This morning while talking about god knows what, my coworker said “did you hear what happened to the Red Robin in the south hills?” and I was like “no, did it burn down or something” and he said “no” and sent me this link.
It was 2013 when I was a sophomore in college. I was walking to an economics class (which was being taught by my favorite professor) and was running a little late, but whatever. So what, I’m bad at time management.
Along the path to class, I walked past one a campus preacher.
We had various groups come through from time to time handing out pamphlets that were probably designed in the 80’s to kids (who, they had to know, would probably later just turn and throw the slice of paper into the nearest garbage can.) But they came anyway. Normally, I’d pass them with a sort of pitying “oh bless their hearts” feeling left in my mind, the way you feel when you see some kids having a lemonade stand. You know it’s probably not going to go anywhere serious, but they feel like they’re being productive, and some people are getting some refreshment from it, so it’s best to just let them be.
But the campus preacher I passed wasn’t handing out flyers or anything. He was just standing there, yelling.…
Sorry to be crude and remind you about human digestive activity.
No, the past couple of weeks I’ve been struggling through my first bout of writer’s block. And I’ve finally worked past it for the most part, and my friend Seth said that it was like I was no longer mentally constipated. There was no more poop in my head. And I thought that would make an excellent title, so I’m writing this post specifically because I had a good idea for a title, and that’s honestly a super encouraging thing to happen to me, and damn it I’m going to celebrate my shitty title. And the shitty pun I just made about it.
So it’s kind of a social trend that right now, allegations of sexual harassment and misconduct are just flying through the press. Last year, all the celebrities were dying. This year, they’re just all being outed as sex offenders. It’s almost comical, except with every new name being added to the list, there are women and men who are the victims of a crime.
There have even been spoof articles, circulating social media, in which an actor deals with “accusations of taking women on really nice dates”. I’m not sure how I feel about these spoof articles. They sort of trivialize the fact that the women making these allegations about powerful men go through a lot of stress while trying to decide whether to come forward or not.
In reference to the buzz against the alleged offenders, there’s a large part of me that is saying “Hell. Yes. Don’t let them get away with it!”…
This morning, something stuck out while I was listening to my usual commute sermon. For those who don’t know what a commute sermon is, it’s actually extremely intuitive. It’s a sermon you listen to on your commute. There. You know that now.
The reason that something stuck out to me today was because it started out talking about Thomas (Widely nicknamed “Doubting Thomas”, which I don’t like) and later talked about Peter, and for some reason I thought of you. Both were in reference to their responses to Jesus after the resurrection. But I’m not talking about Peter today. Today isn’t his day.
The section about Thomas noted what everyone thinks of when he comes up–his adamant declaration that unless he touches Jesus’ scars, he won’t believe in the resurrection. And then Jesus comes through some walls into a locked room, which is kinda sci-fi ish but to be honest I don’t really find it surprising, I mean he’s Jesus. Suck it. (I mean, you suck it, not Jesus. I feel like that’s obvious though.)