Flavor of Hubb...

My roommates were messing around with me saying they wanted to start a reality TV show here at MCC and title it "Flavor of Hubb." In this show we would take all the single ladies at MCC and eventually I would select one 'The Bachelor' style until I have the woman of my choice. Obviously this is a terrible idea and if you receive a facebook message about it please decline.

Strangely enough this has got me thinking. I think life would be a lot easier if I just picked a girl, dated her for like a month, then got married. The only thing that it would require was a complete devotion to MAKING IT WORK. She would have to be a Christian and beyond that have the same basic passion for God that I do. Other than that, the world is our game! I am reminded of Postal Service's song Clark Gabel:

I was sitting in a cross-town train in the London Underground
When it struck me.
I've been waiting since birth to find a love that would look and sound
Like a movie.
So I changed my plans, rented a camera and a van
And I called you.

Isn't that just the greatest idea? To make your own path. To not follow in line with the stages or problems. I do. But girls are dumb anyway, so "it's a moo point. Like a cow...moo" -Joey

UFC...

This is so dreadfully sad. But I am a UFC nut. Ultimate Fighting Championship. Yes, I am THAT guy. I cannot get enough of a 135 pounds Brazilian crazy man take down a 250 pound Hawaiian. Oh it so, so good. I get excited just thinking about it.

I think the reason, is that I am the weakest man's man ever. I watched Mona Lisa Smile tonight. Oh dear. So the thought of me becoming one of these UFC guys is extremely appealing to the small part of me that still has testosterone.

Brokenness and Faith

I think I'm in love with Derek Webb.
These lyrics are sang by Jesus to me:
I am my beloved's
And my beloved's mine
So you bring all your history
I'll bring the bread and wine
And we'll have us a party
Where all the drinks are on me
And as surely as the rising sun
You will be set free

I think this one might be a long post (so be ready)

For the last few weeks I have been looking for a word to help me describe how I have been feeling. I think I'm a word guy. I need to be able to describe something accurately to other people. But for the last few weeks I have not been able to place my finger on the word that I have been looking for. Sad didn't hit it. Depressed sounded like I was in my bedroom with the lights off eating cake and ice cream. Finally I had a conversation with Matt Worthington. He used the word BROKEN. And I finally had my descriptor.

I think people pray for brokenness too loosely. Because I don't think they actually understand what would happen if God granted their request. The same is true with faith. We ask for more faith, but if God actually gave us more faith, the consequences would be devastating. If you had more faith, you would sell all of your car, your savings account, and your stocks and bonds and give the money to the poor. That's what the rich young ruler was supposed to do. I am no better than he.

Having more faith would mean that you probably would quit your job and join the ministry. I don't mean the church in middle-class Kansas. I mean you would go to Louisiana and live there helping people until there was no more help. You would not worry about money, you would not fight with people, you would not walk by a person saying "I should probably help them" but for no reason keep on walking.

Brokenness hurts. Faith is scary. I'm terrified to actually ask for either. Because then my life might be....something.

The Artist...

I met an artist who was creating the most beautiful work of art. He painted it all day long. Even in his sleep he dreamed of his creation. He was happy, satisfied, confident, and secure. Then one day the painter accidentally messed everything up. It was his own fault and there was no one left to blame but himself. His masterpiece was ruined. The artist hit his knees and stared at the destroyed canvas. Replaying every moment that he ever spent creating it. He didn't want to start over. He didn't want to try and fix it. He just stared right through the painting onto his memories. Not crying. Not thinking. Just staring.