School Shootings and Santa Claus: Ho, Ho, Holy Crap!

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!


I'm angry. Furious really. Livid. No matter the choice of words used, the feeling isn't accurately conveyed. 20 dead kids and six adults in a public school? Disgusting.

Another deranged lunatic goes postal and follows up with suicide. What a coward! He should have done us all a favor and blown his own brains out first and saved a lot of people a lot of grief. My heart is broken for his family and the families of the victims.

As a parent, to imagine receiving news that my five year old little boy was mercilessly slaughtered in front of his classmates...ugh. No parent should ever have to endure such agony.

I'm so angry it's difficult to think straight. I want to do something but feel powerless and helpless. Why would something like this happen? Oh yeah, that's right! Satan has dominion over the earth. He is the prince of a world full of evil and darkness. And our politically-correct, overly-sensitive society tries to extinguish the remnant of light left every chance it gets.

We push God out of schools and indoctrinate our kids with a sleigh-full of Santa Claus. Then we have the nerve to ask, "Why?" when a mad mad guns down innocent children. Time and time again, we have made it clear to God that we're doing just fine without Him. We break His laws and deny His existence, all the while convinced that being a "good person" is enough. Well guess what? It's not.

No one is good but God. And unless we're clothed in Christ, all God sees is our sin and rebellion. That sin will be judged and punished eternally. The time is now. If you don't know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, I beg of you will all my earnestness, admit your sins to Him and ask for forgiveness. Receive Him into your heart. Get a Bible (and read it), join a Bible-teaching church, and tell others about Him.

Only God knows how much longer the window of salvation will stay open. Take advantage of the free gift of eternal life God has made available to us through Christ. Not because we're good. Not because we deserve it. But because God loves us. And for all you folks out there who laugh at the notion of God, atheism is cute but guess what? There is a God and you're not it.

America, stop telling your kids to believe in Santa. You're lying to them! At best, they'll develop the idea that being good enough equals gifts and blessings. At worst, they'll view you as a hypocritical liar that created faith in a false god and broke their hearts when you couldn't keep the lie up any longer.

When we tell our kids to believe in a man they can't see who brings presents if they're good enough, we're laying dangerous groundwork for a works-based idea of salvation (If I do good things, I'll earn my way into heaven). We're saved by grace through faith in Christ, not by tipping the scales in our favor through good deeds.

Imagine the anxiety created in children who still have strong consciences. "Have I been good enough? Did Santa see when I pushed Billy on the playground? Well, I told my mom her new haircut looked nice so hopefully that will cancel it out." Then, on Christmas Eve,  we tell our kids to leave the Santa-god an offering of cookies and milk in a last ditch effort to avoid a coal-filled stocking in the event our good deeds didn't outweigh the bad. We are teaching our children to sacrifice to idols to get what they want. Stop it!

Eventually, the inevitable truth is brought to light. Then when they learn that this man we taught them to love and have faith in and behave for is not real and the whole thing was done in "good fun" and in the "spirit of Christmas," we're making it pretty easy for children to lump God into the same category as Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.

At Christmastime, guess who has an all-access pass in school? You guessed it. Santa! In my son's elementary school, Santa is everywhere. After passing the 4ft tall, singing Santa statue in the hallway, I made my way to his classroom. "Santa" is a featured word on the "December Words" list and there's even a grouping of chairs and a table named in his honor. When I asked his teacher where the "Jesus" table was, she said, "Oh, we can't say that here. Santa is okay because he's secular."

The real meaning of Christmas, the birth of Jesus, can't even be mentioned in public schools. From an educational, sociocultural standpoint, our nation's children should be exposed to the beliefs of others. I want my kids to know what Hanukkah is all about. I want them to know that some people celebrate Kwanzaa etc. And I want them to know that Christmas is about Jesus and that Santa Claus is a fantasy character like Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck.

Instead of educating our children about the real meaning of Christmas, we indoctrinate them with lies and manipulate their behavior with presents. The next time some evil-possessed, gun-slinging maniac shoots up a school, I sure as hell hope the students and teachers aren't expecting Santa to save them.


Be sure to check out these other popular Bent Straight posts:

Funny Money: The Attack on Our Nation's Motto 

Here Ego Again! 

But I Digress... 


Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison

   

Everyone Has One and They All Stink

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook! 


Opinion is a curious thing. Like noses, everyone has one and they all smell. Think about it. There's absolutely no need for the opinion of anyone to be backed by actual fact. Opinion can be based on superstition, tradition, indoctrination, brainwashing, marketing, muckraking, or propaganda but does not need to be factual to exist.

To test my theory, I'll pose the age-old question, "What's better, Coke or Pepsi?" Cocaine, hands down. Far too many calories in Pepsi. But that's just my opinion.  Seriously though, how many decisions do we make each and every day based on opinion instead of truth? The bank we use, the car we drive, the clothes we wear...in a world with so many options competing for our time, money, and loyalty, how do we go about choosing the particulars?

The vast majority of decisions made stem from our opinions. Especially in consumer affairs. Companies spend millions of dollars to form our opinions; so do politicians. Why? Because once our minds are made up, our hard-earned unemployment checks go where we perceive value to be. We pay for whatever it is we think we need. If leaves are your thing (see The God-Shaped Hole) and the envy of others is what you seek, marketers have sold the idea that a particular brand of car or jeans or liquor is the top-shelf, cream of the crop, bomb-diggity. But is it?

Take a car for instance. A car's purpose is to get you from point A to point B. However, if you want to feel good about yourself by making others jealous, then certain automobile companies are more effective than others. A Hyundai gets you to work as does a Bentley. But popular opinion says a Bentley is more prestigious. The masses buy into this idea and a six-figure price tag becomes the norm. Are leather, heated seats better than whatever seats are in my Saturn? I don't know. Popular opinion says, "DUH! Of course they are!" But if marketers of vinyl spent millions of dollars to convince us that killing animals and using their skin for our comfort is wrong, we'd be willing to pay $100,000 for a vinyl interior.

Opinions change with the times. What's believed to be the Next Great Thing today becomes the Worst Thing Ever tomorrow. Take the egg for example. "Eggs are great! Eat eggs! Wait, eggs are bad. Don't eat eggs! But there's protein. Eggs are good! Hold on, too much cholesterol. Eggs are bad!" Every so often, some "expert" comes out with a study and the headline reads, "Such and such product previously thought to be great, now linked to Alzheimer's." Who's coming up these "studies" anyway? What's their agenda? Do they have a vested interest in swaying our opinion? More often than not, the folks who fund these "studies" stand to make some bucks if the general public's opinion is successfully shifted.

Look at the tobacco industry. Early cigarette ads were created to address concerns people had about the negative effects of smoking. In 1928, The Lucky Strike brand ran an ad in Literary Digest boasting such "health benefits" as "a way to stay in good shape and always feel peppy." The Camel brand stated, "More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette." People smoked in malls, daycare facilities, and hospitals.

Today's research undoubtedly links cigarette smoke with cancer and emphysema. The US Surgeon General places warnings on every pack sold. Smoking is outlawed in just about every public place imaginable. Yet, millions of people still smoke every day. The fact is, smoking kills. But marketers for Big Tobacco are able to sell the idea that certain brands are better than others, worth the risk, and a value at $10 per pack. How is this possible?

Opinion is a difficult thing to change. My buddy hates being addicted to cigarettes. He calls them "cancer sticks" and says in jest as he steps outside to light up, "Time to go get some cancer!" But he only smokes Newports. He won't touch another brand even if it's given to him for free. Why? He's under the opinion that a certain aspect of the Newport brand does a particular thing for him that other brands don't. In its most basic form, a cigarette is a cigarette (all my cigarette-smoking readers are screaming in unison, "A cigarette is NOT just a cigarette!".)

Cigarettes are designed to bring nicotine into your bloodstream. A car gets you from point A to point B. Clothes cover your body and protect you from the elements. Style, color preference, and brand identity are subtle nuances created by marketers in order to form opinion, drive up prices, and make more money. In my opinion, $800 jeans serve the same purpose as $10 ones. Your opinion may tell you otherwise and that's okay! Opinion is not fact.

With so many opinions vying to become ours, decades can be spent chasing the wind (see The God-Shaped Hole). I've come to realize that the intense yearning inside of me cannot be filled with a particular brand, car, career, religion, diet, fashion, or political affiliation. All those things become leaves on my branches (see Mustard on the Hotdog) to be flaunted in the faces of others.

If opinion-based purchases can't satisfy and fulfill me, what is a boy to do? Keep chasing the wind? Hop on every bandwagon that comes along? Follow every crash diet and new age spirituality that Hollywood swears by? No. In order to gain lasting fulfillment, contentment, and peace, I need to turn from opinion and seek truth.
Opinions come and go. Truth is timeless and unchanging. The truth is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The truth cannot be manipulated by marketers or studies. Sure, opinions about what's true change like the weather based on "recent findings" and "newly discovered information," but the truth is eternal. So how do we discern what's true? 

The dogma of today's society is, "Everyone has their own truth. Whatever works for you is your version of the truth." I tried that on for size and it didn't fit. In John 14:6, Jesus says, " I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me." God says, "Hey, that truth you've been looking for? That satisfaction you've been craving? You're not gonna find it in those designer jeans, organic vegetables, or expensive champagne. What you've been looking for...is me. What you've been looking for is truth; timeless, unchanging truth. I am the truth." 

The things of the world failed to satisfy me. When I found out the emptiness I was experiencing was a God-shaped hole, I asked God to fill it. Where did I go to seek God? His Word, the Bible. The truth I trust and the life force that sustains me is found in the person of Jesus Christ, the Word. My truth is found in the Bible. Turning my will and life over to Jesus as my Lord and Savior is the only choice I've ever made that has satisfied my desire for more. God is the only thing able to fill a God-shaped hole. But hey, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. 


Thanks for reading the very first Bent Straight post by Brandon Stephens. Check out some other popular posts and be sure to subscribe!

Here Ego Again! 

Funny Money: The Attack on Our Nation's Motto

Three Birds on a Fence


Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

 
The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison

     
       
    
    

Here Ego Again!

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!
 

I used to want to be a rapper. I'm talking, like, a RAPPER, with diamonds and gold chains and rims and women and drugs and duffel bags full of money. You know, a rapper. My life's goal was to smoke weed every day, hire a team of scientists to pretest groupies for STD's, and purchase a grill in my mouth containing miniature TV's so you could watch music videos of me when I smiled. 

Seriously. That sentence wasn't written for comedic value. That was a real-life, premeditated plan. The best I can do with the power of my will, is strive to gain enough money to put TV's in my mouth. Right now, some rapper has read this post and is on the phone with Sony to see if the invention is possible. Well, I suppose if I've helped one person with this blog, my job is finished.

What in the world possessed me to desire televisions in my teeth, you might ask? My ego. When I Edge God Out (ego) and seek the things of the world in order to please others, I grow leaves and the ego is thrilled (see The God-Shaped Hole). Then, Jesus comes by, famished, and uproots my tree because all the rims and gold chains in the world don't amount to jack squat in the Kingdom of Heaven. We make living wills because we're well-aware that the Benz isn't coming with us when we kick the bucket.

Why do we think "things" will make us happy? The praises of men and the feeling of coolness derived from living outside our means are temporary rewards. When I stand before God and He asks why I should be allowed into Heaven and I say, "Because I had TV's in my teeth," I don't anticipate a warm welcome. The outward appearance of wealth and success by the world's standards will not get me into Heaven. The idols of Crapitalism are false gods and offer nothing to the Lord when He comes to me looking for a bite to eat. Jesus wants fruit! He wants to be obeyed. He wants me to write when He says, "Write!" (see Mustard on the Hotdog).

He wants me to trust Him to provide for my needs instead of bowing down to the gods of Visa and Mastercard to provide my wants. God wants me to spend time with Him; reading His word and doing the work He's given me. And the funny thing is, His yoke is easy and His burden is light (see Mustard on the Hotdog). The Lord gives me tasks that I'm already equipped to excel at. When I chase my will, I'm away from the things that truly fulfill me and am left feeling emptier than before. 

When I trust the things of the world to fill the void inside of me (see The God-Shaped Hole), I'm a dizzy dog spinning after my own tail. There's never enough drugs, sex, or recognition and I'm left needing more. More money, more clothes, more vacations. Faster cars, bigger houses, shinier jewelery. God's will for my life satisfies the yearning in the depths of my soul because the hole I'm trying to fill is a God-shaped one. God, and only God is enough.


Check out some other popular Bent Straight posts by Brandon Stephens and be sure to subscribe!

Everyone Has One and They All Stink 

School Shootings and Santa Claus: Ho, Ho, Holy Crap!

 

I.P. Freely: Live from the Pity Pot 


Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison

Mustard on the Hotdog

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!


“My yoke is easy. My burden is light.” Matthew 11:30. For years, I’ve busted my hump with a works-based mentality thinking, “If I just accomplish this goal, get this recognition, please the right person, grease the right palm…then I'll be happy, fulfilled, and successful.” Ironically, with this mindset, rarely did I put any actual work into my works-based faith. Oh, I labored all right. It’s hard work cheating, stealing, copying others and being fake all the time. It’s not easy creating mask after mask to fit in and maintain a reputation; a self-perceived reputation at that. Those honest folks who were true to themselves probably saw right through my facade and pitied my vain efforts.

The point is, Jesus said, “My yoke is easy. My burden is light.” The work God has for me is always the path of least resistance. It speaks to my soul, lights up my spirit, and inspires me to be my best. I’m not saying God’s will is easy. He said it, not me! Wow, I just realized that. God said His yoke is easy. When I’m struggling and scrambling to force a situation to a particular end, I feel awful. Anxiety consumes me and I become restless, irritable, and discontent. Fear takes over my thoughts and I become impatient. When I just go with the flow and let go of my wants, desires, ideas, and expectations, God directs my life and things go off without a hitch. Or is it with a hitch? Is the hitch good or bad? I can’t remember…

Nevertheless, God’s will is easy because He gives me things to do utilizing the unique gifts He’s already equipped me with. Take this blog for instance. God spoke to my spirit and said, “Write.” He didn’t tell me what to write, how much to write or who to share the writing with. Now, if I stressed out trying to get all those answers before obeying Him, I’d be full of fear; anxious and depressed. All He said was, “Write.” And I’m a writer; no problem! He gave me a task utilizing skills He’s already equipped me with. God didn’t say, “Brandon, I need you to learn Arabic by tomorrow because you have to teach an Advanced Calculus class in the Middle East next Tuesday.” No, He didn’t say that because that request would be the furthest thing from “easy” and “light”.

Hard-work, elbow grease, and gumption produce a lot of pretty leaves (see The God-Shaped Hole). Here’s an example: I’m an Eagle Scout with the Boy Scouts of America. However, if not for the work of my father, I never would’ve received the esteemed award. He kept me on track in regards to the required service project; filling out paperwork, reminding me of deadlines, doing research, and making phone calls. My dad is the real Eagle Scout. That is an honor on my resume, a leaf on my tree that wouldn't be there if it wasn’t for my him.

Whoa, Eagle Scout is an award I didn’t earn and don’t deserve? It’s only through the work of my father that I received it? Does anyone else see where I’m going with this? Talk about personal revelations, holy cow! *Disclaimer: Brandon Stephens is not Hindu and does not revere the Bovine species as divine. In no way, shape or form was the previous statement meant to belittle or insult those practicing Hinduism.* Great, there goes my speaking tour in India. Are folks from India even Hindu? I’m so geographically ignorant sometimes. And here's why...

In high school, I used my stellar reputation to cut class and manipulate teachers into thinking I had band practice or Student Council when really, I just wanted to walk the halls and be seen. I graduated 5th in my class (5^th out of 117 students but still, 5^th ain’t bad). In 2001, I received the prestigious award, “Student of the Year,” with the Bordentown Elks. Student of the Year! I got high every single day my senior year. I quit running track and started selling weed. I slept with people’s girlfriends and stole merchandise from stores. I lied and cheated, used and manipulated everyone I could. I drove drunk and should be dead from some of the situations I put myself in at 18 years old. But, when pitted against actual scholars, real humanitarians, talented musicians, and gifted athletes, they called my name at the awards ceremony and dubbed me “2001 Student of the Year.”

Why? Why me? Was it due to the abundance of fruit my life produced? No. It was because of my exquisite leaves (see The God-Shaped Hole). You see, I looked great on paper. College prep classes, varsity letters in soccer and track, Eagle Scout, Honor Roll, Student Council Vice President, Concert and Jazz Band, etc. In actuality, I cut every corner and took the easy way out as often as I could for as long as I can remember. My “easy” way and God’s easy way are two totally different things however. Here's a real-life scenario from high school to illustrate my point:

There's a test coming up. God’s easy way is for me to stay in class, pay attention, takes notes, and study. My “easy” way is to make up an excuse to miss class (fear getting caught), copy someone’s homework after stressing to find a classmate to manipulate (fear getting caught), then try to cram for the test the night before only to skip class the day of the test, certain to fail. Phase Two of my “easy” way is to show up to class the day the teacher goes over the test and fill in all the correct answers on a stolen, blank exam. That way, at the end of the semester when my grade stinks, I can ask the teacher why my mark is so low. After telling me that I missed a test, I say, “That’s impossible. I took all the tests. Let me check my notebook.” Then, I turn in the answer sheet with a forged “100%” on top, receive an “A” for the marking period, and an apology from the teacher. That's my easy way.

I lived that way for a long time, never realizing how preposterous the behavior was. Fancying myself slick, I felt bad for the poor suckers wasting their time doing the right thing. I felt like “the man” when those same suckers reluctantly handed over their homework or let me copy their tests. Little did I know, the joke was on me. All those years spent scheming and conniving, lying and manipulating created an emptiness inside of me that could not be filled with anything in this world. The aforementioned test scenario is just one of countless others throughout my lifetime illustrating my depravity.

With all the sneaky stuff I did to get good grades, those grades were all I got. Like those Jewish leaders in the Bible that prayed loudly in the streets and sounded a trumpet every time they gave to the poor, I hoped everyone would take notice of my virtue. Well, the praise of men was all we got. People are impressed with leaves. God isn’t.

Even if no one reads this blog and I don’t receive one shred of human recognition for this project, obediently using the gifts God gives produces fruit for Him. I have absolute faith that as I continue to spend time with Him and obey the leading of His Spirit within me, all my needs will be met with exceeding grace and abundance. Matthew 6:33 says, “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added to you." When God is my priority, the demands and expectations of the world lose their power. Their importance and urgency fade as I surrender to the idea, “God’s will, not mine be done.”

My will is to say yes to everyone asking for a piece of my time and labor. My will is to overwork for underpay because it’s the “right” thing for a family man to do. My will is to walk on eggshells in order to please everyone all the time. My will is to criticize and judge others in order to feel good about myself. My will is to exclude others and live in a world so small, nothing or no one new will have a chance to hurt me.

God’s will is for me to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love others as I love myself. That’s it. And how do I go about loving God? By obeying Him. When He says, “Write,” I write. Do I get it perfect all the time? Nope. Do I get it perfect ever? I doubt it. But it doesn’t matter. God doesn’t judge me by my actions. He judges me by my clothes.

Today, I’m clothed in Christ. All God sees when He looks at me is His Son. My failures and shortcomings, my laundry list of depravity has been blotted out and is illegible. Sure, leaves are beautiful to the eye and beauty is made to be appreciated. But fruit is what satisfies the Lord’s hunger (see Delusions of Grandeur). Obeying God produces fruit. Any leaves that sprout thereafter are just mustard on the hotdog, baby!


Thanks for reading this Bent Straight post by Brandon Stephens. Check out some other popular posts and be sure to subscribe!

Here Ego Again! 

Everyone Has One and They All Stink

In Gosh We Trust

Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison  

But I Digress...

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!
  

I’ve often wondered what it takes to write a book. Presuming a crap-ton of research is involved, I picture note cards and Post-Its plastered to pages of books strewn about a dimly-lit study with classical music playing softly in the background. I imagine pipe tobacco, some scotch, or at least a British accent necessary as well. I assume I’d have to come up with a captivating plot, some interesting characters or, at the very least, teach a worthwhile skill of some sort. 

However, could it be possible that my personality and rantings are interesting enough to fill the pages of a published book? I mean really, who has the time to research and study and make outlines and charts and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah? There’s a lot of good TV on these days; lots of commercials to watch, and cereal to buy. Who actually takes the time to properly prepare before writing? Professional writers, that’s who. This self-proclaimed amateur doesn't want to get held hostage in some cabin, Misery-style, because he locked himself away in solitude to write a manuscript. No, sir! I like my ankles far too much. Well, the family just came home and ruined my alone time. See? Who can research and plan with a wife and two kids? Personal rantings are the best I can do these days.

Back again. It’s now 2:45am. I woke up because my right forearm was itching, compliments of Smithville's mascot, the greenhead fly. I rolled over to see the hallway light shining through our cracked bedroom door. No, the door itself isn’t cracked, the door was ajar. Anyway, the doorway was illuminated and seemed to be calling me to get out of bed. I smiled and said to myself, “Ok God, I’m coming but I need to hit the bathroom first. ” As I sat down to pee (yes, I sit down to pee. Especially at night. It’s wonderful. Ask Larry David about its benefits. Who’s Larry David?! Google it! You’re doing yourself a disservice if you like to laugh and don’t know who Larry David is) I started to think, “What am I going to write about?” Then it dawned on me, “That’s it! Therein lies my genius, my Mozart, my Beethoven, my (insert famous prodigy here)! It doesn’t matter what I write, just write!”

Great, now all my illusory fans know my multi-gajillion dollar secret. They will pick up a pen, write a bunch of nonsense, and come up with a best-selling book. Oprah will interview them, they’ll get a cover on Time magazine (far more prestigious than US Weekly [see Delusions of Grandeur]. Sorry, US Weekly, but it’s true. Sue me.), and will probably win the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature. When asked where their inspiration came from, they’ll probably give all the credit to God, completely disregarding the hard work and effort my ego put into this paragraph. Ha! As if I’ll even type up this writing project I may or may not complete due to procrastination, laziness, fear of failure and distractions (like that wonderfully awful full-time job I almost considered taking for $28,000 a year. No thanks! I think I’ll ride out unemployment and keep writing fake manuscripts for non-existent publishing companies because that’s where the money is!).

I suppose even if my book spelled out exactly how to get rich (as if I were privy to such information), it wouldn’t necessarily mean anyone would actually do it. All a book needs to be popular is the convincing idea that the information inside will work for you if you work it. Hope is what I’m peddling here, folks. Do what I did and you too can be in your undies at three in the morning vomiting blue ink on white paper for the sake of your soul. “Oh my goodness! Did he just say he saved his own soul through works? He’s not a Christian! Don’t buy his books!” If that’s what you got out of my last sentence then, well, I almost wrote something un-Christian. But I digress…

I love that phrase! “Something, something, something, but I digress.” How deliciously arrogant and condescending! Wait; are “condescending” and “arrogant” synonyms? Did I basically just say, “How deliciously tasty?” Some writer I am. I’d better keep my day job down at Unemployed. That’s what’s paying some of the bills after all, not this lofty idea of becoming a published author. Stay in the now! Don’t follow your dreams! Don’t sacrifice time or money, Brandon. You’ve got consumerism to consume, dollars to earn, things to buy, debt to accrue, time away from your family to schedule! How dare you sacrifice money for family time? Who do you think you are?

I don’t know who, but I know WHOSE. I serve an abundant Provider that knows my needs, doesn’t care about my wants, and gives me breath in my lungs as I write these very words. I’m here, now, for a reason and it’s not to buy into this Crapitalist idea that money is more important than family, that money is more important than God; that money is God. I do not worship the small-mighty dollar and will not bow down at the altar of the time clock. God’s will is all that matters. My will gets me nothing but beautiful leaves; dazzling, blinged-up terds. And God wants fruit. God can’t eat terds. I mean, He can of course. He’s God, for Heaven’s sake. But He don’t want no terds (double negative intentionally placed).

A fig tree with leaves and no fruit is a hypocrite according to my man J. C. (see The God-Shaped Hole). I wish not to wither, waver, or any other “w” word that would complete my attempted alliteration. What’s alliteration? Look it up. If you’re already smarter than me, I apologize for looking down my nose at you. If you have no idea what alliteration is, seriously, get a dictionary and look it up. And don’t go to dictionary.com either (a wonderful resource by the way. Highly recommend it. Please don’t sue me dictionary.com!). Actually buy a dictionary and look stuff up. My mom used to make me do that whenever I asked her how to spell something (looking back, she probably just didn’t know how to spell the words herself) and I hated it at the time but now I’m thankful she made me do it. Mom taught me how to find the information I needed and gave me a sense of accomplishment and independence. Generally, I would just use another word that I already knew how to spell because I’m lazy and like to cut corners. But when I actually took the time to look a word up, nothing short of a miracle happened. I got smarter!

Not only would I find out what the word meant, but I’d glance at other words on the page and inadvertently find out their definitions as well. Plus, having to sound words out in order to look them up made me a better reader. Those things don’t happen during an online definition search. You could type in “dglepdzinthropy” and the search engine will respond, “Did you mean, “Pinochle?” Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. Thanks for anticipating, adjusting for, and correcting my laziness and stupidity. Spell check is the calculator of vocabulary. It lets people who have no business making certain verbal computations feel like literature Einsteins.

Wow, I would’ve missed all this good creativity had I just scratched my itchy arm, rolled over, and gone back to sleep. Thank God I “saw the light” and got up to write. Now what? Do I just keep going? How much do I write? I’m as tired as a mother (that simile is very fitting. My wife is the mother of our newborn and she’s always tired). I should probably hit the hay. Thanks for waking me up and spending this quiet time alone with me, God. I’m beginning to enjoy our time together and look forward to more of it. I’ll try my best to be willing but You’ve got to give me the eyes to see You, and the ears to hear You because I’m deaf and blind without You. My will is to scratch harder, make the bug bite worse, and go back to sleep only to wake up in the morning more irritated than before. Your will is for me to get up, apply some ointment, and rest in You. God, you are so good!


Check out some other popular Bent Straight posts by Brandon Stephens and be sure to subscribe!

Everyone Has One and They All Stink

Here Ego Again!

Mustard on the Hotdog

Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison

 

Delusions of Grandeur

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!


Ah, solitude! A rare occurrence these days with an unemployed wife, a four-year old son, and a newborn baby at home. Much is on my mind. I’ve been wrestling with the topic of collecting unemployment versus working an actual job. Earning a living wage is a difficult thing for a lazy procrastinator like me to do in this economy.  Especially during the summer. The air-conditioning in my Saturn is broken; it's hot and I'm a sweater. Much better suited for our climate-controlled condo or community pool, I think the mental wrestling match is over; victory, unemployment!

Since this blog's inception, I've been fixated on the idea of writing a book and becoming a published author. How does one go about writing a book anyhow? By writing I suppose. I’ve thought about writing a book, talked about writing a book, and read books on writing a book, but have not yet written a book. I expect googling “How to Get Published,” and “Finding a Writing Agent” without actually having a book written or started for that matter, is putting the cart before the horse. I suppose the best way to go about writing a book is to write. So that’s what I’m doing here.  

This isn’t a journal or a diary. I have one of those already. This is my attempt at writing a book (I think). That’s humorous given that my attempts and efforts produce nothing but pretty leaves on the tree (see The God-Shaped Hole). Hello! A polished-up terd is still a terd! I’m writing because I feel I need to. I have no other agenda. My aim is not to teach, preach, inspire, motivate, enlighten or any other verb that serves to boost my ego. I’m writing simply to satisfy God. Whether I have something to say or not, I’m putting pen to paper in hopes He will make me a channel of His will. I pray somehow, this writing situation, this writing experiment, this writing endeavor, undertaking, burden, and blessing, will produce real fruit in my life; lasting happiness, joy, freedom, and peace; fruit that will satisfy the Lord’s hunger.

“How can God hunger,” you ask? The Bible says that Jesus is fully God and fully man, meaning He went through everything I go through in life, including hunger. I want my life to produce fruit to satiate Him. How will scribbling stream of thought consciousness on white, printer paper accomplish this goal? Only God knows. But He does know and I feel I have to do this for some reason. Maybe it’s for none other than to give my hand a healthy workout. I want so badly to insert a masturbation joke here but my people-pleasing issues will not allow it. I fear that one day, this writing will be published and someone I’ll need something from sometime in the future will judge me and I won’t be able to properly manipulate them to get what it is I think I want.

"Who cares what others think?" you ask. Me, that's who. Why? All I really need to do is please God. He’s given me His Spirit, a Jiminy Cricket if you will, which lets me know when I mess up. But dang, the influences of this world can really leave a mark on a person. They’ve left a mark on me at least. I hear my parents in my head, my mom mostly, criticizing every word I say. I’m 29 years old and still hold myself accountable to the mom of my youth. Not even the person my mom is now; the mom of the days of yore before she knew God on a first name basis. Mom is much less judgmental these days. The mom of yesteryear however, is alive and well between my ears guilting the bajesus out of every word I think, say, or write.

After writing “bajesus,” I realize I may have offended some of the hypothetical, future readers of my non-existent book by taking part of the Lord’s name in vain with a made-up word. My deepest apologies. Please, oh please, don’t be sore with me! Continue to purchase my imaginary books and attend my imaginary speaking engagements and listen to me on my imaginary radio program.

That last sentence was crafted for a hypothetical audience and yet, the fear of being judged for those words is very real. Who the hell am I afraid of offending? This is ridiculous! I'm a fully-grown man with chest hair and a beard but hesitated before writing the word “hell.” Now I'm wondering if I should’ve capitalized it. Hell, the place? That’s capitalized. Hell, the curse word? I think not. Unless it’s the first word in a sentence as was the case of my previous. Hmm, my pretend editor will probably advise me to cut this entire portion of my imaginary manuscript so as not to confuse the general, hypothetical public.

My 90-year-old lady bladder is gently reminding me that I need to pee but I'm rather enjoying myself at the moment. You know what's peculiar? The Bible mentions nothing of Jesus’ bathroom needs. As a man, obviously he had to pee. And poop for that matter. What did Jesus wipe with? I get a little raw from the cushy, two-ply stuff my wife buys. I wonder if Jesus Christ, the creator of all things, the first and the last, the Alpha and the Omega, ever got a case of Monkey Butt? He had to. He and His disciples walked everywhere! I get chaffed walking from the couch to the fridge in the air-conditioning. We’re talking miles and miles a day in the Middle Eastern sun. In a world without Gold Bond powder, I think Jesus’ suffering for our sins began long before the Cross.

Oh boy, I just pissed off some of my future readers with a bit of theoretical sacrilege. I’m losing fake fans by the paragraph here. Well, you can’t please all the people all the time. But why have I persistently tried for my entire life? Well, not my entire life. I suppose I didn’t think much about others for the first two or three years. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a fear-based, people-pleasing, resentful ball of sarcastic, judgmental condescension. I almost wrote “condensation” which made me think of “perspiration,” of which I’m self-conscious.

Will anyone actually sit down and read this ridiculousness? I don’t know and I don’t care and that feels great. But my ego says, “Oh yes, this writing will definitely make you rich, famous, and popular.” If it does, that’s a God thing, baby! I’m just inking up this paper for my own mental health. Why have I neglected the one thing I’m undoubtedly gifted at? I’m a writer, baby! No one can take that from me. Oh crap, I’ve just tempted one of my pretend stalkers to find out where I live and amputate my writing hand. Great, if that wasn’t going to happen, it will now because I’ve written it and obviously, everything I write comes true.

I felt so judged when I wrote that last sentence! All my imaginary readers and critics from the future just screamed, “He says he can tell the future! He thinks he’s God! Blasphemy!” I’ve been labeled a “self-proclaimed prophet with delusions of grandeur, presenting with symptoms consistent with schizophrenia.” It’s all over the front pages of the fake newspaper. US Weekly just trashed me in the pretend, non-existent, May issue. *Disclaimer: Brandon Stephens in no way meant to slander the good name of US Weekly. Seeking monetary compensation for any defamation of character, real or perceived, will result in nil. Brandon lives paycheck to paycheck and is currently on unemployment so please, contact his imaginary legal representation if and only if deemed absolutely necessary. *

Where was I? Oh yes, I’m a writer! I can spell (sort of), and grasp the English language (mostly). I’m funny (at least I think so) and am semi-literate. Nothing short of a horrific, debilitating accident could take away my ability to write, create, reflect, criticize, and express (please God, please don’t give me a horrific, debilitating accident just to paint a picture of irony for my pretend fan base). Nothing short of Alzheimer’s (thank you, Spell Check!) that is, but I drink way too much coffee to catch a case of Alzheimer’s. My apologies to those affected in any way by Alzheimer’s. *Disclaimer: Brandon Stephens is not a doctor and is in no way prescribing coffee as a cure for or preventative measure against the onset of Alzheimer’s. He merely read an article in Reader’s Digest. * Great, now I’ll never be featured in Reader’s Digest. I’d better call my hypothetical lawyer asap.

What a litigious society we live in! I’ve dedicated almost an entire sheet of paper, front and back, to appease the fantasy haters who will try to sue me for what I wrote in my best-selling book that hasn’t been published. Wow. I’m a nut. Or, maybe I do see the future and I’m being proactive. Hello psychosis! Bring on the Thorazine! 


Thanks for reading this Bent Straight post by Brandon Stephens. Check out some other popular posts and be sure to subscribe!

Here Ego Again!

Everyone Has One and They All Stink

Three Birds on a Fence 

Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison

The God-Shaped Hole

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like us on Facebook!
  

Here I sit at the dining room table at 2:30am, completely sober. Why am I up at this ungodly hour without the aid of a drink or drug, you ask? Lately, I've been doing some thinking. Honest introspection and personal revelation have yielded some rather nasty truths that seem to be affecting my slumber.

For the better part of 29 years, I have lived a life of total self-centeredness. Existence has become a prison of self-seeking behaviors, self-centered fears, and self-pity.  Somewhere along the line, I became preoccupied with others' perception of me. Becoming a people-pleaser and a master manipulator, I always wore many masks and turned into a chameleon, learning to mimic others in order to gain acceptance. In the process, I completely lost my identity. Obsessed with sprucing up the exterior, life became all about impressing others.

In the Bible, there's a story where Jesus is walking and starts to get hungry. He comes across a fig tree and, seeing leaves, expects the tree to also bear fruit. Apparently, a fig tree should bear fruit before the leaves. If the tree has leaves but no fruit, it's considered barren. This particular fig tree, despite it's abundance of leafy, green foliage, had no fruit to offer Jesus. It looked good on the outside but was all show. After reading this parable I noticed a parallel between myself and the fig tree. My efforts to impress others and gain acceptance in order to feel good about myself had turned me into a leafy yet fruitless tree!

With this epiphany fresh in my mind, I prayed for God to produce fruit in my life that would satisfy Him; real fruit that sustains and satiates, not the vain, ego-driven leaves that have been my trademark thus far. Oh sure, I look great on paper; two Bachelor’s degrees from an accredited college, awards, a wonderful family, two running cars, and a home in the beautiful town of Historic Smithville, NJ where "towne" is spelled with an "e". Sure, I’m currently unemployed, but it’s 2012. Who isn’t? On paper, I look like a model American. But deep down, in the pit of my gut, I’m empty.

To the onlooker I have it all, but between you and me, there’s something missing. Internally, there’s a hole in my heart that refuses to be filled with the junk of the world. Drugs and alcohol won’t suffice. Masturbation fails. Actual sex with other human beings is nice for a bit but tolerance for that rises quickly as well. My life has become a giant game of Whack-a-Mole (no pun intended with the aforementioned masturbation reference), attempting to pound the "obsession of the day" into a space where it refuses to fit.

I’m exhausted. And not because it’s 2:45am and I’m sitting at the dining room table attempting to “find my true calling and unlock creativity” by taking the suggestion of world-renowned author and self-help guru, Dr. Wayne Dyer, by getting up in the middle of the night to write (I really only had to pee. If I didn’t have the bladder of a 90 yr old lady, I wouldn’t be writing this now). No, I’m exhausted because it’s hard work chasing the wind. 

Don't get me wrong, I have lots to offer the gods of society. I bow down and worship the 7 Minute Abs DVD and pay tithes to the expensive gym in hopes that when I’m someday at four percent body fat and can grate cheese on my eight-pack abs, I’ll actually like what I see in the mirror. My smoking-hot wife and I are good little capitalists. We have produced two, adorable, children awash in consumerism who watch the commercials and eat the cereal and buy the crap that’s peddled every waking hour of the day. From the world's perspective, I have it all in the here and now; the clothes, cars, and the condo. But when Jesus walks by my tree and wants something to eat, what am I growing for eternity?

Sure, I’ve taught Sunday School and even facilitated a men's book study at church on the topic of sexual sin (only to go home, look at porn on the internet and masturbate some more). I’ve helped the proverbial old lady across the street my entire life. My tree is filled with leaves symbolizing outward success. But when Jesus is hungry and he comes to me looking for fruit of the Spirit, does He find any? No. He finds restlessness, irritability, and discontentment. Where’s the joy, happiness, peace, and all those other fruits of the Spirit that I can’t remember because I don’t read my Bible enough.

So here I sit, writing at 3 o'clock in the morning for the sole purpose of growing fruit. When Jesus looks at my life, I want so badly to be able to offer Him something to eat. I’ve tried everything else: sex, drugs, jobs, exercise, food, etc. Living for the praises of others or to please the desires of my flesh can't seem to satisfy the intense longing I feel on an indescribable level. So, desperate and willing to do whatever it takes to grow some legitimate fruit on my tree, I’ve decided to sacrifice a little sleep, use my tiredness as inspiration, and write from a place where honesty dwells.

Now, exactly how does one go about growing fruit anyway? Leaves are no problem; they practically grow themselves. I've always been a writer. Perhaps writing is my fruit-growing medium. Until now, fear and laziness (and drugs…drugs take up SO MUCH of your time when you’re doing them correctly) have kept me from making any serious attempts at writing as a career. Half-finished projects abound; I’m great at starting things. Seeing them through to completion is another story.

For one reason or another, the seed of inspiration has been planted here tonight. Maybe this blog will provide the Miracle Grow necessary to produce fruit of eternal value through my life. Or, perhaps this page will never get read and the blog will wither and die like the parable of the fig tree in the Bible. Regardless, there is a hole in my heart crying out to be filled. This blog chronicles my search for the stuff to fill the God-shaped hole.


Thanks for reading the very first Bent Straight post by Brandon Stephens. Check out some other popular posts and be sure to subscribe!

Here Ego Again! 

Everyone Has One and They All Stink

Three Birds on a Fence 

Enjoy poetry? Check out these popular Bent Straight poems by Brandon Stephens:

The Treadmill Continues

Self-Created Prison