Creative Dave

Place for Broken Toys

“We have a place for broken toys” Continue reading

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Bedtime Stories: Teacup

Once upon a time, there was a princess who loved drinking tea. When she woke up in the morning she drank a cup of tea while she took a bubble bath. Breakfast time? Breakfast tea! Time for gardening means time for green tea. Hosting parties was just an excuse for her to invite friends over so she could have tea with them. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for her to have tea even SIX times a day! Continue reading

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Why is Grandma Digging a Hole: 8 Reasons

My grandmother emailed me the other day that she was digging in her backyard and called the utility marking people beforehand. The man asked her a series of questions including “why are you digging?” She found this to be a personal matter and convinced the man that he didn’t need to know why she was digging. “But” she wrote, “you could practically hear the wheels turning.” We both got a kick out of that and decided it would be a good idea to come up with the eight most plausible reasons a grandmother might be digging a hole in her backyard. Without further ado, 8 Reasons Grandma is Digging a Hole (in no particular order): Continue reading

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One Day Old: A Parody

A parody of One Day More commemorating our 2nd daughter’s birth (music video to come shortly–j/k)

Continue reading

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Loved Me Thus

Foolishly I disaffected the law of the Most High
By exalting self-sufficiency and basking in my pride.
And yet you saved me from your wrath when I was truly lost;
Almighty, holy, righteous God, you have loved me thus:
You gave your own eternal son to die upon the cross,
By grace–repentance and my faith–your perfect righteousness.

My mind, oh Lord, it yearns to ponder wretched, fleeting thoughts,
And overlook the awe and wonder of You, immortal God.
Still, you have saved me from your wrath so I’m not truly lost;
Almighty, holy, righteous God, you have loved me thus:
You gave your own, eternal son to die upon the cross,
By grace–take captive every thought—your perfect righteousness.

I am a heathen on my own, ravening in despair;
Unaided I am helpless–unyielding, though, in prayer.
Daily you save me from your wrath or I’d be truly lost;
Almighty, holy, righteous God, you have loved me thus:
You gave your own, eternal son to die upon the cross,
By grace–God’s power dwells in me–your perfect righteousness.

No matter how I meet the Son–be it rapture or in death,
He will say to me, “Well done! Enter into my rest.”
Fully you save me from your wrath, no part of me is lost;
Almighty, holy, righteous God, you have loved me thus:
You gave your own, eternal son to die upon the cross,
By grace I’ll wear forever more your perfect righteousness.

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A New Kind of Monster

Once upon a time there was a castle made of stone;
Inside a family of monsters made this place their home.
There were tall monsters and smelly monsters.
Stinky and big bellied monsters.
Fire breathing monsters and sneaky green monsters
There was even a king and a queen monster

Then one day a new monster came along.
This monster wasn’t ugly, and she wasn’t very strong.
All the older monsters heard from her a song
That told of a place where monsters could live free
And be who they were created to be.
They needn’t be nasty.
They needn’t be mean.
If only they followed a new kind of queen.

At first all the monsters did not like the new
Monster who came with its hullabaloo.
So then the old monster king said, “Hey you!
What is it you’re asking us monsters to do?”
And the new monster said “Come with me. Join my crew.

We will travel outside of your kingdom tonight.
Go to your neighbors and treat them real nice
Help and be kind without thinking twice.

Though some of the monsters thought this was swell
With most of the monsters it didn’t go over too well.
They became very angry and started to plot
A really mean trick; these monsters were hot!

The small group was serving and those monsters were red.
Then old king and queen glued and feathered the head
Of all who followed the new queen instead.

All those mean monsters thought they had won
When the new queen and crew went off toward the sun.
Days and weeks passed and they thought they were done;
Now they’d go back to their old, selfish fun.

Then one day they looked up in the sky.
“If I didn’t know better” said old monster one-eye,
“I’d say those new monsters have learned how to fly!”

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What are you playing?

**Caution: This post might be as incendiary as a certain WYRW**

No quirky intro here; let’s get straight to the point. We need a good definition of sport(s).

Sport: A multi-person game (competition) wherein a winner is determined by the competitors striving against each other toward an objective goal guided primarily by their physical prowess.

Let me explain (no time–let me sum up):

  1. Multi-person game. As opposed to one person. Not very sporting to compete against yourself. And how boring would it be to always win? Sorry solitaire players, you aren’t playing a sport.
  2. Winner is determined. If there is no winner, the game never ends (unless you don’t keep score and that doesn’t seem much like a sport either). Having 2nd and 3rd is OK, but in its purest form there is a winner and there is/are loser(s).
  3. Objective. This is what really separates a sport from a competition, pageant, or game. It doesn’t matter how grumpy the officials are after thirty sporting events. The winner is still the winner.
  4. Physical. While every sport has some non-physical aspects to them–like a strategy–it is primarily the physical dominance of one competitor which determines the outcome.


Take a look at this diagram I came up with to help everyone understand what really is a sport. What do you think? Know anything that might break my definition? Let me know in the comments.

Sport Diagram

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My Reasons:

Wherein I use historical information and exegesis  to justify my decision to begin listening to Christmas music in September.

The subject of when to listen to Christmas music is hotly debated, especially among my extended family. There are some who think Black Friday is the earliest that one should deck the halls, and they are often offended when they walk into department stores who have skipped over Turkey Day for the red and green (read money) season. Others refuse to echo those glorious strains until December–that is when Jesus was born, right? However, I’d like to offer up a third way, a better way, if I do say so myself. And that way is to begin listening to Christmas music in September. The following argument will be taken loosely from Luke chapter 1.

First: you must work with the assumption that Jesus was not actually born on December 25th but that Christians usurped that date in order to kick out some pagan practices (ironic eh).

Second: You must understand that the number of our calendar months do not correspond to those referenced in the Bible (see this link for reference).

  • With those two things in mind, Luke 1:26-45 gives a clear picture that Mary conceived Jesus sometime around September. Gabriel came to her in the sixth month (Elul-our August/September). Now some of you might be tempted to say, “Why don’t we start listening to Christmas music in August?” But that opposition is answered in the text also. In verse 34 Gabriel tells Mary that “The Holy Spirit will come upon you(ἐπελεύσεται-future tense).”
  • Sometime between that and verse 39 when Mary journeys to see Elizabeth (a journey that would likely take a pregnant woman–even in haste–at least a couple weeks) Jesus has already entered her womb, as we see that John kicks for joy when Mary arrives. That gives us plenty of buffer to say that it was most likely September and not August, when Mary conceived Jesus via the Holy Spirit.
  • So, if you’ve been looking for a reason to listen to Christmas music earlier in the year, you’re welcome. If you’re a person who has a set date for when you begin listening, I’d love to hear your reasoning in the comments.

**Disclaimer: In matters of theology I would never twist Scripture for my own, so I do not recommend (in fact I discourage) doing this in your regular Bible study. However, until I’m shown otherwise, I think the timing of Christmas music (and I use that phrase loosely) is not a hill upon which one should choose to die–in other words feel free to disagree**


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Invictus: Redo

In reading a book of English/Irish poetry I came across “Invictus,” by William Ernest Henley. It is an intriguing poem depicting the resolve of mankind to fight and win his own fate. And while it is true that we are responsible for our own thoughts and actions, as Solomon says, “The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but the victory belongs to the LORD. (Pr 21:31)” With that in mind, I made a few revisions to Henley’s account to better reflect the course of human history:

Henley’s Invictus:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of cicumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bldugeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
and yet the meance of the years
finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

My Convictus:
I’m in the night that covers me,
Black as the pit my nat’ral pole,
I thank my self-corruptor: me,
For my dead and sinful soul.

In the pangs of sin and death, glance
Not I to God nor cry aloud.
Under the curse of sin’s advance
My will is battered and unbowed.

But to the cross of wrath and blood
The LORD himself went in my place,
And through the preaching of the word
I can receive his loving grace.

When then I’m caught up to his gate,
I’ll say to him who reads the scroll:
You are the master of my fate;
You are the captain of my soul.

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Two Strangers

The first time I knocked on his door I had no idea what awaited me. My mother thought it was a sweet idea at first: visiting an elderly man to keep him company. She would bake us cookies and we ate them thankfully! He never told me his name (nor I, him come to think of it), but that didn’t matter to us; we were one spirit in our imagination. The more often we met the longer our imaginizing lasted.

We told each other stories of aliens and time travel and love (those were mostly his ideas) and conquerors and ancient underground kingdoms. It’s surprising to think of the great time we had from two uncomfortable, wooden armchairs in a room that smelled like old people–it wasn’t easy getting used to that. The strange thing is, when we would start telling the stories, it was as though time didn’t exist.

After the first successful imaginzation, my mother wondered why I came back so early.  Then, when our sessions became more frequent and longer lasting my mother began to worry. Each weekend she would send me with some snacks. As far as she knew, I would come home very shortly with an empty plate (she was especially worried that we wasted the cookies by eating them too quickly). I assured her each time that I was spending A LOT of time over there. Sometimes it felt like a whole lifetime or longer. As for the cookies, well, we spaced them out as much as we could (many generations would pass between some cookie breaks).

Often times she even tried to keep me from going, but there was nothing that would stop me. I was on a mission. A mission to delve into the utter depths of a world more fantastical than any I had even seen or heard or read in books. One weekend she caught me sneaking out (I was supposed to be going to my friends house) and while she spanked me I tried to tell her that I hadn’t lied because I was going to my friends house. He was my closest friend and I doubted that anyone could ever had as good of a friendship as we had. Since spankings didn’t work she punished me by taking away the only thing I clung to.

How life dragged on! No, that couldn’t be called living. I endured those weeks existing in a of perpetual grayness. There was no fulfillment or excitement. I had school to keep me busy during the week, for the first few hours. The evenings and the weekends, however were miserable and dragged on longer than the dark reign of the tyrant Hiranthesal. I tried to make new friends, but it wasn’t the same. They didn’t understand how to imaginize and all of their “stories” were the same boring thing over and over with different characters. It wasn’t alive.

Then the joyful day! My mother, with noted hesitation (and a long, unnecessary lecture), baked some cookies and sent me down the street. I could hardly wait. I fell a couple times on the way and a few of the cookies got smashed, but for the hope I had of what came next, I endured. I walked up his steps and noticed the door was slightly open. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind in as I pushed through the front door, ten million as I slowly crept into his living room. There he lay. My best friend was gone forever.

I wanted to blame my mother. She kept me from him all these days. It must have been the lack of imaginizing that cost him his life. Perhaps he felt our bonds break more poignantly than I did. I was a little taken aback by what happened next. I didn’t cry (though I wanted to). I just stared and felt empty inside.  There were no tears, no remorse. Instead I did what I always came there to do: I told him a story.

This was a story about two strangers who met and had wonderful adventures in imaginary worlds. They became best friends, but the whole world became jealous of their bonds and tried to separate them. Their friendship would eventually triumph, but it would cost one his life.

When the tale was over, I glanced across the room, grasping for closure. I would never be coming back here if my mother had anything to say about it. But something was missing. I looked again. It was gone. He was gone. Frantically I searched the house but he was not to be found. Then, on my way back to the living room there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood a boy with a plate of cookies. He said that his mom sent him to come give me company since I was an old man who lived by himself. He came in and we shared fantastic tales of journeys from the deep recesses of our imagination. And once again two strangers became the best of friends.

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