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 - Endorsed - Indifferent - Contested
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| The Nashville Statement
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Name:Daniel
Home: Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada
About Me: I used to believe that evolution was reasonable, that homosexuality was genetic, and that people became Christians because they couldn't deal with the 'reality' that this life was all there was. I used to believe, that if there was a heaven - I could get there by being good - and I used to think I was more or less a good person. I was wrong on all counts. One day I finally had my eyes opened and I saw that I was not going to go to heaven, but that I was certainly going to suffer the wrath of God for all my sin. I saw myself as a treasonous rebel at heart - I hated God for creating me just to send me to Hell - and I was wretched beyond my own comprehension. Into this spiritual vacuum Jesus Christ came and he opened my understanding - delivering me from God's wrath into God's grace. I was "saved" as an adult, and now my life is hid in Christ. I am by no means sinless, but by God's grace I am a repenting believer - a born again Christian.
My complete profile...
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Daniel's posts are almost always pastoral and God centered. I appreciate and am challenged by them frequently. He has a great sense of humor as well.
- Marc Heinrich
His posts are either funny or challenging. He is very friendly and nice.
- Rose Cole
[He has] good posts, both the serious like this one, and the humorous like yesterday. [He is] the reason that I have restrained myself from making Canadian jokes in my posts.
- C-Train
This post contains nothing that is of any use to me. What were you thinking? Anyway, it's probably the best I've read all day.
- David Kjos
Daniel, nicely done and much more original than Frank the Turk.
- Jonathan Moorhead
There are some people who are smart, deep, or funny. There are not very many people that are all 3. Daniel is one of those people. His opinion, insight and humor have kept me coming back to his blog since I first visited earlier this year.
- Carla Rolfe
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| Midnight Tourniquet |
 The clock wasn't ticking any louder than it had ever ticked. In the hustle and bustle of daytime activity the clock noise was so entirely drowned out it may as well have been silent. Yet in the midnight hour, its tiny whirring gears scraped strident against that nocturnal silence. Each second marked by the cracking, metallic snap of the larger gear, broken only by the occasional droning hum of distant tires rolling across a distant road.
It is no pleasant thing to be the hated recipient of some sinister plan, and more so if that same burning hatred randomly finds its way to you, but somewhere betwixt my twilight slumber, and this moment in time, a foul plan had been put into action.
Truly, I can only speculate about when the plan was formed or why. Perhaps this was some act of vengeance for some slight that I am unaware of? Perhaps a vendetta against some association? Truly, I don't care for speculation much, and less so when such speculation is certain to be utterly fruitless excepting that such forays into morbid motive serve to disturb my rest. I would assume that the attack was unprovoked and random, except it is not the first time.
Allow me to explain - it began in my childhood.
As a young boy in a large single income family, I didn't receive a set of pajama's until I was six or seven or something like that. They were the standard non-flannel sort of stretchy pajamas - red with blue cuffs, and pretty plain. Plain I say, except that they hated me and tried to kill me that night.
To be sure, it wasn't the pajama bottoms that ever hated me. I suppose I have always had a good relationship with pajama bottoms, not exactly a friendship or linking of hearts, but there has never been any ill will between us. But the pajama tops and I... well, let's just say it is like that that Bob Marley tune ("I shot the Sheriff") where he says, Sheriff John Brown
always hated me
for what I don't know
Every time I plant a seed,
He said kill it before it grow...
I don't really understand why it is that pajama tops hate me, but every time I wear one to bed, somewhere round the midnight hour, they creep up, and twist up around my neck, until I wake with a choking start. So it was that day as a young boy, and so it has been every time I tried to "plant a pajama seed," The pajama top tries to kill me before the morning light.
I have never understood why it is that pajama bottoms are so friendly, while the tops are anger filled wretches, waiting deceitfully to strangle you to death when you are most helpless. How do these two come coupled together - it is almost like the good cop bad cop routine - the pants are your friend, they don't want you to get hurt, they just want whats best for you, but the top, the pajama top is the bad cop - a ticking time bomb, if it had a face it would be purple, and its teeth clenched against some inner rage.
Perhaps it is not unlike the hunting technique of the lion - the one making a show in front of you, keeping your attention - lulling you into a false sense of security - look at how distant it is, surely I will have plenty of time to flee, for I shall see it coming. Only unbeknownst to the oblivious victim, crawling through the tall yellow grass, silent as a whisper under the bright African sun - the mate approaches, and then, when it is too late, it springs from the side, and you only have time to open your eyes wide in shock and dismay...
I am somewhat suspicious therefore, even of the pajama pants - they seem nice, but it could all be part of the master plan of attack - a seeming ally, but a possible turncoat.
So beware my friends. Beware of the brooding pajama top, and his conspiratorial and seemingly harmless partner - the pajama bottom.Labels: aside, Pajamas |
posted by Daniel @
9:53 AM
 
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| 8 Comments: |
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I am sure that I am not the only one these pajama tops have targetted.
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I have never liked pajamas--I believe their only purpose is to create unnecessary laundry--but I have never feared them until now.
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I just can't wear them, they really do have it for me.
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So what exactly would be the label for this type of phobia? :)
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My guess would be: salbariphobia "fear of pajamas"
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As a little girl in New England I had the EXACT SAME EXPERIENCE except that it was my entire torso being held in a vise by those awful flannel nightgowns...
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As I initially read about your not getting pajamas until you were seven, my first thought was "blessings come in all kinds of disguises". I blame my bottoms on the fact that I didn't have my first child until I was 40! They long ago formed an alliance against me and I have rebelled.
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Pajamas are evil. Period.
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I am sure that I am not the only one these pajama tops have targetted.