Why do we sing?

Nice little thought piece from KingdomRain

http://www.kingdomrain.net/content/view/285/32/

THIS 'BLOG IS MOVING

After 124 memorable posts, I have decided to move my 'blog here.

I have no overarching theory of why - it's just all shiny and new over there, with lots of features I like. Plus I've been a fan of aboutlife.com for a while, but they never used to accept people outside of HTB / New wine ministries.

So Adieu 'blogger. It's been emotional.

In a spirit of nostlagia, here are a few memorable posts - well, I think they're memorable, for one reason or another.

Breakups
Crashes
Breakups Continued
Callings
Wrath
Bible
Evil

Pre-emptive Character slur

Roberto has taken it upon himself to begin the cursory judgement of all his locally linked and related 'bloggers. He aspires for this to be a tongue in cheek venture, yet the guilt has got the better of him in the form of guilt-absolution disclaimer posts about how it's all a joke. It appears he cannot and will not stick to his guns.

I thought I would fill you in about the 'Real' Robin Mitchell.

Robin Mitchell was born Jose Luis Muscato in a New Mexico slum in 1979. His early years were spent mugging TV game show hosts to feed his $100 a day biscuit habit.

At the age of 12 he smuggled himself aboard a DHL flight to Uzbekistan. Here he inspired the masses into Marxist rebellion, and began a land war in central Asia in 1995. He is currently wanted by the UN War Crimes Commission for crimes against humanity in relation to the nationalisation of the Uzbeki biscuit industry, whereby 15m people were deprived of a nice cup of tea and sit down due Muscato's insatiable appetite for Jammie Dodgers.

Fearing the wrath of the International Community, the youthful looking Muscato began taking hormonal supplements to suppress the onset of puberty, and swam across central Europe to a parochial pocket of small town , left wing sympathisers known as the city of Bristol. Falling upon the mercy of an ex party member, and assuming the family name, this shady character emerged as the long lost eldest son of local TV evangelist David Mitchell.

Now you know the truth, or a version thereof. Forewarned is forearmed.

The foolish things I do

I just had a phone call through from reception; there's four parcels for you , Matt.

Matt goes and is presented with four parcels weighing lots, stacking about a metre high.

See, Matt foolishly regarded himself to be at a loose end before Christmas and applied to be on Imperial's Distance Learning Programme for 2007. Matt's work are paying. Matt has now realised that they now expect him to absorb this metre squared of ecological and sustainability knowledge in the next 18 months and pass exams to prove he did it.

My first priority (as I switch effortlessly from the third person) is to get the materials up the hill in the worst snow fall since the last one. . . Continual learning is a worthy aim - just not quite sure my life has the room for it. Sure God knows what he's doing, if I'm to save the world from all its ills I need to persuade myself and others of the changes that are required.

M

Da Blues . . .

Da Bears give me the Da Blues. Got the overwhelming feeling they were just out classed and out thought by the Peyton super brain . . .

UK readers no doubt are bored of all this American sport dalliance - and so am I!

For what should occur on saturday in the walkabout with the assembled masses (Once Jim remember to come get me) but the fairytale boy making a fairytale return to action. His metronomic left boot is a lot like Jesus; faithful, dependable and reliable. Though Jesus wouldn't have claimed THIS was a try ...

Frankly, after 8 straight defeats including one to the Argies, who gives a ...?

Dearly beloved

We are gathered here, in the sight of William Perry and Walter Payton, to plead for Rex Grossman's mental state.

Dear Lord, this sunday in Miami, let Rex be the player that downed seven teams with a passer rating of over a 100 in the regular season, not the panicky little kid who rated sub 50 in five more interception strewn failure fests, culminating in being pulled with a rating of ZERO vs the mighty Green Bay (Please note, my allegience will always lie with Green Bay, but the Bears are my boys as long as Joy lives in our house).

Dear Lord, let Rex see with the vision that picked off three plays for a final drive of 69 yards in 4Q of the Saints games, not the one who spilled four versus the cheeseheads.

Dear Lord, let him, you know, just not be rubbish. Please?

In the name of the father (Lovie Smith) , the Son (Brian Urlacher) and the Holy Spirit (those umpires in their funky new duds. Nice . . . )