Church This Week: December 16th, 2007

Back by popular demand. My mom wondered where it was, and my Pastor last night demanded to know where it was, so here it is. You guys can put away the torches and the pitchforks. Instead, break out some marshmallow forks, and let's sit around a camp fire and exchange stories of peace. Rock on, brother. Sorry, I've been spending too much time with the Hitman. See the custom-made post today detailing his hippy love.



Last Sunday me and my dad went to church together. My mom didn't go because she was home baking cookies for 4 hours. We talked with Mr. dataDyne (he's a techie guy with a bit of evil, looming multinational corporation lead by extraterrestrials in him) before the service began, and I asked if RJ ever dressed up as an elf for Christmas. He said "No, but if you want, we can capture him and make him dress like an elf."

So it's set; we're going to camp on the roof of the covered parking, and as soon as he pulls up and gets out of the car, we're going to force an elf costume on him. I was going to make a joke about Link, but no one would get it.


Pastor made some announcements. He was blathering about a prison ministry and reading a letter from a man currently incarcerated. Have I ever told you about our experience with the prison ministry? I haven't? What?! Yes I have! You liar!

In fact, check this post here I just made simply to spite you. Liar.




After the Justice updated us on the prison ministry (I was getting itchy ears for an update), Mrs. Fletchingbird revealed that her brother is dying. Let's hope he's saved. I did learn something; I now know to wait until after the service to dispense such bad news. You can't drag your feet and be sad and mourn over something while trying to be receptive to a message...and especially not when giving a message.

I've decided that I'm making custom sacrilegious rosaries for people to take home and pray over if I ever need prayer. If they're gonna pray for me, they're gonna do it with sacrilegious items.


Then he mentioned a Bible conference. Previously, I had been elbowing my dad when the Justice mentioned prison ministry, and now he was elbowing me when Pastor would mention the Bible conference. It seems like all the cool kids go to Bible conferences, and it's where all the coolest kids gather to teach. It's in California. I've never been out of Arizona, and I'd have to go by myself. I'd have to meet a lot of new people and represent our church. A scary thought.


Nevertheless, I am going to push ahead, and make it my lofty goal to attend the Bible conference. (By the way, my Pastor seems to think he needs to sign in to comment? All he has to do is check the Anonymous box. My mom didn't grasp the simplicity, either. In fact, it would be best, because if "they" had his real name, they'd use it to slay me, just like Dooplis. Ahhh...no one gets it...you know...in Twilight Town...ahh...no one gets it...Paper Mario...agh...)

Pastor said to be sparing with the informative papers, so I took one home in a form that will last- a picture! According to the photo log, there will be "youth" activities provided at specified times. Perhaps a burning furnace will be fashioned and they'll lock us in it.



The longest length of preaching will be for 3 hours, and I assume there'll be an hour before that and 2-3 hours after that just "chilling out of the side," as the youngers (sic) put it, but my brain goes to mush after 2 hours, so I'll need to work on that. The Crude Justice will be there (he runs our "sister" church in Chicago), as well as the Raw Justice (our pastor). There's also going to be some pastors named Morris Pecan and John Vertigo. With a name like Vertigo, it must be hard to be a pastor. Definition: A confused, disoriented state of mind. Ouch.

I think of Romans 1:12:

11: For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be established;
12: That is, that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.



And there you have it. Hopefully, someone will want to carpool. We can split the cost of everything, and be pals. We can also sneak out to the back of the hotel and smoke cigarettes until we vomit, then tell everyone we didn't vomit and make a lifelong pact not to tell anyone we vomited. Ahh, the childhood memories involving cigarettes I do not have.

The other possibility is to rent a car for me to take. If it gets 25-30 MPG, that'll be enough savings in gas to pay for the cost of renting it (and not cause wear nor tear on our Pathfinder). I'm guessing the cost to go to be $600.

Last night, I took one of the Golden Tickets Pastor says you have to have to go. He didn't call them that, but that's what they are, apparently. I need to find out which fool to call to reserve my hotel room and spot in the conference. I'll call this Sunday, as (church) answering people are typically in on Sunday mornings.

Pastor says that it's just like a normal Sunday, except that it lasts three times as long, is in California, and it has four pastors all clamoring and climbing over eachother like Trace in the MP:H opening movie for the glory instead of just one, and sometimes books are thrown into the audience at random.

To round out the day, the Hitman informed me that the Stingrays at the Phoenix Zoo do not have stings in them. He said that "I've tried to make innovative poisons from enough severed stingray tails to know they don't have it in them." Distressing.