There once was a girl who walked on her own. She walked in her way in her shoes in her life. She walked in the places where no one approved, not caring who saw, having nothing to lose. Her path winded here and there, daring to try what was forbidden and step into shadows. Everyone yelled from a distance that it wasn't allowed, that her destination was darkness and it would soon be too late.
As for me, I followed closely cautioning her to slow down and think twice-tripping over my own words as I yearned to see what she saw and make my own footprints in the mud. For so long I walked with one foot in her world and the other in my own. I walked just a little behind this mysterious girl-close enough to hear her secrets and know her fears, but far enough to avoid the danger. I told myself that I was wiser, that I did the right thing because it was right. Looking back, I know now it was only that I lacked courage to run around the next bend to find my own way.
One day something happened and the girl and I were separated. There had been many times n our past when we were angry with and couldn't stand each other, but I found...now...her absence was frightening. Even when unkind, she was a place of security for me. Suddenly, she was gone. She no longer hogged the bathroom and made us late by taking forever to get ready. Her stereo wasn't too loud because it wasn't there. The dishes she had always left out for me to wash no longer cluttered the counter, though I would have gladly washed a thousand dirty plates in return for one day how it used to be. There was no one to tell me I smelled good after I put on cologne. To stop me from walking out of the house when my clothes didn't match. No one to go on walks with me, buy me Dairy Queen, or explain the way girls think...
I missed her more then I could say and I was angry. Angry at my parents, angry at the girls friends, angry at her, and angry at myself. Who did they think they were? Were they thinking at all? It wasn't fair! After 15 years, we were just becoming good friends and...they took her away-I let them. I wanted her to make the right choices for me. To not make waves because I didn't want to lose sight of her. I didn't understand.
Away for a year and I came back. Now I know what I believe. Now I understand. We differ, this girl and I. We are on different paths-but it has only made my love for her more real. I pray for her, and wait patiently so thankful just that she is here.
That girl, dear sister, is you. For 19 years you have blessed me with the beauty, wisdom, and fun of an older sister. This holiday I want to show you that I have not forgotten.
Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.
12.24.2004
12.19.2004
What do I think...I think I wish that words came easier. I love to write, this-right now, this is a passion for me. Writing is like watching a piece of me take shape on paper, on a screen, or in the sand. I surprise myself, I learn about me, I want to share with everyone else. Still I get so frustrated when I look at a blank screen and have nothing to offer. Yet, I know that I have entire volumes of something stored up somewhere in me just waiting to be heard, read, and filed away. I want these pieces of me to be worth something. To move someone. To make a difference. Is that a cliche'? Is 19 too young to worry that his life's work will go unnoticed or without value? Is the question even relevant? I serve a God who is continually calling me to Himself, who empowers me for what He calls me to. Nothing I do while serving Him is inconsequential, nothing irrelevant, nothing without value. That's comforting-sort of. It is because I know the truth in it, it lacks in definition because my question originates in a world pressing for success, pressing for hope, looking in the wrong places for worth, self-worth.
The masses clamor and scream that they want their lives to matter, that they want to be happy, and they swear they won't be like their parents who worked for 65 years to die unhappy with social security check in hand. And so they throw themselves into a different 9-5 working harder to achieve more, and in doing so pass over all that has real value. Or do they? A new generation fingers Wal-Mart, McDonalds, and the government as the obstacles in the way of happiness. They scream the same phrases with different words, vowing to never sit behind a desk, and refuse to punch a timecard. They find new livings as bike messengers, thrill seekers, writers, soldiers, or surfing instructors. I have read some of their stories, they claim to have achieved the highest prize: living in happiness. Or have they? What happiness, what joy, what peace can compare with what He gives us? Peace that passes all understanding.
What is this contentment we claim apart from Jesus? A smile with a crooked edge of despair? Moving bodies to a heavy beat, flashing lights, but no life. Moving on, working through, talking and shouting without breath. "What is the purpose of life?"-we ask rhetorically with half of a smile-betraying the fear that if we know for sure our purpose, we will have no choice but to respond. That if we know we are loved on a real, intimate level by the God of the universe we will want to love Him back. Something in us screams that we don't want to give up our life and our plans. We won't serve Him, no sir. But we cannot shake this...awe...He loves me. He wants me to be His friend and child. And faced with such a monumental reality as God loving us personally with a very real purpose for each of us, we are left no choice but to choose. Not wanting to choose, we postpone it-which in itself declares a choice. Some will say yes, and respond to His love. And still we are faced with choices. Everyday, every new morning an opportunity to choose to allow Him to take the forefront. To leave behind our selfishness and every part of ourselves, choosing instead to let Him live through us.
I'm not really sure where all that (see above :) ) came from, it just sort of poured out. So I guess i did have something to write tonite. :) My computer has been down for the past few days, so most of the blogs I visit on a daily basis had been updated a few times. It was refreshing to read.
Goodnight, sweet world.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.
The masses clamor and scream that they want their lives to matter, that they want to be happy, and they swear they won't be like their parents who worked for 65 years to die unhappy with social security check in hand. And so they throw themselves into a different 9-5 working harder to achieve more, and in doing so pass over all that has real value. Or do they? A new generation fingers Wal-Mart, McDonalds, and the government as the obstacles in the way of happiness. They scream the same phrases with different words, vowing to never sit behind a desk, and refuse to punch a timecard. They find new livings as bike messengers, thrill seekers, writers, soldiers, or surfing instructors. I have read some of their stories, they claim to have achieved the highest prize: living in happiness. Or have they? What happiness, what joy, what peace can compare with what He gives us? Peace that passes all understanding.
What is this contentment we claim apart from Jesus? A smile with a crooked edge of despair? Moving bodies to a heavy beat, flashing lights, but no life. Moving on, working through, talking and shouting without breath. "What is the purpose of life?"-we ask rhetorically with half of a smile-betraying the fear that if we know for sure our purpose, we will have no choice but to respond. That if we know we are loved on a real, intimate level by the God of the universe we will want to love Him back. Something in us screams that we don't want to give up our life and our plans. We won't serve Him, no sir. But we cannot shake this...awe...He loves me. He wants me to be His friend and child. And faced with such a monumental reality as God loving us personally with a very real purpose for each of us, we are left no choice but to choose. Not wanting to choose, we postpone it-which in itself declares a choice. Some will say yes, and respond to His love. And still we are faced with choices. Everyday, every new morning an opportunity to choose to allow Him to take the forefront. To leave behind our selfishness and every part of ourselves, choosing instead to let Him live through us.
I'm not really sure where all that (see above :) ) came from, it just sort of poured out. So I guess i did have something to write tonite. :) My computer has been down for the past few days, so most of the blogs I visit on a daily basis had been updated a few times. It was refreshing to read.
Goodnight, sweet world.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.
12.14.2004
...and I really should be sleeping. I'm tired. I want to sleep, but it's still four minutes till midnight and I have been so lethargic this past week that it feels like a crime to go to bed when it is inevitable I won't wake up before 10. Somehow I find myself staring at my computer screen trying in desperation to grasp some of the blurry thoughts flashing through my mind. So far, I'm not very successful.
There's something oddly comforting about being poor. Sure it sucks, but now I can say with confidence that I absolutely CANNOT go to the Spongebob Squarepants movie because I have no money. I no longer must consider the money I lose and then fret about how little I have left-or how much. No, it's just a big, fat stroke of a red marker across my bottom line. I've always had that sort of idea with my car-if it gets stolen yes that sucks. But maybe he/she needed it a bit more then me. It happens...Think big...
Dating. Yes. Want to do it. I want to share my life with someone, to look into someone's eyes and know for sure, without a doubt that they are the one who completes and meets me at my human level. Someone who speaks and lives the truth, fearlessly serving her Savior. Pendulum swings from being grateful that I have not the distraction or "inconvenience" of a relationship, to panic that time slips by and I want to know now! O how I just want to know...So I play stupid games, talk through a dozen scenarios, and try to picture and myself with people. And on the worst of days resort to name matching...Hmm, my last name with her first? Kinda has a ring to it :) ...What happened to trust? Ridiculous life...
I am writing a story for/about my sister and it has forced me to consider myself in relation to her. Looking back is rarely easy and often painful and I see a dozen times I should have spoken, should have done something fix it all...and i wonder whether I did what was right, or if I did what was right because it was safer and I was too scared to do what was wrong. It's coming slowly-I feel that it's important, such things are never easy. A little at a time....
I miss Bernie (stuffed animal I've had since before I knew what my name was. He's holding down the fort in my dorm room over break).
I resolve to exercise myself into a state of exhaustion before noon tomorrow.
I love that I had steak today.
I just realized I don't have the faintest clue what I want.
What I want...
I want You...
...but too often replace you with what I don't have the faintest clue about.
Ridiculous life.
There's something oddly comforting about being poor. Sure it sucks, but now I can say with confidence that I absolutely CANNOT go to the Spongebob Squarepants movie because I have no money. I no longer must consider the money I lose and then fret about how little I have left-or how much. No, it's just a big, fat stroke of a red marker across my bottom line. I've always had that sort of idea with my car-if it gets stolen yes that sucks. But maybe he/she needed it a bit more then me. It happens...Think big...
Dating. Yes. Want to do it. I want to share my life with someone, to look into someone's eyes and know for sure, without a doubt that they are the one who completes and meets me at my human level. Someone who speaks and lives the truth, fearlessly serving her Savior. Pendulum swings from being grateful that I have not the distraction or "inconvenience" of a relationship, to panic that time slips by and I want to know now! O how I just want to know...So I play stupid games, talk through a dozen scenarios, and try to picture and myself with people. And on the worst of days resort to name matching...Hmm, my last name with her first? Kinda has a ring to it :) ...What happened to trust? Ridiculous life...
I am writing a story for/about my sister and it has forced me to consider myself in relation to her. Looking back is rarely easy and often painful and I see a dozen times I should have spoken, should have done something fix it all...and i wonder whether I did what was right, or if I did what was right because it was safer and I was too scared to do what was wrong. It's coming slowly-I feel that it's important, such things are never easy. A little at a time....
I miss Bernie (stuffed animal I've had since before I knew what my name was. He's holding down the fort in my dorm room over break).
I resolve to exercise myself into a state of exhaustion before noon tomorrow.
I love that I had steak today.
I just realized I don't have the faintest clue what I want.
What I want...
I want You...
...but too often replace you with what I don't have the faintest clue about.
Ridiculous life.
12.10.2004
Just back from seeing Manheim Steamroller in the Tacoma Dome. Pretty good-hope to one day see Tran-Siberian Orchestra. At times renaissance-style, others 80's rock, and occassionaly just a piano and violin...interesting indeed. I cannot believe my parents went. MY parents! Celtic mom and Steve Green dad. I'm not really convinced whether they liked it...
I started this post intending to describe how I feel right now...and have found that I can't. I'm missing people...but right now i have some things...that demand my attention.
Sometimes it takes a storm
To really know the light
The scent of rain
The weight of clouds
Pulling down the sky
Sometimes it takes a storm
To know how you feel
To understand indigo
And the varnished sun
Lighting up the fields
It takes the rain between the lines to know what sorrow finds
The way a cloud divides sometimes
The clearing and the blue
I love you
I was just passing through
And taken by surprise
Between the black sky
And the blue
Between the black sky and the blue
I love you
I love you
-Fernando Ortega
I started this post intending to describe how I feel right now...and have found that I can't. I'm missing people...but right now i have some things...that demand my attention.
Sometimes it takes a storm
To really know the light
The scent of rain
The weight of clouds
Pulling down the sky
Sometimes it takes a storm
To know how you feel
To understand indigo
And the varnished sun
Lighting up the fields
It takes the rain between the lines to know what sorrow finds
The way a cloud divides sometimes
The clearing and the blue
I love you
I was just passing through
And taken by surprise
Between the black sky
And the blue
Between the black sky and the blue
I love you
I love you
-Fernando Ortega
12.09.2004
Well congratulate me, I survived the drive. Now for the real challenge: survive three weeks at home. :) I learned tonight that it's highly unlikely I will secure my usual seasonal job during winter break so I'm not sure how I'll go about making money. I have to find a way because I am definitely broke and in very real danger of not being able to afford next quarter's books much less my car insurance. Maybe I should lose the car...Trevor has a car...Galen finally has a car...there's always the bus...Perhaps go with a bicycle-no that's impractical in the snow. Hmm...
So parents. Mine offer such amazing wisdom and direction that after talking to them it's almost impossible to convince myself that any issue remains clouded. They have so many insights-stuff they've been sitting on for who knows how long, stuff I should have seen for myself but manage to get thrown into such a confused frenzy that I miss everything of importance. Thank you, God, for parents. O the messes I would be in without them.
Tuesday night was my last English class and we finished off presentations of our final papers. I had originally intended to write my persuasive final proving the diety of Jesus. A challenge, I thought, but would be worth it for both the experience in apologetics and as a witness to my English class. Procrastination edged in and I soon found myself without the time to do the research my topic demanded so I settled for a paper on stem cell research. I definitely felt like I had let God down and had ruined a chance to share the gospel with my class. To my delight, a girl did a presentation interpreting Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, drawing parallels with Scriptural themes. In about twelve minutes, she presented the basics of mercy, justice, corruption, good, evil, the need for a savior, and the gospel. It was simply amazing. This girl is unpopular, nerdy, long-winded and the class usually sends forth a collective sigh whenever she begins to talk. They were not especially attentive during the presentation and gave no outward evidence that anyone had been touched by it-but that's not really the point. Who knows what God will do with her presentation, but look at what He already did! His purpose to share the gospel with my English class was never reliant on my cooperation-rather I was offered the joy and privilege to be the one He used. When I passed on the opportunity to be involved, He used Liza. His purpose continued on unhindered. Amazing. It was so cool to listen to her speak and realize what was happening-and at the same time crushing to remember that I was offered the same chance to be used.
>been home for 8 hours and have been encouraged, challenged, and refreshed. And just a tad bit bored. :) Winter break? Bring it on.
So parents. Mine offer such amazing wisdom and direction that after talking to them it's almost impossible to convince myself that any issue remains clouded. They have so many insights-stuff they've been sitting on for who knows how long, stuff I should have seen for myself but manage to get thrown into such a confused frenzy that I miss everything of importance. Thank you, God, for parents. O the messes I would be in without them.
Tuesday night was my last English class and we finished off presentations of our final papers. I had originally intended to write my persuasive final proving the diety of Jesus. A challenge, I thought, but would be worth it for both the experience in apologetics and as a witness to my English class. Procrastination edged in and I soon found myself without the time to do the research my topic demanded so I settled for a paper on stem cell research. I definitely felt like I had let God down and had ruined a chance to share the gospel with my class. To my delight, a girl did a presentation interpreting Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, drawing parallels with Scriptural themes. In about twelve minutes, she presented the basics of mercy, justice, corruption, good, evil, the need for a savior, and the gospel. It was simply amazing. This girl is unpopular, nerdy, long-winded and the class usually sends forth a collective sigh whenever she begins to talk. They were not especially attentive during the presentation and gave no outward evidence that anyone had been touched by it-but that's not really the point. Who knows what God will do with her presentation, but look at what He already did! His purpose to share the gospel with my English class was never reliant on my cooperation-rather I was offered the joy and privilege to be the one He used. When I passed on the opportunity to be involved, He used Liza. His purpose continued on unhindered. Amazing. It was so cool to listen to her speak and realize what was happening-and at the same time crushing to remember that I was offered the same chance to be used.
>been home for 8 hours and have been encouraged, challenged, and refreshed. And just a tad bit bored. :) Winter break? Bring it on.
12.07.2004
Aside to Crystal
Just a little note for Crystal-whose name I keep starting to spell "Christmas" which I hope she takes as a compliment-I was just thinking how proud I am of you and thankful that you're my friend. We may have changed a lot, but thank you for sticking with me and know that I always want to be here for you. Even in your stories of poetry readings at Tim Hortons and attending dances you challenge me to live a little and do crazy things. So thank you and I hope to see you soon. Yeah, I know I could have said that in an email or something but I find this more fun. :)
I am an obsessive (maybe compulsive but I'm not really sure what that means) idiot who loves sledding and owns no gloves. There have been some *ahem comments regarding my mediocre and infrequent posting of late and I wish to continue that trend today by splattering some mish mash onto the screen for all to see and enjoy.
First obsessing. Some of you may know where that one's going. For others, sorry you probably aren't going to find out. :) Let's just say that I find myself continually holding onto what I proclaim to let go of. Really it applies everywhere but probably most obviously in relationships. Colin appropriately chewed me out this weekend and challenged me to figure out what I want, what is right and go with it. Stop floundering in the middle and move to dry ground. This I find infinitely difficult and I have no idea where to begin. But...He'll work it out.
Loving to sled: o yes! Last nite we discovered a very sweet sledding hill behind the dorms. Steep, long, fast, and impressive complete with three jumps and an Recreational Vehicle parked at the bottom on the street. Trevor hit the RV. We laughed. There is nothing quite like the first bite of fear when standing at the top of a hill you've never sledded down. Especially when it empties into a street. But even better-the thrill of throwing your hands in the air, shooting down with nothing more then a garbage bag under your butt, bouncing toward the jump that sends you flying and struggling intensely for about two seconds to stop before sliding into traffic or against an RV. Also I have no gloves so my hands are frozen and I bruised my tailbone attempting to jump into a passing sled. Smart one I am not.
Tomorrow I cross the state again for home. Hooray for Christmas it's coming very, very quickly this year and I am happy. So unless the pass claims me I shall arrive home Wednesday afternoon. Wish me luck.
PS>Seahawks...Eastern Eagles...I have no words for you two. Disappointment doesn't even begin to say it.
First obsessing. Some of you may know where that one's going. For others, sorry you probably aren't going to find out. :) Let's just say that I find myself continually holding onto what I proclaim to let go of. Really it applies everywhere but probably most obviously in relationships. Colin appropriately chewed me out this weekend and challenged me to figure out what I want, what is right and go with it. Stop floundering in the middle and move to dry ground. This I find infinitely difficult and I have no idea where to begin. But...He'll work it out.
Loving to sled: o yes! Last nite we discovered a very sweet sledding hill behind the dorms. Steep, long, fast, and impressive complete with three jumps and an Recreational Vehicle parked at the bottom on the street. Trevor hit the RV. We laughed. There is nothing quite like the first bite of fear when standing at the top of a hill you've never sledded down. Especially when it empties into a street. But even better-the thrill of throwing your hands in the air, shooting down with nothing more then a garbage bag under your butt, bouncing toward the jump that sends you flying and struggling intensely for about two seconds to stop before sliding into traffic or against an RV. Also I have no gloves so my hands are frozen and I bruised my tailbone attempting to jump into a passing sled. Smart one I am not.
Tomorrow I cross the state again for home. Hooray for Christmas it's coming very, very quickly this year and I am happy. So unless the pass claims me I shall arrive home Wednesday afternoon. Wish me luck.
PS>Seahawks...Eastern Eagles...I have no words for you two. Disappointment doesn't even begin to say it.
11.24.2004
Nemo Appreciates Big Paper and Won't Crash!
Tis the season to be thankful. How cliche. I remember when I was a youngster (never really was in the "small" category) and I would be at kindergarten or Sunday school and the teacher would sit us in a little circle. Naturally, I revelled in the thought that we were playing duck-duck-goose, a chance to exhibit my clumsy "running" and "coordination" on a stage. My hopes were soon to be dashed as teacher had each of us, one by one, say what we are thankful for this year. The first couple of kids had to think really hard. Their eyes would light up as they proudly said, "Mommy and Daddy" or "My house" or "My dog." Inevitably, after a couple kids everyone just re-worded what the first two kids said so we could get back to duck-duck-goose.
I think that appreciation more fits the bill this year. Sure, I'm thankful-but I want to appreciate that which I am thankful for. To look around me at the people I love and want to love them even more. To get a 4.0 because I have the opportunity to...attend....university...ok, maybe i'm not that hardcore. :) Anyway, appreciate. Look back and be thankful, but look up and appreciate. Show it, tell it, do it, be it. So. Three cheers for Trevor, Galen, Steve, William, Kristi, Alyssa, Christine, Collin, Becky, Kevin, Crystal, Amanda and everyone else who inspires me.
Comedy of the day: I spent the last week and a half procastinating writing my final english paper. Spent the last 72 hours doing nothing but said english paper. I made it. I actually did. Thing must weigh ten pounds, but I got 'er done! That said, I arrived at class to find a sign tacked to the door informing me class was canceled. Matt's not sure what to think of that...
Movie of the night: Finding Nemo. Had a fabulous time assigning the fish 'real people' personalities. I got Bloat the puffer fish. Can't imagine why. Collin was Dori. I still laugh every time that yellow guy yells, "Bubbles!" in the fishtank. Sigh, laughter. Can't do it enough. Tip of the day: do not visit a dentist in australia. period.
Tomorrow: cross-state drive home! here's hopin we don't crash!
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,
Just keep swimming, swimming,
what do we do-
we swim
swim
swim
I think that appreciation more fits the bill this year. Sure, I'm thankful-but I want to appreciate that which I am thankful for. To look around me at the people I love and want to love them even more. To get a 4.0 because I have the
Comedy of the day: I spent the last week and a half procastinating writing my final english paper. Spent the last 72 hours doing nothing but said english paper. I made it. I actually did. Thing must weigh ten pounds, but I got 'er done! That said, I arrived at class to find a sign tacked to the door informing me class was canceled. Matt's not sure what to think of that...
Movie of the night: Finding Nemo. Had a fabulous time assigning the fish 'real people' personalities. I got Bloat the puffer fish. Can't imagine why. Collin was Dori. I still laugh every time that yellow guy yells, "Bubbles!" in the fishtank. Sigh, laughter. Can't do it enough. Tip of the day: do not visit a dentist in australia. period.
Tomorrow: cross-state drive home! here's hopin we don't crash!
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,
Just keep swimming, swimming,
what do we do-
we swim
swim
swim
11.18.2004
Complacency. Indifference. Quite possibly two of the worst attitudes on this planet. Unlike being rebellious or mean, they hide their true nature and give a sense of: "I'm doing okay. Maybe not as good as I could or should, but hey. It could be worse."
Moral of the story? I find myself adrift in Complacency and wallowing in Indifference. Funny thing is I barely know it. I'm drowning myself by not caring and, almost appropriately, I don't really care. The realization of my attitude comes and goes as God patiently confronts me and steps aside as I hurriedly push my way past. But tonite as I read the blogs of three young women at the edge of their limits, either angry at themselves, friends, or God-He confronts me again.
Ah, the state of being busy. Tests, essays, research papers, persuasive papers, labs, friends, movies, music, cars, games, food, sports, sleep, showers, and a thousand other things I think of before God. Always pushing just beyond the next activity, the next day, the next week. I've said it a million times, I have run out of comparisons, examples, and metaphors. I have not the power to do it on my own because I fail. Circular reasoning perhaps? I am weak, but He is strong.
Jesus loves me this I know,
For the Bible tell me so,
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
The Bible tells me so.
I am not happy and have forgotten what fulfillment You bring. But I remember Your promise to Your children. My promises are frail and foolish, but Your promise stands forever. I want to walk with You, to speak Your words. Thank you for Your faithfulness to bring me back to You. Thank you for letting me fail so I can see how I screw up. Take this life again, as I give it back to You. I should never have taken it for myself. Thank you, Father.
This can't wait.
Moral of the story? I find myself adrift in Complacency and wallowing in Indifference. Funny thing is I barely know it. I'm drowning myself by not caring and, almost appropriately, I don't really care. The realization of my attitude comes and goes as God patiently confronts me and steps aside as I hurriedly push my way past. But tonite as I read the blogs of three young women at the edge of their limits, either angry at themselves, friends, or God-He confronts me again.
Ah, the state of being busy. Tests, essays, research papers, persuasive papers, labs, friends, movies, music, cars, games, food, sports, sleep, showers, and a thousand other things I think of before God. Always pushing just beyond the next activity, the next day, the next week. I've said it a million times, I have run out of comparisons, examples, and metaphors. I have not the power to do it on my own because I fail. Circular reasoning perhaps? I am weak, but He is strong.
Jesus loves me this I know,
For the Bible tell me so,
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
The Bible tells me so.
I am not happy and have forgotten what fulfillment You bring. But I remember Your promise to Your children. My promises are frail and foolish, but Your promise stands forever. I want to walk with You, to speak Your words. Thank you for Your faithfulness to bring me back to You. Thank you for letting me fail so I can see how I screw up. Take this life again, as I give it back to You. I should never have taken it for myself. Thank you, Father.
This can't wait.
11.09.2004
One Morning...
Yesterday was crappy. Well, a lot of things seem crappy at 5ish in the morning, but yesterday definitely had its downfalls. Yet, as He loves to do, God managed to make a day of shambles into a splendid work of art.
My morning class was good in its own boring, useless way until I remembered that I had forgotten about a lab appointment. No problem, just rescheduled weightlifting until the evening and spent the morning in the computer lab. I was tired all day, so spent the next couple hours half-asleep. At one, I made my way to my afternoon class and had one of the more bizarre sociology sessions in recent memory. Gender menders-hmmmm. The exercise had potential, but seemed that everyone used it to ask each other graphic, sexually charged questions that benefited no one. And guys wonder why we have such a bad reputation...
Next order of business was to drive to Fairchild Air Force Base to collect the film from my kidney ultrasound in September for today's CT scan. Forty minute drive-of course, arrove 5 minutes after the hospital closed. Are hospitals allowed to close at 4.30? seriously. As I began the journey home, I felt the tell-tale signs of a breakdown deep within my car, and i managed to get to a gas station and dump chemicals which promised to help my situation into my fuel tank. I limped home and made the 'mistake' of stopping at Safeway for milk, got back in my car, turned the key-nothing. No dice, the car would not start. I sweet-talked her, promised her premium-still nothing. After 15 minutes of begging, pleading, yelling, and cranking I sat back in the dark parking lot and pulled my Bible from the backseat. I spent the next little while reading 1 Corinithians out loud and having a good conversation with God about the house situation, school, friends, even blogging. After awhile, I observed and thanked God for killing my car to force me to have a time-out with Him. I finished by thanking Him for how He was going to fix my car, turned the key, and started up like a dream. Yesterday: Inconvenient, frustrating, and extremely fulfilling.
Keane (music): good
Mail: better
Friends: I LOVE YOU!!!!
My morning class was good in its own boring, useless way until I remembered that I had forgotten about a lab appointment. No problem, just rescheduled weightlifting until the evening and spent the morning in the computer lab. I was tired all day, so spent the next couple hours half-asleep. At one, I made my way to my afternoon class and had one of the more bizarre sociology sessions in recent memory. Gender menders-hmmmm. The exercise had potential, but seemed that everyone used it to ask each other graphic, sexually charged questions that benefited no one. And guys wonder why we have such a bad reputation...
Next order of business was to drive to Fairchild Air Force Base to collect the film from my kidney ultrasound in September for today's CT scan. Forty minute drive-of course, arrove 5 minutes after the hospital closed. Are hospitals allowed to close at 4.30? seriously. As I began the journey home, I felt the tell-tale signs of a breakdown deep within my car, and i managed to get to a gas station and dump chemicals which promised to help my situation into my fuel tank. I limped home and made the 'mistake' of stopping at Safeway for milk, got back in my car, turned the key-nothing. No dice, the car would not start. I sweet-talked her, promised her premium-still nothing. After 15 minutes of begging, pleading, yelling, and cranking I sat back in the dark parking lot and pulled my Bible from the backseat. I spent the next little while reading 1 Corinithians out loud and having a good conversation with God about the house situation, school, friends, even blogging. After awhile, I observed and thanked God for killing my car to force me to have a time-out with Him. I finished by thanking Him for how He was going to fix my car, turned the key, and started up like a dream. Yesterday: Inconvenient, frustrating, and extremely fulfilling.
Keane (music): good
Mail: better
Friends: I LOVE YOU!!!!
11.02.2004
Pay Attention
Pay attention. Pay attention. Man who is weary, man who is weak. Pay attention. Allow me to carry this burden. Give me your tears that hurt more each day they remain uncried. Pay attention. This morning, the sun rose with rain, but even a million falling, sparkling jewels did not speak to you. Pay attention.
Today I went to the doctor, but, more importantly, yesterday I watched Tuesdays with Morrie. Morrie is a man dieing of Lou Gehrig's disease. He loves life, and is full of aphorisms such as "You learn how to live once you learn how to die," "We must love-or die," "Forgive. Forgive all before it's too late." He absolutely loved life. Death is merely a tool to learn, an experience which should only increase my zeal for life and intensify my love. So while my health is a nonstop guessing game, I am not worried. Sure the quacks may have to move to more invasive procedures, sure today he used the word "cancer." But I am not worried. Because even in those times when I don't pay attention to Him, even then-perhaps especially then-I cling to the promise that He is in total control and cares about me so much.
I have a friend named Collin, and today I realized how much I appreciate him. Collin lives just down the hall, to the right and then to the left again. He's funny, wacky, usually happy and today he brought me a burger from Red Robin. Collin makes me laugh, attacks me for my Wheat Thins, and spends evenings talking with me. He sings Disney songs on roadtrips, is a master dancer, and a horserider. He is obnoxious. He parties. He is blunt. He is loud. Just when I think that the day is over and I can settle down, he appears and turns it all upside down. So thank you, Collin. And his name isn't Collin, it's Robert.
On a final note, today is election day. Looks like Bush might win. My personal feeling on this parallels Galen's: Merry Christmas.
Today I went to the doctor, but, more importantly, yesterday I watched Tuesdays with Morrie. Morrie is a man dieing of Lou Gehrig's disease. He loves life, and is full of aphorisms such as "You learn how to live once you learn how to die," "We must love-or die," "Forgive. Forgive all before it's too late." He absolutely loved life. Death is merely a tool to learn, an experience which should only increase my zeal for life and intensify my love. So while my health is a nonstop guessing game, I am not worried. Sure the quacks may have to move to more invasive procedures, sure today he used the word "cancer." But I am not worried. Because even in those times when I don't pay attention to Him, even then-perhaps especially then-I cling to the promise that He is in total control and cares about me so much.
I have a friend named Collin, and today I realized how much I appreciate him. Collin lives just down the hall, to the right and then to the left again. He's funny, wacky, usually happy and today he brought me a burger from Red Robin. Collin makes me laugh, attacks me for my Wheat Thins, and spends evenings talking with me. He sings Disney songs on roadtrips, is a master dancer, and a horserider. He is obnoxious. He parties. He is blunt. He is loud. Just when I think that the day is over and I can settle down, he appears and turns it all upside down. So thank you, Collin. And his name isn't Collin, it's Robert.
On a final note, today is election day. Looks like Bush might win. My personal feeling on this parallels Galen's: Merry Christmas.
10.26.2004
Crunch
Three papers, one day, and horrible procrastination. Braving the early morning hours together trying to salvage some decent grade, Galen and I decide on something infintely more important then summary or Senator Robert Byrd.
"on dasher on prancer,
"on dasher on prancer,
on dancer on vixen,
on comet on cupid,
on donner on blitzen!"
O hurry, Christmas...
10.23.2004
Leaves to Remember
Last Wednesday I walked out of sociology and into a cold, windy, and decidedly gray afternoon. Harry Nilsson's Remember filled my ears as the chill stole my breath, and questions muddled my mind.
Long ago, far away, life was clear;
close your eyes...
Why is life so complicated? I have a simple mind...why can't life meet me halfway where I can at least sort through and understand it? Perhaps it does, maybe I should be very grateful that classes, people, relationships, and how many shots I want in my americano make up the bulk of my daily dilemmas. But even then, when I finish my term paper, sort out my problems with friends, and decide on two shots-I still feel swamped.
Remember, is a place from long ago;
Remember, filled with everything you know.
Remember, when you're sad and feeling down;
remember, turn around.
I was walking toward the PUB, away from Patterson Hall when I saw them in the trees that line the mall. The leaves-they are changing color. I'm sure this isn't news to anyone who has ever lived through the month of October, nor was it new to me. But last Wednesday, I turned up Harry's volume, stopped and studied them for a moment.
Remember, life is just a memory.
Remember, close your eyes and you can see.
Remember, think of all that life can be;
remember.
Ignoring the flood of students passing me on every side, I looked with wonder at the branches as they were stirred by the breeze against an ever-gloomy autumn sky. The leaves were green, red, yellow, magenta, orange, and tangelo. The thought that I must look ridiculous to everyone entered my mind, and I shoved it rudely aside. I felt the beginnings of goosebumps as I witnessed the incredible performance in progress around me. Noone watched but me, yet I feel sure that no symphony, concert, art, or thrill I have ever experienced can surpass the wonder in my soul in that moment.
Remember, life is never as it seems;
dream...Dream, love is only in a dream; remember.
Remember, life is never as it seems;
dream...
I stayed several minutes, drinking in the intricate beauty of the scene while standing in awe of He who orchestrates it. When I finally turned to walk up 9th street toward Streeter Hall, I still had my questions-but somehow, they didn't bother me a bit.
Long ago, far away, life was clear;
close your eyes.
Long ago, far away, life was clear;
close your eyes...
Why is life so complicated? I have a simple mind...why can't life meet me halfway where I can at least sort through and understand it? Perhaps it does, maybe I should be very grateful that classes, people, relationships, and how many shots I want in my americano make up the bulk of my daily dilemmas. But even then, when I finish my term paper, sort out my problems with friends, and decide on two shots-I still feel swamped.
Remember, is a place from long ago;
Remember, filled with everything you know.
Remember, when you're sad and feeling down;
remember, turn around.
I was walking toward the PUB, away from Patterson Hall when I saw them in the trees that line the mall. The leaves-they are changing color. I'm sure this isn't news to anyone who has ever lived through the month of October, nor was it new to me. But last Wednesday, I turned up Harry's volume, stopped and studied them for a moment.
Remember, life is just a memory.
Remember, close your eyes and you can see.
Remember, think of all that life can be;
remember.
Ignoring the flood of students passing me on every side, I looked with wonder at the branches as they were stirred by the breeze against an ever-gloomy autumn sky. The leaves were green, red, yellow, magenta, orange, and tangelo. The thought that I must look ridiculous to everyone entered my mind, and I shoved it rudely aside. I felt the beginnings of goosebumps as I witnessed the incredible performance in progress around me. Noone watched but me, yet I feel sure that no symphony, concert, art, or thrill I have ever experienced can surpass the wonder in my soul in that moment.
Remember, life is never as it seems;
dream...Dream, love is only in a dream; remember.
Remember, life is never as it seems;
dream...
I stayed several minutes, drinking in the intricate beauty of the scene while standing in awe of He who orchestrates it. When I finally turned to walk up 9th street toward Streeter Hall, I still had my questions-but somehow, they didn't bother me a bit.
Long ago, far away, life was clear;
close your eyes.
10.18.2004
101
I often share Meg Ryan's frustration of not knowing exactly what to say exactly when I want to say it. While she struggled in You've Got Mail to fire off a timely zinger as a comeback, today I walked away from Sociology 101 frustrated at my inability to argue. Comparing Marx and Durkheim, Conflict Theory and the importance of stratification. I was peeved at the presentation of Marx and the Conflict Theory because I knew-just knew they were wrong, but found myself without the words to form a halfway intelligent argument. The lecture was completely one sided, and while I so wanted to point out some inherent flaw, my mind refused to stop stuttering.
"Is it fair for the CEO of a company to make 400x the salary of a new hire, when he probably does very little and delegates actual management to others? This creates a situation for him to exploit the employees. Why would he pay the employees more when that would take money out of his pocket? Profit corrupts." -ewu
As I walked away from Patterson Hall, shivering in the cold, bitter wind that has invaded Eastern Washington University, I tried to talk myself through it.
Why is it more fair for a doctor, lawyer, or even my dad (a manager at Boeing) to make the same amount as somebody on an assembly line? They have the experience, they work anywhere between 40-80 hours a week, are employed in stressful environments, are responsible for decisions affecting any number of people, and have sacrificed years and thousands of dollars at school-how is it more fair for them to make the same as a laborer working 8 hours a day putting the same ten bolts in a car all day long? I am not saying that our current capitalist system with its stratification is perfect. But I ask to be presented with a better alternative. One that does not end in anarchy, poverty, or dictators commanding nations at their every whim. I don't think that money is the only thing motivating people. I don't believe that without capitalism we would be back in the stone ages. But take away competition, and incentive for people to work hard and achieve-I do think this would be worse. It all comes back to human nature in the end. Our greed and desire for power is the reason some CEO's do exploit their companies. Human nature gave us Enron. Human nature also gave us Communist Russia. Is there nothing else? Maybe, perhaps not-but whatever solution we may reach will still lie within the limits of humans. Re-distribution of resources-it worked for the early church in Acts. In the end, it all comes back to our focus. I'll bet Jesus has some ideas on socioeconomics.
"Is it fair for the CEO of a company to make 400x the salary of a new hire, when he probably does very little and delegates actual management to others? This creates a situation for him to exploit the employees. Why would he pay the employees more when that would take money out of his pocket? Profit corrupts." -ewu
As I walked away from Patterson Hall, shivering in the cold, bitter wind that has invaded Eastern Washington University, I tried to talk myself through it.
Why is it more fair for a doctor, lawyer, or even my dad (a manager at Boeing) to make the same amount as somebody on an assembly line? They have the experience, they work anywhere between 40-80 hours a week, are employed in stressful environments, are responsible for decisions affecting any number of people, and have sacrificed years and thousands of dollars at school-how is it more fair for them to make the same as a laborer working 8 hours a day putting the same ten bolts in a car all day long? I am not saying that our current capitalist system with its stratification is perfect. But I ask to be presented with a better alternative. One that does not end in anarchy, poverty, or dictators commanding nations at their every whim. I don't think that money is the only thing motivating people. I don't believe that without capitalism we would be back in the stone ages. But take away competition, and incentive for people to work hard and achieve-I do think this would be worse. It all comes back to human nature in the end. Our greed and desire for power is the reason some CEO's do exploit their companies. Human nature gave us Enron. Human nature also gave us Communist Russia. Is there nothing else? Maybe, perhaps not-but whatever solution we may reach will still lie within the limits of humans. Re-distribution of resources-it worked for the early church in Acts. In the end, it all comes back to our focus. I'll bet Jesus has some ideas on socioeconomics.
10.17.2004
10.10.2004
Living...Just Living
Tonight I'm sentimental. Sorry, can't help it. It just occurs to me after spending the weekend with two of my best friends eating Italian, driving around, attending the symphony, watching movies, and climbing trees....it occurs to me what I want. To love God completely, to love every person completely. To be totally satisifed with Him so that my life is just blessing after blessing-opportunity after opportunity. It occurs to me that I wish to live as if everyday is my birthday and tomorrow I will die.
Tonight's music:
Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World
by
Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
Tonight's music:
Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World
by
Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
10.06.2004
Dear God,
It is exciting to watch my friend as You reveal Your life to Him. Inspring-is that the word? His excitement reminds me what I felt when I first began to really understand and love You. He has that flash in his eye-it's just so fresh and is an incredible reminder of Your peace. I don't really understand...I just know it's True. Who I am-and who You are.
The hurricane I walk through-I am not meant to walk alone, still I do because I want to stop along the way. I want to turn down the alleys and push my hand into a shadow. I want to walk through hell with You as my guarantee, even knowing it is so much better to go with You. I know you are with me always, waiting with open arms-so I stand continuously in this moment of decision.
Today-I choose You. Today I feel Your peace.
Thank you.
The hurricane I walk through-I am not meant to walk alone, still I do because I want to stop along the way. I want to turn down the alleys and push my hand into a shadow. I want to walk through hell with You as my guarantee, even knowing it is so much better to go with You. I know you are with me always, waiting with open arms-so I stand continuously in this moment of decision.
Today-I choose You. Today I feel Your peace.
Thank you.
9.30.2004
Black
Sadness that presses me down theatening to crush, shatter my world closing, tightening suddenly theatening to end. I have many questions in my left hand, I have one answer in my right. Could it be that what is in my right is enough to corner all that weighs down my left? I know it is. Yes, I know.
I'm walking through a hurricane. The world is blue and gray. I see myself walking among the storm. The earth swirling around me, rain soaking my skin. I am oblivious, downcast, looking for noone. I am walking through a hurricane-this storm has no eye. Wind pulls down all that is built with human hands. I see noone. Noone walking with me in this slow motion. Water rises to my head-walk on.
I'm walking through a hurricane. The world is blue and gray. I see myself walking among the storm. The earth swirling around me, rain soaking my skin. I am oblivious, downcast, looking for noone. I am walking through a hurricane-this storm has no eye. Wind pulls down all that is built with human hands. I see noone. Noone walking with me in this slow motion. Water rises to my head-walk on.
9.24.2004
Darkness
In stumbling along life's path,
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other,
I want to keep my steps straight,
But my vision isn't clear.
I keep losing my step,
I fall into the thorns.
There is a light to guide me,
But my glossy eyes cannot make it out.
More lights appear of a different shade,
I know that they are not the way.
Still my feet will turn from side to side,
How will I finish my race-
Hills attempt to block my view,
The trees conspire against me.
Sheets of rain weigh me down,
The chill of darkness steals my breath.
The voice of the Lightkeeper cuts through the fog,
But grows quieter with my delay.
Amidst the sound of other calls,
I lose my way in darkened halls.
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other,
I want to keep my steps straight,
But my vision isn't clear.
I keep losing my step,
I fall into the thorns.
There is a light to guide me,
But my glossy eyes cannot make it out.
More lights appear of a different shade,
I know that they are not the way.
Still my feet will turn from side to side,
How will I finish my race-
Hills attempt to block my view,
The trees conspire against me.
Sheets of rain weigh me down,
The chill of darkness steals my breath.
The voice of the Lightkeeper cuts through the fog,
But grows quieter with my delay.
Amidst the sound of other calls,
I lose my way in darkened halls.
9.23.2004
Poison Rose
Why have I never let go from this pain? You've said you trust me, you've even said you love me. But you never saw the heart you broke. You can make me feel so angry, still I can't help but smile. You're the tears I never let fall and the laugh I never held back.
It will never be possible. I will never be more than a trusted friend. Though often invisible, I have always been just a little behind you-walking in your shadow. You were my poison rose-beautiful, sweet, and warm. But it seemed that you pulled me in only to strike me with thorns. I tried to hold you closely at a distance-it was too painfully unreal. When real is what we search for, why stand upon this road?
For years I stood and waited. Just stood-not sure why. Maybe I thought you held something I would never find on my own. Months passed and seasons swept by. Still I stood shivering in the rain. That road stretched forever, and sometimes I thought I saw you out where blacktop meets the sky. Familiar voices called me back, but my feet refused to move. Still I stood with palms turned out, waiting for any words to give me hope.
Still more time ticked past, each swing of the pendulum turning me from my watch. Finally I moved away. At last I freed myself from the grip of hope unfounded. Days ago I heard you calling and saw you running-not away but closer. I stopped for just a moment, voices shouting from everywhere what I should do. I listened to you. I saw you. I moved.
I turned to walk away, my steps taking me where blacktop meets the sky. Are you watching me go? Will you wait shivering in the rain? Years and more years of smiles, tears, heartbreak, and joy. The rain fell like knives into my eyes. What you are to me is not what you were. You were my poison rose.
It will never be possible. I will never be more than a trusted friend. Though often invisible, I have always been just a little behind you-walking in your shadow. You were my poison rose-beautiful, sweet, and warm. But it seemed that you pulled me in only to strike me with thorns. I tried to hold you closely at a distance-it was too painfully unreal. When real is what we search for, why stand upon this road?
For years I stood and waited. Just stood-not sure why. Maybe I thought you held something I would never find on my own. Months passed and seasons swept by. Still I stood shivering in the rain. That road stretched forever, and sometimes I thought I saw you out where blacktop meets the sky. Familiar voices called me back, but my feet refused to move. Still I stood with palms turned out, waiting for any words to give me hope.
Still more time ticked past, each swing of the pendulum turning me from my watch. Finally I moved away. At last I freed myself from the grip of hope unfounded. Days ago I heard you calling and saw you running-not away but closer. I stopped for just a moment, voices shouting from everywhere what I should do. I listened to you. I saw you. I moved.
I turned to walk away, my steps taking me where blacktop meets the sky. Are you watching me go? Will you wait shivering in the rain? Years and more years of smiles, tears, heartbreak, and joy. The rain fell like knives into my eyes. What you are to me is not what you were. You were my poison rose.
9.21.2004
Me
There are a handful of songs I wish I would have written, but am supremely glad someone did. I've been listening to this song for the last few weeks, and along with Fernando Ortega's Give Me Jesus, touches me with the awesome love of our God everytime I hear it.
King or cripple-what have I become?
Beneath these kingly robes there lies a fragile man
What made me a king can sometimes cripple
All that you give can sometimes rob my innocence
Why do you let us walk upon a cliff so steep
When deep below the sea there lies a bed of gold
And if this should be our battle place
Don't let me fall, don't let us fall
Keep me, keep me,
keep me, keep me
I love to hold the hand of one who healed the blind
And saw the leper run into your arms of love
King or cripple, they were the same to you
You took the broken man and you treat him like a king
-Delirious
King or cripple-what have I become?
Beneath these kingly robes there lies a fragile man
What made me a king can sometimes cripple
All that you give can sometimes rob my innocence
Why do you let us walk upon a cliff so steep
When deep below the sea there lies a bed of gold
And if this should be our battle place
Don't let me fall, don't let us fall
Keep me, keep me,
keep me, keep me
I love to hold the hand of one who healed the blind
And saw the leper run into your arms of love
King or cripple, they were the same to you
You took the broken man and you treat him like a king
-Delirious
9.17.2004
Falling Pins
Rolling balls, falling pins, a million people I don't know. Standing in the back and watching...watching. One thing stood out to me-that noone bowls like me. Everyone seemed content to send the balls flying down the alley at incredible speed or rebound the balls off walls to pick up a diffiult spare-whoopdeedoodah. I saw noone who could toss a 16 pound ball halfway down the alley before it ever touched the floor. Without meaning to. My point? There is no point. The point of today is that four hours in a car is made better with a pillow between my back and the seat (thank you alli's dad) and Jerry Seinfeld keeping me company. The point of today is that a friend surprised me with a Jesus action figure. The point of today is that nobody bowls like me.
9.14.2004
Tuesday Before Friday
Today started great. I didn't work, which in itself is plenty reason to celebrate. I had to drive for a total of 5 hours today, much of it in infamous Seattle traffic, but it was okay because I got to meet a friend I haven't seen in over a year. I had a blast drinking coffee, 'adjusting' mannequins in Fred Meyer, buying ridiculous stuff at Value Village, and just spending time with her. It is inspiring to watch her chase her dreams and actually do what she's always talked about while others make excuses like 'some day' and 'maybe.'
But like so many other good days, I managed to screw this one up too. Why is this? How do I find ways to ruin so many good things? How is it that I hurt the people I value the most-even unintentionally? The sinking pit in my stomach and bitter realization that I have failed someone I care about is unbearable. It only took a couple minutes of perhaps careless words. Words that I even thought were best. I don't know what to say. I never do. It is when I think I know that the words I speak fall painfully on a friend. I'm sorry, Crystal.
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus
And when I am alone,
Oh, and when I am alone,
And when I am alone give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus
And when I come to die,
Oh, and when I come to die,
And when I come to die give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus.
-Fernando Ortega
But like so many other good days, I managed to screw this one up too. Why is this? How do I find ways to ruin so many good things? How is it that I hurt the people I value the most-even unintentionally? The sinking pit in my stomach and bitter realization that I have failed someone I care about is unbearable. It only took a couple minutes of perhaps careless words. Words that I even thought were best. I don't know what to say. I never do. It is when I think I know that the words I speak fall painfully on a friend. I'm sorry, Crystal.
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus
And when I am alone,
Oh, and when I am alone,
And when I am alone give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world
But give me Jesus
And when I come to die,
Oh, and when I come to die,
And when I come to die give me Jesus.
Give me Jesus, Give me Jesus
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus.
-Fernando Ortega
9.06.2004
Darkened Halls
How easily I am distracted. How quickly I turn from Him. How readily I forget the misery and entrapment of sin. Sometimes like driftwood on the tide, sometimes with a seemingly giant leap. What is it that makes me run back to who I was...why do I still feel enslaved to what He has saved me from. He paid the price, He redeemed me. Then why is the war still so hard? Because I fight it? I am not meant to fight this war. But to surrender. Just surrender. A choice. Just a choice. This is all that is required of me. He conforming my will to His own. He lives and wants to live my life for me. A promise of rest, a promise of peace, perfect peace beyond all understanding. Just stop trying. But I want to do it on my own. I can't do it on my own. Battles. Choices. Take this life, God, just take it. I dont' even know my own heart, my own wicked intentions, motives, I deceive even myself. Take me and mold me into what You want. Only You.
As I walk through Darkened Halls,
You are my strength, my all in all.
You are the light that guides,
One who is faithful to provide.
As the force of this world begin to assail my life,
I rest secure in the Blood of Christ.
As I walk through Darkened Halls,
You are my strength, my all in all.
You are the light that guides,
One who is faithful to provide.
As the force of this world begin to assail my life,
I rest secure in the Blood of Christ.
9.04.2004
Blue Lights
She was lurking in the shadows of the median along Highway 410 at a very tired 2:38am. I noted with relief that her left turn signal was on as she was apparently trying to get to a hidden section of shoulder where she could set up her night's work of catching those who drive too fast, too slow, without signals, with too many signals, too loud, too recklessly, and too drunkenly. In my mind, I congratulated myself on driving the speed limit for once, and pitied the next poor soul who found her on his bumper. Another glance in my mirror told me that she had actually made a Uturn and was accelerating behind me, filling my car with the yellow glow from the unmistakeable look of Ford Crown Victoria headlights. I noticed with concern that she wasn't pulling around me, with the typical annoyance that I should dare to drive the speedlimit in front of her. So I began to mentally prepare for the worst. Red lights, yellow lights, white lights, blue lights-they all came on. Chuckling idiotically I turned the wheel into a side street and parked as I pondered what sort of God would orchestrate a day such as mine. Starting as a typical day of frustration at work with scheduling confusion and 'pass the buck' style accountability, then working alone until after 2 in the morning, a bad haircut at the hands of a man who speaks almost no English, and to complete my fairytale evening: a ticket from one of Washington State's finest public servants.
Why do the police officers always seem to blind you with the Maglite when they first walk up to the window? Does it make them feel more powerful? Like it's their own personal sun to shine on what they will? I quickly made a meager attempt to hide my bare feet in the shadows beneath the steering wheel (driving barefoot=$500 ticket) and thought of the State-approved trash disposal bag I lacked (no bag=$90 ticket). Obeying orders (very strong request that i have no choice but to obey=order) I retrieved my license and began the search for my insurance and registration amidst the federal disaster area that is my glovebox. She saw my trouble and offered to come back after she ran my license. Eventually I found my paperwork and handed them over apologetically. Apparently i was speeding: 58mph in a 45mph zone (13mph over speed limit=$158 ticket). We chatted for no apparent reason about my work, my business on the road at such an obscene hour, and my lack of money as I head to school. I almost felt special to be honest. Here was all this fuss, bright lights, public servants talking to me through my window, other patrol cars passing by closely to ensure I wasn't making trouble, and every passing motorist craning their necks to get a look at this dangerous villain and menace to society in a silver blue Accord.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Satisfied with my promise to slow down, Ms. Patrolwoman returned my essentials and offered a parting, and surprisingly warm 'good evening.' I am not really quite sure what was the deciding factor in what resulted in ten minutes that broke the relentless monotony of my day. Did she feel sorry for me, as I was obviously incompetent, unable to even distinguish between my expired registration and the current one. Were my bloodshot eyes story enough of the hardship I must obviously face on an everyday basis? Perhaps she just had bigger fish to fry. Likely, I simply ooze charm and she had no choice but to let me go. Right.
Needless to say, today...I drove the speed limit.
Needless to say, tomorrow...I won't.
Why do the police officers always seem to blind you with the Maglite when they first walk up to the window? Does it make them feel more powerful? Like it's their own personal sun to shine on what they will? I quickly made a meager attempt to hide my bare feet in the shadows beneath the steering wheel (driving barefoot=$500 ticket) and thought of the State-approved trash disposal bag I lacked (no bag=$90 ticket). Obeying orders (very strong request that i have no choice but to obey=order) I retrieved my license and began the search for my insurance and registration amidst the federal disaster area that is my glovebox. She saw my trouble and offered to come back after she ran my license. Eventually I found my paperwork and handed them over apologetically. Apparently i was speeding: 58mph in a 45mph zone (13mph over speed limit=$158 ticket). We chatted for no apparent reason about my work, my business on the road at such an obscene hour, and my lack of money as I head to school. I almost felt special to be honest. Here was all this fuss, bright lights, public servants talking to me through my window, other patrol cars passing by closely to ensure I wasn't making trouble, and every passing motorist craning their necks to get a look at this dangerous villain and menace to society in a silver blue Accord.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Satisfied with my promise to slow down, Ms. Patrolwoman returned my essentials and offered a parting, and surprisingly warm 'good evening.' I am not really quite sure what was the deciding factor in what resulted in ten minutes that broke the relentless monotony of my day. Did she feel sorry for me, as I was obviously incompetent, unable to even distinguish between my expired registration and the current one. Were my bloodshot eyes story enough of the hardship I must obviously face on an everyday basis? Perhaps she just had bigger fish to fry. Likely, I simply ooze charm and she had no choice but to let me go. Right.
Needless to say, today...I drove the speed limit.
Needless to say, tomorrow...I won't.
9.01.2004
Miss no opportunity
"Convey thy love to thy friend, as an arrow to mark, to stick there, not as a ball against the wall, to rebound back to thee."
-Francis Quarles
-Francis Quarles
8.31.2004
Lunchbreak
Today I went to Italy-for lunch.
No reason, really. I guess I just finally decided to follow the advice of my friends and do something ridiculous. It had been a typically frustrating morning at work and I needed to escape. Not from work, or the state, or even the country. I needed to get off this continent. So I did. Informing my boss that I was going to lunch, I drove to the bank, checked my accounts and went to Italy. Wonder of wonders, there were no long lines at the airport, no smartalek security people. Noone on the plane fell asleep on my shoulder or drunk themselves silly. Just smooth sailing. The moment I arrived in Naples, I went straight to the local outdoor market. It was incredible. I walked amidst bustling locals, wandering tourists, and countless entertainers as I shopped. My carefree perusing took nearly an hour as I located the finest Italian bread I could find, a brick of excellent cheese, and seven perfectly ripened tomatoes-still on the vine! I found a quiet spot in the Parco Castello and relaxed as I enjoyed my feast and observed the passerbys. Couples walked by hand-in-hand, whispering to each other in beautiful Italian and breaking out in occasional soft laughter, business people strode hurriedly to get someplace where they felt important, mothers and children strolled in the shade, and I sat in the middle of it all. I shared some of my lunch with an old man who didn't say much-just that he thought it fine of me to visit. He suggested that I try some of the excellent wine he'd been making for over 80 years and I eagerly accepted the invitation. But his daughter soon came to collect him and I gathered from her apologetic glances that there probably wasn't any wine. I settled for a White Zinfandel from the vineyard just adjacent to the park. Fantastic stuff. The breeze off the sea tinged the air with just a pinch of salt, energizing and inspiring me at the same time. I never wanted to leave that moment. Just to hold on and relish the peace.
Finally I collected myself enough to realize it was past time to return where I belonged. So I carefully wrapped my Safeway brand cheese, bagged the 99 cent, day-old French bread, closed the lid to the plastic carton of tamatoes, and crushed my Coke can. With a sigh, I jumped off the stage in the abandoned auditorium, put my food in the fridge, grabbed a mop, and went back to work.
No reason, really. I guess I just finally decided to follow the advice of my friends and do something ridiculous. It had been a typically frustrating morning at work and I needed to escape. Not from work, or the state, or even the country. I needed to get off this continent. So I did. Informing my boss that I was going to lunch, I drove to the bank, checked my accounts and went to Italy. Wonder of wonders, there were no long lines at the airport, no smartalek security people. Noone on the plane fell asleep on my shoulder or drunk themselves silly. Just smooth sailing. The moment I arrived in Naples, I went straight to the local outdoor market. It was incredible. I walked amidst bustling locals, wandering tourists, and countless entertainers as I shopped. My carefree perusing took nearly an hour as I located the finest Italian bread I could find, a brick of excellent cheese, and seven perfectly ripened tomatoes-still on the vine! I found a quiet spot in the Parco Castello and relaxed as I enjoyed my feast and observed the passerbys. Couples walked by hand-in-hand, whispering to each other in beautiful Italian and breaking out in occasional soft laughter, business people strode hurriedly to get someplace where they felt important, mothers and children strolled in the shade, and I sat in the middle of it all. I shared some of my lunch with an old man who didn't say much-just that he thought it fine of me to visit. He suggested that I try some of the excellent wine he'd been making for over 80 years and I eagerly accepted the invitation. But his daughter soon came to collect him and I gathered from her apologetic glances that there probably wasn't any wine. I settled for a White Zinfandel from the vineyard just adjacent to the park. Fantastic stuff. The breeze off the sea tinged the air with just a pinch of salt, energizing and inspiring me at the same time. I never wanted to leave that moment. Just to hold on and relish the peace.
Finally I collected myself enough to realize it was past time to return where I belonged. So I carefully wrapped my Safeway brand cheese, bagged the 99 cent, day-old French bread, closed the lid to the plastic carton of tamatoes, and crushed my Coke can. With a sigh, I jumped off the stage in the abandoned auditorium, put my food in the fridge, grabbed a mop, and went back to work.
8.30.2004
And so I write.
Music moves the soul. The written word conjurs up a picture more vivid and powerful then a thousand spoken. These two fantastic arts offer themselves to the masses, daring anyone to try and master them. Countless have attempted and all have failed, though a very few learn to speak through them. These select have learned to communicate in the language of angels. Through lines on a page or notes on a staff, they speak straight to the soul of man, moving him beyond anything else on this earth. One of my greatest hopes is to one day simply have studied the ways of music and the written word enough to offer just some little contribution.
When I sit to tinker on a piano, I always hope that an ear is better for catching the sound of my playing. Music frustrates me as I am never satisfied with the skill level I am at, and since it does not come naturally to me, my efforts to improve often end frustratingly quickly. My family is musical, my sister has always played piano well and my brother is skilled at both piano and guitar. It has always seemed to me that music comes naturally to them-they don't have to work as much at it to play well while I have been pounding out Chariots of Fire for the last three years. Likely, I am wrong and where they are is a result of countless hours of diligent work and practice over many years. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I am the least musically talented of the three children in my family, and also the most musical when it comes to listening. I love it all. Classical, alternative, skaw, swing, techno, pop, rock, christian, even the occasional clean hip hop or rap is welcome to these ears. Music is an incredible gift, blessing both those with the talent to make it and those fortunate enough to hear it.
Most often, I resort to writing. For people to read my words and shed tears, laugh, be challenged to think, and most of all catch a glimpse of the life and love of Christ-this is my dream. One of the cool things about writing is that, unless you lock everything away in a box and stuff it under your bed, you never know who might read it and be touched by it. Over the past few months, my greatest struggle in writing has been to find my own voice. It seems a simple problem, perhaps even ridiculous to those writers more accomplished or entirely devoid of any voice of their own. My personality naturally 'mirrors' what is around me-whether so I feel more secure or as a defensive measure, I don't know. For example, two weeks ago I was talking with an Englishman. Within 3 minutes I was butchering his accent as I unintentionally began speaking like him. So what do I sound like? What is me? Is this me? More then likely, I spend entirely too much time thinking about it and entirely not enough time discovering it. Life is a chaotic journey which seems intent on confusing me at every turn-writing helps me both understand and escape it. When I write, I feel more connected and more appreciative of the events in my life and the people around me. Yet even now I worry about this blog and whether it has any actual relevance. Does anybody really care about the musical talent in my family? Or that I think writing is important? Who wants to hear about my ten minute encounter with an Englishman? Probably noone. But that's alright, because I have learned just in writing this blog. Nothing is a waste as long as I learn from it. No job too boring, no day too long, no people too annoying. No waste. Just learning. And so I press on. Though my pen is often motionless either from lack of time or effort, it is forgiving enough. I write for me. I write for God. And so I write.
When I sit to tinker on a piano, I always hope that an ear is better for catching the sound of my playing. Music frustrates me as I am never satisfied with the skill level I am at, and since it does not come naturally to me, my efforts to improve often end frustratingly quickly. My family is musical, my sister has always played piano well and my brother is skilled at both piano and guitar. It has always seemed to me that music comes naturally to them-they don't have to work as much at it to play well while I have been pounding out Chariots of Fire for the last three years. Likely, I am wrong and where they are is a result of countless hours of diligent work and practice over many years. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I am the least musically talented of the three children in my family, and also the most musical when it comes to listening. I love it all. Classical, alternative, skaw, swing, techno, pop, rock, christian, even the occasional clean hip hop or rap is welcome to these ears. Music is an incredible gift, blessing both those with the talent to make it and those fortunate enough to hear it.
Most often, I resort to writing. For people to read my words and shed tears, laugh, be challenged to think, and most of all catch a glimpse of the life and love of Christ-this is my dream. One of the cool things about writing is that, unless you lock everything away in a box and stuff it under your bed, you never know who might read it and be touched by it. Over the past few months, my greatest struggle in writing has been to find my own voice. It seems a simple problem, perhaps even ridiculous to those writers more accomplished or entirely devoid of any voice of their own. My personality naturally 'mirrors' what is around me-whether so I feel more secure or as a defensive measure, I don't know. For example, two weeks ago I was talking with an Englishman. Within 3 minutes I was butchering his accent as I unintentionally began speaking like him. So what do I sound like? What is me? Is this me? More then likely, I spend entirely too much time thinking about it and entirely not enough time discovering it. Life is a chaotic journey which seems intent on confusing me at every turn-writing helps me both understand and escape it. When I write, I feel more connected and more appreciative of the events in my life and the people around me. Yet even now I worry about this blog and whether it has any actual relevance. Does anybody really care about the musical talent in my family? Or that I think writing is important? Who wants to hear about my ten minute encounter with an Englishman? Probably noone. But that's alright, because I have learned just in writing this blog. Nothing is a waste as long as I learn from it. No job too boring, no day too long, no people too annoying. No waste. Just learning. And so I press on. Though my pen is often motionless either from lack of time or effort, it is forgiving enough. I write for me. I write for God. And so I write.
8.25.2004
Stickmen
a paper, pen, a hand of sticks,
writes a picture for noone.
burning ink, time, and candle wicks,
hoping for the applause of some.
i look around and hear stick hands,
but stick hands belong to stick men,
if I long for the roar of much applause,
then i chase nothing, yet again.
we are all stick men,
so simple compared to one who draws.
the One who pens this story lets us live.
to His stickmen He chose to give:
freedom, life, love,
forgiveness, grace, mercy-
then why do I seek approval from simple men?
what does this paper have to offer?
this paper will burn,
its smoke will sting my eyes,
the cheers will turn to snapping,
of sticks in fire that never dies.
my stick hand belongs to a stick man,
and i too am on a page,
so who am i to withold the Artist's love and grace?
i must learn to serve the artist first,
His pen directs my path.
He breathes life into these worn-out sticks,
and stickmen will see at last.
writes a picture for noone.
burning ink, time, and candle wicks,
hoping for the applause of some.
i look around and hear stick hands,
but stick hands belong to stick men,
if I long for the roar of much applause,
then i chase nothing, yet again.
we are all stick men,
so simple compared to one who draws.
the One who pens this story lets us live.
to His stickmen He chose to give:
freedom, life, love,
forgiveness, grace, mercy-
then why do I seek approval from simple men?
what does this paper have to offer?
this paper will burn,
its smoke will sting my eyes,
the cheers will turn to snapping,
of sticks in fire that never dies.
my stick hand belongs to a stick man,
and i too am on a page,
so who am i to withold the Artist's love and grace?
i must learn to serve the artist first,
His pen directs my path.
He breathes life into these worn-out sticks,
and stickmen will see at last.
8.23.2004
I Remember
Memories haunt me. Sometimes they keep their distance; at others they are painfully close. Do not misunderstand me. I do not have a good memory-it is quite poor compared to most people, I am sure. Yet, when I hear Dare You to Move by Switchfoot, I go back to February, 2004, sitting on the railing of my cabin deck with two of my six roommates. As I sit in traffic waiting for a red light to turn green, I am swept back to sitting on a ferry, laughing with friends and making innocent mischief to pass the time. The memories of my past year are beautifully bittersweet, and to dwell on them is only to prolong the agony of a time gone and people I can no longer reach. Still I cannot resist this painful pleasure, and though I feel the bitterness of wishing for the past-it is sweet to remember the blessings.
I remember the big, rusty, noisy ferry that bore us to our beloved Thetis Island. I remember the ferry employees, who I was convinced had the dullest job in the world, and the seating area which was always too hot unless it was winter, of course, then it was far too cold. No matter what the weather, I almost always found myself leaning over the railing, mindlessly watching the water go by. Occasionally, a thought along the lines of, “I wonder how deep the ocean is here” interrupted my blissful silence, but thankfully these were rare moments. I remember the rumble of the engines beneath my feet, the gentle rolling and crashing as the big boat lurched over the occasional swell. I remember games of hackey sack, the fun heightened by the possibility off that one fated kick which would send the ball of bean-filled fabric over the side and into the sea. I remember how I felt so much at home when the rolling green lawns of Capernwray came into view. That white Tudor mansion, the cabins tucked away into the woods, and the fine mist over the cow pastures is still a perfect picture of paradise in and yet away from, this world.
I remember six perfectly imperfect roommates with different personalities, interests, and dreams but only one purpose: to love God and love others. I remember how much each one of them meant to me, and how badly I wanted to show that I loved them. I remember rules (and laws) broken, 10:30 curfews stretched till one, and long conversations about everything from life and love to trucks and hot tubs. I remember wrestling matches, poker games, the disgusting noises Jeremy makes when he wakes up, and how Keith got up at 7:25 and still managed to attend 7:30 breakfast, somehow able to shower, dress, and take a nap along the way. I remember fifty dollars that bought an old, red, riding lawn mower which allowed us to spend countless hours disturbing the peace, damaging property, and endangering our own lives. I remember longboarding until dark and making ‘just one more run’ down the hill, and how it resulted in a night at the hospital doting over my roomate’s separated shoulder and stitched face. I remember a toilet which refused to work properly, a dysfunctional shower, and a sink which served as a hand-washing-toothpaste-spitting-shaving-kitchen-cooking-macaroni-mayhem facility. I remember a weathere3d, green chair which cost only eight dollars at a flea market. We were so proud of our green chair, though if anyone kept count, they would find it held many more piles of clothes over the year then it did bodies.
I remember the truth of Christ proclaimed every day. I remember nights spent alone with God, struggling to hear Him through the walls I had built. I recall trying to stamp out His promise of peace and rest, while at the same time desiring it above all else. I remember His faithfulness in the midst of my faithlessness. I remember playing football in the rain, lifting weights in a barn, listening to Coldplay during a storm, and the pride I felt when there was a coveted letter from home in my mailbox. I remember graduation. One by one our names were called, verses read and hands shaken. Joy mixed with tears as some left that night. I remember one last sunrise over the ocean, a blur of goodbyes, tears, hugs, and promises to write. I remember stepping onto that big, rusty, noisy ferry one last time. As we pulled away from the dock, I looked back at my beloved Thetis Island, beautiful Capernwray, home sweet home. Numbly I wished I could start it all over again, but it was finished. I wanted to meet my friends again for the first time, to gaze wonderingly into the face of Jesus as I first begin to really love Him. I wish for one more workday, one more night laughing at ourselves, and playing games too stupid to ever play again. I remember a year that is unforgettable and forever sealed in my mind and heart, people who have impacted me beyond imagination, and a God who worked despite me to bring me to Himself and show me how to love.
I remember the big, rusty, noisy ferry that bore us to our beloved Thetis Island. I remember the ferry employees, who I was convinced had the dullest job in the world, and the seating area which was always too hot unless it was winter, of course, then it was far too cold. No matter what the weather, I almost always found myself leaning over the railing, mindlessly watching the water go by. Occasionally, a thought along the lines of, “I wonder how deep the ocean is here” interrupted my blissful silence, but thankfully these were rare moments. I remember the rumble of the engines beneath my feet, the gentle rolling and crashing as the big boat lurched over the occasional swell. I remember games of hackey sack, the fun heightened by the possibility off that one fated kick which would send the ball of bean-filled fabric over the side and into the sea. I remember how I felt so much at home when the rolling green lawns of Capernwray came into view. That white Tudor mansion, the cabins tucked away into the woods, and the fine mist over the cow pastures is still a perfect picture of paradise in and yet away from, this world.
I remember six perfectly imperfect roommates with different personalities, interests, and dreams but only one purpose: to love God and love others. I remember how much each one of them meant to me, and how badly I wanted to show that I loved them. I remember rules (and laws) broken, 10:30 curfews stretched till one, and long conversations about everything from life and love to trucks and hot tubs. I remember wrestling matches, poker games, the disgusting noises Jeremy makes when he wakes up, and how Keith got up at 7:25 and still managed to attend 7:30 breakfast, somehow able to shower, dress, and take a nap along the way. I remember fifty dollars that bought an old, red, riding lawn mower which allowed us to spend countless hours disturbing the peace, damaging property, and endangering our own lives. I remember longboarding until dark and making ‘just one more run’ down the hill, and how it resulted in a night at the hospital doting over my roomate’s separated shoulder and stitched face. I remember a toilet which refused to work properly, a dysfunctional shower, and a sink which served as a hand-washing-toothpaste-spitting-shaving-kitchen-cooking-macaroni-mayhem facility. I remember a weathere3d, green chair which cost only eight dollars at a flea market. We were so proud of our green chair, though if anyone kept count, they would find it held many more piles of clothes over the year then it did bodies.
I remember the truth of Christ proclaimed every day. I remember nights spent alone with God, struggling to hear Him through the walls I had built. I recall trying to stamp out His promise of peace and rest, while at the same time desiring it above all else. I remember His faithfulness in the midst of my faithlessness. I remember playing football in the rain, lifting weights in a barn, listening to Coldplay during a storm, and the pride I felt when there was a coveted letter from home in my mailbox. I remember graduation. One by one our names were called, verses read and hands shaken. Joy mixed with tears as some left that night. I remember one last sunrise over the ocean, a blur of goodbyes, tears, hugs, and promises to write. I remember stepping onto that big, rusty, noisy ferry one last time. As we pulled away from the dock, I looked back at my beloved Thetis Island, beautiful Capernwray, home sweet home. Numbly I wished I could start it all over again, but it was finished. I wanted to meet my friends again for the first time, to gaze wonderingly into the face of Jesus as I first begin to really love Him. I wish for one more workday, one more night laughing at ourselves, and playing games too stupid to ever play again. I remember a year that is unforgettable and forever sealed in my mind and heart, people who have impacted me beyond imagination, and a God who worked despite me to bring me to Himself and show me how to love.
8.18.2004
The Philosophies of Chewing Gum
An essay from beginning of summer. More for content then current relevance. Such deep topics. :)
My Piece of Gum
I will begin by describing my surroundings. More as an exercise to get my own thoughts flowing as opposed to providing any real benefit to the piece. It's a drab office, complete with standard white walls (textured to provide some minimal visual stimulation), desk of the wrap-around sort, three black file cabinets, a table surrounded by three chairs, bookcase, computer and an abnormally large calendar which threatens to schedule my life from now until next July with frighteningly aggressive efficiency. I am sure that the light colors of the carpet were intended to have a soft, calming effect on agitated office dwellers, but years of use and neglect have turned it into a minor eyesore. I sit in this office which is not my own, slumping in someone else's chair, which provides far too much lumbar support to be comfortable, typing a nonsensical message on a stranger's computer. Life is good.
Perhaps one of the most important accessories of both the social and work conscious professional is the stick of gum. I am currently chewing on a full stick of Wrigley's Winterfresh gum, color blue. Two hours have passed as I absentmindedly chew, nibble, mash, and blow bubbles with this marvelous creation. I know nothing about the origin of gum, how it is made, or the history of its consumption by the human race. I suppose I should delve into details and attempt to produce some fact or humorous tidbit that would make this post worthwhile. Sorry to disappoint, though I am happy to submit my own theories on this sticky subject. Gum was rationed during my younger years, banned from school as I came of age, and is eternally surrounded by rules which seem determined to hinder my enjoyment of gum as much as possible. Until about the age of ten, the amount of gum I was allowed to enjoy at one time was limited to one-half of a standard stick of Carefree Sugarless Gum. Needless to say, half a stick of gum hardly met my needs, sugarless gum no less! Thinking I had found a loophole in the law, I simply took multiple one-half segments, generally spaced at five minute intervals, thus satiating my cravings with a clear conscience. Certaintly one of the most well known rules governing gum usage is that old sobscenity familiar to so many youngsters the world over: "Chew with your mouth closed." It is not that I disagree with the essence of the rule. By all means, good manners should be observed whenever possible and convenient. It's just that I never found a way to operate my jaw correctly on the hideously large amount of gum I required and be able to keep my mouth closed at the same time. Naturally, sacrifices had to be made and I was branded as a rude child early on. Finally, I view gum as something of a symbol of rebellion to be relished by young people. I believe the majority of schools do not allow their students to chew gum in class. This, one of the last bastions of childhood, so cruely ripped from the grasp of the next generation. Chewing gum becomes one more way to stick it to the man, while freshening breath and destroying tooth enamel. So go ahead, friends. Chew your gum loudly and with reckless abandon, stick it to the man as you carelessly toss your used Wrigley's on a sidewalk where someone is sure to step on it. Indulge and blow a bubble of delicious Bazooka in English class, and as you have the odacity to munch on a stick of Carefree during a visit to the dentist, remind him with a smile that it's sugarless! O, and always remember--I like gum.
My Piece of Gum
I will begin by describing my surroundings. More as an exercise to get my own thoughts flowing as opposed to providing any real benefit to the piece. It's a drab office, complete with standard white walls (textured to provide some minimal visual stimulation), desk of the wrap-around sort, three black file cabinets, a table surrounded by three chairs, bookcase, computer and an abnormally large calendar which threatens to schedule my life from now until next July with frighteningly aggressive efficiency. I am sure that the light colors of the carpet were intended to have a soft, calming effect on agitated office dwellers, but years of use and neglect have turned it into a minor eyesore. I sit in this office which is not my own, slumping in someone else's chair, which provides far too much lumbar support to be comfortable, typing a nonsensical message on a stranger's computer. Life is good.
Perhaps one of the most important accessories of both the social and work conscious professional is the stick of gum. I am currently chewing on a full stick of Wrigley's Winterfresh gum, color blue. Two hours have passed as I absentmindedly chew, nibble, mash, and blow bubbles with this marvelous creation. I know nothing about the origin of gum, how it is made, or the history of its consumption by the human race. I suppose I should delve into details and attempt to produce some fact or humorous tidbit that would make this post worthwhile. Sorry to disappoint, though I am happy to submit my own theories on this sticky subject. Gum was rationed during my younger years, banned from school as I came of age, and is eternally surrounded by rules which seem determined to hinder my enjoyment of gum as much as possible. Until about the age of ten, the amount of gum I was allowed to enjoy at one time was limited to one-half of a standard stick of Carefree Sugarless Gum. Needless to say, half a stick of gum hardly met my needs, sugarless gum no less! Thinking I had found a loophole in the law, I simply took multiple one-half segments, generally spaced at five minute intervals, thus satiating my cravings with a clear conscience. Certaintly one of the most well known rules governing gum usage is that old sobscenity familiar to so many youngsters the world over: "Chew with your mouth closed." It is not that I disagree with the essence of the rule. By all means, good manners should be observed whenever possible and convenient. It's just that I never found a way to operate my jaw correctly on the hideously large amount of gum I required and be able to keep my mouth closed at the same time. Naturally, sacrifices had to be made and I was branded as a rude child early on. Finally, I view gum as something of a symbol of rebellion to be relished by young people. I believe the majority of schools do not allow their students to chew gum in class. This, one of the last bastions of childhood, so cruely ripped from the grasp of the next generation. Chewing gum becomes one more way to stick it to the man, while freshening breath and destroying tooth enamel. So go ahead, friends. Chew your gum loudly and with reckless abandon, stick it to the man as you carelessly toss your used Wrigley's on a sidewalk where someone is sure to step on it. Indulge and blow a bubble of delicious Bazooka in English class, and as you have the odacity to munch on a stick of Carefree during a visit to the dentist, remind him with a smile that it's sugarless! O, and always remember--I like gum.
8.17.2004
A Death
Tonight I received the news that Jeff, a friend I went to Bible school with, died with his father in a car accident today. I feel a blur of sadness, soberness, and confusion; but something in me refuses to accept it. Somewhere in my soul I feel the unnaturalness of death, that this isn't supposed to happen, it's not real. My mind understands that a terrible event has happened, but my heart recoils at the thought. I have no words. I have no prayers. Thank you, God, that You reads our hearts and not our words, because I have none.
the road is narrow,
but it winds.
these wings are broken,
but they still fly.
the hill is high
but not too steep.
these eyes are closed,
but do not sleep.
if broken wings still fly,
and two closed eyes can see,
i look at you with questions,
of what this life might be.
the answer comes despite the things,
which rise up in the way,
and we fly on broken wings,
tho tears may fall today.
the room is cold,
but you stay,
the hurt is real,
you don't feel the pain.
this place is dark,
but you will be my light.
the day is dark and heavy,
but we fly on broken wings.
the road is narrow,
but it winds.
these wings are broken,
but they still fly.
the hill is high
but not too steep.
these eyes are closed,
but do not sleep.
if broken wings still fly,
and two closed eyes can see,
i look at you with questions,
of what this life might be.
the answer comes despite the things,
which rise up in the way,
and we fly on broken wings,
tho tears may fall today.
the room is cold,
but you stay,
the hurt is real,
you don't feel the pain.
this place is dark,
but you will be my light.
the day is dark and heavy,
but we fly on broken wings.
8.16.2004
New Beginnings
"Every new beginning is some other new beginnings end." Words from a song or quote I believe. I suppose I should say something profound to kick off my blog, the success of which is doubtful. What do I intend to accomplish with this blog? To become a better writer, express myself clearly, and above all to have an avenue I can vent in with reckless abandon. Blogging is like freelance writing with publications that have to print me. It's wonderful that way. As a byproduct, any wandering eye is allowed a glimpse into my boring, overly uneventful life. Frankly, I pity them. However, I begin in the name of writing, alliteration, rhyme, and with a tip of my hat to better writers like Galen Sanford, Sharon Barbour, Brian Lowen, and a few others who inspire me to take up my pen and press on through the madness of writing.
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