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May 19th 2011    Tim Candler

    I have long been aware that I suffer from an unpleasant nature.  Sometimes smooth enough on the outside but always boiling and messy on the inside.  It is this sort of honest self appraisal that I could argue permits entry into Heaven. 

    As evidence I offer The Psalms of David, or whoever might have actually written all one hundred and fifty of them.  Clearly each an expression of a relationship between the inside of a person and the outside of a person and how cruel and how wonderful the relationship can sometimes be.  Then the final Psalm which is to my mind a transparent attempt to curry favor by telling God how extraordinary and perfect he is.     

     So I think this might be the time to compose my own psalm one hundred and fifty. And I say this because past transgressions are so great that a good "Psalm One Fifty" is probably my sole chance at a respectable immortality.

     And I think of him up there and I wonder why he was ever portrayed as a bearded man.  I wonder why he has not yet been given a suit and tie, or a sun dress, or a pink jumpsuit.  And I begin to think he is just a bad tempered geriatric with smelly feet and bad breath.  Then I realize it's not honesty he wants from me, it's something more like obedience.  And I wonder how the world might be if God looked more like a Delphinium, or a Mango Tree.

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