So I glanced back through some old entries, and I noticed that the last
time I covered what's been
happening in life was sometime in October. So, through some weird sense
of duty that entrenched
itself in my brain at some point, I feel compelled to give you an
update on my life. However, those
are sometimes boring to write and more often dull to read. So, in an
effort to liven things up for
writer and reader alike, I am going to tell my story in the form of a
knight traipsing around the
countryside. I hope you have fun reading it, because I'm sure going to
have fun writing it.

THE last bard's tale left our hero,  Sir Seth,  High Lord of the Blue
Ridge, Philosopher, Linguist,
Scholar, and Marshmallow Consumerist Extraordinaire, mired in the
drudgery of October. Much has
transpired since then. Quests have been embarked upon, foul-spirited
beasts have been vanquished,
journeys have been made, perils have been endured, alliances have been
formed, and plans have been
made. Prithee grab a tankard of ale and some roast mutton.

IN the early days of November, Sir Seth and his good father, Sir David,
Master of  Highland Park,
Counselor, Patron, and Renowned Practitioner of the Healing Arts,
boarded a series of exceedlingly
large and rather overladen swallows (both African and European) and
journeyed  to the picturesque,
though sparsely populated and uncivilized, region of Kentucky. The
purpose of this journey was to
inspect the estate of Asbury Theological Seminary in the small village of Wilmore, outside the hamlet of Lexington. The knight was favorably impressed with that he saw and will move his domain from the fair heights of Blue Ridge to the sprawling hills of the Bluegrass State in September, in pursuit of a Master's of Divinity degree. Our hero is now in the process of dispatching messengers to other lords and ladies far and wide, in hopes of garnering support for his educational endeavors. Offerings, donations, tribute, prayers, endowments, gold bullion, and inordinate quantities of livestock and fields upon which to graze them are all accepted forms of support. If you would like to contribute to Sir Seth's future, please let him know.

THE winter months brought much business into the life of Sir Seth. After celebrating the season of Christmastide, our hero continued to prepare himself for moving his domain from Blue Ridge to Asbury. He renewed his studies in Biblical literature, philosophy, ancient Greek, rock-awesomeness, music, games from various empires past and present, and the time-honored art form of bowling. The knight was privileged to have the honor of dating a wonderful fair maiden. Sir Seth formed an alliance with Lord Ed and Lady Carol of the Hunt Estate in Sheridan Valley and began a LifeGroup which focuses on the culinary, conversational, worship, and gaming arts. Thou shouldst check it out. The knight continued to toil at his job at The Life Connection, where he is the local Master of the Mystical Audio/Visual Arts and famed Keeper of the Research Acumen. After a time, Sir Seth's relationship with the fair maiden sadly ended, though he treasures the time spent with her. He also slew a couple of minotaurs during the frigid months, in addition to taming a phoenix which now sits on his shoulder, sporting an eye patch and answering to the name "Polly."

SPRING brought about the wedding ceremony of the Lord and Lady Randolyn Weiss, in which our hero had the honor of participating and wishing them the best. They were united in a wonderful ceremony which involved friends and family, songs by U2, and the color "sage." Sir Seth was privileged to play his electric lute and rock the recessional along with several other groomsmen.

SIR Seth is currently on a quest for a new steed. He has found a white stallion, eight years young, hailing from the distant lands of Aisa, the breeding houses of Nissan, under the brand of "Maxima." Please pray for our knight as he discerns the will of God and pursues the proper vehicle at the proper time.

MOST importantly, Sir Seth continues to pursue God's will throughout his travels and attempts to do God's will as He journeys into the future.

Infinite Resignation... And Faith

"Smiling"

DISCLAIMER

The REAL Legend of St. Nick

We all love St. Nicholas. An adorable, fuzzy large man with a particular inclination to Arctic climes; he also possesses a particular affinity for working with toymaking midgets. Finding himself in possession of a large magical sleigh and mutant reindeer, he is given to flying around the world in one night and bestowing gifts of varying awesomeness to boys and girls all over this lovely planet we call home.

St. Nick. We know him pretty well.

Or do we?

St. Nicholas was the bishop of Myra during the late 3rd - early 4th centuries. However, little is actually known of him. What we do know comes mainly from legend and cannot be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.

As my good friend Aimee and I were perusing various ancient manuscripts and forgotten codices in an effort to glean information about this saint for an upcoming Advent service, we stumbled across a legend that neither of us had heard before. I reproduce it here, in hopes that it will shed further light on the mystery of St. Nicholas.

History is a little fuzzy on whether or not St.Nicky was at the great Council of Nicea (325 A.D.) which refuted the Arian heresy. However, this legend that Aimee and I found seems to confirm that St. Nickoferston was not only there, he ruled the Council.

This particular legend recounts the early stages of the Council; the Arians and Orthodox were embroiled in bitter conflict. Voices were raised; however, a certain calm pervaded the theological furor that had swept across the room. There was no violence; nothing had come to blows.

Yet.

Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the hall burst open. St. Nicholas strode in, sporting his red bishop robes and his trademark distinctly ecclesiastical beard. In his hand he wielded a great hammer, worthy of Judas Maccabeus, Charles Martel, or even John Henry. On his chest he bore a nametag that said, "Hello, My Name Is THOR;" a Viking helmet, replete with horns, adorned his head. He strode purposefully into the council chamber.

"Will the real Arians please stand up?" he bellowed. The Arians rose. St. Nicholas charged the nearest Arian, hammer upraised.

For the next half-hour, jolly old St. Nick proceeded to ream any and all Arians within a radius of five city blocks. Those who were not within reach of his hammer were expeditiously pegged between the eyes with golden oranges. The great form of St. Nicholas was everywhere and nowhere all at once, his hammer sweeping any remnants of heretical thought into the stratosphere; or at least, propelling it as far as the ceiling.

And then it was all over. As the dust settled and crumpled/shattered Arians bemoaned their heretical views and formerly unbroken bodies, an eerie silence fell over the room. St. Nicholas was gone. No one had seen him leave. Some people say he rode away in his bishop's sleigh; others say he sat astride a reindeer which ran so fast it seemed to fly. Other legends claim that he sprang atop his favorite Harley and roasted his tires enough to set up a smoke screen so as to conceal his escape.

And there the manuscript ended. While not much is known of St. Nicholas, we do know this for sure; orthodoxy won the day, thanks to him. And now you know...

The rest of the story.