The Meatrix 2

Can you believe it?

The long awaited sequel to "The Meatrix" has just been released!

What are you waiting for, hmmmm? Don't you want to follow Moopheus, Leo and Chickity as they dive deeper into the Meatrix and uncover the truth about factory farming?

Go watch "The Meatrix 2"!

It's a bit of internet hilarity with a great message!

A Day Away to Play

The day began like any other; but it was not like any other.

It was a day to play.

We loaded up early in the morning and drove to Portland.

Our first stop was the Pearl Bakery. I had a scrumptious pain chocolat, chased by a strong cup of joe.

The Pearl Bakery!


Fortified with caffeine and chocolate, I was then ready to browse the many levels of Powells Books!

Powells

I left Powells with "A Tree Full of Angels" by Macrina Wiederkehr and "Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places" by Eugene Peterson. I expect both to be good reads, albeit good reads in different ways.

The next stop of course, was lunch. For this, we decided upon Caprial's Bistro in the Westmoreland neighborhood. (And yes, John was there, although Caprial was not.)

Caprial's

Our piece de resistance was the dessert at the Pix Patisserie!

Pix Patisserie

So ended our day of extravagance and exploration in Portland.

Fun was had by all.

After fully playing my way through the day, I am now ready to devour "Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places"!

***************

Ps~ I failed to mention one of our stops along the way; and it now begs for recognition!

The Whole Foods Market is the world's best organic, whole foods market in the world!

Renewal.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.
~Jean Giraudoux

Recently, I have felt such disappointment with my church, such sorrow for the suffering of others and right now, I feel completely bereft of healthy community and care.

I can't seem to shake these strange, uncomfortable feelings, and I feel as if I am stuck in the sticky dregs of an emotional hangover that no amount of pepto-bismol and tylenol can hope to cure.

All day yesterday I struggled to shake free and then I remembered.

I remembered, how I have learned that the early dawn will whisper ancient secrets into the human heart.

So, I rose earlier than usual this morning and I watched as a new day slipped over the eastern sky

My soul needed to be reminded that the darkness, no matter how dark, will always be shattered by the light.

Serenaded by song birds, singing to a crazy rhythm tapped by our resident woodpecker, I watched as new life crept over my city, and I felt the sweetness of hope restored.

Hope is a powerful thing.

Hope makes room for forgiveness.

Hope humbles the human heart.

Hope empowers.

I am renewed.

Tag me baby!

When I was a kid, I wasn't the most physically adept.

I was never the first person picked to be on someone's team for all of those ridiculous childhood games of kickball.

No one ever tags me either....well, that is until recently when my friend Debb tagged me in an e-mail. Of course, she didn't expect that I would reply!

So, here we go. My responses to Debbs tag!

Four jobs I have had in my life:

1. Florist's assistant

2. Dishwasher

3. Janitor

4. Deli Drudge/Caterer

Four movies I could watch over and over:

1. Shrek

2. Casablanca

3. Lord of the Rings

4. Gone With The Wind

Four places I have lived:

1. Missoula, MT

2. Strasbourg, France

3. Fort Leonard Wood, MO

4. Carrollton, GA

Four TV shows I love to watch:

1. Lost

2. Survivor

3. House

4. X Files

Four places I have been on vacation:

1. Oregon Coast

2. San Juan Islands
3. South Padre Islands

4. Yellowstone National Park

Four web sites I visit daily:

1. http://newlifeemerging.blogspot.com/

2. http://www.google.com/

3. http://www.sugarfused.net/

4. Zaftig and Debb and Bob and the rest of my blogging buddies.

Four of my favorite foods: (This list is subject to change without notice)

1. coffee

2. chocolate

3. homemade bread

4. creme brulee

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. at the Oregon coast

2. Powell's bookstore

3. with my family, gnoshing at Roses Deli

4. naked, on a tropical island with my stud muffin

Four Friends or Family that have been tagged that I think will respond:

1. Zaftig

2.
3.

4.

Friday's Coup de Grace

Friday was an impossibly long day for me.

After helping one neighbor move, and after hearing of another friend being taken into custody as the result of a drug court sanction, I attended an apologetics course that was being held that evening at our church.

Now for those of you who don't know, the term apologetics comes from the Greek apologia, which means "defense" or "answer." Apologetics then, is the task of defending a particular idea or belief system and answering its critics. Christian apologetics, is the art and the science of making a reasoned, intellectual case for Christianity and Christian beliefs.

From the very start, I had some serious issues with the information being presented at the seminar. Several times I found myself snorting in outrage only to have my husband tap my leg and silently plead with his eyes for me to please just sit and be quiet.

So what had me snorting so indelicately?

Well.....

Did you know that our university system is currently under the control of liberal relativists?

and....

Did you know that our high school science programs are teaching that the Galapagos finch will one day evolve into elephants?

I was horrified by these misrepresentations.

I have two children who are high school age, and neither have been instructed that Darwin's theory of evolution is anything more than a widely accepted scientific theory. They certainly aren't being taught that the Galapagos finch, due to it's fluctuations in beak size will ever evolve into elephants.

My feelings of disgruntlement intensified when one participant later asserted that a serious problem confronting the Christian believer was breaking through the materialism that has enslaved the nonbeliever.

As I looked around the table where I was sitting, I took note of the diamond wedding rings, all of which I'm sure exceeded 1 carat. I looked at the women's carefully manicured fingers; and as my eyes traveled up to their beautifully made up faces, I noted their expensive salon dyed hair and I couldn't help but wonder which $30,000 SUV was theirs in the parking lot.

It would seem to me, that materialism is an equal opportunity enslaver, now isn't it?

The coup de grace however, occurred as my husband and I were leaving. A frantic woman ran up to us and said, would you please stay with "this gentleman" in the lobby until I get the pastor?

"This gentleman" was an obviously intoxicated black man, who seemed determined to do three things in grand repetition. First, he wanted to shake every person's hand who passed, to lean in and bump his right shoulder to their right shoulder and then to regale each individual with a string of drunken Smokey Robinson renditions.

"This gentleman" was so determined to sing Smokey tunes and so unable to introduce himself in any understandable way, that I began to think of him as "Mr. Robinson".

Now I know drunks. I've been one myself. I wasn't affronted or embarrassed by his slurred speech, or his sour smell.

What I did find to be embarrassing however, were the reactions of my brothers and sisters in Christ.

Some met Mr. Robinson's blurry gaze with a smile, accepted his out stretched hand and even bumped shoulders with him.

Others looked confused and awkwardly shied away; while others hurried by as if Mr. Robinson were invisible.

I even heard one woman growl, "Get away from me, I don't have any money."

Eventually, the pastor arrived and as we left, I shook Mr. Robinson's hand, bumped shoulders with him once again, and I slipped him a few phone numbers for two men whom I knew would be willing to share his recovery journey should he choose to embrace sober living.

Now before you get to thinking that I'm "all that", you need to know that my first reaction to Mr. Robinson, was one of annoyance and irritation. I was tired and all I wanted was for Mr. Robinson to sit down and behave himself, so that I would be able to get myself home in time to throw on my jammies and to catch the last 30 minutes of the newest Dr. Who episode on the SciFi channel.

My own self interest very nearly won me over....it would have been so easy to walk past Mr. Robinson and to pretend he wasn't there.

It would have been just as easy to snort in derision and to judge those who did walk past; but truly, I am not all that much better than any of them and it is my prayer that God will forgive me my moment of indecision before I sided with Christ and chose his way of compassion and grace.

I suppose what strikes me now, two days later is the supreme irony of the evening.....

Nearly one hundred Christ followers had gathered, to learn together how to defend the Christian faith and when Christ appeared in our lobby, with his stinking, alcohol laced breath, his dark skin, his shabby clothing and destitute state, what did we do?

Some of us responded graciously; but most of us shrank in fear and revulsion.

As a result of my own derision, my own indecision, as well as the actions of others, I am left wondering......

Of what value is apologetics, if we are not willing to live the love of Christ in our every day lives?

A soul heavy day.

I feel such a weariness today.

And sadness, oh how the sadness has seeped through both my pores and through the hours of my day.....

This morning I was witness to considerable filth and deprivation.

Right here, in my neighborhood, just a few blocks away from where we live, lived another family.

The mother of this family is currently fighting cancer, and the children are lovely children who attend the same elementary school as my own children. The father is no longer a part of their family, as he has made a new family with another woman.

I've delivered meals to this family every week for about six months now. I, along with four other families in our neighborhood, have tried to be loving and supportive neighbors.

In all this time, I've never been invited inside this family's home. I suspected the reason was a dirty house....after all, how could any mother with two young children receive an aggressive regimen of chemotherapy and still manage to keep a clean home without considerable help?

Well, last week (unbeknownst to me) this family received an eviction notice and early this morning, I was asked to help them remove their possesions from the property.

When I arrived, it immediately became clear to me that an untidy home had been the least of their problems. It appeared to me, that for some time anyway, they had been living without any utilities.

That's right, no water, no lights, no heat.....

As I surveyed the mess, and breathed in the smells, my heart literally broke into a thousand pieces. My sorrow was so acute, that I almost grew dizzy as my heart simply exploded, unable to contain the unspeakable sadness I felt for this family.

I helped as best as I could, and when I left, I quietly prayed that this family would soon have what I have...a new home with working lights, and flushing toilets, a home filled with love, security and good health.

Then, later on this afternoon, I learned that a woman whom I have been mentoring for our local county drug court was sanctioned today for failing to keep in contact with me as the court had mandated. She was taken into custody and will spend several days in the county jail.

Never in a million years did I expect the Judge to sanction this woman in this manner; and even though I know the fault is not my own, I feel such complicity and guilt.

As I sit here, I imagine one woman who is incarcerated this evening and I know the pain it causes her. I imagine another woman, who is currently homeless and who struggles with the uncertainty of her own future.

And I realize now, more than ever, that I cannot fix anyone.

I cannot even fix myself.

I cannot save anyone.

I cannot even save myself.

All that I can do is to continue to love.

And if this means that I must continue to personally confront deprivation, poverty and sorrow; if this means that I must continue to risk rejection and blame, then I can say with all confidence that I am still willing to love, to be present, to risk my own vulnerability.

But doing so comes as such a price.....

...because right now, my soul is so heavy, that all I can do is fall to my knees, bow my head and sob an incomprehensible prayer.

Flu Haiku

Each time I swallow

I feel the razor blade slice

as sinuses drain

I'm sick.

My throat hurts.

My head aches.

My sinuses are exploding.

Need I say more?

Remembering the way

This past Friday, the afternoon sun broke through the gray Oregon clouds and I couldn't help myself. I seized the moment!

I said, "Children, throw on your foo-foo duds (that's code for jeans and/or tee shirts without holes, stains or raggedy spots), and put on your walking shoes, because we are going to town!"

We had received a small refund from an overpayment to last years escrow account, and that money was burning a hole in my pocket, just as fiercely as the warm afternoon sun was burning away the gray of my winter weary spirit.

As soon as we were all dressed, the Lance family caravan began to wind its way through the neighborhood towards our city's downtown.

Along the way we chatted with our neighbors, and paused to admire the flowering cherry trees and budding bushes. It was a leisurely journey, one we both enjoyed and savored.

As we passed a retirement home in our neighborhood, we could see that the residents there were gathered in the dining room, eating their evening meal. My children waved and smiled as we passed.

We could also see that one elderly woman was all dressed up, as if waiting to leave. She had on her coat, her hat and gloves, and her purse was clenched tightly in hand. When she saw us coming, she began to hurry for the door, but the retirement home is a locked facility and the front door began to rock with the violence of her pushing.

"Oh Mom, what's happening in there?" my youngest son asked. "Why won't they let that lady out?"

"Well," I replied, "that's a locked care facility and people who live there can't just leave whenever they want."

My son looked a little confused, so I added, "Sometimes when we get older, we get confused more easily and we will get lost if we don't have someone with us to help us remember our way."

"Why doesn't anyone help that lady remember her way?" he asked.

"I don't know, son" I replied.

We continued this conversation for a short while and then we all proceeded to enjoy the rest of our walk, our dinner and our evening's entertainment at the locally owned used bookstore (live music, good books, who could ask for more?).

When we walked home, our bellies were full and we had our new used books in hand. We paused several times to gaze up at the stars and in spite of the light pollution, we were able to pick out the little dipper and the constellation Orion.

As we once again passed the retirement home, my youngest son grabbed my hand and said, "Mommy, I'm glad we have each other to help remember our way home."

"Me too." I replied softly. "Me too."

"Maybe we could help that lady remember her way?"

"Maybe we could."

I must admit that the image of that woman desperately trying to break free through the locked doors of her "retirement home", has remained etched in my brain.

For me, it's such a bitterly poignant metaphor for what our society has become.

Too many of us have forgotten how to remember our way through this life. Long before our profusion of memories have crowded our aging brains. Long before the onset of senile dementia or alzheimer's has taken it's toll.....we forget what it's like to be caring, involved members of our own communities.

Too many of us live behind our locked doors.

Many of us are no longer able to remember the way, for ourselves or for one another.

I am troubled by this.

So troubled, that my husband and I are now carefully considering what kind of involvement our family might have in the lives of the residents at our neighborhood's retirement facility. Over the coming spring break, my youngest son and I will be meeting with the activities director to see how the retirement facility staff feel we might best involve ourselves.

If our neighbors cannot break through their own locked doors, then perhaps we can enter in; and maybe, just maybe, we can remember the way for one another and share this life's journey together.

opposites

God turns you from one feeling to another

and teaches by means of opposites,

so that you have two wings to fly,

not one.

Rumi

Surely you have experienced what it is to move from one emotion to another?

Lately I have been struggling with this and doing so confuses me.

How is it that I can be confident one moment and swirling in chaos the next?

How is it that I can be content one moment and aching with unfulfilled desires the next?

How is it that God can see so close, so tangible one moment and completely lost to me the next?

Is God, as Rumi suggests, teaching me by means of opposites? And if He is, why do I feel so earthbound, so incapable of flight?

There is a word that encapsulates how I feel this morning and that word is, "moribund".

moribund
adj 1: not growing or changing; without force or vitality [syn: stagnant]
2: on the point of death; breathing your last; "a moribund
patient"; "the expiring man was carried home by his two
friends" [syn: expiring]

I feel moribund. I feel sucked of vitality. I feel unchanging. I feel as if I am breathing my last.....

And yet, at the same time, I sense that I am somehow pupating in the silence of some deep and mysterious change....

So you see, I am again moving from one feeling to another, from death to life; and yes, God is here too, teaching me by means of opposites.

And if I am only patient enough, I will eventually have wings to soar.

Terrified

My church keeps sending me letters of invitation to attend various workshops and/or seminars which focus upon developing the gift of evangelism.

Our pastor of outreach seems to think these materials are somehow relevant, or applicable to me.

In fact, I just received another in the mail yesterday.

I find this very puzzling because I do not believe that I am in any way, shape or form, wired to evangelize.

Then I read one of my favorite blogs, "Today at the Mission", and everything clicked.

The author at "Today at the Mission" is describing a coworker, whom he believes has the gift of evangelism.

Rhymes with Kerouac writes:
"I believe he has the gift of evangelism not because he goes looking for people to share the gospel with. On the contrary; it's because people keep coming to him."

Now, I'm not deluding myself. I don't have hordes of people flocking to my doors to be enlightened and blessed; but I have noticed a steady stream of people, young and old, who come to our home, and for whatever reason, they find a place where they are able to lay down their burdens.

They come, and they sit with me and we speak quietly of loving and of God. We speak less quietly of our hurts and our hatreds....sometimes we sob. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we pray.....I pray with my eyes wide open and my hands raised high, while they pray with their eyes clenched shut and reaching with their hearts for the most high God.

I'd never thought of this as evangelizing. I had refused to even consider such a thing. Yet now, triggered by two lines in another man's blog, the truth seeps in and I can neither pretend nor ignore what I know to be true.

I, Jerri, have the gift of evangelism.

.......and I am terrified.

A new math.

I'm currently working with a young woman to improve her math skills.

When she was in middle school, it was determined that she would never be able to master anything beyond the basics of addition and subtraction. Her teachers felt it was sufficient that she learn how to tell time and to balance a checkbook. She was told that anything more, would have been reaching beyond her abilities.

Well, I'm no expert; but, I do disagree with this assessment.

She has a fine mind, and is perfectly capable of developing sufficient math skills to pass the math requirement on the GED math test.

Today I introduced the concept of a number line and I explained how numbers exist on both sides of zero. There are negative numbers and there are positive numbers. Then we talked about the space that exists between two numbers, and how there are whole numbers, mixed numbers, ect.

Just to tantalize her a little, I also told her how we perceive the space between two numbers on a number line as a finite space; and yet, when you begin to break that space down into fractions, something almost magical happens. The finite space widens, It more than widens, it becomes endless.

For example, if you start with 1/4, then move to 1/5, and on to 1/6, you begin to see how you could count forever and never reach the end.....it's as if infinity has somehow been captured in one tiny section of a simple, hand drawn number line.

As we were discussing this concept, my student paused, and she said, "I think God must be like that too. We think God fits in this nice little contained space, when really, He stretches beyond anything we can ever understand."

I smiled when she said that. I smiled because I knew that she had truly understood; and even more than that, she had recognized our Creator's signature lovingly encoded between the numbers 1 and 2, on our silly little number line.

My friend returned my smile. "Thank you." she said.

"You're welcome." I replied.

In some strange way, she had become the number one, and I had become the two, and everything in between slipped away into infinity.

The old hurt of being told she was too stupid to learn, slipped away.

The old hurt of being told she was worthless and would never amount to anything, slipped away.

The insecurity, the math anxiety, it all began to slip away.

And where she had once only seen the ragged edges of her own brokenness, she now perceived the signature of God, lovingly enscribed, lovingly present, loving her to wholeness.

And I bet you thought math was boring, didn't you?

The miracle of loving.

Early this morning, while I was grinding the coffee, my five year old daughter was lieing on the floor next to our sheltie.

They were face to face, belly to belly, and both of them were grinning those goofy grins you only see on the faces of dogs and their people.

Watching them for a moment, I commented to my prostrate daughter, "Boy, you sure are loving on that dog this morning."

"Oh no Mommy" my daughter replied, "Lily's loving on me!"

Silly me! I had it all backwards!

I thought my daughter was pouring out her love to the dog (and she was); but her experience in that moment was the experience of being loved in return.

And do you know what?

I think in some strange way, I saw an eternal truth being lived out on my kitchen floor this morning.

I think that when we love with such abandon and with such joy, our experience isn't one of giving; but rather, it is one of receiving! Somehow, in some mysterious way, when we love well, we experience ourselves being loved.

It's a strange thing.

It's a wonderful thing.

It's a God thing.

And I for one, thank God for this miracle of loving.

My plagiarized psalm.

Lord God,

"Do you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries."

Do you want to see me broken?

Do you God?

I ask because it feels as though you do.

And I am too tired to wrestle with you Lord.

I am too tired to cling,
or to hold,
or to grasp you to me as I have been doing.

It is your turn Lord God.

It is your turn to hold on to me.

And, if you will not pull me into yourself,
then I am lost.

And it will not matter
how broken I am,
or how tired I am,
because I will cease to be.

*************************

PLEASE NOTE: The first stanza of this Psalm was taken from Maya Angalou's poem "And Still I Will Rise". They are her words, not mine and oh, how I covet them!

My rebel with a cause!

Today my oldest son stayed home from school.

He's been suffering from a particularly nasty cold, and he needed an extra day for "down time".

Early this morning, my son and I found ourselves sitting on the couch, when out of the blue, he asks me why his Grandmother (now deceased) was so mean.

Just so you know, my mother was a mean woman....a very mean woman; but as with most people, there was also a little bit of goodness mixed in with her mean spiritedness.

I wanted my son to understand this about his Grandmother.

So, I explained a little bit about my mother; and as I did, I told my son about her childhood, her early challenges, her hurts and her pains. I explained that my mother had always been head strong and a bit of a rebel.

"Am I like my Grandmother?" he asked.

"No Son, you are not. You are kind, and you are compassionate in a way your Grandmother wasn't."

"No Mom. I mean, am I a rebel?"

This question caught me by surprise, and when I looked into his sweet hazel eyes, I saw how he was aching to define himself in a way that asserted his individuality, and affirmed his uniqueness. In that instant, I experienced again, as I had in my own youth, that intense desire to be different, to be revolutionary; and I understood in a very profound way, what it was my thirteen year old son was asking.

"Ohhh, Son!" I said softly, "Don't you see that you already are a rebel?"

"Me?"

"Yes you."

"How am I a rebel?"

"Well, think about it. How many of your peers choose to love rather than to hate; and to understand, rather than to be understood? How many of your peers have already committed themselves to serving others?"

"Not many."

"But you have; and by doing this, you have modeled yourself after the greatest "revolutionary" human history has ever known, Jesus Christ! This world is a better place because you truly care about and accept other people. I think this qualifies you to be as much of a rebel in our time, as Christ was in His!"

"Ohhhh, I get it!" he replied softly.

And do you know what? He really does "get it".

I only wish more of us did......

Freedom

I've been thinking a lot about fear.

Over the years, at various times, fear has held me captive. It has dictated certain behaviors and it has curtailed others. Sometimes this has been good thing, but mostly it has been detrimental to myself and to others.

I think that I have lived in fear for most of my life.

Fear that I am unloveable.
Fear that I will never measure up.
Fear that I will make mistakes.
Fear that _________________.
(You insert the word, and I bet that I've been afraid.)

After all of these years, I have finally come to the conclusion that fear is not my enemy.

In fact, I have come to believe that it is vitally important to know how to properly experience and to live through my own fear.

I suppose you could say that I had a little epiphany where my fear is concerned and you might be surprised to learn what prompted this deeper thinking and ultimate conclusion within me.

I was reading a Grimm's Fairy Tale. Yes, that's right. I was reading a fairy tale to my five year old, when it all clicked into place.

The story is called, "The Boy Who Went Forth To Learn Fear" and if you enjoy fairy tales and have a few minutes, you may want to read the story for yourself.

In our modern culture we have so inundated our eyes, ears and hearts with grisly images of violence and hatred for the sacred, that we are inured to fear. We no longer even know what it is to experience healthy fear; hence the sickliest of fears can hold us captive, while the most serious of fears completely escape our notice.

Yeah? So what's my point?

I suppose if I have a point at all, it's that I have discovered a new freedom. I no longer need to control or struggle so hard to eliminate the fear within me. Instead, I choose to embrace this part of myself, to pull it deeper within, and to integrate the fears with the hopes and the joys.

I no longer need a "freedom from", for I have discovered a "freedom within"; and this my friends, is perhaps the greatest secret for living a contented life.

Love perfected

God Speaks to the Soul

And God said to the soul:
I desired you before the world began.
I desire you now
As you desire me.
And where the desires of two come together
There love is perfected

Mechthild of Magdeburg

My derivative life....

Derivative \De*riv"a*tive\, a. [L. derivativus: cf. F. d['e]rivatif.]

Obtained by derivation; derived; not radical, original, or fundamental; originating, deduced, or formed from something else; secondary; as, a derivative conveyance; a derivative word.

........or.........

Derivative \De*riv"a*tive\, n.

1. That which is derived; anything obtained or deduced from another.


There are times when it pains me to admit that I have never had an original thought in my entire life.

I have never produced an original work of art.

Even my children are not of my own creation.

I lead a derivative life.

I didn't intend to live this way.

When I was younger, I desired to create a radical, one of kind life. I wanted to be original, vibrant and explosively alive; but something happened. Instead of me being in control of my own life, life turned on me, grabbed me by my ankles and started whipping me around like a rag doll. My dreams of creating a unique and one of kind life slipped away from me in the school of hard knocks.

But wait, here is where my story changes...

Something radical did happen to me in recent years. One cold, winter morning, alone at my kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, I encountered something explosively alive, charged with creative power, and characterized by relentless love.

I encountered the living Christ.

At that moment, my life was seized by a love I cannot begin to describe to you. In many ways, my life has not changed. I'm still not much of an original thinker, my art is, well, it is what it is; and my children....they are gifts to be cherished, not chattel to be manipulated and controlled.

So, in essence I still lead a derivative life. The difference is, I'm no longer held in the grips of cruel fate and being pounded into the hard earth of this cold world. No, I'm walking hand in hand with the Creator of the universe; and ours is a much different, albeit derivative, story.

It no longer pains me to admit that I lead a derivative life, because my life is derived from the living presence of our living God.

I would choose a life characterized by mercy, compassion and love, over a one of kind, original, any day.

But that's me in Christ, or Christ in me, I'm not sure which; either way, "Thank you Jesus! Thank you for my derivative life!"