"To punch and to kick"

"Anybody can teach you how to punch and kick."

If I've heard it once I've heard it a million times. It's what set him apart. Him being Master Scott Heath. An unsung hero of sorts.

Well he's a lot of things. He is a Christ-follower, husband, father, defender, investigator, martial artist, storyteller, teacher, mentor, friend, dreamer, worker, and the list could go on.

He's a mensch. He's always tried to be a man of integrity and as his life testifies, whatever he tries at, he succeeds at.

He has a story that I could never do justice to. Though it is an inspirational one. For all the "can't do's" he's been thrown, he's retaliated with a "can do." Perhaps one day I can get him to offer his story forth to the Classical Ride readers.

But somewhere in that story, that is continuing as I type, he wound up in our lives, and it was no accident.

On a personal note, he revolutionized my lifestyle and my persona. I was weak and he made me stronger in many ways through his classes. I was a sniveling, self-depreciating, sometimes bratty kid. In a lot of ways I was a loser. I knew it. I know it better now. But he renovated my spirit in a way. It was God, oh sure I know that, but he was a vessel. Probably the greatest gift he gave me was confidence. With it came freedom from fear and also ability. The way I looked at myself and acted changed. It was like having a brand new heart. I felt purpose for the first time in a long time.

So here's to Master Heath.

You sir, have left a legacy.

Walk the Line

This is nearly my life's philosophy. It's funny that one's whole journey on planet earth can be summed up in three words scrawled out in a backstage dressing room and put to a "freight train" rhythm. The writer, Johnny Cash, had a sweet promise to stay true to his love in mind. So do I, just maybe in a broader sense. I am not specifically talking about a relationship between a man and his wife, though that is noble and can come in the package. I mean more along the lines of doing what is right. Walking the line. In this world there is plenty to get drunk on. We are plenty educated on that. We need a Saviour to sober us up and He will. Many in the world are alcoholics and this is a tragedy. Sometimes intervention is necessary. Sometimes rehab isn't such a bad thing. Sometimes we need a guiding hand. Sometimes we need the humility of a black get-up. Sometimes we need to be hurt. Sometimes we need to look back on our past and feel the regrets. Sometimes we need a best friend. But we always need a Father, and He's always there. When you're so sloppy drunk you can't hear Him or see Him. When you wake up half dead of a hangover. He sits beside your bed with the hot coffee. He gets you back on your feet, combs your hair buttons up your shirt and gives you a little shove. Fall in love...

Walk the Line

Question II...The Derived Persona

Once again I have to revoke my Cool Hand Luke borrowed phrase "I can eat fifty eggs" and admit, I just don't know. I have often theorized, as I'm sure others have with me, that perhaps individuality is but a myth. Tinkering with such a time-honoured claim is foolish if one wants to maintain a fanbase. However, I prefer answers to fickle fans. Could it be that each man or woman's persona is only derivative of those one surrounds themselves with. Then, our "uniquity" could be explained by the fact that we each surround ourselves with a different social set. And we give and we take and even create from what we see and hear from around us. These things we call original are not our invention at all, but a beautiful conglomeration of outside ingredients. I would appreciate anyone's response on the matter. Don't me dogmatic, don't be shy. The question:

Is there an innate personality?

Action, the Myth, and Myrrh

"Wrestling Till Dawn" by Jean Blomquist was a novel. That is to say it was a brand new idea, not a long storybook. A novelty I plucked from it was in regard to faith. Faith without belief. Shocking isn't it? These two words are usually synonymous. A couple. Holy matrimony and all that jazz. So we think. We're not talking divorce here, we're talking these two were never married to start with. It's a myth. Or at least that's the way I see it for now.

Mrs. Blomquist brings proof with a brilliant analogy. She says that faith is to disbelief in much the same way that courage is to fear. This is the "in spite of" theory. One may act in courage in a situation in which they are very much afraid. Likewise, one may act on their faith in a situation in which they do not believe can have positive results.

It is logical to say that when events, circumstances, prior knowledge, facts, and reason contradict something it is beyond one's mental capabilities to believe it. We just cannot fathom the outcome in our head. But when we act anyway we are rewarded. This is the noblest of faiths.

How are our ill-financed human spirits charged enough to take such a leap? Assuredly it is none to our credit. The only way we have this faith is that God gives it to us. Freely and without reserve, I will add, if we take it.

Luckily for my mind that ever gravitates towards an argument, this theory has produced lots of criticism and disagreement. Tell me your own theories on faith, if you can counter mine.

Campest

I have this big, inborn love for camping in me. Something about "roughing it" attracts me so much that I intentionally contradict my natural needs. Discomfort is sometimes welcome, I stage it myself. Being wet, cold, sleepless and slightly hungry is supreme. To just elaborate a little more on this whole camping thing, I have a hard time believing that anything can be considered camping that includes a camper (such a misnomer), running water, beds, air conditioning, and anything electronic. Shelter in a tent is acceptable, but much better is the wide open sky as your ceiling.
Perhaps what is so appealing about camping, in part, is its raw contact with nature. In "Total Truth" by Nancy Pearcey, she writes that God communicates with us in at least three ways, "His Word (the Bible), through history, and through Creation." To the last, I can testify. Some of my closest moments with God are spent in the middle of nothing but his own. The chimeric thoughts that haunt me elsewhere cannot be found. I can get up close, or zoom out, and both viewpoints "declare the glory of God." Running water, and stars, and tall grass, and majestic trees, and fire, and birds, and crickets, and creatures; they make you realize who you really are, and who breathed life into you. We crave these things. They bring us close to God and His joy. They "sentence us shivers." Much unlike the man-made things we surround us with. These are much more common, much more plastic.
Remniscent of a peculiar anecdote that happened to me once. Sitting at home on Facebook, I was reminded by a status or something that all I had to do was look around to see the glory of God's Creation. This is what I did, and I saw a computer, water contained in a bottle, furniture, a television set, and a bottle of Pledge window cleaner. In a fit of frustration I grabbed the Pledge bottle by the neck and yelled at it, "You are not beautiful!!" (You did know I was crazy?) But so true it was, and too I could rush to the window and see nothing but a cloned neighbourhood and roads and grass that was laid out like carpet. I felt very stifled in that moment. After you are surrounded by material as that, and you realize it, all you have left of sanity is a human, God's greatest creation.

And so much better than the fineries of home, with the cozy bed and heat and comfy clothes, is the soaked, "mugged array," of the campest's bed. That choking smell of smoke is lovely. Eating of a stick you yanked from a tree is lovely. Telling long stories, often of the macabre, is lovely. Speculating the morrow's venture, of swimming (in a creek or a river, not a pool) or canoeing is lovely.

Camping is nice.