From the One campaign

Even in tough economic times, we want to make sure the next president, no matter who that is, keeps his commitment to fighting global poverty.

The total spent on all poverty-fighting programs make up less than one percent of the entire U.S. budget, yet we are saving millions of lives and helping the world's poorest people break free from crippling poverty. These efforts will be even more critical as the effects of any global economic slowdown are magnified in already struggling countries.

I just took action with ONE to tell my leaders to keep their promises to the world's poor, and you can too, here:

http://www.one.org/keepourcommitments/?rc=koctaf
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Been tagged

If I tag you, you have to fill this out and tag five others.

The Five Tag

10 Years Ago I:

1. I was at Jacksonville State
2. I lived in my first apartment
3. Drove a white Dodge Dakota
4. was 20
5. Drank too much

5 Things on Today's "To-Do" List:

1. Get out of school for a long weekend!
2. Go to class
3. Kiss my wife
4. Watch the Dodgers in the NLCS
5. Go to bed

5 Snacks I Enjoy:

1. Peanuts
2. Reese’s peanut butter cups
3. Cereal
4. Chocolate
5. Chips & Dip



5 Things I would do If I were a millionaire:

1. Buy a nice log cabin in the mountains.
2. Buy a beach house
3. give money to church
4. Give to the million charities and organizations I support.
5. buy my wife something awesome

5 Places I have lived:

1. 30 Dewey Boozer Rd
2. ??? Francis St.
3. ??? South Lee St.
4. 1804 Martha Berry Blvd.
5. 1204 Desota Drive.

5 Jobs that I have had (or still have today in some cases):

1. Telemarketer
2. Bag boy
3. Youth pastor
4. News/sports reporter
5. Parapro

5 people I am tagging:
Jenn
Robby
Adam
Joel
Kevin and Lacy

Amazing Column on NPR's This I Believe.

Kim Phuc is best known as the girl in the famous photo of a Vietnam War napalm-bombing attack near Saigon. She now lives in Toronto with her husband and two children. Her organization, Kim Foundation International, aids children who are war victims. Photo courtesy of the Canadian Broadcasting Corp.




“Forgiveness made me free from hatred. I still have many scars on my body and severe pain most days but my heart is cleansed.”


On June 8, 1972, I ran out from Cao Dai temple in my village, Trang Bang, South Vietnam; I saw an airplane getting lower and then four bombs falling down. I saw fire everywhere around me. Then I saw the fire over my body, especially on my left arm. My clothes had been burned off by fire.

I was 9 years old but I still remember my thoughts at that moment: I would be ugly and people would treat me in a different way. My picture was taken in that moment on Road No. 1 from Saigon to Phnom Penh. After a soldier gave me some drink and poured water over my body, I lost my consciousness.

Several days after, I realized that I was in the hospital, where I spent 14 months and had 17 operations.

It was a very difficult time for me when I went home from the hospital. Our house was destroyed; we lost everything and we just survived day by day.

Although I suffered from pain, itching and headaches all the time, the long hospital stay made me dream to become a doctor. But my studies were cut short by the local government. They wanted me as a symbol of the state. I could not go to school anymore.

The anger inside me was like a hatred as high as a mountain. I hated my life. I hated all people who were normal because I was not normal. I really wanted to die many times.

I spent my daytime in the library to read a lot of religious books to find a purpose for my life. One of the books that I read was the Holy Bible.

In Christmas 1982, I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior. It was an amazing turning point in my life. God helped me to learn to forgive — the most difficult of all lessons. It didn't happen in a day and it wasn't easy. But I finally got it.

Forgiveness made me free from hatred. I still have many scars on my body and severe pain most days but my heart is cleansed.

Napalm is very powerful but faith, forgiveness and love are much more powerful. We would not have war at all if everyone could learn how to live with true love, hope and forgiveness.

If that little girl in the picture can do it, ask yourself: Can you?

This essay was produced by Anne Penman for the Canadian Broadcasting Corp. NPR's This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with John Gregory and Viki Merrick.

Banned Books Week

This week is banned books week. There's an interesting story from NPR on banned books on my RSS feed to the right under NPR Books, entitled: 'Grapes Of Wrath' And The Politics of Book Burning'

Here is a list of banned/challenged books: http://title.forbiddenlibrary.com/

October is National Arts and Humanities Month

Guys,
I don't know about you, but I believe Americans are really beginning to forget the value of the arts. We don't have time for theatre, literature, dance, and the like, any more. We want big action packed movies, 30 minute tv dramas, and reality shows. But let us not forget that we have to keep the arts flourishing lest we become hardened drones. Do what you can to get your kids involved in the arts; promote the arts whenever possible. See a play and turn off the television and read, even if for only 30 minutes a day.



What is National Arts and Humanities Month?
"National Arts and Humanities Month (NAHM) is a coast-to-coast collective celebration of culture in America. Held every October and coordinated by Americans for the Arts, it has become the largest annual celebration of the arts and humanities in the nation. From arts center open houses to mayoral proclamations to banners and media coverage, communities across the United States join together to recognize the importance of arts and culture to citizen's daily lives," according to the Web site: http://www.americansforthearts.org/get_involved/advocacy/nahm/default.asp

By mom's request

Here is an essay I wrote that mom wanted to read.


The Road to Autumn
Erik Green
ENGL 410
Dr. North
9-15-08
Oh the leaves, are they not yet yellow? I see their green hues changing slightly like an aging apple. The wind, does it not yet carry a chill? I feel a tease, a taste, a whisper, like a first kiss, blowing through the window. No, summer has not yet cooled, and my muse-- the wondrous autumn-- isn't dancing in her marvelous red dress. Yes, the rays still beat madly upon my face, begging for my attention. I see that blasted ball of fire; I feel the waves of its furnace. It is like a child in need of its mother, a lover who has lost its mate. In October its will shall surely wane; it shall calm its violent eyes. But it’s September, and the burn is still real, the earth is still warm, and my muse still eludes me.
I remember an October morning and the last time I saw the muse. The sun, according to my watch, was sleeping late that day. Cars, like mine, awoke, and their lights illuminated creation like an amateur filmmaker with a cheap movie camera. In the Kangaroo Mart on the corner of “Some Road” and “Such-and-Such-Drive,” I watched a middle aged trucker with candy corn teeth and a mullet flirt with a young clerk with pretty eyes, brown hair, and broken dreams. Coffee pots burbled, and energy drinks were being peddled — two for three bucks. I took decaf. I drove on, past the stucco fast food joints and the feed-and-seed store, through one stoplight and then the next. I was ushered through town by the wind; its marvelous fingers maneuvered leaves of red and yellow across the ground like soldier crabs scurrying to the ocean. The sky was enchanting at daybreak, when clouds parted to reveal a black canvas being overtaken by splotches of orange and red. Outside, old men in fedoras and pressed suits walked with canes up sidewalks, while fit Presbyterian mothers in bicycle shorts and toboggans chatted on their cell phones and pushed their infants around the block. Manicured yards, like chain link fences, lead from one ranch house to another to another, and through dark windows televisions flickered the morning news. The old courthouse at the intersection was still pretty, though the inside was wrecked, which was analogous of the town.
I turned left, and there before me stood Fort Mountain, rising through the morning fog like the spire of a great castle. I passed the last hayfield where fescue grass and alfalfa were rolled into great bails. It reminded me of my childhood in Alabama and the peace that I’d found there in the little things: sweet tea, front porches. I thought of those hills covered in pines, red maples, and elm and the fog that rolled through the hollows in the morning. I missed that English style barn that was built long before I was born and the tin corn crib that ached and creaked under the stifling heat. I missed flinging a fishing rod over my shoulder and walking into the backwoods where bluegill and channel cats were as plentiful as biting flies. I missed the buzz of bicycle tires whirling underneath me on the aged blacktop, and the country store where everybody knew me when I walked in. I missed the smell of axle grease coming from underneath that old red Farmall tractor, and I missed dad as well. He died before I could spend another autumn with him, but we spent many together on that farm, cutting logs, mending fences, and raking the endless piles of browning leaves. How I missed that man.
Ahead I drove, and the car climbed and winded its way higher and higher along a road with dandelion yellow road signs that warned of sharp curves and perilous ravines. Seldom did I meet another car, and time marched slowly at thirty five miles per hour. I pulled off on a widened shoulder, got out and walked to the face of the bluff. Down below, the town’s buildings looked like Monopoly pieces scattered on a vast, green, living room floor. The sun stood like the head of a sunflower, a dull red in the gray sky. Below my feet, the tops of oak trees seemed to have no idea that something could be looking down upon them; they didn’t seem curious at all. I kicked a stone down the side of the cliff, but it did not rouse them. I drove on, and came to East Ellijay and then Ellijay, and I laughed at how a town so small could be divided into named parts. It took me a moment to find the orchard road, but I came to it and headed east. I saw the orchard on the right and stopped in. The cider press was pumping, and pretty girls were packing apples into baskets, and families were filling bags with Rome Beauty, Pink Lady, Golden and Red Delicious, and Granny Smith apples. Out back, acres of apple trees stood like soldiers in orderly rows, and people picked as many apples as they could carry. I bought a pint of apple butter, a quart of sorghum and then drove on, down the long, blacktop road to the pumpkin farm. As I went, I imagined that Charlie Brown and Linus lived there, and I could almost hear them talking about the Great Pumpkin. They would have liked it there, because it seemed like their kind of place.
The pumpkin farm was a scientific marvel, at least in my mind. There were pumpkins so big that they could devour a small child if they had the inclination and the jowls to do so, but those hadn’t been carved into them yet. People used wheelbarrows to haul them out, and they strained and grunted all the way. I was able to find the perfect one for the porch and one or two others that were suitable for pumpkin pie. Nearby there was a barn full of Indian corn — the kind with purple and red kernels — and children marveled at how corn on the cob could change color. Yes, autumn lived there, and I was thrilled to see her.
As I drove on, I thought about how the year had passed so swiftly, and I realized that winter would soon be upon us again. Though I had my muse in my arms, I already missed her. She never stayed long enough to ease my soul, and all I did in winter, and spring, and summer was mourn for her. I drove until I found a walking trail and a lone tree, and I sat with her for a long time. The beauty of the trees was spellbinding. It was like they all had gone to town and bought the best and brightest coats. They stood, dignified, like a tenor making his final bow, tears rolling down his eyes. Soon their leaves would fall, and they would stand naked and revealed, and they would look old and poor. Everything felt alive to me in that moment, when the breeze was strong and the tall grass blew on a facing meadow. There is some mysticism to the autumn; it is like tales of wizards and Camelot, or satellite images of deep space — a mystery. I lay back and rested my head on my hands and watched the blue, crystalline, afternoon sky as red and purple leaves blew around in circles, then landed gently on the lawn. Oak trees had orange leaves; maple leaves were red, yellow, and orange, and dogwood leaves were red-brown. I drove away from that place where autumn lived, but she came with me, and she spread throughout my town.
That evening my wife brought me coffee, and we sat on our front porch and looked at the sky as the sun began to set. We watched as mountains pulled blankets of cloud over themselves for the night, and I wondered if children mistook the blinking lights of airplanes for stars. On those cool evenings when the mosquitoes were long gone, and the sun was in bed early, I was most happy; I could see God. Inside, a football game was on, and the smell of cider permeated the air. Children somewhere were imagining stories about black cats and jack-o’-lanterns, and the wind was stirring the trees in a hundred backyards. It was the muse; it was autumn, rousing them all, as she danced and darted through her earthly playground. Truly she was a magical and mystical creative spirit, a gift of God.

Copyright © Erik Green 2008

The bad bad day

I saw this cloud while I was standing outside today doing the crossing guard job. It should have served as a warning, because this has been the worst day of my working life at MCHS. I hope to still be employed at the end of the day. Just pray for me.

Everything worked out, so thanks for praying...

See You at the Pole

Praise the Lord, we had a great turn out this morning for See You at the Pole at Murray County High. There were probably 30 kids, and some staff, out there. Around 7:00 a.m. I was beginning to get worried that maybe I would be the only one standing out there, but by 7:20 there was a nice turnout. And the good part was that many of the other kids in the school had to walk past us to go in the door. Hopefully they were able to see God in the faithfulness of the students and staff. The students led prayer and sang a couple of songs, and one girl read several passages from the Bible. It was nice. Just when I was beginning to think that most kids were completely blind and deaf to the Gospel, these kids made me see otherwise. Monitoring In-School Suspension can make you bitter towards kids, but it was great to see that there are still so many kids with good hearts and a desire to do right and please God. Thank God for their parents. Love you guys!
Erik

PS...Pray for me guys, because this year of ISS has been awful. I am finding it very hard to show the love of Christ while being a firm, and often times very firm, teacher.

prayer

Guys,
Be praying for me today. It would have been my dad's 73rd birthday today, so I am a little down. Also, Angie and I are going to the doc on Thursday for routine check ups, but we HATE going to the doctor. Pray for us that God will give us strength to face whatever the doc has to tell us. Love ya'll.
Erik

4DL

Here's a look at the guys opening for Casting Crowns in Dalton, Four Days Late! I feel like a proud papa haha.

SETNTD #31

Don't forget to be praying for all the team members and candidates preparing for Tres Dias No. 31!!

I've now seen it all

Well my first day back to school has been fairly uneventful thus far, but I do have one story which made me laugh. You all will remember the days when you put your boyfriend/girlfriend's picture behind a clear plastic sheath on the cover of your notebook. Well, one girl in my class today has a picture of her boyfriend all right...his MUG SHOT!!!!! Yes, she looks fondly into the eyes of her dear sweet felon all day. Ay yay yay!

In other news, God is really awesome! Of course, you knew that. He is just filling us up with strength day to day, and holding us close to Him. Angie and I are really having to turn to Him, and that is what He wants. We are praying that He will show us His plan daily.

My new personal email is thewayisjesus@gmail.com Our family email is greenfamily08@windstream.net

casting crowns concert

I was going to spread the word that my best buddies are in a band called 4 Days Late and they are opening for Casting Crowns when they come to Dalton on Sept. 20. Check them out at fourdayslatemusic.com

Here's a couple pics of dad

thanks

On behalf of our family, I would like to thank everyone who has shown honor to my (our) dear father during this time. Dad was one of those people who loved everyone for who they were, and never had a negative word to say about anyone. He was a Christian first and foremost. He was a loyal husband, a kind and gentle father, and a doting grandfather. He was a hard worker, a true lover of his fellow man, and selfless above all things. As I look back on my time with him, I will always remember his smile, and his big catcher's mitt hands, but most of all his genuine humility. He was a true gem, a vessel of God's love, and we will dearly miss him.
Erik

Arrangements for dad

The arrangements for my dad are as follows: visitation will be Thursday from 6-9 p.m. at First Baptist Williams (Jacksonville, AL); the funeral is Friday at 11 a.m. at FBC Williams. For you mapquesters, FBC Williams is located at 5579 Nesbit Lake Road, Jacksonville, AL 36265.

Thank you all so much for your prayers and thoughts. Dad was 72, three weeks from his 73rd birthday. Angie and I were blessed to spend this past weekend with him and mom, so God is so awesome for allowing us that chance to see him one last time. Dad was a fine Christian, so we have NO DOUBT that he is with Jesus now. If I was a betting man, I would say he and my uncle Happy are investigating a fishing hole or two up there. I know he was so happy to see Happy again. Mom is doing OK right now; she is having to keep her chin up during all the commotion. She broke down some last night, but she was just singing a hymn a few minutes ago. She is a fine Christian as well. Dad had been complaining of dizziness over the weekend and so when Angie and I left, my sister took him and mom to the doctor. The doc checked him out thoroughly and sent him home. They'd arranged heart exams, etc. The next morning he was feeling worse, so they called the ambulance to come and get him and he had a heart attack about two miles into the trip to the hospital. The paramedics tried to revive him for an hour and a half, before he finally died. I have two older sisters, two nieces and a nephew, so please continue praying for strength. We love you guys.
Erik

The paradox of the high school senior

By Erik Green

So turning 18 means you're grown, right? Yes, of course. You can drive. You can vote. You can join the military. You can get married. It is even legal to do married type things before marriage. You can watch R-rated movies. The vast world of adulthood lies before you like an unexplored island paradise.
Unfortunately, your senior year of high school keeps you in the bosom of childhood a little longer, and it *&^%$# stinks! In school you cannot sleep (no matter how hungover you are). You cannot chew gum or tobacco. You can't kiss your girlfriend/boyfriend, even though you will likely marry them (har, har, har). You can't speak freely (No, your teacher is not dude). You can't talk on the phone (OMG wtc?). You can't dress as scantily clad as you might wish. Your days are meticulously scheduled to the minute, and your mom even makes you ride the bus now and then.
The worst part is you can't do anything about it, unless you plan on quitting, and then there goes 12-plus years of lectures, experiments, and kick ball games. But it happens. According to an ABC News story (http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=2667532), some 2,500 students drop out of school every day! Obviously not all of those students are seniors, but I suspect there is an alarming number of seniors who simply quit months before they are scheduled to graduate. Why? Because they are adults, of course.
I am convinced that seniors drop out because they have been convinced that turning 18makes them an adult, when it is simply untrue, and they feel that school is no longer relevant. It's kid stuff. Seniors seem to be more combative with teachers, more resistant to school rules, and more reluctant to comply academically than other students because they simply believe that they are grown, and that such a title awards them some sort of immunity. I had a senior come to In-School Suspension because he'd been accused, perhaps wrongly, of vandalism. He said that instead of taking his punishment he was going to quit school. It smelled like pride to me, and I told him so. His mindset was, "I am an adult, and they cannot treat me this way." Sure they can, especially if you plan on graduating. The same is true in the working world. I can tell my boss where to stick it, but not if I want to eat and pay the bills.
In my opinion, seniors become discouraged with their circumstances because they have yet to acquire the valuable resource known as foresight. At present, what is important to a typical senior is Billy's party, or Tommy's Mustang, or Susy's... characteristics. It isn't "I need to put something away for retirement," or "When I get to college I am going to be clueless, so I'd better study."
I understand because I've been there. I rolled my eyes when my parents talked about responsibility, hard work, and goals. My goal was to chase girls, a task at which I was utterly pathetic. As a senior, I was driving a free car, on free gas, and complaining about it. I was the guy arguing about the drinking age with my economics teacher. I could die for my country, but I couldn't have a beer. Please, I wasn't about to die for my country, but it was the principle of the matter. I was an adult; I could do as I pleased. It took 12 years to make up for doing as I pleased as an 18-year-old child.

Primal Scream

I just need to scream AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had a bad day at school, so......................................AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....ok getting there.....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...ok all better. Thanks! :)
Erik

PS...If you are ever bored and have some time to kill, check out this site: http://www.faceresearch.org/demos/average

Update on Fischer

Here is an update from my friend Bryan on baby Fischer.

Fischer Michael Young
Born 8-21-08 10:18am/est 6lbs 10oz 19 1/2"
Floyd Medical Center Rome,GA

Fischer is doing great. He was moved to the NICU Friday at lunch because he was not eating good and his sugar was dangerously low. Since then his sugar is stable with help from an IV and is eating great. He will be able to leave when his eating has gotten a little better and has the is IV removed. Erin is doing great and will be able to go home Sunday or Monday. We will have to leave Fischer at the hospital until he is a little stronger. Please continue to pray for us.
Bryan

Hurray for Fischer Michael

Many of you have heard that my friend Bryan and his wife Erin were expecting a baby, but have had complications due to her type one diabetes.
Well, Fischer Michael Young was born today at 10:18 a.m., weighing 6 pounds and 10 ounces, and he was 19.5 inches long. Praise the Lord! Everyone is healthy!