Boosh.

Three words: G.O.B. as K.I.T.T. 

Short Story

Russ Chisholm eased his overweight frame down onto a bench. He set his shopping bags down next to him, and rubbed his sore knees. It had been forty years since he had been honorably discharged from the Marine Corps, after taking a bullet in the shoulder during a training exercise. A less fortunate-and less wealthy-man would have been told to suck it up and return to training. But Russell Hector Chisholm, III was told to return to his regular life in Georgia, living with his parents and womanizing his way through all the eligible (and ineligible) women in the Atlanta area.

Nine years later, at the age of 27, he graduated from Harvard with a degree in political science. He stayed in Boston until 1981, when, at the age of 32, he moved back to Atlanta and secured a position as Lieutenant Governor of the state of Georgia. The Governor, Richard Wellesley, had been a golfing buddy of his father, and had taken the younger Chisholm under his wing as a personal favor for the elder Russell’s help in winning the election.

Russ served under Wellesley for two terms, before becoming Secretary of Defense once Wellesley became elected President. Chisholm had cited (and exaggerated) his Marine record before being confirmed by Congress. He and Wellesley served two terms together in that capacity as well before they both retired to lucrative carreers as public speakers and authors, preaching to the world their brand of politics and morals.

Currently, Russ was waiting for his wife Lisa as she spent his money, doing the Christmas shopping for their children. They were staying at their winter home, just outside of Denver in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The mall, a circular, indoor, outlet fueled monstrosity, was packed on this mid-December day. Chisholm’s children, Kimberly and Russell IV, were waiting back at the six bedroom house just up the hill for their friends to pick them up for their daily snowboarding trip. Russ was just as glad to be away from them as he was to have been in the arms of Tracy, his “winter mistress,” the night before.

He was cotemplating an excuse to see her again that night when his cell phone began to ring in his pocket. As he looked down at his Nokia, he realized it wasn’t actually ringing at all. There was another phone in his bags. He pulled it out and read “Not Available” on the caller ID.

“I think I may have ended up with this phone by accident,” he said in his southern drawl as he thumbed the “Answer” button, “who are you trying to reach?”

“I’m trying to reach you, Secretary Chisholm,” the voice said on the other line. “Steven Clay is after you, and he already has your children. You need to get up and start walking, now, towards the bookstore at the end of the corridor.”

Chisholm didn’t hesitate. The name Clay had awoken all sorts of bad memories from his time in office, and the images that now raced through his head were not ones that were pleasant. He left the shopping bags and raced away from the store where his oblivious wife still shopped, as if his short legs could carry him away from his dark memories. His trench coat flapped behind as he pushed his way through the crowd towards the mega multi-media store that still stood nearly a hundred yards away.

“Where is he?” he screeched, fear causing his voice to tremble with every syllable.

“About fifty feet back,” the gravely voice answered. “He sent one of his goons. The bald one in the suit.”

Russ paused just long enough for a glance back, and there he was. The man was easily 6′4″, his bald head gleaming in the florescent light. He was wearing a red tie and black suit under a long black duster, and his eyes were concealed by dark sunglasses. Black leather gloves covered his hands, one of which was reaching into his inner pocket.

Chisholm turned and almost ran into the bookstore, finding an aisle near the back that was devoid of shoppers.

“What do I do now?” he whispered into the phone. His face was bright red and sweat poured down his back. He could barely hear above the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“You die,” said the husky voice from the phone. Only now, too late, Russell realized the voice came from behind him. He felt a large boot crash into his knee, collapsing it, as a hand pulled back on his shoulder, bringing him crashing to the thick carpet in a barely audible thud. The man with the voice, who now stood over Russell with a sick grin on his face, was Steven Clay. Clay reached down and took the phone from Russell’s hand, as Russell stared in bewilderment at the face of his killer, the man he had wronged from so long ago.

“Your children and wife will be fine,” Clay told the stunned Chisholm, “And they won’t miss you.”

He slammed the spine of a thick hardcover book hard into Russ Chisholm’s sternum, instantly driving him into the throws of cardiac arrest.

As Clay dropped the book next to his head, Russ realized it his book, The Chisholm Art of War: The best offense is a good Defense, that had caused his demise. The extreme irony was lost on Chisholm as his vision became first blurry, and then blacked out all together.

***

Steven Clay smiled to himself as he exited the book store, dropping both cell phones and the gloves he was wearing in a trashcan on the way. As he exited the mall, he saw the bald man in the black suit, arriving to his place of employment at the same time he had every Saturday that Clay had reconned this mall before choosing it. The bald man walked into the suit store and went immediately to the back of the store to put away the extra clothing necessary to ward off the extreme winter cold.

Clay allowed his smile to turn to a chuckle as he himself entered the bitter cold from the warm mall. One down, he thought to himself.

You know what bugs me?

What bugs me, is how many times I’ve heard “Why didn’t that mission place just let that guy stay there?”

 Are you smoking crack? If someone came to your door looking scuzzy and gross and possibly insane, would you let him stay? Why should this place have done it, even if they are a Christian organization? They weren’t equipped for that, nor were they prepared to sacrifice the safety of their employees for one weird looking dude. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but if that guy had walked up to an abortion clinic (which claims to “help people”) and they had turned him away, no one would say anything. Just because you’re supposed to be helping people doesn’t mean common sense goes out the window, does it?

And who’s to say they didn’t say “I’m sorry, you can’t stay here, but here’s the address to a homeless shelter two blocks away?” Why are we assuming they just laughed and shut the door in this guy’s face? Why do we, as a society, automatically assume the worst about Christians and still expect them to assume the best of everyone else? One of the main tenants of Christian faith is the idea that we are all born away from God and inherently evil until we accept Jesus in our hearts, right?

 It just bugs me. That’s all. Sorry for the rant.

Suzapalooza’s Weblog

Suzy has a blog. Woot.

Never Going Back to OK

It’s not the end, but it feels like it is/I’m waking up like I’m back from the dead/I’m steppin’ out, and I feel so afraid/But as long as I’m movin’, it’s alright.

I feel alive and it hurts for a change/and lookin’ back, it’s hard to believe/That I was cool with the days that I wasted/Complacent, and tasteless and bored

But that was yesterday/We’re never going back to okay/We’re never going back to easy/We’re never going back to the way it was/We’re never going back to okay.

It’s just contempt, like a slap in the face/Mediocre, I’ve had enough of this place/This party’s over, and we’re movin’ away/From the thrills of your Beverly Hills

That was yesterday/We’re never going back to okay/We’re never going back to easy/We’re never going back to the way it was/We’re never going back to okay.

Will you stay?/This is our time/Our only life/A chance to live

Yeah, we’re never going back to okay/We’re never going back to easy/We’re never going back to the way it was/We’re never going back to okay.

Lost Retreat 2007

As an intro, I’d like to quote the new song by The Afters, Never Going Back to OK

Yeah, never going back to OK/Never going back to Easy/Never going back to the way it was/Never going back to OK.

 I have the whole song on my MySpace if you want to hear it.

I feel like that’s what God dropped on me at Lost. I wasn’t completely lost and away from God by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t Lost IN Him either. If someone had asked God “How is Peter’s relationship with you?” He probably would only be able to say “He’s doing okay,” like the same way you would if someone said “Hey, your mom just died, how’s your dad doing?” Like, there would be a sadness in His voice, you know?

The most awesome part is that once I realized it and my Rap Group prayed for me, God was like “If you’re serious, here’s what I’ll do for you,” and BLAM! God hit me with two words of knowledge like a Hulk Hogan leg drop. I wasn’t sure if it was God or just my imagination, but once I said the word “acorn” and Carrie inhaled in surprise so hard the wind made my hair stand straight up, I knew it was from God (she had a similar word on her heart, too).

 I would have to say, more than anything, God had me go to grow some relationships. Suzy and I had been feeling like we really weren’t part of the Catalyst family. People would talk about it, and it felt foreign to us. As Junior High group leaders, we never really got to spend time with the people who work with High School and College. Add to that the fact that we don’t sit in the same section as them on Sundays, and that we haven’t been able to attend a single Sunday meeting due to prior commitments, (which end after Sunday! Woo hoo!) and the only conclusion we came to was that everyone thought that we were snobs. And we couldn’t really disagree with their assessment. But, after this weekend, we discussed it and realized “THIS is what the Catalyst family feels like.” We joked, we laughed, we cried, we sweated, we froze, and we injured ourselves (Yay for Dani, my bruised knee buddy!), we shared energy drinks (Again, Yay for Danielle and her Rock Star) with these people, and now we feel accepted. Until now, we’ve been on the outside looking in through a foggy window, not really comprehending or accurately processing the images our eyes were broadcasting into our brains, and LOST really opened that window and said “Come on in! But wipe your feet first, and take off your shoes and leave them in the corner. I’ll put your coat in the closet for you. Ooh! We have delicious hot cocoa for your enjoyment! Have a seat! Want some slippers? I’ll totally loan you a pair. We have today’s paper, but Hosh already took all the coupons, Carrie is perusing the fashion section, and Zach has the comics, but I’m sure he’ll let you read them after he’s done. Keenan and Aaron are over in the corner making the room cooler with their very presence, and Ben and Evan are throwing stuff at each other. Feel free to join in.”

Side note: That analogy may have gone on a little too long.

But the point is, LOST was the most awesome weekend of my life. The only reason I got so little sleep was because I had to fit all that awesome in each day. I would have missed out on 16 more hours of awesome if I’d slept. That would have sucked.

 I’m looking forward to the JV retreat in March. Who’s with me?