I like to watch House.....

For some reason i just have not been in a good mood today. Today was fantastic: Good People, Good Music, nothing negative happened. But for some reason I just didn't feel right, I don't know why. I guess i am just n a funk, nothing feels natural. Music doesn't flow from my consciousness like it used to, Words don't match up, I feel uncreative. And i am not just talking about work or my various hobbies. I think it might be school, I am so tired and ready for this semester to be over. But I really don't think that its school, I think its a pride issue or something. Today I have just felt weary and burdened, I need rest and joy.

²⁸"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

Matthew 11:28-29

Maybe I need to be beat down a bit, I know I need it sometimes. That doesn't mean i like it, I just want to have a humble spirit, to mirror the characteristics of Christ. Also to be honest with how life is going, to myself and to others. I think that all to many times people try to only let people see the bright side of themselves, I just want to be a real person with real feelings. But I hide behind a smile or a joke, and thats not authentic. Now I am a pretty optimistic person, I don't do a whole lot of wallowing, so I don't mean to sound like a glass is half-empty kinda guy. But like i said i just feel burdened and thought it would be good to let it out a bit, since i usually don't. Just to be more Christ-like, that is all I desire.

⁴The man who says, "I know him," but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in him. ⁵But if anyone obeys his word, God's love is truly made complete in him. This is how we know we are in him: ⁶Whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did.

1 John 2:4-6

and on a completely unrelated note, a beautiful poem by my favorite, Sir John Doone:

"Death, be not proud" by John Doone

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.