I was a church marriage workshop with my wife earlier this week, and the subject was managing finances. This included, determining spending (and saving) styles, creating a budget, and tithing (a.k.a. God’s cut). Yes, those first fruits. That first ten percent of one’s income
When the bishop began the budget breakdown. We all agreed that the first fruits should be tithes. However, someone (of course) brought up the fact that Uncle Sam gets its share (if you are an employee) before you see any of it. The reasoning of the individual was that the ten percent would come after taxes.
It seemed a logical premise to me at the time. Yesterday after listening to a podcast sermon from another church a visit periodically, I got the message. The pastor put it plain. One’s tithes come out of gross income. Simple.
I thought about it all last night and this morning. Then I began to think about scripture. Specifically, when Jesus is asked about taxes. Give what is God’s to God, and what is Caesar’s to Caesar. After which, I remembered that in biblical times there was no Internal Revenue Service. There were no paychecks from which taxes where deducted. Tax collectors came a calling to get the government’s share (think: someone who’s self-employed). So taxes were paid after income was earned and collected by the individual.
With this insight I realized I had been helping Uncle Sam short-change God, by tithing out of net income. So starting Sunday, I will repent and truly give that which is God’s to God.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Lessons in World Peace from Boston Parking
I walked out into the parking lot of our apartment complex to find a note on my windshield. I was told that the spot I was in was for apartment 2, and "PLEASE DO NOT PARK HERE." The note did say please.
Now a little backstory. When we moved in the weekend before, my wife in her infinite wisdom had suggested that there might be assigned parking because of the numbers stenciled on some of the spaces. Being the Boston native, I explained to her that the numbers were mostly faded so it was most likely first-come-first-serve.
You can imagine my chagrin when I had to begin to entertain the notion that my wife may have been correct. The Bostonian in me suddenly surged, and I thought to myself, how dear he (women don’t leave such notes). Besides, the number stenciled on the space read “22” not “2"! Boy, I’ll… Then it hit me. Boston is the one place you DO NOT want to get in to a parking duel with your neighbor. Especially if you are the newest arrival on the block.
Suddenly, the rational Christian in me came on the scene. I decided that it would be easier to figure out which spot corresponded with my apartment than to get into a spitting contest with someone I didn’t even know.
I spent the next five minutes canvassing the parking lot to find a motley of partially to completely faded numbers along the spaces. Finally, I decided that maybe there was a wacky system (where apartement 2 gets space 22) that I simply wasn’t privy to. After deciding not to be late to work, I got in my car and decide I would call the management company and ASK (as my wife had suggested) if we had an assigned parking space.
After nine, I called the management company from my office. I was 90% expecting them to laugh at me when I asked if there were “assigned spaces,” replying with an “Of course not Mr. Oluwole, who told you that. Just park anywhere.”
Au contraire! The response of the assistant who answered the phone was a firm, “yes, there are.” I could see crow eating in my future. However, it got better. When she asked for our apartment number, and I gave it, she told me our parking spot was number 20. We don’t live in apartment 20!
It was nice to know I was no longer crazy and would avoid fistcuffs with my neighbor. I could now understand how a lot of the relational problems in the world escalate, but also, how they can be defused as well.
Epilogue: On the way out to have dinner with some friends, my wife spied the neigbhoor who had written the note. She was an elderly woman. Boy, did I feel like a heel. On her suggestion, I introduced myself and apologized for taking her space, explaining my new neigbhor status. She was taken so unaware she stuttered, smiled and then introduced herself.
Now a little backstory. When we moved in the weekend before, my wife in her infinite wisdom had suggested that there might be assigned parking because of the numbers stenciled on some of the spaces. Being the Boston native, I explained to her that the numbers were mostly faded so it was most likely first-come-first-serve.
You can imagine my chagrin when I had to begin to entertain the notion that my wife may have been correct. The Bostonian in me suddenly surged, and I thought to myself, how dear he (women don’t leave such notes). Besides, the number stenciled on the space read “22” not “2"! Boy, I’ll… Then it hit me. Boston is the one place you DO NOT want to get in to a parking duel with your neighbor. Especially if you are the newest arrival on the block.
Suddenly, the rational Christian in me came on the scene. I decided that it would be easier to figure out which spot corresponded with my apartment than to get into a spitting contest with someone I didn’t even know.
I spent the next five minutes canvassing the parking lot to find a motley of partially to completely faded numbers along the spaces. Finally, I decided that maybe there was a wacky system (where apartement 2 gets space 22) that I simply wasn’t privy to. After deciding not to be late to work, I got in my car and decide I would call the management company and ASK (as my wife had suggested) if we had an assigned parking space.
After nine, I called the management company from my office. I was 90% expecting them to laugh at me when I asked if there were “assigned spaces,” replying with an “Of course not Mr. Oluwole, who told you that. Just park anywhere.”
Au contraire! The response of the assistant who answered the phone was a firm, “yes, there are.” I could see crow eating in my future. However, it got better. When she asked for our apartment number, and I gave it, she told me our parking spot was number 20. We don’t live in apartment 20!
It was nice to know I was no longer crazy and would avoid fistcuffs with my neighbor. I could now understand how a lot of the relational problems in the world escalate, but also, how they can be defused as well.
Epilogue: On the way out to have dinner with some friends, my wife spied the neigbhoor who had written the note. She was an elderly woman. Boy, did I feel like a heel. On her suggestion, I introduced myself and apologized for taking her space, explaining my new neigbhor status. She was taken so unaware she stuttered, smiled and then introduced herself.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A Time for Anything.
The book of Ecclesiastes (NIV, 3:1) says “there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven.” If that is true, which I believe it to be, then the following must also be true. There is a time for anything under heaven.
In the last month or so, I have been formally introduced to the world of Flash animation: a multimedia development tool that enables Web animation, video streaming, and other “cool” stuff.
This is very new school for me, that is, on the cutting-edge of Web development. My last Web site was created (originally) in 2000. It wasn’t until I began working with my colleagues and pursuing their Websites did I realize that my site was lost in time design-wise.
It wasn’t the normal site-envy all techies succumb to in one from or another, but my Website was really dated. Most things on it were static (no moving anything with the exception of the glowing navigation bar). Franklin it looked very amateurish.
I just had never taken the really time to decide on what I wanted my Website to reflect visual. I was primarily concerned with the content. I’m a writer, what do you want?
In the last week, I’ve had to make sure I don’t over extend myself with pet-projects. At the same time, I want to make sure that I make time for those projects that I feel could be revolutionary. Projects that will really make an impact in what I’m here to do.
We are but wisps in time, and we ought to dream anything in the tine. If we are smart enough, or better yet, blessed enough, we may make the time to pursue one of those dreams.
In the last month or so, I have been formally introduced to the world of Flash animation: a multimedia development tool that enables Web animation, video streaming, and other “cool” stuff.
This is very new school for me, that is, on the cutting-edge of Web development. My last Web site was created (originally) in 2000. It wasn’t until I began working with my colleagues and pursuing their Websites did I realize that my site was lost in time design-wise.
It wasn’t the normal site-envy all techies succumb to in one from or another, but my Website was really dated. Most things on it were static (no moving anything with the exception of the glowing navigation bar). Franklin it looked very amateurish.
I just had never taken the really time to decide on what I wanted my Website to reflect visual. I was primarily concerned with the content. I’m a writer, what do you want?
In the last week, I’ve had to make sure I don’t over extend myself with pet-projects. At the same time, I want to make sure that I make time for those projects that I feel could be revolutionary. Projects that will really make an impact in what I’m here to do.
We are but wisps in time, and we ought to dream anything in the tine. If we are smart enough, or better yet, blessed enough, we may make the time to pursue one of those dreams.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
More Good News.
It’s 2006 and I find myself not resolving anything but to be the bearer of good news; The Good News and good news in general. If you’ve watched enough news last year, or just managed to temporarily escape from your cave, you may have begun to wonder if the world was on the verge of ending. Between the Tsunami, earthquakes, mudslides, wildfires, floods, hurricanes, and good old fashioned bombings, it would seem that we were about to go not so gently into that good night.
Did the world end? Not yet. However, I do think we as a world are in a unique period of time unlike any other in recent history, where things as we know and understand them have radically changed. There is a certain feeling in the air that we are beginning to reach the neighborhood of critical mass, where if we as humans continue to progress in our current direction, things will inevitably give.
This is not all about gloom and doom. After all, we are all going to be dead 150 years from now barring some miracle. We have all seen, heard, or known death in one form or another, so we ought to accept endings as a reality of life.
The good news is that with endings are beginnings. The war must eventually end and give way to peace of some sort. The body though without a medicinal cure eventually defeats the common cold. And the chrysalis becomes the butterfly. It is all a matter of what you believe and how that belief sustains you in the inevitability of the end in whatever forms it may come. For no matter what you believe you must acknowledge a beginning.
Did the world end? Not yet. However, I do think we as a world are in a unique period of time unlike any other in recent history, where things as we know and understand them have radically changed. There is a certain feeling in the air that we are beginning to reach the neighborhood of critical mass, where if we as humans continue to progress in our current direction, things will inevitably give.
This is not all about gloom and doom. After all, we are all going to be dead 150 years from now barring some miracle. We have all seen, heard, or known death in one form or another, so we ought to accept endings as a reality of life.
The good news is that with endings are beginnings. The war must eventually end and give way to peace of some sort. The body though without a medicinal cure eventually defeats the common cold. And the chrysalis becomes the butterfly. It is all a matter of what you believe and how that belief sustains you in the inevitability of the end in whatever forms it may come. For no matter what you believe you must acknowledge a beginning.
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