So you know
Where you go
When you glow
In the dark,
But you can't glow in the dark alone.
So your tears come down
Your cries come out,
Letting them see
The living doubt,
That you must be and own.
"Help my unbelief"
You tearfully call,
Make me see
That you can do it all,
That you wipe away my fall.
So I know
That I glow
Wherever I go
In this dark,
'Cause I'm reminded I'm never alone.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Short Update!
Nanowrimo is in full swing! That is, National Novel Writing Month. It's that time of year when every serious novelist (and amateurs too) sit down and crank out fifty-thousand words of a novel! Hopefully, that's about the length of the novel, but it's a decent start if nothing else.
This is my first Nanowrimo, folks, and it has been thrilling! Well, more like draining. And fantastic. I'm at 14,259 words so far, below par because I burned out yesterday. But I'm not giving up! Actually, I've already succeeded beyond my wildest imaginations! As a working college student, I didn't think I'd get this far at all.
But here I am! With half an outline, the start of an amazing map, and 14,259 words of my second novel, folks! And boy is it a dozy. And you know why? God gave it to me. I love the stories he grants me. ^__^ They're always so amazing!
This one is about a city; about the people there. The little boy, the stranger, the young woman, the police chief, the mayor and his wife, the reporter, the doctor, and the inn keeper. It's a story about a night-time in all their lives, and it's so exciting to be the writer of it!
And that's all I'm gonna say for now. See ya all next time! =D
This is my first Nanowrimo, folks, and it has been thrilling! Well, more like draining. And fantastic. I'm at 14,259 words so far, below par because I burned out yesterday. But I'm not giving up! Actually, I've already succeeded beyond my wildest imaginations! As a working college student, I didn't think I'd get this far at all.
But here I am! With half an outline, the start of an amazing map, and 14,259 words of my second novel, folks! And boy is it a dozy. And you know why? God gave it to me. I love the stories he grants me. ^__^ They're always so amazing!
This one is about a city; about the people there. The little boy, the stranger, the young woman, the police chief, the mayor and his wife, the reporter, the doctor, and the inn keeper. It's a story about a night-time in all their lives, and it's so exciting to be the writer of it!
And that's all I'm gonna say for now. See ya all next time! =D
Saturday, October 15, 2011
A Theme
The notes strike like hammers in my heart. A song of gaiety, but I only feel sad… Pools of clear black reflect back the world that dares peek into them. Is it true what we see? Is everything really embroiled in a flat mire of the glossiest black? Oh, God, save us from this pit!
Why do these emotions rest on me? Why does my chest think it's been split open like a chunk of wood split in two? A grayish mist fills the vale and I suppose I've said too much. But who really does? Speaking out of turn maybe; speaking the wrong things, all the time. But truly too many people say too little too late…
On Judgment Day, every word that was ever spoken will echo forth again. Then more words will be spoken for every word that was spoken, to give some account of them. If only one word is spoken for every word that was, then that's twice as many words as ever were. …Will there even then be enough?
Words can sooth the human heart. Words can assuage the wounds of the soul. But is anyone intent on this art? Does anyone care about what they say? Does anyone take care what they say? "I don't know how," is not good enough. Not by a long shot if you're a living, breathing, speaking human being. You must learn how or you must die trying, it's as straight forward as that.
Pray! Pray, for God will hear you. Not one of his words will fall to the ground, and he will lift you up on the wings of eagles! To soar among the clouds… What a difference from being stuck in a mire.
That song is back. With it, some of the gaiety has returned. There is an understanding in it, like the understanding between leaves and wind. Two hands, one holding another. Two voices, laughing and talking; saying words that matter, from the heart. Supporting, building, holding one another aloft. Through it all there's the song, like a third someone. He it is that holds the two together.
Ecclesiastes 4:12 "…a threefold cord is not quickly broken."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05eArjS92oM&feature=related
Why do these emotions rest on me? Why does my chest think it's been split open like a chunk of wood split in two? A grayish mist fills the vale and I suppose I've said too much. But who really does? Speaking out of turn maybe; speaking the wrong things, all the time. But truly too many people say too little too late…
On Judgment Day, every word that was ever spoken will echo forth again. Then more words will be spoken for every word that was spoken, to give some account of them. If only one word is spoken for every word that was, then that's twice as many words as ever were. …Will there even then be enough?
Words can sooth the human heart. Words can assuage the wounds of the soul. But is anyone intent on this art? Does anyone care about what they say? Does anyone take care what they say? "I don't know how," is not good enough. Not by a long shot if you're a living, breathing, speaking human being. You must learn how or you must die trying, it's as straight forward as that.
Pray! Pray, for God will hear you. Not one of his words will fall to the ground, and he will lift you up on the wings of eagles! To soar among the clouds… What a difference from being stuck in a mire.
That song is back. With it, some of the gaiety has returned. There is an understanding in it, like the understanding between leaves and wind. Two hands, one holding another. Two voices, laughing and talking; saying words that matter, from the heart. Supporting, building, holding one another aloft. Through it all there's the song, like a third someone. He it is that holds the two together.
Ecclesiastes 4:12 "…a threefold cord is not quickly broken."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05eArjS92oM&feature=related
Monday, October 10, 2011
Forgive them, forgive them, forgive… them.
When the whistle's blowing,
And the bells are tolling,
And the captain 's nodding farewell.
When the ships arriving,
And the harbours thriving,
Will the Judgement gavel fell?
…Are you afraid of going to hell?
I'm not sure of much of what to say. In fact, I think I can't say much of anything anyway right now, because of my mind. My mind is fine except I can't find it, but that's a fine line of mine to walk. You see, a migraine is a pain until it'll wane and to think is in vain, unless you think along a vein that isn't particularly sane. But I think the vein that my mind would walk along isn't vain because it is sane, thanks to God's good grace that is mine. He gave it to me and set me free, which makes me giddy, and jittery to boot. I know what I say can't win the day, by itself anyway, but God has a way of making it okay, cause it's Jesus' Day, and that makes me say, "Yay!" I don't fear the reaper or the Judgement gavel, cause this is God's day and this is his battle.
I'll say this though, and it says it all. Forgive cause he forgave you. Forgive for that is your call. Love because he loved you. Love and forgive them all.
And the bells are tolling,
And the captain 's nodding farewell.
When the ships arriving,
And the harbours thriving,
Will the Judgement gavel fell?
…Are you afraid of going to hell?
I'm not sure of much of what to say. In fact, I think I can't say much of anything anyway right now, because of my mind. My mind is fine except I can't find it, but that's a fine line of mine to walk. You see, a migraine is a pain until it'll wane and to think is in vain, unless you think along a vein that isn't particularly sane. But I think the vein that my mind would walk along isn't vain because it is sane, thanks to God's good grace that is mine. He gave it to me and set me free, which makes me giddy, and jittery to boot. I know what I say can't win the day, by itself anyway, but God has a way of making it okay, cause it's Jesus' Day, and that makes me say, "Yay!" I don't fear the reaper or the Judgement gavel, cause this is God's day and this is his battle.
I'll say this though, and it says it all. Forgive cause he forgave you. Forgive for that is your call. Love because he loved you. Love and forgive them all.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Jesus is God. Period.
I mean no disrespect to those who disagree with my subject, but I would encourage you not to shy away from this because of it. Follow my train of thought, see if it doesn't make any sense. See if doesn't move you. Then you can be turned off. ;)
Simply put, my argument is that Jesus is God - must be God - because that is the only way that he could, can, and will accomplish his role as Savior of mankind. Sin, by definition, is the factor that separates us from God, and that separation is the state that we are all born into; that we all live in, by God's good grace, until the day that we die. Jesus' role as savior is to void that separation and to bring us into communion with God; to bridge the gap between us and God by wiping away our sins.
For Jesus to accomplish this goal implies two fundamental things about his nature. First and foremost he must have lived a perfect, sinless human life to measure up to the task of paying for our sins. Because, since all sin - even the smallest little disobedience (like eating fruit God told you not to eat) - leads to a debt to death - set forward by God in Genesis, Jesus could only have paid for all of it, or any of it, if he had not acquired any of this debt to death himself. He had to be clean and undeserving of death to pay the price for our sins; to pay our debt to death.
Secondly, but more importantly (yet sadly it gets overlooked more often), Jesus must be fully God and fully man to reconcile us to God. Because, as I said, sin separates us from God - separates the created from the creator - Jesus, to bring us - God and man - back together, must have an intimate knowledge of both us and God. To be the bridge that reunites us and God he must have come from, must always be, fully God and fully man. He cannot be just and angel or a prophet, because - as history shows us - both of these classes of being have been tainted by sin and are therefore imperfect. Satan was an angel and fell, becoming the father of lies. Moses was a prophet and fell, dying without reaching the promised land. Angels and prophets by themselves cannot be perfect (because, by definition, to be by themselves would be a state of separation from God, their creator, which, as I already established, is sin), and we only see them in the right when they are following the will of God. For Jesus to be the perfect, unity bringing being that his role necessitates he be, he has to be fully God. He cannot just be following the will of God, although that is part of his role, he must be the Will of God. He must be the physical manifestation of God's Will and want to wipe away our sins or else he would be inadequate to the task. More than that, he would have no place in wiping our slates clean, because it is against God and God alone that we have all sinned and fallen short of his Glory. He must be fully God to pay the price and fully man to be the right vessel that was broken and poured out for our sins. Not only is it the best way for Jesus to be our savior, it is the only way for him to take on that role.
I feel I could delve into this all day, because I haven't even touched the part about Jesus' role on earth being an illustration for us has to how we should live our earthly lives in communion with God. For him to be that physical illustration, he had to be the physical manifestation of both God and man; the physical manifestation of the spiritual life we are to live through his perfect, God strength. I must leave off, however. It's a topic for another day, maybe.
John 1:1-5 "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (emphasis, or bold, added by me)
Simply put, my argument is that Jesus is God - must be God - because that is the only way that he could, can, and will accomplish his role as Savior of mankind. Sin, by definition, is the factor that separates us from God, and that separation is the state that we are all born into; that we all live in, by God's good grace, until the day that we die. Jesus' role as savior is to void that separation and to bring us into communion with God; to bridge the gap between us and God by wiping away our sins.
For Jesus to accomplish this goal implies two fundamental things about his nature. First and foremost he must have lived a perfect, sinless human life to measure up to the task of paying for our sins. Because, since all sin - even the smallest little disobedience (like eating fruit God told you not to eat) - leads to a debt to death - set forward by God in Genesis, Jesus could only have paid for all of it, or any of it, if he had not acquired any of this debt to death himself. He had to be clean and undeserving of death to pay the price for our sins; to pay our debt to death.
Secondly, but more importantly (yet sadly it gets overlooked more often), Jesus must be fully God and fully man to reconcile us to God. Because, as I said, sin separates us from God - separates the created from the creator - Jesus, to bring us - God and man - back together, must have an intimate knowledge of both us and God. To be the bridge that reunites us and God he must have come from, must always be, fully God and fully man. He cannot be just and angel or a prophet, because - as history shows us - both of these classes of being have been tainted by sin and are therefore imperfect. Satan was an angel and fell, becoming the father of lies. Moses was a prophet and fell, dying without reaching the promised land. Angels and prophets by themselves cannot be perfect (because, by definition, to be by themselves would be a state of separation from God, their creator, which, as I already established, is sin), and we only see them in the right when they are following the will of God. For Jesus to be the perfect, unity bringing being that his role necessitates he be, he has to be fully God. He cannot just be following the will of God, although that is part of his role, he must be the Will of God. He must be the physical manifestation of God's Will and want to wipe away our sins or else he would be inadequate to the task. More than that, he would have no place in wiping our slates clean, because it is against God and God alone that we have all sinned and fallen short of his Glory. He must be fully God to pay the price and fully man to be the right vessel that was broken and poured out for our sins. Not only is it the best way for Jesus to be our savior, it is the only way for him to take on that role.
I feel I could delve into this all day, because I haven't even touched the part about Jesus' role on earth being an illustration for us has to how we should live our earthly lives in communion with God. For him to be that physical illustration, he had to be the physical manifestation of both God and man; the physical manifestation of the spiritual life we are to live through his perfect, God strength. I must leave off, however. It's a topic for another day, maybe.
John 1:1-5 "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (emphasis, or bold, added by me)
Friday, September 30, 2011
Infinitesimally Perfect Construction of the Versimilitude-Esque Facade of the Educational Elite and Why It Is Utterly Translucent (or, Why I Don't Buy the Lie)
I stood on a salmon pink cloud. Well, that's not really true. It was more like; I stood on a plateau of red brick, covered in a foot-deep, salmon pink cloud. The entrance yawned at me - gray, cavernous, all the usuals - but I had already turned my back on it. You see, the promise had been whispered out to me as well. But I wasn't buying it.
Not that I'm abnormally clever, or even that I had heard something sinister in that airy whisper that no one else had. It's just that I had been warned, that's all. Someone I knew and trusted, loved and was loved by, had cautioned me diligently and intelligently about the lies of the whisper. All they had to say was, "look a little further. Question its intentions, and test its fruit. See if its making good, then you'll know for certain."
This had seemed reasonable to me. So, I set out. Over the Clear Calling River, by the Hillock Road of an ashen brown. I traversed the Adapt, Rolling Hills, and carved my way through the Forest of a Long Time. With care I skirted Immoral Death Canyon, and finally arrived at the foot of Impossibly Possible Mountain. The Stream of Common Sense passed me, flowing the other way, as I made my way up the rocky face.
Soon, I was within sight of Pastoral Summit. The perfectly shaded, pink salmon cloud hid the brick of the causeway, but I was not fooled. I could feel it underfoot, for I am still aware of my feet. I had come upon the cave suddenly, it seemed to irrupt out of the mist.
It was Education Gate, and the whisper of the gatekeepers came to me; as it comes to all that happen before the Gate: "We can give you success and riches. Happiness is just a stone throw away, and we can show you how to throw stones. Let us be your guides for exploring the world and we'll make you a king in it. We'll open your mind - it won't hurt a bit - and fill it with what is right and true. Come to us, and we'll show you your true potential goes far beyond anything you've ever imagined."
I listened hard to their words, matching it to everything I saw, heard, and knew. I witnessed man after man, woman after woman enter through the Gate, and endeavored to see their end. One man fell to his death. Another seemed to go insane. Almost all of them were buried and burdened under sacks handed out at the Gate by a short, rotund man. He had beady eyes behind beady glasses and looked to me rather like a spider. "Everyone needs these to get through," he would assure the latest newcomer, packing them down. "You'll pay them off in time. Don't worry about it. It's normal. Everything is fine."
I asked the Gate keepers to show me those that had succeeded, and they pointed me to the edge of the plateau. There, I looked out on the world and saw them. They were men and women, who dressed well and walked well. They had nice cars and nice homes. They ate nice things and tried to have nice children.
But as I stared they seemed to disappear. I could hardly make them out. Their clothes turned shabby and gray, their stride ineffectual and meaningless. Their cars heaped more sacks upon them, then died away suddenly; becoming heaps themselves. Their nice homes were hollow, quiet, empty. They were cold and thin as glass, as welcoming as the frigid tundra, and they also threw more sacks upon the backs of these people. The food they ate turned to ashes in their stomachs and their children become monstrous and ran away.
I looked back to the Gate. The whisper came again. Nausea swept me, and I was forced to turn away. They will all die. Not one of them will remain. They will never know what true happiness is...
Matthew 23:15 "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel across sea and land to make a single proselyte, and when he becomes a proselyte, you make him twice a much a child of hell as yourself."
Not that I'm abnormally clever, or even that I had heard something sinister in that airy whisper that no one else had. It's just that I had been warned, that's all. Someone I knew and trusted, loved and was loved by, had cautioned me diligently and intelligently about the lies of the whisper. All they had to say was, "look a little further. Question its intentions, and test its fruit. See if its making good, then you'll know for certain."
This had seemed reasonable to me. So, I set out. Over the Clear Calling River, by the Hillock Road of an ashen brown. I traversed the Adapt, Rolling Hills, and carved my way through the Forest of a Long Time. With care I skirted Immoral Death Canyon, and finally arrived at the foot of Impossibly Possible Mountain. The Stream of Common Sense passed me, flowing the other way, as I made my way up the rocky face.
Soon, I was within sight of Pastoral Summit. The perfectly shaded, pink salmon cloud hid the brick of the causeway, but I was not fooled. I could feel it underfoot, for I am still aware of my feet. I had come upon the cave suddenly, it seemed to irrupt out of the mist.
It was Education Gate, and the whisper of the gatekeepers came to me; as it comes to all that happen before the Gate: "We can give you success and riches. Happiness is just a stone throw away, and we can show you how to throw stones. Let us be your guides for exploring the world and we'll make you a king in it. We'll open your mind - it won't hurt a bit - and fill it with what is right and true. Come to us, and we'll show you your true potential goes far beyond anything you've ever imagined."
I listened hard to their words, matching it to everything I saw, heard, and knew. I witnessed man after man, woman after woman enter through the Gate, and endeavored to see their end. One man fell to his death. Another seemed to go insane. Almost all of them were buried and burdened under sacks handed out at the Gate by a short, rotund man. He had beady eyes behind beady glasses and looked to me rather like a spider. "Everyone needs these to get through," he would assure the latest newcomer, packing them down. "You'll pay them off in time. Don't worry about it. It's normal. Everything is fine."
I asked the Gate keepers to show me those that had succeeded, and they pointed me to the edge of the plateau. There, I looked out on the world and saw them. They were men and women, who dressed well and walked well. They had nice cars and nice homes. They ate nice things and tried to have nice children.
But as I stared they seemed to disappear. I could hardly make them out. Their clothes turned shabby and gray, their stride ineffectual and meaningless. Their cars heaped more sacks upon them, then died away suddenly; becoming heaps themselves. Their nice homes were hollow, quiet, empty. They were cold and thin as glass, as welcoming as the frigid tundra, and they also threw more sacks upon the backs of these people. The food they ate turned to ashes in their stomachs and their children become monstrous and ran away.
I looked back to the Gate. The whisper came again. Nausea swept me, and I was forced to turn away. They will all die. Not one of them will remain. They will never know what true happiness is...
Matthew 23:15 "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel across sea and land to make a single proselyte, and when he becomes a proselyte, you make him twice a much a child of hell as yourself."
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Unjustified Love
This topic has been floating around in my mind recently, so I thought I'd put it into words. Really it's a very broad topic because it's about God, and when you think of him you invariably must think about it. It is the topic of the character of God - specifically two characteristics - as revealed in both the Old Testament and in the New. These characteristics are: God is perfectly Just, and God is perfectly Loving.
Sometimes people separate these two, because they see a Just God in the Old Testament and a Loving God in the New and they just cannot reconcile the two in their minds. This irks me greatly because this is a great flaw. By the very nature of these two characteristics you cannot have one without the other, and you cannot diminish one or the other. They must both be equally perfect, equally unfathomable for God to be God. Because it is Just for God's attributes to be unsearchable by us, his creation. For will the pottery call into question the potter? Will the clay formed judge the one who forms it? Isaiah 29:16 Puts this into perspective.
Yet, at the same time, God's perfect Love shines through by the fact that he allows us a great deal more leeway in fathoming his attributes than we should be able. Ephesians 3:16-19 spells this out, saying, "…that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."
Taking the concept that these two characteristics only work perfectly in tandem a little further, we see that without the support of one another the basis for both fall away. For, perfect, unsearchable Love cannot be perfect and unsearchable without the backdrop of perfect Justice. Because perfect Love must be, by its very nature, unconditional Love, and perfect Justice must be meted out based on a perfect, unchanging set of conditions. If there were no conditions, or if the conditions weren't perfect and unchanging, how then could Love be unconditional? It couldn't be and wouldn't be, making perfect Love completely dependent on perfect Justice.
In turn, perfect Justice is nothing without perfect Love. Oh, yes it can exist; unlike perfect Love without perfect Justice. But what would be the point? Where would the hope be? For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God; and without God, without Jesus, without perfect Love nothing you do will come to anything and everything you do will come to not. "I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind." Ecclesiastes 1:14
One can chose to live a life under prefect Justice alone, but that is not how God will mete it out. For he will divide the wheat from the chaff and the lambs from the goats on the same day, and those who chose not to believe in the perfect Love of God will discover the deepest point of their despair when they find out it was real and within their reach all along.
Romans 3:3-4 "What if some were unfaithful? Does their faithlessness nullify the faithfulness of God? By no means! Let God be true though everyone were a liar, as it is written, 'That you may be justified in your words, and prevail when you are judged.'"
Matthew 12:36-37 "I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give an account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned."
Romans 10:9-10 "because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved."
1 John 4:15-17 "Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. So we have come to know and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world."
Sometimes people separate these two, because they see a Just God in the Old Testament and a Loving God in the New and they just cannot reconcile the two in their minds. This irks me greatly because this is a great flaw. By the very nature of these two characteristics you cannot have one without the other, and you cannot diminish one or the other. They must both be equally perfect, equally unfathomable for God to be God. Because it is Just for God's attributes to be unsearchable by us, his creation. For will the pottery call into question the potter? Will the clay formed judge the one who forms it? Isaiah 29:16 Puts this into perspective.
Yet, at the same time, God's perfect Love shines through by the fact that he allows us a great deal more leeway in fathoming his attributes than we should be able. Ephesians 3:16-19 spells this out, saying, "…that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."
Taking the concept that these two characteristics only work perfectly in tandem a little further, we see that without the support of one another the basis for both fall away. For, perfect, unsearchable Love cannot be perfect and unsearchable without the backdrop of perfect Justice. Because perfect Love must be, by its very nature, unconditional Love, and perfect Justice must be meted out based on a perfect, unchanging set of conditions. If there were no conditions, or if the conditions weren't perfect and unchanging, how then could Love be unconditional? It couldn't be and wouldn't be, making perfect Love completely dependent on perfect Justice.
In turn, perfect Justice is nothing without perfect Love. Oh, yes it can exist; unlike perfect Love without perfect Justice. But what would be the point? Where would the hope be? For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God; and without God, without Jesus, without perfect Love nothing you do will come to anything and everything you do will come to not. "I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind." Ecclesiastes 1:14
One can chose to live a life under prefect Justice alone, but that is not how God will mete it out. For he will divide the wheat from the chaff and the lambs from the goats on the same day, and those who chose not to believe in the perfect Love of God will discover the deepest point of their despair when they find out it was real and within their reach all along.
Romans 3:3-4 "What if some were unfaithful? Does their faithlessness nullify the faithfulness of God? By no means! Let God be true though everyone were a liar, as it is written, 'That you may be justified in your words, and prevail when you are judged.'"
Matthew 12:36-37 "I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give an account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned."
Romans 10:9-10 "because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved."
1 John 4:15-17 "Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. So we have come to know and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world."
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Spots of Everywhere
"I dreamed you went crazy."
The girl with wild brown hair took a step closer. "That you legitimately lost it, and couldn't help us find our way back."
The boy sighed, digging his hands deeper into his pants pockets. "That's funny. Cause it wasn't so much a dream on this end. …Or maybe it was too much like a dream. A nightmare."
Concern flooded the girl's eyes, but all she could think to do was nod. That was all that she needed to do. The boy felt all the comfort she meant to give, even if she couldn't say it. His mouth twitched. Then he smiled, and laughed. "But you know what? God never let go. I could feel him, never letting go of me."
She laughed too. "No. He won't do that. He might let you go through a hell of sorts. But he always pulls you out in the end; whiter than snow."
spot
I sat in the doctor's office, waiting. It might have been a little too cold in the room. …Or a little too hat, I'm not sure. All I knew was I was waiting and had been waiting for a decent amount of time. Doctor's will be doctors, I mused amiably. Nothing could upset me. I'd like to think I was ready for the worst, but it was more likely the headache.
They had been coming more and more frequently. Either that, or I was becoming more and more aware of them; I'm not sure. That's one of the symptoms, a general state of foggy-headedness. For me, it's like the world has turned soft and vaporish. The nearest I feel to something when I have migraine, a bad one, is a thousand miles away. Unless, of course, it's one of the painful ones.
Imagine an awl being driven into your brain. Pain killers usually don't help when it's that bad, and all I can do is lie back moaning; pulling as hard as I can on my hair. For some reason that helps, a little bit at least, but I wonder what I'll do when all my hair is gone?
The doctor finally arrived. I scrutinized his face for any hint of the verdict, but it was blank and his eyes were hard. Is it bad news? Or is he just seared to the emotions of any news?
I held my breath as he cleared his throat to speak. "I'm pretty sure the abnormalities are only scarring on your right frontal lobe. Nothing to worry about. Over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain."
There was an instant after he said that - as I digested the news - when I felt the floor fall away. Like that moment on a roller coaster when you reach the top of the first hill and stop. Your gut shifts up, your feet want to dangle; as if you're suspended between earth and sky, right before you plummet into oblivion.
The doctor kept talking, but I'm not sure what he said. I don't think I heard most of it.
spot
The average IQ is one hundred. The average American house is composed of one and a half parents and two and a half kids. Somewhere between forty and eighty-eight percent of evangelical kids leave the Church when they reach college age and over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain. Some of those numbers are just guesses made up by yours truly - based on past knowledge - but, if I'm reading Matthew 7:13-14 right, then it's also average to go to hell.
"For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."
spot
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My head was made of throbbing pain. I walked in and out of dreams of my own design, trying to distract myself from the migraine. Then the demons came.
They whispered failure and fear. Regret over things they knew would hit home with me, nailing me right in my weak spots. "They don't need you. They don't care. See?" they'd say, bringing to mind painful memories. "None of them understand you. They never will."
Now I tossed and turned to get away from them; subconsciously trying to shake the blotches off skin that they said were there. Sleep descended; troubled and restless.
spot
I wandered out in the woods that day to talk to God. Rather, to be consoled by him. Trouble never seems to cease crashing over me, and all I wanted was for him to say it was alright; to touch me. Instead, I ended up thanking him for all of. I gave up my emotions, saying that if I never felt joy on this earth again it was okay by me. Jesus has bought my life, and, knowing that, I was able to be okay with the sadness.
A few days later I went walking again, for the same reasons. This time, I cannot for the life of me explain why, I ended up forgiving people instead. I went down the secret list of my long held grudges and scratched them out.
It was the last thing I expected to help me feel better, but suddenly I was so free. I felt as light as a breath of fresh air. Something in my heart had changed as I said my, "I forgive you"s aloud, and I knew, deep down, that the wrongs done to me were gone. Come judgement day, when every action is taken into account, I knew I would not testify.
Let the trees and the birds and the bees tell what happened. Let the rocks and the walls and the dust cry out. I only know Jesus Christ crucified, the Love that that entails. And that is all I shall ever give a testimony of. That is all I want to know.
spot
Do the spots make the leopard? Or the leopard the spots? …God makes the leopard, and through the blood of his Son, Jesus, washes the spots white as snow.
The girl with wild brown hair took a step closer. "That you legitimately lost it, and couldn't help us find our way back."
The boy sighed, digging his hands deeper into his pants pockets. "That's funny. Cause it wasn't so much a dream on this end. …Or maybe it was too much like a dream. A nightmare."
Concern flooded the girl's eyes, but all she could think to do was nod. That was all that she needed to do. The boy felt all the comfort she meant to give, even if she couldn't say it. His mouth twitched. Then he smiled, and laughed. "But you know what? God never let go. I could feel him, never letting go of me."
She laughed too. "No. He won't do that. He might let you go through a hell of sorts. But he always pulls you out in the end; whiter than snow."
spot
I sat in the doctor's office, waiting. It might have been a little too cold in the room. …Or a little too hat, I'm not sure. All I knew was I was waiting and had been waiting for a decent amount of time. Doctor's will be doctors, I mused amiably. Nothing could upset me. I'd like to think I was ready for the worst, but it was more likely the headache.
They had been coming more and more frequently. Either that, or I was becoming more and more aware of them; I'm not sure. That's one of the symptoms, a general state of foggy-headedness. For me, it's like the world has turned soft and vaporish. The nearest I feel to something when I have migraine, a bad one, is a thousand miles away. Unless, of course, it's one of the painful ones.
Imagine an awl being driven into your brain. Pain killers usually don't help when it's that bad, and all I can do is lie back moaning; pulling as hard as I can on my hair. For some reason that helps, a little bit at least, but I wonder what I'll do when all my hair is gone?
The doctor finally arrived. I scrutinized his face for any hint of the verdict, but it was blank and his eyes were hard. Is it bad news? Or is he just seared to the emotions of any news?
I held my breath as he cleared his throat to speak. "I'm pretty sure the abnormalities are only scarring on your right frontal lobe. Nothing to worry about. Over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain."
There was an instant after he said that - as I digested the news - when I felt the floor fall away. Like that moment on a roller coaster when you reach the top of the first hill and stop. Your gut shifts up, your feet want to dangle; as if you're suspended between earth and sky, right before you plummet into oblivion.
The doctor kept talking, but I'm not sure what he said. I don't think I heard most of it.
spot
The average IQ is one hundred. The average American house is composed of one and a half parents and two and a half kids. Somewhere between forty and eighty-eight percent of evangelical kids leave the Church when they reach college age and over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain. Some of those numbers are just guesses made up by yours truly - based on past knowledge - but, if I'm reading Matthew 7:13-14 right, then it's also average to go to hell.
"For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."
spot
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My head was made of throbbing pain. I walked in and out of dreams of my own design, trying to distract myself from the migraine. Then the demons came.
They whispered failure and fear. Regret over things they knew would hit home with me, nailing me right in my weak spots. "They don't need you. They don't care. See?" they'd say, bringing to mind painful memories. "None of them understand you. They never will."
Now I tossed and turned to get away from them; subconsciously trying to shake the blotches off skin that they said were there. Sleep descended; troubled and restless.
spot
I wandered out in the woods that day to talk to God. Rather, to be consoled by him. Trouble never seems to cease crashing over me, and all I wanted was for him to say it was alright; to touch me. Instead, I ended up thanking him for all of. I gave up my emotions, saying that if I never felt joy on this earth again it was okay by me. Jesus has bought my life, and, knowing that, I was able to be okay with the sadness.
A few days later I went walking again, for the same reasons. This time, I cannot for the life of me explain why, I ended up forgiving people instead. I went down the secret list of my long held grudges and scratched them out.
It was the last thing I expected to help me feel better, but suddenly I was so free. I felt as light as a breath of fresh air. Something in my heart had changed as I said my, "I forgive you"s aloud, and I knew, deep down, that the wrongs done to me were gone. Come judgement day, when every action is taken into account, I knew I would not testify.
Let the trees and the birds and the bees tell what happened. Let the rocks and the walls and the dust cry out. I only know Jesus Christ crucified, the Love that that entails. And that is all I shall ever give a testimony of. That is all I want to know.
spot
Do the spots make the leopard? Or the leopard the spots? …God makes the leopard, and through the blood of his Son, Jesus, washes the spots white as snow.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Anew
"Who are you?" someone asked. Or maybe they said, "You need to find out who you are." I'm not really sure…
Can you forgive everyone in your life that has ever hurt you? It's a hard question, if one really takes time to ponder it. For, the question that immediately follows is, "Why should I forgive them?" …To avoid making this blog feel like it's so deep it has no bottom, I'll tell you straight out because God says to. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Sometimes I feel like I'm a mile below the surface of the sea. Water encompasses me, holds me fast. Light comes streaming down suddenly, cutting through the royal blue like nothing else in the world. I hear a woman singing, "The deepest wound can never define you." …Can they hear me?
I would argue that the deepest wound can define you, but I fear I would be arguing with the trees instead of the forest. Those words mean the deepest wound is never deep enough to wholly define you. If you let it, you are nothing but a shallow puddle of rain water; a shadow cast by something finite - once it fades away, what will you be? "WHO are YOU?"
Someone stuck a pickaxe into my heart to find out what was there. I'm being pulled up from my watery grave where the angels sing; the rain is melting away, leaving fog and a whirl of confusing emotion. She takes another swing with love, and care. I let it go. I forgive them because the swing tells me I'm wrong.
I forgave them! Suddenly it all disappears in a blur, and I'm holding my sweetheart in my arms and laughing. "You believed that?" she asks, disbelievingly.
"It doesn't mater now," I tell her, running my hands through her golden hair.
Drinking in her mesmerizing blue eyes, I lean in and kiss her softly on the cheek.
Matthew 6:14 "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you"
Can you forgive everyone in your life that has ever hurt you? It's a hard question, if one really takes time to ponder it. For, the question that immediately follows is, "Why should I forgive them?" …To avoid making this blog feel like it's so deep it has no bottom, I'll tell you straight out because God says to. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Sometimes I feel like I'm a mile below the surface of the sea. Water encompasses me, holds me fast. Light comes streaming down suddenly, cutting through the royal blue like nothing else in the world. I hear a woman singing, "The deepest wound can never define you." …Can they hear me?
I would argue that the deepest wound can define you, but I fear I would be arguing with the trees instead of the forest. Those words mean the deepest wound is never deep enough to wholly define you. If you let it, you are nothing but a shallow puddle of rain water; a shadow cast by something finite - once it fades away, what will you be? "WHO are YOU?"
Someone stuck a pickaxe into my heart to find out what was there. I'm being pulled up from my watery grave where the angels sing; the rain is melting away, leaving fog and a whirl of confusing emotion. She takes another swing with love, and care. I let it go. I forgive them because the swing tells me I'm wrong.
I forgave them! Suddenly it all disappears in a blur, and I'm holding my sweetheart in my arms and laughing. "You believed that?" she asks, disbelievingly.
"It doesn't mater now," I tell her, running my hands through her golden hair.
Drinking in her mesmerizing blue eyes, I lean in and kiss her softly on the cheek.
Matthew 6:14 "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you"
Monday, August 29, 2011
Raining Sunshine
Marble stone,
Dark clouds foam,
Bring out the umbrellas, mark the day.
Hang your head to get away.
Suddenly downpour,
The skies open wide.
Gold hits the pavement side.
Look up, the sky aglow,
Washing away all you know.
Sunshine Drops, bringing clearest light.
Your heart soars at the sight.
Your sadness to joy, by His might.
Dark clouds foam,
Bring out the umbrellas, mark the day.
Hang your head to get away.
Suddenly downpour,
The skies open wide.
Gold hits the pavement side.
Look up, the sky aglow,
Washing away all you know.
Sunshine Drops, bringing clearest light.
Your heart soars at the sight.
Your sadness to joy, by His might.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My Love
I long for you by my side. I long to hear your voice and to relish your laugh, that precious sound like crystal clear water. I can almost feel you golden, rolling locks. I can see your gorgeous blue eyes, and your lovely smile. I long for you attentive ear, you try harder to understand me than any other, though I don't deserve it.
You are the only maiden for me. A maiden of the sea that God gave my heart away to. I thank him always for you because only your gentle, patient touch could handle such a thing. You hold me up, you guard my back, you fill in all the chinks in my armor. You are my right hand.
Sweetheart, I would not be truly alive without you. God has always shown me pretty things, given me beautiful treasures, but you are by far the most enchanting gift that he has ever given to me. You are a wonder, you are a graceful woman of God, and I would be lost on these treacherous seas without you. Enaduial, will you continue with me through this adventure for as long as God grants us to live it? I need you. I love you.
You are the only maiden for me. A maiden of the sea that God gave my heart away to. I thank him always for you because only your gentle, patient touch could handle such a thing. You hold me up, you guard my back, you fill in all the chinks in my armor. You are my right hand.
Sweetheart, I would not be truly alive without you. God has always shown me pretty things, given me beautiful treasures, but you are by far the most enchanting gift that he has ever given to me. You are a wonder, you are a graceful woman of God, and I would be lost on these treacherous seas without you. Enaduial, will you continue with me through this adventure for as long as God grants us to live it? I need you. I love you.
Remembering
The sighing Autumn breeze
Brings back memories of despair.
My blood begins to freeze
As I tell myself someone cares.
A four stanza poem, a four stanza song,
A four stanza heartbeat that doesn't belong.
Eyes toward heaven, knees on the ground,
I beg God to move and turn my life around.
Something trumps nothing
Each and every day.
Would He change that for me?
Do motivations come into play?
"I know my heart," I want to scream aloud,
But this breeze has brought a doubt to cloud.
If it's as black, as I'm beginning to think,
Is that what is sucking my life down the sink?
Then a whisper cuts through the night,
Like a sword to my heart,
"You're forgiven," says a voice of might.
And it tears that breeze apart.
"I love you and always will," He tells me.
I feel His arms about me, suddenly I'm free,
The burdens have lifted, the darkness is gone,
And there's a new breeze, one heralding the dawn.
Brings back memories of despair.
My blood begins to freeze
As I tell myself someone cares.
A four stanza poem, a four stanza song,
A four stanza heartbeat that doesn't belong.
Eyes toward heaven, knees on the ground,
I beg God to move and turn my life around.
Something trumps nothing
Each and every day.
Would He change that for me?
Do motivations come into play?
"I know my heart," I want to scream aloud,
But this breeze has brought a doubt to cloud.
If it's as black, as I'm beginning to think,
Is that what is sucking my life down the sink?
Then a whisper cuts through the night,
Like a sword to my heart,
"You're forgiven," says a voice of might.
And it tears that breeze apart.
"I love you and always will," He tells me.
I feel His arms about me, suddenly I'm free,
The burdens have lifted, the darkness is gone,
And there's a new breeze, one heralding the dawn.
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Library is closing
You're standing on a cloud. Afternoon sun slants down the fluffy hills like liquid gold. The cerulean blue sky above conveys a sense of endless wonder, and your heart longs to go higher and higher. There's an umbrella with a mahogany, U shaped handle in your hand; open for no particular reason. Across the sky a single engine biplane is puttering its way through a cloud, leaving a wake that takes the shape of letters: Love.
"What's up, man?"
"Nothing much. What can I get for you today?"
"Git me two dollar's worth of chopped ham. Sliced thin, but not too thin, you know?"
"Uh huh. Medium."
The slicer moves; back and forth, back and forth. You're in a study, filled with chairs and people. A dark man stands by the fireplace, a white haired woman sits on the sofa, tea vapors and conversation permeate the air. They're all older, except a middle aged man and woman sitting to the right of the fireplace. The fireplace… The orange flames flicker with rage as the woman on the sofa says, "Poison! Who would do such a thing, Marilda?"
"The library will be closing in five minutes. Please bring your selections to the front desk immediately."
Suddenly you have to go, but you don't want to. All fade, but none disappear. With only a slightly heavy heart you step back, through to reality. It's not so bad here, you think. A smile dances across your lips as you imagine what kinds of adventures you'll come across today.
"What's up, man?"
"Nothing much. What can I get for you today?"
"Git me two dollar's worth of chopped ham. Sliced thin, but not too thin, you know?"
"Uh huh. Medium."
The slicer moves; back and forth, back and forth. You're in a study, filled with chairs and people. A dark man stands by the fireplace, a white haired woman sits on the sofa, tea vapors and conversation permeate the air. They're all older, except a middle aged man and woman sitting to the right of the fireplace. The fireplace… The orange flames flicker with rage as the woman on the sofa says, "Poison! Who would do such a thing, Marilda?"
"The library will be closing in five minutes. Please bring your selections to the front desk immediately."
Suddenly you have to go, but you don't want to. All fade, but none disappear. With only a slightly heavy heart you step back, through to reality. It's not so bad here, you think. A smile dances across your lips as you imagine what kinds of adventures you'll come across today.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Whispers to my heart
What is beautiful in a day? What makes a thought worthwhile? What makes a good story really good? I think I have part of an answer, because I think anything that claims to be the whole answer is either to broad to really dig into or too shallow to be true.
I think the part of an answer that came to me today is change; the good kind. It's growth in the ways of our Heavenly Father. It's his Word; sharpening us, tooling, and refining. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 This refining can come in very many forms, but the way it came to me today was in whispers.
Whispers can easily get lost in the shuffle. People will respond with, "what?" or not at all sometimes. Those of us with small voices sometimes feel like we must be whispering because of how many times what we say goes unheard. But God's whispers, those are different. They slip right through the noise, like a knife through cake. They'll separate your emotions from the reality of a situation like a torpedo separates a ship from the water. Hebrews 4:12
When the Word of God pierces you through, to the division of soul and spirit, two things happen. Part of you dies, and part of you comes wholly alive. Both are beautiful, wonderful things to experience; because through it we grow closer to what we were originally intended to be: God fearing, God loving, God worshiping beings that have unity with God and with fellow children of God through the Spirit and through Love.
There were three whispers for me today. The first came as I ate breakfast and read through my daily Bible reading plan. Romans 10:8-10 says: "But what does it say? 'The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart.' (that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and with the mouth one confesses and is saved."
This really affected me last of all (I'm blogging this here as a way of confessing with my mouth).
The second was a scripture I had memorized only a few weeks ago. Colossians 3:17 "And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."
There's nothing quite like the realization that something you've been doing for a long while is… well, not really being done in the name of the Lord Jesus. Except, of course, giving said thing up. See, I dream in two ways. I dream to create stories that have a solid measure of reality in them; awe inspiring, thought provoking, pieces of art laced with the truth of God. These are beautiful in my mind; gems given to me by God that I would share with everyone. They induce me to be productive, they give me energy, and they fill me with joy.
My other way of dreaming is not so beautiful. It's my way of escape, and as I think about it I realize it's what I did before I knew God. But it's a habit now. A habit I suddenly knew must die. For, they are dark, mildly depressing dreams. Sure, in the dreams I get through whatever problems I'm trying to address. But it became apparent to me that God was not in them, and that's what made them dark.
I can not, in any conceivable way, do the later kind of dreaming in the name of the Lord Jesus; so, I've decided to give it up. To kill the habit before it kills me (that's the only real way to off a habit). This decision was coupled with the third whisper. Ephesians 4:1-3, which I memorized today says, "I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in Love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace."
This scripture seemed to bring it all home, cutting me to the heart. Were the escapism dreams a way of walking worthy of my calling? No. Were my other dreams? Oh, yes. By them I write, and I write well. Then the three fruits of the Spirit mentioned; specific fruits that I have trouble with. Humility, Gentleness, Patience. I've had times where I've practically dripped all three, and times that if they were the only three fruits of the Spirit I would have died of starvation. Looking back I can see that those times line up perfectly with when I've been doing my good dreaming, and with when I've been doing my bad.
Finally, but foremost, was the last verse, "eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." The several verses right after make clear the depth of this unity, "There is one body and one Spirit–just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call–one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all." It is a unity with God and with one another, fellow Christians united through God. I have experienced this kind of unity before, and been eager to maintain it before in the bond of peace. But not while I've been doing my selfish dreaming. Those are anything but peaceful, and I see now that there is no unity in them.
So, I've said all that to say this: I hereby give up my old ways of dreaming. I put this habit to death in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father that I have the strength to do so through him. Instead of it, I shall seek after the way of dreaming worthy of the calling to which I have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with those around me in Love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.
I think the part of an answer that came to me today is change; the good kind. It's growth in the ways of our Heavenly Father. It's his Word; sharpening us, tooling, and refining. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 This refining can come in very many forms, but the way it came to me today was in whispers.
Whispers can easily get lost in the shuffle. People will respond with, "what?" or not at all sometimes. Those of us with small voices sometimes feel like we must be whispering because of how many times what we say goes unheard. But God's whispers, those are different. They slip right through the noise, like a knife through cake. They'll separate your emotions from the reality of a situation like a torpedo separates a ship from the water. Hebrews 4:12
When the Word of God pierces you through, to the division of soul and spirit, two things happen. Part of you dies, and part of you comes wholly alive. Both are beautiful, wonderful things to experience; because through it we grow closer to what we were originally intended to be: God fearing, God loving, God worshiping beings that have unity with God and with fellow children of God through the Spirit and through Love.
There were three whispers for me today. The first came as I ate breakfast and read through my daily Bible reading plan. Romans 10:8-10 says: "But what does it say? 'The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart.' (that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and with the mouth one confesses and is saved."
This really affected me last of all (I'm blogging this here as a way of confessing with my mouth).
The second was a scripture I had memorized only a few weeks ago. Colossians 3:17 "And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."
There's nothing quite like the realization that something you've been doing for a long while is… well, not really being done in the name of the Lord Jesus. Except, of course, giving said thing up. See, I dream in two ways. I dream to create stories that have a solid measure of reality in them; awe inspiring, thought provoking, pieces of art laced with the truth of God. These are beautiful in my mind; gems given to me by God that I would share with everyone. They induce me to be productive, they give me energy, and they fill me with joy.
My other way of dreaming is not so beautiful. It's my way of escape, and as I think about it I realize it's what I did before I knew God. But it's a habit now. A habit I suddenly knew must die. For, they are dark, mildly depressing dreams. Sure, in the dreams I get through whatever problems I'm trying to address. But it became apparent to me that God was not in them, and that's what made them dark.
I can not, in any conceivable way, do the later kind of dreaming in the name of the Lord Jesus; so, I've decided to give it up. To kill the habit before it kills me (that's the only real way to off a habit). This decision was coupled with the third whisper. Ephesians 4:1-3, which I memorized today says, "I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in Love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace."
This scripture seemed to bring it all home, cutting me to the heart. Were the escapism dreams a way of walking worthy of my calling? No. Were my other dreams? Oh, yes. By them I write, and I write well. Then the three fruits of the Spirit mentioned; specific fruits that I have trouble with. Humility, Gentleness, Patience. I've had times where I've practically dripped all three, and times that if they were the only three fruits of the Spirit I would have died of starvation. Looking back I can see that those times line up perfectly with when I've been doing my good dreaming, and with when I've been doing my bad.
Finally, but foremost, was the last verse, "eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." The several verses right after make clear the depth of this unity, "There is one body and one Spirit–just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call–one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all." It is a unity with God and with one another, fellow Christians united through God. I have experienced this kind of unity before, and been eager to maintain it before in the bond of peace. But not while I've been doing my selfish dreaming. Those are anything but peaceful, and I see now that there is no unity in them.
So, I've said all that to say this: I hereby give up my old ways of dreaming. I put this habit to death in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father that I have the strength to do so through him. Instead of it, I shall seek after the way of dreaming worthy of the calling to which I have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with those around me in Love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
How do I say this?
Have you ever wanted to say something, but weren't sure what it was you wanted to say? A vague idea came to you, but you didn't know how to put it into words. Or, have you ever felt like you need to feel a certain way - been on the edge of feeling that way - but then the feeling never materializes? It's like feeling the need to sneeze, and then not being able to do it.
I have a small, 11x20 foot, room. I have it all to myself - other than the snake in the corner cage - and it feels wonderful. It's my quiet escape, my personal hideaway, my den. It's where I go when I absolutely need to get something done, or when I'm trying to figure something out. My dreams paint the walls, and cherished good books litter the floor. Hours fly by in my room like the blink of an eye.
Right now I want to say something. What that something is I can't quite say. There's an indistinct murmur in the back of my mind; something about tears and sighs and life. If it would come into focus, even for an instant, I'd say it. I'd swoop upon it as a hawk on prey, crying, "Ah ha!" And that would probably make me feel better. For, I feel like I ought to be sad. Like I ought to be lost somewhat in a mournful, melancholy reflection on the way my life is tending. But it seems I just can't get up the gumption to feel it. Maybe I'm too worn out. Maybe my heart is tired of feeling this way…
Sometimes my room isn't enough, though. Sometimes I'll sit here, in the sauna like heat, and feel stifled instead of safe. As if the problems in my life are pressing down upon me, demanding my full attention. It's times like these that I run off to the woods. Or simply turn to the wall. Yes, I have a wall. You might be thinking, 'most people do…' but my wall is different. It's under my bed. That might throw you, but you'll understand when I say I have a loft bed.
My dreams on the walls… I look at this wall and I see the snow white paint; scuffed, chipped, and stained in several places. It's a short section of wall, and dust rests on the loft bed support by its side. Quite suddenly, as I watch the wall, it falls away like a pile of leaves in a breath of wind. Behind is a passageway - a hallway of lightly stained beech. A rug carpets the center of the floor, doors disappear off to the left and right, and light flickers from gas fixtures on the walls. It runs on and on; away from my room, my world, what I can taste and see.
Behind each door is a mystery. There, adventure lurks around the corners and excitement buzzes through the air. I see dark trains traveling by moonlight. I see a happy little dragon, concentrating as he sketches into the wee hours of the morn. I see beautiful sunsets, fabulous rainbows, ships cutting the water, and ships cutting the air. A cat who's thoughts can be heard, and a boy riding a bike over a plain; soon to be caught up in a fire storm. There's a lovely young woman who loves a certain park by the river, teaching her charge the rules of grammar. A flying coatrack, a night demon, a curious little boy, a loving old woman, and my King on a white horse; they all populate this passageway in my mind. Sorrow and Joy, meaning and meaninglessness, deep discussions and silly debates, good and evil, and the right word in the right season all whisper along the floorboards.
It's not simply where I can hide. It's not just a place of escape. It's somewhere where I can really be. Where I know what it is that I've been wanting to say, and where I call it out with confidence. Where I know exactly what to feel and when to feel it. Where I can dwell safely in the arms of Love.
I have a small, 11x20 foot, room. I have it all to myself - other than the snake in the corner cage - and it feels wonderful. It's my quiet escape, my personal hideaway, my den. It's where I go when I absolutely need to get something done, or when I'm trying to figure something out. My dreams paint the walls, and cherished good books litter the floor. Hours fly by in my room like the blink of an eye.
Right now I want to say something. What that something is I can't quite say. There's an indistinct murmur in the back of my mind; something about tears and sighs and life. If it would come into focus, even for an instant, I'd say it. I'd swoop upon it as a hawk on prey, crying, "Ah ha!" And that would probably make me feel better. For, I feel like I ought to be sad. Like I ought to be lost somewhat in a mournful, melancholy reflection on the way my life is tending. But it seems I just can't get up the gumption to feel it. Maybe I'm too worn out. Maybe my heart is tired of feeling this way…
Sometimes my room isn't enough, though. Sometimes I'll sit here, in the sauna like heat, and feel stifled instead of safe. As if the problems in my life are pressing down upon me, demanding my full attention. It's times like these that I run off to the woods. Or simply turn to the wall. Yes, I have a wall. You might be thinking, 'most people do…' but my wall is different. It's under my bed. That might throw you, but you'll understand when I say I have a loft bed.
My dreams on the walls… I look at this wall and I see the snow white paint; scuffed, chipped, and stained in several places. It's a short section of wall, and dust rests on the loft bed support by its side. Quite suddenly, as I watch the wall, it falls away like a pile of leaves in a breath of wind. Behind is a passageway - a hallway of lightly stained beech. A rug carpets the center of the floor, doors disappear off to the left and right, and light flickers from gas fixtures on the walls. It runs on and on; away from my room, my world, what I can taste and see.
Behind each door is a mystery. There, adventure lurks around the corners and excitement buzzes through the air. I see dark trains traveling by moonlight. I see a happy little dragon, concentrating as he sketches into the wee hours of the morn. I see beautiful sunsets, fabulous rainbows, ships cutting the water, and ships cutting the air. A cat who's thoughts can be heard, and a boy riding a bike over a plain; soon to be caught up in a fire storm. There's a lovely young woman who loves a certain park by the river, teaching her charge the rules of grammar. A flying coatrack, a night demon, a curious little boy, a loving old woman, and my King on a white horse; they all populate this passageway in my mind. Sorrow and Joy, meaning and meaninglessness, deep discussions and silly debates, good and evil, and the right word in the right season all whisper along the floorboards.
It's not simply where I can hide. It's not just a place of escape. It's somewhere where I can really be. Where I know what it is that I've been wanting to say, and where I call it out with confidence. Where I know exactly what to feel and when to feel it. Where I can dwell safely in the arms of Love.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Dancing Under The Stars
You're head is swimming. You laugh excitedly. You can't remember the last time you've had so much fun; but that's the nature of the beast, isn't it? Good times flit by and laughter fades off like a match in the wind, never really making it far down the hallway of time. A waiter glides past, glasses of punch balanced on a silver tray.
It is a party. A soirée, to see off your beloved friend whats-his-name on his way to another year of college. The band is playing front and center on the emerald lawn, and the dance floor has just opened up to the dancers. There is a cry of excitement and a rush of feet: everyone is dancing! The moon is a blinding spot of light, looking grimly down on the proceedings. You smile up at him.
Everything breaks. A paradigm shift. Your vision seems to blur as a shotgun goes off in your head. Your smile fades to incomprehension. Suddenly the music snaps you back; a lively ditty on the piano. You shake your head and slide back among the dancers. Laughter comes back to your lips as you bump into a gorgeous blond. You look up to the heavens again, taking in the stars.
Then you're a thousand miles away from everything. The blond is speaking, but what she's saying is coming slow, garbled. Your forehead burns, throbs, as if under the unforgiving gaze of the desert sun. It feels like all your hair is being pulled from your scalp. After a moment you try to help it, finding some vague relief in the act. A dull, throbbing pain has filled your head - from the top middle down to your nose - like barrels of cotton in a dress factory.
This is my life when I have a migraine - as I do now. Not the soirée bit, mind you; but everything else. It drives sleep from you, makes you slow and dimwitted, and gives you a taste of what it would be like to actually have your head buried in the sand. Believe me, there's nothing quite like it. You begin fantasizing about having a tap on your brain to relieve some of the pressure with, or maybe just getting an elephant to step on you…
Not very cheery tonight, am I? Sorry, but there' nothing like having your IQ drop a good twenty points right as you get to work and then stay that way for the entirety of the day. Using this blog, though, I'm playing with seeing if writing helps. …And, so far, the answer is yes. It seems I can channel the pain away from my headache with it! Or, at least, distract myself enough that I don't notice it.
Such a break through might very well make me want to go dancing under the stars, but since it's so very late I think I'll have to settle with doing it in my dreams instead. Wow. it really is late. I go! Bon voyage!
It is a party. A soirée, to see off your beloved friend whats-his-name on his way to another year of college. The band is playing front and center on the emerald lawn, and the dance floor has just opened up to the dancers. There is a cry of excitement and a rush of feet: everyone is dancing! The moon is a blinding spot of light, looking grimly down on the proceedings. You smile up at him.
Everything breaks. A paradigm shift. Your vision seems to blur as a shotgun goes off in your head. Your smile fades to incomprehension. Suddenly the music snaps you back; a lively ditty on the piano. You shake your head and slide back among the dancers. Laughter comes back to your lips as you bump into a gorgeous blond. You look up to the heavens again, taking in the stars.
Then you're a thousand miles away from everything. The blond is speaking, but what she's saying is coming slow, garbled. Your forehead burns, throbs, as if under the unforgiving gaze of the desert sun. It feels like all your hair is being pulled from your scalp. After a moment you try to help it, finding some vague relief in the act. A dull, throbbing pain has filled your head - from the top middle down to your nose - like barrels of cotton in a dress factory.
This is my life when I have a migraine - as I do now. Not the soirée bit, mind you; but everything else. It drives sleep from you, makes you slow and dimwitted, and gives you a taste of what it would be like to actually have your head buried in the sand. Believe me, there's nothing quite like it. You begin fantasizing about having a tap on your brain to relieve some of the pressure with, or maybe just getting an elephant to step on you…
Not very cheery tonight, am I? Sorry, but there' nothing like having your IQ drop a good twenty points right as you get to work and then stay that way for the entirety of the day. Using this blog, though, I'm playing with seeing if writing helps. …And, so far, the answer is yes. It seems I can channel the pain away from my headache with it! Or, at least, distract myself enough that I don't notice it.
Such a break through might very well make me want to go dancing under the stars, but since it's so very late I think I'll have to settle with doing it in my dreams instead. Wow. it really is late. I go! Bon voyage!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Shipshape?
Hello, all! The name's Gabriel Tiberius Markley, and I shall be your captain for the duration of this voyage! We'll begin with the roll-call, after it's been determined whether or not the ship is shipshape. What shape is the ship in? Or, better yet, what is the ship's shape? Even more concerning, what is the shape of the ship? Semantic saturation yet, anyone? Maybe it's just me.
Anyways, this is (officially) my blog. There are two things that I think are dreadfully important that you should know before we disembark. The first is that my middle name is not Tiberius. The second is that I'm not sure you know what I know you're getting into, and I just want us to be very clear on that subject because I think that any confusion might lead to misunderstandings further down the road. Understood? Good.
Cast off the starboard lines and make ready the mainsail! I think this ship is shipshape enough to ship out, and - as captain - my thoughts are what count. Next stop: Wherever the Wind Blows!
Anyways, this is (officially) my blog. There are two things that I think are dreadfully important that you should know before we disembark. The first is that my middle name is not Tiberius. The second is that I'm not sure you know what I know you're getting into, and I just want us to be very clear on that subject because I think that any confusion might lead to misunderstandings further down the road. Understood? Good.
Cast off the starboard lines and make ready the mainsail! I think this ship is shipshape enough to ship out, and - as captain - my thoughts are what count. Next stop: Wherever the Wind Blows!
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