I need to pray more.

Jesus told us and showed us how to pray. See Mt 6.

Allow me to provide a few extra-Biblical tips on how NOT to pray, taken partially from recent incidents and apocryphal examples.

1. During the singing part of corporate worship, prayer should not be used as segue from one song to the next. That’s not to say that it couldn’t be something that happens in between two songs; it most certainly could (and should). But I have to question the genuineness of a prayer that begins by echoing the last line of the previous song and finishes with the text of the first line of the next song. To me, that’s not always a prayer; that’s like a scripted part of a show.

2. Prayer should not be used
2.1 to provide information to other prayer participants

Good: “... we pray, too, for Roberta who will be having surgery ...”
Bad: “... we pray, too, for Roberta, who most people here don’t know but who is Rosaline’s mother’s cousin, who had been battling cancer for years before it went in to remission, in your sovereignty, and which has returned...”

2.2 to practice politics or to preach

Good: “... thank you for your forgiveness. Please forgive me for my sins of...”
Bad: “... please remind us all that forgiveness is only from you, even for the Democrats that are on the wrong side of the political issues...”

2.3 to give stage directions

Good: (to the audience) “You may be seated.” (to God) “Lord, please hear our prayers.”
Bad: “Dear Lord, we are here to lift up your name, as we may be seated...”

We’re praying to God through Jesus. We should talk to him, not each other.

3. Prayer time should not be used to generate holier-than-thou blog content by easily annoyed people.

Truth helps us; truth comforts us; truth warns us. The truth will set you free.

Despite its benefits, though, we often like to avoid the truth. Why? Because the truth can hurt.

How you deal with the truth and/or hurt can show your own level of maturity.

Tonight I head to bed with the satisfaction of knowing that at least one local supermarket employee has grown a little today. She faced the obvious hurt of the truth and is better for it. She now knows that canned baby corns (aisle 7) are not the same as green peppercorns in brine (which, apparently, are not available at all).

I learned some truth, too: Peppercorns? In brine? Boy, am I snooty.

If you're ever flying through Minneapolis and have a 6-hour mid-day layover, I can hook you up with a guy who just might take you geocaching if you buy him a pulled-pork lunch.

Until that happens, maybe you can come out with me (and/or whoever I'm sponging off of for GPS access). I went out geocaching today, and Justin wrote up a thing about it here.

In a related note: I realized that I could stand to own some water-proof gloves.

My two given names and my surname mean “supplanter,” “giver”/“gift from God,” and “of the north,” respectively. Consider it all joy, then, if I should descend upon you to uproot you.
 
In the Bible, one my namesakes took advantage of a situation to gain the family birthright. The other namesake was all up in King David’s face about how David, as my college chaplain once delicately put it, “screwed up with Bathsheba.” So if I am anything like them, it’s possible that either I am a treacherous deceiver who likes to exploit an advantage, or I might be an honest-yet-in-your-face truth teller without regard to my personal safety even in the presence of supreme authority. (With all this internal conflict, it’s no wonder that I failed that personality test. (Yes, that really happened.))

And I’m coming at you from the north. Like a cold, Canadian air mass, eh.

Anyway... the point...

Words mean things. Names mean things.

I changed the name of my blog after the new year (to Taco Wolf (from Mediocre Coder)). I bought the old domain name soon after participating in the Top Coder competition in which I and 85+% of the other participants failed to advance to the next competitive coding round.

At first, I thought the name was ironic and funny. It’s a term that has been used to describe software design/programmer types who 0) just fill a chair to get the paycheck by 1) not caring about their craft, 2) not outstandingly contributing to the betterment of their employer or 3) their down darn self.

It turns out that the negative connotations were just another thing weighing me down. I have plenty of weights already; I don’t need to be piling it on myself, thankyouverymuch. I needed to give myself a break.

Not to mention that the name never worked well in pick-up lines (“Hey, baby! I’m the Mediocre Coder! Why don’t we go back to my place write some pretty-ok code.”)

So, yep, the new name is better:
1) It’s connotatively neutral.
2) It’s a reference to my favorite local food joint.
3) I like that food.
4) Heck, I like all kinds of food.
5) And it’s much, much better in pick-up lines: “Hey, baby! Let’s go back to my place and wolf down some tacos!” Oh, yeah... that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Works every time.

I loves me some tacos.

Russ got me started on last.fm. It's social-networking meets music-habits meets collecting-lots-more-data-about-you. I've been listening and "scrobbling" long enough that you can view a significant chunk of my habits/data here.

If you are the sort, you can follow me as I attempt to listen to my entire music library, alphabetically by artist. I started using last.fm before Christmas while in the Ns. I left work today midway through the Rs, though I did pause briefly to get better acquainted with Paste Magazine Sampler #27. Fun stuff.

The last 10 tracks to which I listened:

Tip to last.fm: fix the timestamp problem. Kudos to last.fm: thanks for lots of raw data and feeds to play with.
[Update 10 Jan 2007 11AM: It's apparently user error on the timestamp issue. I set my timezone to "GMT-8" when I needed to choose "US/Pacific". They seem the same to me, but whatyagonnado.]

I'm about to gush about Over the Rhine again. I know I've gushed about 'em before; I'd apologize if I were sorry.

But before the floodgates open, lemme 'splain somethin' to ya. I don't much care for Christmas music. Not right now, anyway. And, in fact, I don't much care for Christmas-the-American-holiday, either. But that's another post. I'm sure that my distaste for the current state of the holiday flavors my perception of the music that surrounds it. Or maybe I'm a fuddy-duddy. Or curmudgeon. Maybe I'd like more of the music if it didn't usually stink.

One side note to the side note. The music at my church this year for our Christmas brunch/kids program/celebration was outstanding. A mini-choir with multi-part harmony in the vocals; carols sung in their entirety (It turns out that The First Noel doesn't have to be slow, boring, or tedious if you keep things up-tempo. And you get the full story. Pretty sweet.); and with familiar songs and lots of guests, people sing louder and, I think, with more joy.

To sum up: most Christmas music = ick. It even keeps me away from stores at Christmas time. I don't care, need, or want to hear Celine Dion singing about naughty-and-nice while I'm shopping at Lowe's for a shiny! new! toilet plunger.

Back to the gush. Over the Rhine recently released their second full-length Christmas/holiday CD, Snow Angels. I have never listened to their first, but if its quality is anything close to Snow Angels, I'd consider spending my pretty pennies to get it. Snow Angels is Christmas music I can whole-heartedly enjoy rather than endure. There's a little bit of love, some sincere singing about Jesus and remembrance of His birth, and even a jazzed-up version of "Jingle Bells" that doesn't suck.

This is an album to which I would listen at any time of the year, not just at Christmas time.

Ok... so not much of a gush. I'm still learning how to do it right. For more reviews, see here. You can (and should) order a copy from here.

I found this to be profound. In the Author’s Note to The Life of Pi, Yann Martel describes what it’s like to let a thing go even though you know how good that thing should be. In this case, his “thing” is a novel:

Really, your story can only be great. But it all adds up to nothing. In spite of the obvious, shining promise of it, there comes a moment when you realize that the whisper that has been pestering you all along from the back of your mind is speaking the flat, awful truth: it won't work. An element is missing, that spark that brings to life a real story... Your story is emotionally dead, that's the crux of it. The discovery is something soul-destroying, I tell you. It leaves you with an aching hunger.

The rest of the novel ain't so bad, either.

I wish you a Merry Christmas.

In other news, here's a story about which stalls are busiest in multi-stall washrooms (h/t Improbable Research from 14 Dec). Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. Consider this my gift to you.