tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54640882011-04-21T17:48:38.049-04:00RamblingsThe ramblings, meanderings and stream of consciousness of a middleaged, short guy.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comBlogger151100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1077777547994175822004-02-26T01:27:00.000-05:002004-02-26T01:45:09.090-05:00Been reading the blog of a guy in New Zealand (Did I spell that right?). He's a really sharp guy. I respect what I 've read of his thus far. I'm a bit troubled. I'm troubled by the times when PostModernity is presented as a response to, or reaction from, modernity. I'm even more troubled when writings on it become an 'us vs. them' proposition. Too often I read something and it feels more Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1077239645782371102004-02-19T20:09:00.000-05:002004-02-19T20:16:02.263-05:00Rob Graham responded to my thoughts, so I post his here with permission. I wouldn't want anyone to form a wrong opinion of Rob (and I strongly encourage you to read his parable at levistable.com). "Ron - I absolutely think you are right!  I often speak or write drawing sharp distinctions to slam home a point.  It confuses people a bit when I then turn and agree with them on what they thoughtRonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1077172825086956942004-02-19T01:35:00.000-05:002004-02-19T01:45:02.796-05:00I was reading a parable about a microbrew at Levistable.com, written by Rob Graham. It got me thinking about why people visit places like Willow Creek Church in South Barrington, IL, one of the largest churches in ConUS. This is some of what a wrote to Rob in an email: "I'm not certain that people listen to Hybels or go to Willow to be big, famous and grow up to do shaving commercials. Maybe Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1075702290403100562004-02-03T00:15:00.000-05:002004-02-03T00:17:44.420-05:00What does it mean to follow Christ? The church in Antioch was the first group of people to be called christians. It's an interesting word, it means 'little Christ'. Evidently, these people so resembled Jesus that people named them for Him. In that day and age, it was no big deal to find people who were following someone, even devoted to them and their teachings. But I can't help but wonder Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1075448116367317872004-01-30T02:28:00.000-05:002004-01-30T02:38:06.890-05:00Well, it's been a long time since I've been here. It's funny how quickly life goes by. It seems like only a couple of weeks. Truth be told it hasn't even been a couple of months. It was August when last I wrote anything. August! Can you believe it? I was telling a friend the other day: "I went to bed 17 and woke up 39. How the hell did that happen?" Life moves. Time marches. I guess Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1062392551240283372003-09-01T01:02:00.000-04:002003-09-01T01:03:26.670-04:00The writer in the New Testament of the Bible states that every good and perfect gift comes from God. That means that friends are a gift from God. I, for one, am convinced that's true. My family and I spent the evening with our friends the Shapiros. They are such a cool family. Their lives are filled with generosity and kindness. We had dinner together. Talked about life, the future, Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1061436681802319012003-08-20T23:31:00.000-04:002003-08-20T23:31:21.760-04:00Well, today it seems official. My days are numbered. My boss told me today that I basically have 90 days left in my position. I guess there are several up sides in all this. 90 days is a lot better than two weeks. My kids and wife love me. That's another plus. I can drink beer again, that's pretty sweet. Let's see . . . what else? I'm certain there is more, I'll have to get back to you onRonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1061357955368178252003-08-20T01:39:00.000-04:002003-08-20T01:39:15.320-04:00Ever have one of those moments that you pray you can remember a long time from now? Not just in a vague nostalgic way, but in a clear, precise, multisensory kind of way? I had one of those moments the other day with my 5 yr old boy. We were seated at the top of the steps talking and out from my daughter's room came our lop-eared rabbit, Cookie. (Now Cookie is one well-fed herbivore.) He Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1061357908857742632003-08-20T01:38:00.000-04:002003-08-20T01:38:28.826-04:00Ever have one of those moments that you pray you can remember a long time from now? Not just in a vague nostalgic way, but in a clear, precise, multisensory kind of way? I had one of those moments the other day with my 5 yr old boy. We were seated at the top of the steps talking and out from my daughter's room came our lop-eared rabbit, Cookie. (Now Cookie is one well-fed herbivore.) He Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1061008136554522262003-08-16T00:28:00.000-04:002003-08-16T00:28:56.176-04:00I read a good bit. (At least that's what my friends tell me.) I like to read. I like to think other people's thoughts. I like to be stretched. I like to discover. Some days, I like to escape. Reading seems to do all those things for me. But something that has troubled me. I travel in circles where books are almost faddish. You know: Everyone is reading so-and-so, because everyone else Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1060676367937251922003-08-12T04:19:00.000-04:002003-08-12T04:20:59.790-04:00It's a little after 4 am (ET). Another sleepless night. I'm not worried. Nor am I anxious. My thoughts are simply busy. Noisy. Constant. Like the fan in the bathroom that drones on and on. After a while, I stop hearing it. After a while, it becomes background noise. After a while, I forget that it covers up sounds in the house that I am missing. That's how it is inside my heart. The Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1060670192920327382003-08-12T02:36:00.000-04:002003-08-12T02:36:32.883-04:00OK. Proof that I'm an old guy (or at least getting there far too rapidly.) I've not a clue about html. So I just went into the template and copied what I saw and exchanged it with the things I've wanted. Getting the links to authors and books seems to still be kicking my tail, but I vaguely remember something about "old dogs and new tricks ". . . Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1057464812601400812003-07-06T00:13:00.000-04:002003-07-06T00:13:32.656-04:00Well, here I am again. It's been two weeks since last I wrote. A lot has happened in that time. Father's day, my dad's birthday, my and my wife's 14th anniversary, a trip to LA. (No, that's not lower alabama.) I'm at a place of real transition. Not just job, but calling and vocation. I'm trying to figure out what I am to do with the next leg of the run, and I don't really have a clue. Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1055557319715302322003-06-13T22:21:00.000-04:002003-06-13T22:21:59.720-04:00I know that I am a rookie at this, but everytime I start to type I think about who might read this. Will they think I'm smart, witty, well-read, deep? It's strange. I don't know why I care so much about what people think. I don't know why having others think well of me is so important. You would think, or maybe not you, but at least I would think that at my age that sort of thing would have Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5464088.post-1055152055030984362003-06-09T05:47:00.000-04:002003-06-09T05:47:34.686-04:00It was the best of times. It was the worst of times . . . Four score and seven years ago . . . I wish I were an Oscar Meyer . . . Got it! How about this? Hi. I'm Ron. This is my blog. Is blogging like splunking? Welcome to the somewhat strange world of my mind.Ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03501672003919837275noreply@blogger.com