The school janitor tonight, seemed oblivious.

To a degree I act oblivious. Doing things because "that’s the way they’ve always been done," has never been a motivator for me. Part of my INTJ personality, perhaps.

My goal is honoring Christmas and Easter every day of my life. Remembering that my Eternal Creator entered time and space; lived a life similar to mine; and died so that I don’t have to.

At our church this week, we’re doing something resembling continual prayer. I got reminded tonight that but for the Grace of God, I’d be oblivious, too. I grew up outside of the church, and came kicking and screaming into the church after a couple years of college. I’ve been hunting for old college friends on Facebook, from my BC period. I can’t recall that many, and I realized tonight that not only would they not recognize a photo, they really wouldn’t recognize the person I’ve become. It also dawned on me that they might remember that old version of me, and be making assumptions about the person I became.

Still pursuing art.
I think that's where the comparison ends.

All of my decisions, from March/April 1973, onward, have been made in the context of a belief that I have a Creator, and that my Creator is intimately involved in the details of my life. Much of that life has been an attempt to understand the details. A photographer who’s work I admire posted a photo of a self-blinded photographer sitting in front of a nude model, and asks the question, ‘where are all the one-eyed Christian photographers?’ It really is a humorous photo, if one’s sense of humor is adequately skewed. I posed to the photographer a theological answer to the question, based on my own life; his response was on the order of,

‘Why bother? Those rules are meaningless, anyway.’

There, but for the Grace of God, go I.

Where’s "there?" For my photographer friend, I’ll pass the question upline. God didn’t give me that job. For me, it’s a huge question. Based on spring of 1972, it’s hard to imagine that the life that would have followed would look much like my life as it has turned out. A friend, during the spring of 1973, told me that I didn’t have thoughts of my own; they were recycled beliefs from my parents [yeah, I know, ‘recycled’ wasn’t a word yet].

I wouldn’t have had much to do with my family.

I probably wouldn’t have had any reason to stay married, once I got married, if I did.