Abby and I bought ourselves a couple of bikes this weekend. Here is a picture of what I got, except mine is solid orange-ish red. It's a Mongoose. The seat is VERY uncomfortable, and has left an indelible impression on my butt. We're not hardcore biker-folk like some of our friends but we've been saying for a while that it would be cool to have some bikes to ride around the neighborhood when the weather is nice. Also it's cool to get our heart rates up on nights when we can't make it to the gym.
On Sunday afternoon I rode my bike to Langham Creek High School from my house to play football with some guys from church. Then I rode it home. Then I went to church that night and played Dodgeball with like a hundred youth. Then I passed out by 10:30, and didn't wake up until 12:30 p.m. on Monday. Then I got out of bed and prayed to God to let me walk again someday.
I had been thinking recently that I don't read enough fiction. I don't read enough non-fiction either, really. There are roughly eleventy bazillion and one books that I have started and abandoned. Like Desire of the Everlasting Hills, which has been in my right-hand column over there for almost a year. It's a great book, don't get me wrong. It has just fallen victim to my lack of focus and large blocks of reading-time.
So last week I had Gigi the bookstore lady at church order me a copy of House by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. A nice juicy fiction book. I sat and read most of it in like a day, and was really enjoying it. It's like a Texas Chainsaw Massacre/The Hills Have Eyes/Cube/Saw hybrid. I actually recommended it to some people just as I was about to finish it. Then I read the last couple of chapters.
Why does every book by a Christian author have to have such a lame ending? Why's it gotta be all preachy? Why does it always have to end up being some lame religious allegory where the light quite literally overcomes the darkness, or the willful death of the innocent character ends up being the undoing of the evil character? It would be one thing if that's the kind of book it was for 30 some-odd chapters. But right around 35-40, it became all redemptive and predictable.
The whole experience was kind of like kissing your sister. Yes - YOUR sister (Shut up, Billy). I enjoyed reading a fictional work that I didn't want to put down, but in the end it ended up sucking. I should have known better.
So I've decided to declare a moratorium on all the religious and non-fiction stuff I currently have in the pipeline, (Sorry Desire of the Everlasting Hills. Sorry Church Re-Imagined. Sorry The Shack. Sorry The Bible) and just focus on one nice fiction read until I finish it. Just kidding about that Bible one. Anyway - I'm going with How To Be Good by Nick Hornby (the High Fidelity, Fever Pitch, About A Boy guy). An interesting read so far, especially knowing that Abby just finished reading it a few weeks ago. It's about a woman, already dissatisfied in her marriage, whose husband undergoes an extreme spiritual conversion, and how she must deal with it.
Anyway - Sorry other books. I'm in a monogamous relationship now. I don't have time for flirting with you anymore. It was time for me to make a commitment to one book, all the way through - and I've chosen How To Be Good. It's smart, funny, interesting, and it doesn't make me feel stupid like you sometimes did. So please - don't call. Don't write. Don't wait for me on the back of the toilet. I don't want to see you anymore. Not for a long while, anyway.
I had a few other thoughtlets today, but they can wait until tomorrow.
Or later on today.