If only...

If the world were a stage, there'd be tears in my eyes.
Bright lights, tap shoes, so much to amaze.
I'd dance with you slowly and meet your gaze
In an idyllic place with a perpetual sunrise.

I have to settle for photoshop and a tongue so knotted up, it'll take years to untie.

I want a downpour, a warm fire, candles, a good book, a friendly face, and a glittering tapestry after the clouds part. I want a lot of things that I fear I must let go of.



I speak cryptically, perhaps romantically - but this is just one thing I'd like. I'm selfish, and want more than I deserve. Especially given that I've already been given more than I deserve.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see"

It's amazing sometimes how God knows just what you need to hear, or see, or what have you to really knock you on your butt.

Santa Fe Chicken sandwiches, for example. Today I was knocked on my butt over and over again. Good company, gratitude, compliments, good songs, and lots and lots of love.

I need to journal more.

"Dear Father, I need You
Your strength, my heart to mend
I want to fly higher
Every new day again"

"If mercy falls upon the broken and the poor
Dear Father, I will see You there on distant shores"



One to one correspondence came up in regular conversation today. That's the idea that, with an infinite amount of numbers, there must therefore be an infinite amount of odds, and evens, and primes, and so forth. This means that, if you lined up every odd with every integer, you'd conceivably be unable to state that there are more integers than odds.

I think its a lot like that with the most recently quoted lyrics. I've been lost out in a storm for a long while - and not the kind of storm I want, with lots of rain and the pleasant pitter-patter on the roof. I've been in tumbling seas and fierce gales which have beaten me beneath the foam of the waves. But despite all that, I've reached closer to the shore because of God's mercy - I can always see Him on the distant shore. But I never reach the shore. Even on my best days, I fall short of that beach. It's why I think I like the beach so much... why I like the wind. It's like a small taste of the Glory of God. He stands on the beach beckoning to us, and calming the storms when it seems unlikely that we could ever survive.

We strive and we work for that shore so desperately... but God is with us regardless. He's the piece of drift wood, the spark of energy pumping into our limbs, the break in the clouds - and yet still, He is separate from us, there on the beach.

We, as integers, can think we will always outnumber the odds - yet somehow those obstacles and those sins are always right there with us.




I have a massive headache, and I think I'm running a fever - but that's neither here nor there, now is it?

A couple examples of how smart I am:

1. I chose my first solo driving experience to be a Saturday night drive from Lawrenceville to Athens, by way of 316. There were many, many cars with jerk-face drivers. Not that this will be uncommon.

2. I bought English Breakfast Tea to help awaken me for my early morning classes. I discovered today that it is a decaffeinated variety... which explains my inability to stay awake.



That is all.

I can drive (legally).

Suck on that, formerly discouraging 5 years!

Lessons

Galatians 5:13-15

1 John 4:20-21

Proverbs 15:30

Proverbs 19:21

Philippians 4:13

Matthew 28:19-20

Psalm 95:7-8

Psalm 118:1

Matthew 22:37-39


And so much more.

I had an awesome night. It's really cold in my room. I inherited a scarf and a phone, and had to do some detectiving to discover the owners of both. I was successful.

Tonight I enjoyed the stars. Certainly, they were computer animations and likely not an actual celestial configuration - but they were beautiful.

Thanks Wall-E.

Day 8

I am well, then.

"And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and
yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin,
and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.)"

-The Voice of the Rain, Walt Whitman



I received a copy of Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman, for Christmas. I don't know what the man's religious affiliations are - but the above calls to me. Yesterday night, after the previous post - I had another conversation with another person that I hold close to my heart. Our conversation hovered upon many topics - but there emerged one common idea - the Holy Spirit. We talked about some of our favorite things, and memories. The beach, a cross made of candles, snow, bonfires, star-gazing, sunrises and sunsets, and the rain.

A mutual friend read her a poem, which I then found and read online. It was awesome. This turned our discussion to poetry, and ultimately to Whitman. At this point she recommended that I read The Voice of the Rain. I loved it - it made me appreciate rain more than I already do. Then she laid a truly beautiful idea on me. You've heard people refer to rain as tears from angels - but I like my friend's version better.

When we cry over the difficulties and joys in life - God collects our tears. Then, when things seem at their darkest and most barren, he pours them back down upon us to bring the much needed relief from drought. He pours down the rain to bring growth. He pours down the Spirit to bring growth as well - but clearly of another kind. I was inspired, and longed for the rain.

We reached the conclusion that perhaps the most near to perfection that we could obtain would be this: A nighttime bonfire on the beach, whilst a mix of snow and rain fall to the ground - but not from such a thick amount of clouds that the stars are obscured.

I mused that this day would not possibly live up to my expectations - but was quickly reprimanded - (paraphrased) "You'll wake up tomorrow to go to class and see the sunrise and it will be wonderful." She was right. I was up before daybreak, and watched as the touches of yellow and orange gave way from the pitch dark to a pale gray - and ultimately a soft blue.

But it didn't stop there - my Santa Fe Chicken Sandwich moment was weighing heavily on my heart - and today I felt tested in the most unexpected of ways. Yet all this imagery and presence of the Spirit, and all of the relationships I have in life saw fit to hoist me above the temptations that preyed upon me. I am devourer - but I find I am being satiated by something far more filling than cynicism and anger. Love. Tonight I watched as a flame was passed among my brothers and sisters, only I couldn't find my own candle. It was tucked in my coat, quite by accident. And I was disappointed by this - but rather than feel left out, I felt my heart leap. The warmth and light provided me by those around me was more than enough to make me feel that I belonged. As the lights were slowly distinguished the image on the monitor shifted to one of footprints preserved on a white beach. I was stunned. I sang my heart out and thought about the simple gifts I receive each and every day. The 'coincidences' that I too often do not attribute to a loving and merciful God. Then it was time for one final praise and worship song, and I could not help but release the tears that had been knocking at my eyes.

Rain Down. My heart is dry, but still I'm singing. Still I'm longing for the deluge to wash all the imperfections and mistakes from my heart and mind. Do not shut the heavens. Pour back upon me the tears that I've shed so that I no longer forget that you've minded each and every one of them. I am so loved.

I got my near-perfect day, anyway - even if I can't see the stars and felt no rain or snow.

Day 7

The past week has been an interesting one. I've felt myself being tugged in many directions at once, but I'm happy to report that forward progress seems to be the victor. The summation of these pulls is not as large as they could be, but I'm content.

I'm determined. I'm loved. I'm in awe.

Every time in my life that I've been on the verge of despair or true fear, some sort of light has blasted my eyes, rendering me blind and dependent on a power I cannot fathom. Today it came in the form of a Santa Fe Chicken sandwich at Jason's Deli. Strange, huh?

I had a conversation today with a man I'm happy to call my friend. It was full of tough, probing questions and hypothetical situations. But it was also full of compliments and commendations. My personality flaws were laid out on the table. While none of these were a surprise, hearing them all at once came as a shock to the system. And yet it was during this conversation, after the realization that I had so much I could improve on, that I turned from despair and rather began to devour the second half of my sandwich. It was in silence that I was able to truly listen - not just to my friend, but to the ever forward pull at my heart that comes only from God.

I felt like John... the beloved. I felt so much love and awe in that moment that my end of the conversation trailed off significantly. Perhaps that was taken as a sign of defeat... but really I was so lost in thought, and in this feeling of acceptance and hope that I dumbstruck.

I am flawed. There is always room to improve no matter my ability to minister, to love, to listen. There are always loose lips, frowns, and frustrations that can be surrendered to God. Something that perhaps I should have been more aware of in the past. But in the mingling flavors of vinegar, guacamole, tomato, chicken, and wheat bread - I found myself laid bare, and for once in my life really and truly taking stock of my sins and shortcomings as a whole. Yet at the same time, I felt myself flush as I took stock of my talents and my pillars.

I've never been one to claim that God has something truly extraordinary planned for me... but suddenly its like I can't keep him out of my heart or my mind. Even if the reason for my lunch today does not come to fruition, I am certain that the Santa Fe sandwich is the tastiest that has ever touched my tongue - because its the first thing I've ever eaten feeling truly in the arms of God.

I was quiet for a couple hours following that first bite. I was afraid. I was worried that my feelings were merely an attempt by Satan to convince me that I was just trying to overlook the things I had to work on - that I would simply rest on my laurels and ignore my pitchforks. But the more I thought, the more I felt - the more I realized that something really was different. It is like a motivation that I've not felt my whole life. I really, really want to do something to further the reach of the love of God - no matter when or how.



To the missionaries out there - the ones I know and the ones I don't - thank you for all that you do. Thank you to the ministers and the leaders. To the Beaus, the Emilies, the Boo and Heather Powells, the Brittany Girls, the McDades, and the Brian Agnews - thank you for setting an example for me. Both first hand and not.

To everyone out there I've ever learned from - I am who I am because of your influence. And I love you.

I hope in a year, or 5, or 10, or at least before I pass from this world that I've been able to emulate you in some way. I know God is already proud of me... I just hope I can overcome that obstacles that keep me dissatisfied with myself.



Also - Friday Night Funsies is going to be awesome. That's the only thing I could think of to not make this all serious.

Day Zero

It began with words, and it will end with words.
Then came a restless sleep - thoughts and anxieties ruling a weary head perched upon a throw pillow.
The drone of the alarm brought unwelcome clarity. It quickly dissolved into joy at the realization that today there would be smiles and eyes meeting my own which had long been absent.
A shower and a greasy pie filled the gap between awareness and travel.
Then it was time to go.
Singing and laughter.
Polka dots and more singing and laughter.

Good times.

Now I need to sleep. 6:30 wake-up call.

95 and 50.

Work with me.

The past several months have found me retreating further and further from any sort of meaningful interaction with other people. It did little to stunt my direct delivery and penchant for tactlessness. But as far as any sort of real vulnerability, there was nothing.

Over the break I've done a lot of praying and personal evaluation. I've reached the inevitable conclusion that I don't like this retreat that I've been on. In fact, I've been blind-sided time and again with emotional reminders that I am capable of compassion.

I got a few books for Christmas, sat in the living room through some sappy shows that my Mom was watching, and had some really good talks with friends I've known all my (or their) life. I realized that the front of put up is weak, cracked, and ready to come down. That's not to say I'll be perfect, but I'll probably be less callous, cynical, and irritable. Why?

One of the books I read, though entirely fiction, is based in fact. "Cross Country," by James Patterson is the most recent in the series of Alex Cross novels. In this particular novel, the psych profiler and detective find himself looking for a man with connections to Nigeria. His crimes in America have begun to echo common trends of murder and fear-induction that take place in Africa. As such, he travels to Africa to try and learn more, and perhaps catch the man. What ensues is a series of, and I emphasis this again, fictional events that include, kidnapping, rape, the murder of countless people - including children and entire families, and the recruitment of child soldiers. Things that actually happen, everyday, in places like Sierra Leone and Darfur. I've been aware of these things, from a cursory perspective, for a long time. But somehow, it took a fictionalized, brutal, and direct description to really get my attention. I found myself choking back sobs and tears while reading some of the things described. My imagine is far to vivid. And knowing that these things are a reality made my stomach turn.

The sappy show in question is "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition," which my Mom tapes and watches when she gets the chance. Putting aside the cheesy nature of the show's execution, the payoff is still a good one. A team of designers and builders build a new home for a deserving family - often one with a history of either tragedy or goodness that has put them in a tough spot. One family suffered numerous debilitating injuries rendering a couple members - both the patriarch and youngest son - paralyzed from the waist down. Another family of 6 adopted 5 siblings to prevent them from being separated in the foster system. They lived in a 916 square foot house. Not so much anymore. These were pretty awesome. But the one that stuck with me the most was about a woman whose mother survived breast cancer. The woman herself has managed to raise around 500,000 dollars for Relay for Life in a town whose population doesn't exceed 1,000. She was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 days before a relay event, has undergone a bilateral masectomy, a histerectomy, and gained a lot of weight due to her chemotherapy. Her house is falling apart, and her family was unable to afford her medical bills. They built her a new home, and put on a huge habitat drive for them.

Why did this one hit me so hard? We'll return to that.

I have a friend who I grew up next to. We've been friends our whole life. He was here this winter break to visit family. We spent a good bit of time together, but the moment that will most stick with me was a conversation we had in my garage whilst waiting a rainstorm. We talked politics and religion - two topics I don't often discuss. His views differ from mine substantially. He is an extraordinarily Conservative 'fundamentalist' (for lack of a better term) Catholic. I'm a fairly moderate Christian who attends Catholic mass but thinks it all boils down to the basic tennets that all Christians hold true. He was wearing a shirt that said "straight pride" and was constantly ripping on illegal immigrants. I take a more neutral stance. But that's a thought for another time. I subscribe to the "love God, love others" idea, as I told him during the conversation. Then it struck me how little I'd been actually working that into my walk.

The conversation moved on to more somber issues. Like how his family was doing. His father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer May 2007. He passed away in April 2008. Then his grandfather was diagnosed with cancer in mid-2008. He passed away on New Year's Day 2009. This conversation took place before his grandfather's passing, but he was already on his last leg. Yet again I was faced with real-life events that drove home the seriousness and the pain that can be caused by something I always knew was around.


95 and 50.

Psalm 95: 7-8 (slightly abridged)

...Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts...

I can't say with utmost certainty that God has been speaking to me lately. I try to 'converse' with him more often lately. But these have been red flags chipping away at my heart. Clearly I've neglected things in my life up until now - especially when it has come to the things that effect other people in my life. I'm hoping to fix that.


So you've got 95. How about 50? Any guesses?

It wouldn't be something written by me if it were serious all the way through.

"How the Grinch Stole Christmas!" By Dr. Seuss
An excerpt from page 50:
"And the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!"

My heart feels full to bursting after this break and after the time spent with God. I'm looking forward to it continuing in the years to come.