slim he was.  Dark hair blowing in the wind.  His face was scruffy, but he must’ve shaved recently because he wasn’t as grizzly as I’d seen him before.  That means he must’ve made a score and had somewhere to shack up for a spell.  The patch of bald was noticeable from the time he fell drunk off a ladder trying to get a boy’s ball off a roof.
His brown, checked shirt was torn from the spill.  His jeans were covered in dust and his old boots looked like they’d seen better days.  He grabbed his bag and pulled out a box.  He brought the cigarette to his face and struck a match.  The puff of smoke was white against the blue sky.  He grinned and stuck out his hand.
Of course, he hadn’t taken a step towards me, so I had to make my way over to shake his hand.  I stuck out my right hand to meet his, my left hand ready to go for my gun at the slightest wrong move.  I’ll never make that mistake again, but I think he knew that because it was a fair shake.
Diane, or Lady Di as some of the boys called her, was busy off the side, putting on her lipstick.  Always gotta look good for the grubbies, at least so she thought.  She was as ugly as sin, and no amount of lipstick was gonna change the matter.  The sun was so bright that it illuminated her face to the point where she almost looked angelic.  It was a strange contrast, because normally she seemed like a demon to me.

Jimmy motioned for me to sit down.  The two of us groaned as your aching bones moved towards the tracks.  The two of us sat there next to each other, the heat of the metal track burning into our backsides.  These denims were thick, but damn it was getting hot. 
I’d walked a mile in this heat, and now here I am without shelter from the sun, sitting on a piece of burning hot metal, next to a guy who’ll more than likely send me to a place hotter than I’d ever imagine.

“How was the ride?” he asked.
“It wasn’t the ride, Jimmy, that bothered me,” I replied, “It was the damn walk through all the bristles and thorns.”
He grinned.  That big, pretty grin that all the girls loved.  That grin that brought the rains of hell on my head.
“Why’d you have to pick here to meet?  I much preferred the hotel we met last time in New York.  At least I could get a drink there.  Damn, here all I can get is a bit of cactus juice and horse piss.”
There was that grin again.  I nearly smacked it off his face.  Man alive, his eyes were blue.  Blue as the dawn.
“Listen man, I got all the time in the world.  Me and Di, we’re out to see America.  Y’know, that whole ramblin’ man thing I been talkin’ about.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Listen, how’s ma?”
“Y’know, ma.”
“Hell Jimmy, you haven’t asked about mom in years, what makes you ask now?”
“Look man, I know.”
“Know what?”
“I know she died.”
“Well.  Yes.  Yes, Jimmy.  She did die.  She died over two years ago.”
“Two years?!?  Why didn’t you tell me.”
“You never asked.”

The moon was almost blue.  The desert heat had dropped and it was nearly freezing out.  I don’t know how it could get so cold so fast, but sure enough it did.  I’d be scared to death if it weren’t for the .38 lying next to me keeping me company.  It isn’t the coyotes that are keeping me up, it’s that slump of blue-eyed-grin on the other side of the fire that’s keeping me awake.  I can’t trust him for a second.
And, I have no idea where her heinness went.  She left about two hours ago, and I haven’t seen a lick of her since.
The slow grumble came from Jimmy’s slumped body ever once in a while.  But I didn’t take that to mean he’s sleeping.  We all thought that once in Denver, and he robbed us all as we slept thinking all was well.
How many lessons have I had to learn?  Now I’ve become an untrusting old son, not just of Jimmy, but of everyone.  How can a man’s life be so controlled?

He and I haven’t said a word since he found out about our mother.  Dead.  Yes she was.  I can remember it as though it were this morning.  Her lying in the bed, gaunt and tired.  My and my sister with her, not looking at each other for fear of more tears.  And hearing those words, the words of a dying mother, “Jim.”  A mother hen never forgets her chicks.
Well, this chick became a rooster who liked to fight.  And come what may, he’d own the world.
I must have drifted, as I opened my eyes he’s standing right on top of me my gun in his hands.

“Man, I don’t want to kill ya.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“But I mean it.”
“Then put down the gun.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can Jimmy, it’ll do you no good, it ain’t loaded.”

He threw the gun to the ground and went over to his sack.  By that point I picked up the .38 and stuck a bullet in the chamber for good measure, and slid it into my belt.  Jimmy pulled on the jerky he found and tossed me a piece.  I had a pull and threw it back.

“The sun’ll be up soon.”
“And the heat.”
Yeah, the heat.
“Jimmy, when will this be done?  I want to get back to my motel and have a beer.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know you don’t.”

He reached deeper into his sack and pulled out what I’d been waiting for.  He sat it on his knee and looked over at me.  The split second move of his eye gave it away and I ducked to the side and stood.  Sure enough, Lady Di had been behind me with something not good.  I didn’t see what it was as she hid it almost in time.  Something was up.

“Come on Jimmy, cut the crap.”
“Just havin’ a little fun.”
“This is old.”
“It’s still fun.”

The train made its way along.  It was going slow so we had to stay down, we didn’t want one of the conductors seeing us waiting along the side.
At the right moment, Jimmy and Diane made a run for it.  Being the gentleman, Jimmy jumped on first to give Di a helping hand.  He hoisted himself up, and took a hold of her.  She dangled for a moment, and he pulled her skinny body on board.  Surely they were home, at least for a spell.
I stood and watched the train take my brother away.  At least it wasn’t the police this time, maybe this is worse?  Who know what’ll happen to him out there.
I shouldn’t care really, but he was my little brother.
At least I got what I came for.  I held it in my hand, not wanting to let it out of my sight.
I emptied the charges out of the .38 and put it in my bag.  I looked across the field, and made my way back to the thicket.  Another good twenty minutes walking in the blinding heat, thistles sticking into my every which way.
“What am I doing here?” I thought.

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I’m sure that listening to The Band transports me to another time and another place.

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Band Downloads

I didn’t realize how much you could download from here:

I’m currently listening to The Band and Dylan.  Oh yeah.

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I’ve been on a huge Band kick for the last little while.
We went home for Easter and watched The Last Waltz again!  We watched it at Vicky’s parents with her family.  The opening screen says that it’s supposed to be played loud, so that’s exactly what we did.  It was cranked on Vicky’s dad’s surround sound.
Robbie Robertson is becoming one of my musical heroes.  He’s now up there with John Fogerty and Jerry Garcia for me.  I think that he actually makes his guitar cry on “Make’s No Difference.”
A long time ago I read “Easy Riders, Raging Bulls.”  I really didn’t know who Robbie Robertson was, so I looked up the indeces for his name and read the corresponding parts in the book.  I didn’t realize that he was such good friends with Martin Scorcese.
Robbie Robertson grew up in Cabbagetown in Toronto.  I live right next to Cabbagetown, so now it’s got a whole lot more depth for me.

It was good to be home.  Funnily enough, I actually missed Toronto for the first little while being home.  But then my homie-ness sunk in and I really appreciated Windsor.  Strange eh?  A city I couldn’t stand for most of my life I know love and cherish.  The drabness of a big city will do that to ya though.  Toronto is drab today, with the overcast clouds.

We watched Napoleon Dynamite on Saturday.  It was pretty funny, but thus far hasn’t lived up to the hype.  The main character (Napoleon) reminded me of an old friend, Matt B.  I couldn’t believe how similar their mannerisms are.  The weird, quiet, nerdy rage that’s actually cool.  He looks like another old friend, Nick.  Tall and lanky and uncomfortable.  Well, the old Nick, the new Nick is a bit more pretentious and actually tries to look cooler than he really is, in that same uncomfortable way.  I miss both of those guys though, in spite of what I just said.

I got to see my dad for Easter.  I don’t see him much, but it was good to spend time with him and my aunt.  Jane, Jacob, Vicky and I went over there yesterday for food.  Vicky and I walked my aunt’s chocolate lab, Saydie.  We also walked her on Friday.

Boards on the window,
Mail by the door,
Why would anybody leave so,
Quickly for…
Ophelia, where have you gone??

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I have a paper due for “History of 20th Century Thought” on Thurs.  It has to be at least 15 pages, and I’ve only got about 7 done.  My paper is on the epistemological problem of the antithesis between Christians and non-Christians, particularly in the thought of Cornelius Van Til.
I’ve done the intro, the exegesis of the pertinent passage (1 Cor. 2:14-16), and the approach of Abraham Kuyper.
There is much more to write.  I still have to give Augustine’s view of the “city of God” and the “city of man.”  I also need to do some work on Calvin.  Then I’m going to give some of Van Til’s explanations etc.
I may or may not interact with some of Van Til’s critics on the antithesis.

I had a good weekend, but I’ll get into it later.

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Bold the states you’ve been to, underline the states you’ve lived in, italicize the state you live in now.

Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York/ North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas /Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C.

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Happy St. Paddy’s!!!

Well, I think this sums it up for me!

Poor bugger.

And yes, I am wearing my tie with the shamrocks and a leprechaun on it.  You know how Irish I am when I wear it!


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My whole life, this time of year makes me a dreamer. I’m squinting in the sunlight while big puffy white clouds drift by with a blue sky behind. It gets me thinking – dreaming.
I think about wearing a pair of jeans, boots, t-shirt and coat, maybe a hat and backpack and just make a trip south. I might be in a car, or I might be hitching a ride. It could be that I’m on a stretch of road running through the vastness of cornfields in the midwest, or maybe it’s out west in the desert between Vegas and California.
I think that maybe I’d be with Dean Moriarty jumping on trains heading wherever they take you. The world would be my friend, everyone I would have a smile on their face, offering me a place to stay. I’d drink black coffee, blacker than black and bitter as the day is long.
I dream about strolling through a black community in the South (oh the south!) somewhere. Hearing an old boy playing the guitar on the street, hoping for a bit of money for another slug of wine. Maybe I’d bump into a glad-handing dandy on a boardwalk outside of a gambling hut in Louisianna? Could I stand by the Mississippi and watch the boats heading to and fro?

Sometimes I have these experiences make themselves alive. Like the summer I drove up to my cottage in Northern Ontario to visit my aunt. The fact that she’s crazy makes the story cool. The fact that she’s got a redneck for a boyfriend makes it even crazier. We’d go into a weird town called Sturgeon Falls for a Fiddle competition, or to the River Valley Bluegrass Festival, or the Temagami Indian pow-wow. All the while listening to bluegrass in the car. I smoked a pipe while I fished in the sun on Red Cedar Lake. I believe I read from Augustine’s Confessions.

Well, more ruminations later…

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I really enjoyed reading this blog article:

I love hearing about the lives of my heroes and how they were truly great people in all aspects of their lives.


This is a picture of Cornelius Van Til from the blog that I just linked to.
I’ve heard other stories about what a great guy he was.

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The Man Who Fell Aside

The gun goes down
Down oh so low
Suffers the tight
And hears the wind blow
Pistol beside
And dust in the eye

Gripe no more
‘Cause it’s all done
Grip it tight
And pull hard the gun
Bringing such strife
And beginning your life

The horizon shimmers
And the sand it stings
The food all ate
Distant churchbell rings
The leather is dry
Chester the man slips and cries

A bulwark gone
The new man dead
Right hand reaches
And lifts a head
Come on and sigh
Fight till we die.

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The Avengin’ Day

The bourbon burns
And the guitar grinds
The steel is hot
Too hot to unwind.

Sip the ‘Ssipp
Lying Lousianne
Smell o’ powder
Itchin’ in m’hand.

Cast-iron glaze
Take in the sites
Skinnin’ snake
Blood in the night.

One last time
Fallen ground
Firelit sky
Pistol and sound.

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I dreamt about Nick Cave and lived through it…

Last night Dr. Haykin, Vicky and myself went out for Thai food.  I had green curry with seafood which was quite good, but brutally spicy.  I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything that spicy in my life.  My nose felt like that feeling you get when you’re swimming in a pool, and you snort chlorinated water up it.  I drank so much water it’s not even funny.
I told Dr. Haykin about the offer of an internship that Grace Baptist gave to me, so that is something that we’re going to work out.  It’s for this coming summer, and is dependent on a number of things.  Primarily if Vicky gets a job in Toronto, we’ll be staying here.  It seems that I may even take the internship and work in Windsor on the weekends.  That’ll be a lot of driving, but I’ve done it before.  When Vicky and I were engaged, I drove from Toronto to Windsor and back every weekend to see her.  It’s about a four hour trip.
The internship would be great.  I’d get a lot of chances to preach and teach, as well as visit with the people I love at my church.  Learning under Pastor Valade would be awesome too, he’s one of the godliest people I know, and is easily the best pastor I’ve ever had.  He’s not prideful, he’s educated and knows the Scriptures, he’s one of the guys in a lot of senses, an excellent expositor, doesn’t water down the truth etc.  I believe that I’d learn a lot from him.
So, we’ll see how it turns out. 

Pastor Valade is going through the Law at my church right now in the evenings.  My mom was saying how last week she asked a question about the word “fulfill” in Matthew 5:17, and it seems that she stumped him.  My mom did a study on the Sermon on the Mount a few years ago and used D.A. Carson’s book.  She remembered the Christ came not to abolish the Law and Prophets, but to fulfill – so she wanted to know what that meant.  There are some guys who hold to a more “New Covenant” view of the Law at my church and are big readers of Carson, so they were talking to her afterwards about it.
Anyways, this morning I sent Pastor Valade a 51-page printout of Greg Welty’s response to Carson on his use of the Greek word “pleroo” (meaning “fulfill”) in his commentary on Matthew (Expositor’s).  I also printed a copy for myself and plan to read through it.  There is a link to it here:  It is called The Eschatological Fulfilment and the Confirmation of Mosaic Law.  Welty argues that Carson’s use of “pleroo” is novel and too narrow in focus.  I wish that it wasn’t written in point form, because it gets jumbled a bit in my brain.  I’d rather it be written out properly.

Last night I picked up Dr. Constant from the train station.  As a gift for always driving him around, he gave me John Murray’s commentary on Romans in the New International Commentary on the New Testament.  It is both volumes in one.  I was very happy to receive that and I have it sitting on my desk in front of me.  I read through some sections of it last night and this morning.  It is an easier to read commentary because Murray keeps all of the technical stuff in the footnotes.  He is a more theological than exegetical, which I like.  Once I get some of the more technical stuff (i.e. Moo, Schreiner etc), I think that this will be a refreshing alternative.  I’m getting a fairly decent Romans collection.  I have Lloyd-Jones’ set, as well as James Boice’s.  I have Cranfield essays on Romans, as well as F.F. Bruce (Tyndale).  I have a little booklet outlining Romans by Peter Toon, and I have H.C.G. Moule’s commentary.  Not a whole lot, but I plan to get more.  I think I will buy Douglas Moo’s next, and probably Schreiner after I take his course.

My friend Vaclav (said: Votzluv) gave me Israel and the Bible by William Hendricksen yesterday which was nice of him.  I read some of it while I was waiting to pick up Vicky from work.

I had a very weird dream about Nick Cave last night.  It was quite bizarre.  I have no idea why, but I had to pick Nick Cave up and drive him around, and make sure that he had a place to stay.  For some reason, I was living in some sort’ve trailer-park, that was dank and full of books.  In different intervals throughout the dream, Nick Cave’s hairstyle and dress would change.  He’d have his normal haircut that he has now, and then all of a sudden it would switch to the more mullet-freaky-hair he had in the 80s.  In terms of dress, he’d go from wearing a suit, to wanker clothing.  Usually the hair corresponded with the outfit.
Anyways, I remember taking him to a truck-stop diner in which he wanted to make sure that no-one recognised him or bugged him.  At one point, while we were walking out, he walked passed a guy who was eating at a table who had shoulder-length, dark hair and a heavy-metal long-sleave shirt on.  He also had tattooes on his arms.  As Nick Cave walked by, he nudged the guy on the shoulder as if to say hello.  But it wasn’t in a “hey, long time no see” kinda nudge, but more of a “he, we’re of common ilk” nudge.  It was done knowingly.
At one point I introduced him to my friends Clint and Christel, and they thought he was bizarre and didn’t know what to make of him.  Then, as it got dark, my friend Ben ( ) drove us around (we had a destination, but I don’t recall where) in the rain.  As we approached a bridge, Ben thought he’d be “cool” and “freaky” and decided to swerve back and forth across the lanes, pretending to drive us off the bridge.  Nick Cave was pissed, mainly because everybody tries to be “freaky” around him.  He wasn’t so concerned about dying, as I was.

What a bizarre dream.


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Very Sunny, Yet Very Cold

The following is just a descriptioin of certain things that recently transpired in my life without any comment (on the lunacy of my inability to stop buying books):


P.T. Forsyth – Per Crucem ad Lecum – A.M. Hunter – this is a brief life of Forsyth that looks interesting

Studies in Religion and Theology – A.M. Fairbairn – I just realised that I bought two books from people with A.M. as their initials.

The Basic Ideas of Calvinism – H. Henry Meeter

I received free in the mail:

The Glory of the Atonement – Biblical, Theological & Practical Perspectives – eds. Charles E. Hill & Frank A. James III – I’m very very excited about this book and even though I haven’t read it, I highly recommend it.  The list of contributors is out of this world (D.A. Carson, Richard Gaffin, Joel Beeke, Henri Blocher, Roger Nicole, Sinclair Ferguson, J.I. Packer, Kevin VanHoozer etc.  Phew!)

The Trinity Evangelical Divinity School band came and played some music for us today.  It was beautiful.  They were a 30 piece orchestra and playes some nice classical music for us, and then fellowshipped with us for lunch afterwards.  It was a blessing.

The sun is shining (deceptively) and it is very cold out.

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It was very good to go home this past weekend.  Just to be home and to see all of the sites that I grew up with was wonderful.  The Lord blessed us with good weather, which made the time even nicer.  I was glad to see my mom and sister.  I was glad to just lounge around the house and do nothing.  I was glad to sleep in my old room.

The drive to Windsor seemed long.  Vicky rode with Corinne, so I passed the time listening to classic rock radio.  I caught some pretty good tunes, but really the music doesn’t pick up until I get within radius of Detroit airwaves.  I swear, Detroit has the best radio stations.  I always know I’m close to home when I get the Detroit radio.  I can’t remember what I had on my mind as I drove.  It must’ve been profound for me to forget!
We didn’t arrive at Vicky’s until midnight.  We slept in on Saturday morning until about 10am, then got up for b-fast.  Vicky went out and had her hair done (I love her haircut!), and I chilled out and watched the Manchester United/Crystal Palace football match with my father-in-law.  After the game, I went home only to find no-one there, and myself locked out.  I forgot to bring my keys from Toronto.  It was providential, because I jumped back in the car and went downtown.  I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I did go to look at books.  But I didn’t (!) buy any.  I saw some that I would like very (very) much, but I refrained.  Stupidly, I did buy a large photograph of Che Guevara from a cigar shop.  Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.  As much as I disagree with Che’s ideology, I am interested in him as a historical figure.  I recently bought a biography of him called Companero by Jorge Castenada.

Saturday night Vicky and I watched Dodgeball with my mom and sister.  It was a stupid movie and I don’t recommend it.  I usually think that Ben Stiller is hilarious, but this one tried too hard.  It was quite unfunny.  The only funny parts of the movie I already knew because they were in the previews.

Sunday we went to Grace Baptist Church of Essex ( to worship God.  It was so good to be back there, I really really miss my church.  Just sitting in the sunlit church with the people I love, listening to God’s Word being preached, singing hymns and praying.  It felt so good.  I was reluctant to leave them.

We went back to Vicky’s parents after church because it was their sister Philippa’s birthday (actually on Monday).  We unfortunately broke the Sabbath and went to a pub to celebrate.  I have a hard time going out on Sunday’s, as I think it should be a day dedicated to the worship of God and the fellowship of the saints.  But it was one of those times where I felt that we should go out.  Although I do second-guess my decision on that, but what’s done is done.  Vicky’s family (except for Corinne) are unbelievers.

The drive home to Toronto was long and boring.

Yesterday was an excellent day.  The school had a day of prayer and fasting, which was so good for my soul.  It’s been a while since I’ve fasted, so I was kind’ve figuring that it wouldn’t go well.  But everything was wonderful.  It was great to have all of the students and faculty together confessing our sins to God and pleading Christ on our behalf.  Singing hymns and listening to God’s Word for the whole day was very refreshing.  I’m thankful to Dr. Haykin that he has instituted these days of prayer every semester.  The Spring semester is for fasting and confession of sin, the Fall semester is celebratory – praising God for His goodness to us.

Last night, while Vicky was in the Isaiah class, John and I watched Raging Bull.  It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen it, so I hardly remembered it.  I forgot how good it was.  Scorsese is an excellent director.
Surely Jake La Motta (DeNiro) was a scumbag.  It was hard to watch some of the scenes, especially seeing how poorly he treated his wife.
Joe Pesci was awesome though.

Anyways, the band from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School is coming to play in chapel today, I’m hoping that will be good.

I made myself one of the strongest cups of coffee I’ve ever had this morning, so I’m wired.

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