“I want to go home,” the voice echoed. Jimmy’d heard it too many times before. It appeared in the dark, like mermaids near dangerous shoals, like bats in caves—it came and whispered. Sometimes it screamed, but the whispers were worse.
“We ARE going home,” Jimmy tried to pacify the voice, but the voice was not impressed. It shook its head and hissed, low, cold, warning Jimmy not to speak such foolish words again.
“Home… hooooome…!” it called.
“Elaborate, please,” Jimmy begged, asking, grasping for anything that would quiet the voice. “A fire place? Loved ones? A dog? Does it have to do with a certain place?”
“No…….. hisssssssssssssss…” the haunting came. “You know better.”
“I’m trying. I’m TRYING!”
“Not hard ENOUGH!” the voice grabbed Jimmy by the collar and slammed his occipital lobe against the wall. Jimmy’s cranium waggled back and forth like a bobble head on the dashboard of a car off-roading. His neck was so much rubber—used to the point that it no longer regained its original shape after being stretched.
“If it’s not a place, then it has to do with people,” Jimmy reasoned, trying to work his right hand around the voice’s wrist. The voiced gripped more tightly.
“HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS….”
Jimmy tried to laugh. Laughing in the face of danger. It worked in the movies. Right? It confused and disoriented your enemy. A few raspy, wheezing coughs came out as he felt his trachea collapsing. The voice saw what Jimmy was trying to do and responded with a real laugh, dark, deep and full. Jimmy’s ears compressed and popped as the voice rocked the air with genuine amusement. He was a dead man; the voice was winning.
“Take. Us. HOME!” the voice maintained a forced smile until the last word, which is spat out in a roar. Jimmy started to cry as it bit into his forehead. Blood, he could taste it, feel it trickling down his jaw bone as the life-giving fluid seeped out of his eardrums and from the crown of his head. Calling for help would bring down men with suits and eventually a padded room that smelled like vomit. Jimmy could see no one’s face but the voice’s, but he knew they were there, watching, wondering, waiting for him to lose it completely. Not that it really mattered anymore. The voice, the voice, the voice…
“HOME!!!!” the scream came, then the repeated whisper: “home, home, home, home…” He could feel his spine crumpling, snapping. There was nothing left. Responses were now completely useless. Blood, pain—nothing. Goodbye.
But wait.
Wait.
WAIT!
Light… soft and warm, growing to burning, pressed up against his ear. It burned, searing, sharp and alive. Suddenly, he could see again. The bleeding had stopped as well. The light stared at him, licking like fire. Consuming and giving at the same time. And Jimmy could see. He could taste the sweetness of roses and lilies. He could feel her touch, distant though it was, it felt as fresh as if it was yesterday. He could see the dog running around the back yard, eating cicadas; he could hear the crush and taste the sharp barbs on his tongue. He could he hear the cicada’s brothers in the tree above him, sounding their battle cry against he dog on the ground and the blue jays in the tree. He could see them ready their lances and charge.
The green of fields in Carolina, the white blankets of snow in Idaho, the violent blue of the seas in Florida, the purple of a coat hung in the hallway with care, a red candle burning in the center of a dim room, warming someone’s pale hands. The brown of a tree, planted on a hill in a desert in the midst of an ancient city, a man hanging in it, blood and pain painted on his face—blood and pain Jimmy knew. They were his own… but yet not. The light told the story. It reminded him. It filled him, and Jimmy remembered the answer to the voice’s question at last.
“CHRIST!” he screamed. The voice didn’t look nearly as large as it had a few moments ago. The strength in Jimmy’s words frightened himself almost more than it did the voice.
“Christ is home, you damned spawn of hell! Get back and know what home is!” the voice let go and stumbled back in utter shock. The light grinned, grinned like a father who has just watched his son ride a bicycle with no training wheels for the first time.
“No matter where I am, no matter who I’m with, Christ is home. Always has been, always will be. Argue that, refute THAT if you will!”
“No…. NOOOO!!!” the voice shrieked. “You’re listening to the light! Stop, STOP!!”
“Why? Why should I?”
“Can’t…. fight… it… GrrrrrrraaaAAAAA!!!!” The voice flew up against the wall and shattered, broken glass everywhere. Falling, crashing.
The light smiled and held Jimmy as he gasped for breath.
“Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Home
As a preface, this is one of the few things I will post here that I did not write myself. This song is, however, very close to my heart. It expresses a lot in less than 5 minutes. But I think the most important thing it expresses is the importance of the friends we make, and the adventures we take with them. Hope you all are having a wonderful Advent!
Wish I were with you
But I couldn't stay
Every direction
Leads me away
Pray for tomorrow
But for today
All I want is to be home
Stand in the mirror
You look the same
Just lookin' for shelter
From the cold and the pain
Someone to cover
Safe from the rain
All I want is to be home
Echoes and silence
Patience and grace
All of these moments
I'll never replace
No fear of my heart
The absence of faith
All I want is to be home
Ooh
All I want is to be home
People I've loved
I have no regrets
Some I remember
Some I forget
Some of them living
Some of them dead
All I want is to be home
Wish I were with you
But I couldn't stay
Every direction
Leads me away
Pray for tomorrow
But for today
All I want is to be home
Stand in the mirror
You look the same
Just lookin' for shelter
From the cold and the pain
Someone to cover
Safe from the rain
All I want is to be home
Echoes and silence
Patience and grace
All of these moments
I'll never replace
No fear of my heart
The absence of faith
All I want is to be home
Ooh
All I want is to be home
People I've loved
I have no regrets
Some I remember
Some I forget
Some of them living
Some of them dead
All I want is to be home
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Birds (Holding Fast)
I look outside my window. Advent has begun, and God sent the snows just before... a little preamble to Christmas. The snow covers over the muck and the dirt and the brown of late November and everything suddenly becomes quiet and peaceful and clean. A perfect picture of what Advent is: we are looking forward to the coming of Christ, the great Redeemer, the only One who can truly cleans our souls and minds.
I look outside again. A flock of small brown, fluffy birds has nestled themselves in the tree right beside our apartment building's parking lot... not three feet from the window I peer out of. Their feathers look more like wool coats, maybe made from bear hides. I wonder a bit... pondering the idea of 10 fluffy little sparrows taking down a brown bear. I've seen God do stranger things.
The snow on the branches is slippery. It snowed a good 3 to 4 inches last night and dropped below freezing to boot, plastering the snow that was melted back to the tree creating a dangerous combination of snow and ice. Most of the birds realize this as soon as they land. One, stubborn little bugger, refuses to give up his branch. Losing his grip, he hops to a branch higher up, ruffles his feathers, and gets a good firm hold on the new branch of his choosing. He is solid, he will not be moved. His beak puckers up with resolve. Somewhere in the distance this friends call out: "You've proved your point. Come on! Worm popsicles over here!"
He smiles, as only a bird can. He'll show that tree a thing or two next time.
I look outside again. A flock of small brown, fluffy birds has nestled themselves in the tree right beside our apartment building's parking lot... not three feet from the window I peer out of. Their feathers look more like wool coats, maybe made from bear hides. I wonder a bit... pondering the idea of 10 fluffy little sparrows taking down a brown bear. I've seen God do stranger things.
The snow on the branches is slippery. It snowed a good 3 to 4 inches last night and dropped below freezing to boot, plastering the snow that was melted back to the tree creating a dangerous combination of snow and ice. Most of the birds realize this as soon as they land. One, stubborn little bugger, refuses to give up his branch. Losing his grip, he hops to a branch higher up, ruffles his feathers, and gets a good firm hold on the new branch of his choosing. He is solid, he will not be moved. His beak puckers up with resolve. Somewhere in the distance this friends call out: "You've proved your point. Come on! Worm popsicles over here!"
He smiles, as only a bird can. He'll show that tree a thing or two next time.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Let's Get Thankful
Right now I am thankful for rock and roll in the morning that tells me "it's time to get up and GO!"
I am thankful that I have a place to come back to here on the east coast where I am welcomed by many open arms.
I am thankful for being able to study Greek on a holiday. (Wait, what?) Well, why shouldn't I be thankful? I am learning amazing things, like how to read the Scriptures in the languages they were originally written in. Why not praise God for that? (In all things give thanks.)
I am thankful for the computer that I so often hate, and usually with good reason. I am thankful that it lets me create and learn and then share those things with you.
I am thankful for wired electronics... they prevent a scatterbrain like me from loosing all of my gizmos. I am thankful for the endless fun I have untieing the knots that they inevitably end up in.
I am thankful for friends. Friend who forgive. Friends who love. Friends who care enough to go beyond the casual: "Hey, how's life" and actually want to know how you are doing and want to invest time in you. I am thankful for friends who will let you drink their gin, friends that will let you crash on their couch after a bad night, friends who will drive you to the airport at 3AM, friends who after 2 years of no conversation at all will just pick it up again like nothing ever happened.
I am thankful for school, after all, I'm paying for it... almost like I want to be here.
I am thankful for sisters who constantly let you know that you are loved and missed while you are thousands of miles away.
I am thankful for parents who always love to have you back at their house, no matter what has happened, no matter how long it's been, no matter what you've done, parents who still want you to call their home your home.
I am thankful that I am son the the Great King, the Creator of the universe, the Author of the Endless Russian novel, the Founder of the Deep Magic and Writer of the Hand Book. I cannot be crushed, because the King is my strength, He is my song, and He has become my salvation.
But what I am perhaps most thankful for this year is a lesson I just learned; the lesson of thankfulness. First thing I should lay down before I go further: Ephesians 5:1-4
"Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving."
Look at the last word there, thanksgiving. It is the attitude that trumps all the others. It is the spiritual fruit that kills all those sins. Of course this needs to be true thankfulness in Christ in order for it to work, but believe me... it DOES work. On my worst days it has been a struggle, but when I can get alone and go for a walk and just start talking freely... instead of whining I try to get thankful. Pray earnestly on your knees, think about what you have and how you have been blessed. Stop the "oh, I can't stand that teacher" and give thanks for that teacher. Stop being frustrated by what you don't have and look around at what you do have; give thanks for it. Mad at someone, thank God for them. Have a task to do that you really, really would rather not do, be thankful for how it will grow you up and prepare you for the challenges that you will face in your future.
Not thankful? Well there is really only one remedy: get thankful... then you will be thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving, gang!
Cheers and stuff,
JSTT
I am thankful that I have a place to come back to here on the east coast where I am welcomed by many open arms.
I am thankful for being able to study Greek on a holiday. (Wait, what?) Well, why shouldn't I be thankful? I am learning amazing things, like how to read the Scriptures in the languages they were originally written in. Why not praise God for that? (In all things give thanks.)
I am thankful for the computer that I so often hate, and usually with good reason. I am thankful that it lets me create and learn and then share those things with you.
I am thankful for wired electronics... they prevent a scatterbrain like me from loosing all of my gizmos. I am thankful for the endless fun I have untieing the knots that they inevitably end up in.
I am thankful for friends. Friend who forgive. Friends who love. Friends who care enough to go beyond the casual: "Hey, how's life" and actually want to know how you are doing and want to invest time in you. I am thankful for friends who will let you drink their gin, friends that will let you crash on their couch after a bad night, friends who will drive you to the airport at 3AM, friends who after 2 years of no conversation at all will just pick it up again like nothing ever happened.
I am thankful for school, after all, I'm paying for it... almost like I want to be here.
I am thankful for sisters who constantly let you know that you are loved and missed while you are thousands of miles away.
I am thankful for parents who always love to have you back at their house, no matter what has happened, no matter how long it's been, no matter what you've done, parents who still want you to call their home your home.
I am thankful that I am son the the Great King, the Creator of the universe, the Author of the Endless Russian novel, the Founder of the Deep Magic and Writer of the Hand Book. I cannot be crushed, because the King is my strength, He is my song, and He has become my salvation.
But what I am perhaps most thankful for this year is a lesson I just learned; the lesson of thankfulness. First thing I should lay down before I go further: Ephesians 5:1-4
"Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving."
Look at the last word there, thanksgiving. It is the attitude that trumps all the others. It is the spiritual fruit that kills all those sins. Of course this needs to be true thankfulness in Christ in order for it to work, but believe me... it DOES work. On my worst days it has been a struggle, but when I can get alone and go for a walk and just start talking freely... instead of whining I try to get thankful. Pray earnestly on your knees, think about what you have and how you have been blessed. Stop the "oh, I can't stand that teacher" and give thanks for that teacher. Stop being frustrated by what you don't have and look around at what you do have; give thanks for it. Mad at someone, thank God for them. Have a task to do that you really, really would rather not do, be thankful for how it will grow you up and prepare you for the challenges that you will face in your future.
Not thankful? Well there is really only one remedy: get thankful... then you will be thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving, gang!
Cheers and stuff,
JSTT
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Heart of Snow
Fingers cold
It's not snowing
Feeling old
But it's not snowing
Weak and weary
High of 70
Dark and dreary
Time to get out the paddles
Time to jumpstart the machine
The snow is somewhere else
But the drifts are piling up against my soul
The snow is miles away
But the sludge is plugging the holes
Time to melt it all
Turn the heaters on
God melt this heart of snow
I'd like to think I'm superman
That I'm the hero
That I'm the savior
But I'm nothing of the sort
Everyone builds themselves up so tall
So strong, so mighty
But they're nothing of the sort
They're nothing of the sort
Look inside, they feel it too
We all face our demons
We're all craven cowards
When the chips are down we all show our stripes
Kill your demons, burn your idols
Watch the future flower
Give up the power
The power you think you have
We're all chasing something
We're all chasing someone
We fight and fight and usually we fall
Because we bet it all
Without stopping to ask questions
Without leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning on the only One who matters
God the Savior
Lord the Maker
Go ahead, rail against my logic
Tell me I'm lost
Tell me I'm forgotten
I know it's a lie
And you know you lie too
Stop trying to stand up so tall
You just set yourself up to fall
Give up that heart of snow
And lean
It's not snowing
Feeling old
But it's not snowing
Weak and weary
High of 70
Dark and dreary
Time to get out the paddles
Time to jumpstart the machine
The snow is somewhere else
But the drifts are piling up against my soul
The snow is miles away
But the sludge is plugging the holes
Time to melt it all
Turn the heaters on
God melt this heart of snow
I'd like to think I'm superman
That I'm the hero
That I'm the savior
But I'm nothing of the sort
Everyone builds themselves up so tall
So strong, so mighty
But they're nothing of the sort
They're nothing of the sort
Look inside, they feel it too
We all face our demons
We're all craven cowards
When the chips are down we all show our stripes
Kill your demons, burn your idols
Watch the future flower
Give up the power
The power you think you have
We're all chasing something
We're all chasing someone
We fight and fight and usually we fall
Because we bet it all
Without stopping to ask questions
Without leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning
Leaning on the only One who matters
God the Savior
Lord the Maker
Go ahead, rail against my logic
Tell me I'm lost
Tell me I'm forgotten
I know it's a lie
And you know you lie too
Stop trying to stand up so tall
You just set yourself up to fall
Give up that heart of snow
And lean
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tiddlybits
This is the part of the show where I am on Thanksgiving break, but still want to share something with my loyal fanbase (yes, I know that is a dorky thing to call you), but since I don't really feel like writing essays right now I am basically just going to share all the random things that are on my mind. (Not literally, but metaphorically, because if I literally shared EVERYTHING on my mind with you right now you would probably become so frightened that you would never ever read this blog again, or even talk to me, and you would probably be left with only your stuffed rabbit Fred to share secrets with because everyone else would think you have gone completely mental......... which you would have.)
*scans over last paragraph*
Wow... I think MY brain just exploded. On to bigger and better things:
As many of you probably know, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (I'm just going to call it HP7 from here on out) was just released this past Friday... and, well, um, I'm not going to exaggerate or anything (yes I am) but it is the best one yet. I have read at least two movie reviews calling it the Empire Strikes Back of the series, and while that is a very bold thing to say, it's kind of true. It's super dark, which is very appropriate considering where in the series we are, and also considering how lighthearted David Yeats made the last film. Way too many teen love jokes... considering that it was the film in which Dumbledore (Spoiler Alert) DIES!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, this is gets the tone just right, and while some may complain over the fact that splitting the last book adaption into two films is just a cash grab by Hollywood (it very well may be), it gives the story more room to breathe. HP7 is crazy and dark and intense, as it should be, but it takes its own sweet time to unravel the story. The last 3 films in particular just felt rushed. In this one, all you Harry Potter fiends will have time to soak up all the little details and cameos and whatnots. I also predict that it will make most of the movie money this holiday season and probably take home some Oscars (special effects and sound design anyone?). I encourage you all to see it... but just one thing: don't take the kids.
Probably not as many of you are familiar with the band My Chemical Romance (MCR), or perhaps you were at one time and have since tried to block them from your physique. I understand, they get a bad wrap overall what with their last album being all about death and WWII and cancer. Since that time, however, most of the members of the band have gotten married. The lead vocalist, Gerard Way, even has a daughter. So after three years, having a kid, losing their drummer and nearly calling it quits on the band, MCR is back with their newest effort, "Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys." It's kind of like Kill Bill meets Mad Max meets Star Wars meets the 70s meets 1982... if those were all music records, I guess. Anyway, they are really different. They've gone.... pop. Plus the last song on the record is called "Vampire Money" and is basically all about making fun of Twilight. Sure, why not?
*scans over last paragraph*
Wow... I think MY brain just exploded. On to bigger and better things:
As many of you probably know, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (I'm just going to call it HP7 from here on out) was just released this past Friday... and, well, um, I'm not going to exaggerate or anything (yes I am) but it is the best one yet. I have read at least two movie reviews calling it the Empire Strikes Back of the series, and while that is a very bold thing to say, it's kind of true. It's super dark, which is very appropriate considering where in the series we are, and also considering how lighthearted David Yeats made the last film. Way too many teen love jokes... considering that it was the film in which Dumbledore (Spoiler Alert) DIES!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, this is gets the tone just right, and while some may complain over the fact that splitting the last book adaption into two films is just a cash grab by Hollywood (it very well may be), it gives the story more room to breathe. HP7 is crazy and dark and intense, as it should be, but it takes its own sweet time to unravel the story. The last 3 films in particular just felt rushed. In this one, all you Harry Potter fiends will have time to soak up all the little details and cameos and whatnots. I also predict that it will make most of the movie money this holiday season and probably take home some Oscars (special effects and sound design anyone?). I encourage you all to see it... but just one thing: don't take the kids.
Probably not as many of you are familiar with the band My Chemical Romance (MCR), or perhaps you were at one time and have since tried to block them from your physique. I understand, they get a bad wrap overall what with their last album being all about death and WWII and cancer. Since that time, however, most of the members of the band have gotten married. The lead vocalist, Gerard Way, even has a daughter. So after three years, having a kid, losing their drummer and nearly calling it quits on the band, MCR is back with their newest effort, "Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys." It's kind of like Kill Bill meets Mad Max meets Star Wars meets the 70s meets 1982... if those were all music records, I guess. Anyway, they are really different. They've gone.... pop. Plus the last song on the record is called "Vampire Money" and is basically all about making fun of Twilight. Sure, why not?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Kids
Sometimes I wonder: why am I here?
"To glorify God and enjoy Him forever. Duh!"
But... but that answer is so enigmatic, so opaque.
"That's a horrible thing to say... you realize that, right?"
Well, yes... but no. I mean, how does that play itself out? How can I grab hold of that purpose and run with it? How can I make it my own?
*other voice is silent*
This is a conversation that I often have with myself. Life gets long, and it is incredibly short at the same time. It seems to drag on and on and on, and then the good bits just fly by like a Chinese rockets, bursting into a glorious spectacle of flame and then gone.
It took me a while, but I remembered something: the kids. Those little mites that are between 2 and 4 feet tall. The ones that feel more deeply than I can at this point in my life. The ones that laugh louder, cry harder, and set their eyes on goals with a fury that I can scarcely even imagine attaining myself.
I was that young once. I am not anymore. I have tried pretending to be that young again, but it rarely (if ever) works. More often than not I simply end up shirking duties that I DO have, and the short bout of childishness ends up not fulfilling after all. I need to stop kidding myself (pun not intended, honest), I am now an adult. We ALL need to stop kidding ourselves. Our attempts at innocence and childishness often fall so short of the real thing. Why is this? Because we spend too much time with other adults and far too little time with real children. We should just watch them. Watch. Listen. Learn.
Not only that... but we ought to invest. We ought to be investing in those that will come after us. Take their fire and use it to stoke yours. Share the spark that they have not yet lost. Chase down your life with as much passion as they do. This is not easy. In fact, it may be one of the most difficult things in the world. Jesus commanded we become like little children. I know you've probably heard that a million times... but think about it: Jesus commanded it. Since when did Jesus command us to do anything that was easy?
In summary: Being a kid is tough. Don't kid yourself. But don't stop trying, because, in a word, it's why we're here.
"To glorify God and enjoy Him forever. Duh!"
But... but that answer is so enigmatic, so opaque.
"That's a horrible thing to say... you realize that, right?"
Well, yes... but no. I mean, how does that play itself out? How can I grab hold of that purpose and run with it? How can I make it my own?
*other voice is silent*
This is a conversation that I often have with myself. Life gets long, and it is incredibly short at the same time. It seems to drag on and on and on, and then the good bits just fly by like a Chinese rockets, bursting into a glorious spectacle of flame and then gone.
It took me a while, but I remembered something: the kids. Those little mites that are between 2 and 4 feet tall. The ones that feel more deeply than I can at this point in my life. The ones that laugh louder, cry harder, and set their eyes on goals with a fury that I can scarcely even imagine attaining myself.
I was that young once. I am not anymore. I have tried pretending to be that young again, but it rarely (if ever) works. More often than not I simply end up shirking duties that I DO have, and the short bout of childishness ends up not fulfilling after all. I need to stop kidding myself (pun not intended, honest), I am now an adult. We ALL need to stop kidding ourselves. Our attempts at innocence and childishness often fall so short of the real thing. Why is this? Because we spend too much time with other adults and far too little time with real children. We should just watch them. Watch. Listen. Learn.
Not only that... but we ought to invest. We ought to be investing in those that will come after us. Take their fire and use it to stoke yours. Share the spark that they have not yet lost. Chase down your life with as much passion as they do. This is not easy. In fact, it may be one of the most difficult things in the world. Jesus commanded we become like little children. I know you've probably heard that a million times... but think about it: Jesus commanded it. Since when did Jesus command us to do anything that was easy?
In summary: Being a kid is tough. Don't kid yourself. But don't stop trying, because, in a word, it's why we're here.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Storm
School is closed. This never happens in Moscow, ID... especially not to my school. The last time my school closed was the winter of 2007/2008 when 5 foot drifts piled up against the sides of the building. The only reason school was closed was because people couldn't get in. If the building had been accessible, and the roads complete trash school would have still been open. I am quite sure of this.
I left the UofI library at about 10PM last night, and the wind was starting to pick up. Gusts wiped across the bare sweeps of sidewalk and open spaces between the buildings. At the time I thought to myself: "oh, this is nice. It kind of reminds of of Winnie the Pooh and the blustery day." Oh, how little did I know.
By the time I had reached my apartment, the gusts were turning into rockets of air, shooting leaves off the trees like a cosmic leaf blower. I hurried inside and hunkered down in my room as my roommate played Call of Duty at full volume, drowning out the wind outside.
This lasted all to briefly, however. Soon the winds had picked up sticks and rocks as well as rain and hail and had decided to start buffeting the windows of our small apartment with them. This was made worse when my roommate STOPPED playing video games. I felt that at any moment the entire complex might fall over, either that or one of the trees come through the roof.
Plato being the furthest thing from my mind, I gave up on trying to write my Greek literature paper and tried to go to sleep. Yet another futile endeavor. The whole situation became much, much worse (at least in my mind) when at about 1AM I hear my roommate muse aloud: "wouldn't it be funny if the wind broke one of the windows."
I didn't get much sleep last night...
I left the UofI library at about 10PM last night, and the wind was starting to pick up. Gusts wiped across the bare sweeps of sidewalk and open spaces between the buildings. At the time I thought to myself: "oh, this is nice. It kind of reminds of of Winnie the Pooh and the blustery day." Oh, how little did I know.
By the time I had reached my apartment, the gusts were turning into rockets of air, shooting leaves off the trees like a cosmic leaf blower. I hurried inside and hunkered down in my room as my roommate played Call of Duty at full volume, drowning out the wind outside.
This lasted all to briefly, however. Soon the winds had picked up sticks and rocks as well as rain and hail and had decided to start buffeting the windows of our small apartment with them. This was made worse when my roommate STOPPED playing video games. I felt that at any moment the entire complex might fall over, either that or one of the trees come through the roof.
Plato being the furthest thing from my mind, I gave up on trying to write my Greek literature paper and tried to go to sleep. Yet another futile endeavor. The whole situation became much, much worse (at least in my mind) when at about 1AM I hear my roommate muse aloud: "wouldn't it be funny if the wind broke one of the windows."
I didn't get much sleep last night...
Monday, November 15, 2010
A Discrepancy
While watching a movie the other day with my roommates one of them started to fall asleep. He was the only one of us that had not yet seen it, and we probably would not have been watching it in the first place if not for him. Knowing that I probably would have wanted him to wake me up and whispered rather loudly: "Hey, I don't know if I should let you fall asleep or wake you up so you can watch the movie. Do you still want to watch it?" He promptly woke up and presumably remained awake for the remainder of the film.
This got me thinking though: almost every Friday at our school we have a specially guest lecture, debate, presentation or exhortation. We are required to be there to listen and the dean keeps attendance. But the weekly event, named "Disputatio" (Latin for a discussion or debate) by the facailty, has been dubbed "Naputatio" by the student body. Funny? Yes. True? Also yes. By the end of the week, most of the students are running on far too little sleep, and many of them (me included on occasion) fall asleep during these lectures.
It was at this point that I realized a bit of a problem: why are we ok with this? Why are we paying thousands of dollars to be here and listen to wise men and gain their wisdom only to fall asleep when they are trying to teach us. But buy a 20 dollar movie and you will do your best to keep your friends awake for the entire thing so that they won't miss a punchline. There is something very wrong with this picture.
Maybe we should start poking our neighbors in the ribs during lecture...
This got me thinking though: almost every Friday at our school we have a specially guest lecture, debate, presentation or exhortation. We are required to be there to listen and the dean keeps attendance. But the weekly event, named "Disputatio" (Latin for a discussion or debate) by the facailty, has been dubbed "Naputatio" by the student body. Funny? Yes. True? Also yes. By the end of the week, most of the students are running on far too little sleep, and many of them (me included on occasion) fall asleep during these lectures.
It was at this point that I realized a bit of a problem: why are we ok with this? Why are we paying thousands of dollars to be here and listen to wise men and gain their wisdom only to fall asleep when they are trying to teach us. But buy a 20 dollar movie and you will do your best to keep your friends awake for the entire thing so that they won't miss a punchline. There is something very wrong with this picture.
Maybe we should start poking our neighbors in the ribs during lecture...
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Theater
I'm alone in the theater. Dim lights shine on the stage, illuminating a single stool, convenient for stand up comedy, holding a glass of water, or supporting a guitar player. The electric hum of generators and halogen bulbs provide a pleasant white noise as I look around. Blue, the theater is very blue. Not metaphorically, literally... like an interior designer ran amok with too much sky blue paint and floral print.
But I can hear myself think. I haven't been able to for the longest time. The pubs, the coffee houses, the apartments, the very streets twist and sway, keeping a beat, singing a song, debating some question or arguing with passersby. I've found the one building in town that, maybe, just maybe, is content keeping itself to itself. He's in his golden years... wearing on into the years where gray hairs start sprouting out of unsightly places. He bears it well though... he's been painted blue after all.
Horrid cracks have formed in the roof of the cave-like auditorium; white plywood holds it in place. Stitches to hold a massive cut on one's head in place, keeping it from growing any larger.
A sprightly young man walks in to the theater, toting a beaten guitar. He grins at me like a boy who's just found 20 dollars on the street. "Wanna hear a song?" his whiley face lights up when he sees me. Preferring to keep the silence I've just found, I reply: "No thanks."
He grins wider, if such a thing were even possible. "Well, I'm gonna play anyway." He rushes to the stage: "Man, it's been so long since I've been on a stage." He's a kid on Christmas, smiling through the botched cords. He apologizes for his rusty fingers, I tell him not to worry. I discouraged him once, I'll be more genial from now on.
With each new song he tries, his confidence grows and his fingers start to fly. Maybe the theater will remember this story too. Maybe it will tell it to others. Or maybe... maybe it only shared it with me.
But I can hear myself think. I haven't been able to for the longest time. The pubs, the coffee houses, the apartments, the very streets twist and sway, keeping a beat, singing a song, debating some question or arguing with passersby. I've found the one building in town that, maybe, just maybe, is content keeping itself to itself. He's in his golden years... wearing on into the years where gray hairs start sprouting out of unsightly places. He bears it well though... he's been painted blue after all.
Horrid cracks have formed in the roof of the cave-like auditorium; white plywood holds it in place. Stitches to hold a massive cut on one's head in place, keeping it from growing any larger.
A sprightly young man walks in to the theater, toting a beaten guitar. He grins at me like a boy who's just found 20 dollars on the street. "Wanna hear a song?" his whiley face lights up when he sees me. Preferring to keep the silence I've just found, I reply: "No thanks."
He grins wider, if such a thing were even possible. "Well, I'm gonna play anyway." He rushes to the stage: "Man, it's been so long since I've been on a stage." He's a kid on Christmas, smiling through the botched cords. He apologizes for his rusty fingers, I tell him not to worry. I discouraged him once, I'll be more genial from now on.
With each new song he tries, his confidence grows and his fingers start to fly. Maybe the theater will remember this story too. Maybe it will tell it to others. Or maybe... maybe it only shared it with me.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
My Legs Hurt
I'm not used to standing up. I'm bookish. It's the definition of college life, or at least the kind of rigorous college life that I have lived in the midst of for the past 2 plus years.
My legs hurt.
I suddenly feel not just mentally, but physically tired when going to bed.
My legs hurt.
I like it... it lets me know I'm alive. When I stop feeling pain, when I stop feeling altogether, then I will be worried. But not until then. I run the race. A tired cliche. Pile another on top until they are towering like a precarious stack of Jenja blocks. "Stop the flow of nonsense!" they cry. I laugh a little inside.
My legs hurt.
The weird thing about muscles is that when you use them for the first time they really hurt, but one of the best ways to make them cease to hurt is to use them again in the same way soon after the hurt begins. Looks like I'm going to go lift some more boxes today.
My legs hurt.
Write poetry. Praise God. Live... "it's all you can do."
My legs hurt.
I suddenly feel not just mentally, but physically tired when going to bed.
My legs hurt.
I like it... it lets me know I'm alive. When I stop feeling pain, when I stop feeling altogether, then I will be worried. But not until then. I run the race. A tired cliche. Pile another on top until they are towering like a precarious stack of Jenja blocks. "Stop the flow of nonsense!" they cry. I laugh a little inside.
My legs hurt.
The weird thing about muscles is that when you use them for the first time they really hurt, but one of the best ways to make them cease to hurt is to use them again in the same way soon after the hurt begins. Looks like I'm going to go lift some more boxes today.
My legs hurt.
Write poetry. Praise God. Live... "it's all you can do."
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Beginning, Middle and End
Lately I've been reminiscing, looking back on the many, many adventures that I have had over the course of the past 21 1/2 years of my life. Thanks to a few good friends and relatives, this has been made rather easy. Five places immediately spring to mind:
-Burlington, VT... the place I was born, where my parents met, and where I built and played with many snowmen.
-Chagrin Falls, OH... a sleepy little town on the outskirts of Cleveland (which was once the steel capital of the United States) it is now firmly located in what is often called the "rust belt." The owner of the local hardware store knows my father and grandfather by sight. The ducks in the river probably know me just about as well.
-Lima, Peru... smack-dab in the middle of the driest desert in the world, one day of real rain causes mass landslides and countless deaths. The people are actually rather amicable though... except when they are behind the wheel of a car.
-Virginia Beach, VA... the first real big city that I lived in. This place galvanized me as a Christian and gave me someone the best friends that I have ever had.
-Jacksonville, NC... a military town nestled away in the outer banks of the Carolinas... I have lived there a grand total of four times, each time very different than the last. I have run all over the Marine Corps base there, and contracted many fire ant bites in the process. It's a swamp with bears and bobcats and the occasional gator.
I hope you will see as much of the world as I have one day. The adventures and places and people scream out, glorifying God even if they don't mean to. Because they make up the epic tale that is Creation.
The story continues...
-Burlington, VT... the place I was born, where my parents met, and where I built and played with many snowmen.
-Chagrin Falls, OH... a sleepy little town on the outskirts of Cleveland (which was once the steel capital of the United States) it is now firmly located in what is often called the "rust belt." The owner of the local hardware store knows my father and grandfather by sight. The ducks in the river probably know me just about as well.
-Lima, Peru... smack-dab in the middle of the driest desert in the world, one day of real rain causes mass landslides and countless deaths. The people are actually rather amicable though... except when they are behind the wheel of a car.
-Virginia Beach, VA... the first real big city that I lived in. This place galvanized me as a Christian and gave me someone the best friends that I have ever had.
-Jacksonville, NC... a military town nestled away in the outer banks of the Carolinas... I have lived there a grand total of four times, each time very different than the last. I have run all over the Marine Corps base there, and contracted many fire ant bites in the process. It's a swamp with bears and bobcats and the occasional gator.
I hope you will see as much of the world as I have one day. The adventures and places and people scream out, glorifying God even if they don't mean to. Because they make up the epic tale that is Creation.
The story continues...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
November Playlist
-"Sing" - My Chemical Romance
-"Crossfire" - Brandon Flowers
-"Bloom" - Mae
-"Roll Away Your Stone" - Mumford and Sons
-"The World You Love" - Jimmy Eat World
-"Please Take Me Home" - Blink 182
-"This Addiction" -Alkaline Trio
-"Building a Better Me" - Dogwood
-"Crossfire" - Brandon Flowers
-"Bloom" - Mae
-"Roll Away Your Stone" - Mumford and Sons
-"The World You Love" - Jimmy Eat World
-"Please Take Me Home" - Blink 182
-"This Addiction" -Alkaline Trio
-"Building a Better Me" - Dogwood
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Soundtracks
Why do I love film soundtracks so much? It's one of those things that I never really thought of explaining before... I just always have.
But I found myself listening to the soundtrack to 127 Hours yesterday, and being profoundly affected... even thought I have not even seen the film. Why? Why? I ask.
Because there is something in a film score that we simply do not have anymore today. There is something in there that you cannot find in a piece of pop music. You cannot find it in a rap, nor a big band jazz groove. What is it?
A story.
The great composers of old have gone the way of the dinosaurs. In our commercialism-laden, capitalistic society, where making money is the only thing of real importance (cough, cough), the greatest writers of music are in movies (with the possible exception of Michael W. Smith). Danny Elfman, Hans Zimmer, James Newton Howard, Ennio Morricone, John Murphy, Klaus Badelt, Michael Giacchino... all the greats are now in film. And if they are really good (most of the ones I just listened are) they don't need a film to tell a story, because that's what classical music is all about.
Buy a film score without watching the movie or knowing the story. Listen to it, let the music tell the story. I dare you.
But I found myself listening to the soundtrack to 127 Hours yesterday, and being profoundly affected... even thought I have not even seen the film. Why? Why? I ask.
Because there is something in a film score that we simply do not have anymore today. There is something in there that you cannot find in a piece of pop music. You cannot find it in a rap, nor a big band jazz groove. What is it?
A story.
The great composers of old have gone the way of the dinosaurs. In our commercialism-laden, capitalistic society, where making money is the only thing of real importance (cough, cough), the greatest writers of music are in movies (with the possible exception of Michael W. Smith). Danny Elfman, Hans Zimmer, James Newton Howard, Ennio Morricone, John Murphy, Klaus Badelt, Michael Giacchino... all the greats are now in film. And if they are really good (most of the ones I just listened are) they don't need a film to tell a story, because that's what classical music is all about.
Buy a film score without watching the movie or knowing the story. Listen to it, let the music tell the story. I dare you.
Monday, November 1, 2010
In All Things...
...praise God.
Praise God when you laugh.
Praise God when you cry.
Praise God when you sleep.
Praise God when you wake.
Praise God when you bleed.
Praise God when you heal again.
Praise God as the roller coaster drops you from the heights.
Praise God when the car rolls safely back into the station.
Praise God when things are spinning out of control.
Praise God when you shows you the underlying order of life once again.
Praise God when you cannot see the path in front of you.
Praise God when the lights come back on.
Praise God.
Praise God.
Praise God.
Praise God when you laugh.
Praise God when you cry.
Praise God when you sleep.
Praise God when you wake.
Praise God when you bleed.
Praise God when you heal again.
Praise God as the roller coaster drops you from the heights.
Praise God when the car rolls safely back into the station.
Praise God when things are spinning out of control.
Praise God when you shows you the underlying order of life once again.
Praise God when you cannot see the path in front of you.
Praise God when the lights come back on.
Praise God.
Praise God.
Praise God.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
(500) Days of Pure Evil
OK, this one has been a long time coming, so I figured I would take a break from playing Plant vs. Zombies, studying Greek and checking email in order to bring you this well thought out and coherent (ahem) essay explaining why 500 Days of Summer is a horrible, awful, no good, very bad movie. You all had better appreciate it! (insert sarcastic wink here)
Now, as a second preface, I must say that I had been looking forward to this movie for a long, long time. I think it might have even been one of those films that got me stuck in the paper mill of advertising, and I was near salivating to see it. (Wow, that's kind of a disgusting metaphor.) On top of that I am an enormous Joseph Gordon-Levitt fan, Brick and Inception being in my top 15 favorite films. So by the time it came to our little second run theater here in Moscow late summer '09, there was pretty much no way anyone was going to stop me from going.
I went alone... which in retrospect was probably for the best. I'm not sure I would be comfortable watching that movie with anyone at this point in my life. I would either be embarrassed, break down crying, try to kill everyone in the room, shield my friends' eyes, or perhaps attempt to do all four simultaneously. I am not to be held accountable for anything I do to you while watching this movie.
Now that I'm done ranting (no I'm not), I'll beginning with my logical explanation:
The movie starts with not the opening credits, but a dedication of sorts... kind of like at the beginning of a book. "For my dog Frank, who was always there for me," or "To my Dad, for keeping me honest," or something of that sort. The opening dedication for 500 Days of Summer goes a little something like this:
"Author's Note: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Especially you Jenny Beckman... Bitch."
Hmmm... bitter much?
While watching it for the first time (to this date the only time I have been able to watch the film in its entirety. I tried again a few months later, but was unable to get further than the 30 minute mark), I promptly forgot this first warning sign and watched on... very sure that this film was describing my heart-broken life in all its bitter detail.
The film begins with the classic boy meets girl. Tom works as a greeting card writer in a fashionable part of L.A. Summer begins working there as a secretary. Tom and Summer are very different. "How?" you ask? Well, let me put this as bluntly as possible: Tom's a girl, and Summer's a dude. Yes, it's weird; no, it's not what you think. Let me explain:
Tom is a sensitive guy. Not only is he sensitive, but he's whiny, needy, "in touch" with his emotions, and is kind of pathetic. He's clingy, and obnoxious, and all the things that guys really find gross and unattractive in women. Tom is a guy technically, but he represents all the bad stereotypes of women.
Summer is a head-strong girl. Not only is she head-strong, but she's immature, cavalier, sexually obsessed, and doesn't really see the point of committing to a relationship when you could just "have fun." Summer is a girl technically, but she represents all the bad stereotypes of guys that women hate.
The movie would be bad enough if it was Tom being the sex-obsessed guy, and Summer being the whiny girl. In fact, I am pretty sure that if that movie were ever pitched to any forward thinking Hollywood production company they would reject it outright, their brains bleeding after they hemorrhaged at hearing such a horrible and stupid idea. So why, when the gender roles are reversed, is it suddenly acceptable, and not only acceptable but cool and a movie worthy of putting on film critics' "Best Movies of the Year" lists?
In the end the relationship explodes (duh) after a conversation where Summer compares them both to Sid and Nancy (if you don't know who Sid and Nancy are, click here, then come back and read the rest of my rant/essay/reviewishthingy). Tom is offended by such a comparison and retorts: "But Sid stabbed Nancy with a knife! I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious!"
"Noooooo...." Summer replies. "I'M Sid."
"Oh... so I'm Nancy," Tom says, a little dazed.
The gender flipping is explicitly referenced here. How could it be missed? Soon after, Summer tells Tom that the relationships should probably end. The sex has been good, but Summer still doesn't believe in "love." What a mature, upstanding woman.
For the last half-an-hour or so of the film, Tom follows Summer around like a pitiful puppy dog, until he at last learns that she's gotten engaged. Tom (with good reason) is incredulous. Summer talks him down though, reassuring him that he taught her what love really was... he just wasn't the right guy for her. They share a tender moment where Summer encourages Tom to pursue his dream of becoming an architect instead of a greeting card writer, and then she leaves.
The final scene is Tom waiting for an interview at an architecture firm. While waiting he meets one of the other applicants, a girl... they agree to meet for coffee. And with the final credits fast approaching, Tom calls out as she's walking away:
"What's you name?"
"Autumn!" she calls back.
To quote a friend of mine: Really? REALLY??? How am I supposed to believe, or have any kind of faith that either of them really learned anything at all? How do you know that Tom will grow a skin and not get his heart torn out by Autumn too? The name kind of implies that the cycle is just continuing. What about Summer? When the sex isn't good anymore, won't she just dump her shiny new play thing and move on to whatever is the newer, shinier thing? The sequel would probably begin with them just as broken and hallow and empty as they were when they first broke up.
The film is not about real life.... well it is, but not the right kind. It really does represent where our wonderful world is headed: Men chickening out, and women taking the lead... or becoming really screwed up versions of men as the case may be. But that is not the way that God created the world. The version of the world that 500 Days of Summer portrays is badly broken, and not something we should emulate. Not only that, but it is not something we should enjoy watching either. The first time I watched it, it simply induced a pity party of supernova proportions. Living in the suckiness of the past is a lame way to live your life, however accurately or inaccurately the film might portray past events of your life. Get out of yourself. No... life is not all about you. There is more to this life than sex and getting instant gratification, or simply getting, getting, getting from a relationship. Where's the give? Where is the givING for that matter?
I have fallen into the self-pity trap more times than I can count. There is no getting around that. But instead of that hurting my ethos, I hope strengthens my exhortation to the small number of readers that I have: I've been there. I've done that. Don't fall into the horrible, horrible stereotypes of this film. Read your Bible... there are some pretty good stereotypes to live up to in there.
All that said... I may still go to work for a greeting card company someday.
Now, as a second preface, I must say that I had been looking forward to this movie for a long, long time. I think it might have even been one of those films that got me stuck in the paper mill of advertising, and I was near salivating to see it. (Wow, that's kind of a disgusting metaphor.) On top of that I am an enormous Joseph Gordon-Levitt fan, Brick and Inception being in my top 15 favorite films. So by the time it came to our little second run theater here in Moscow late summer '09, there was pretty much no way anyone was going to stop me from going.
I went alone... which in retrospect was probably for the best. I'm not sure I would be comfortable watching that movie with anyone at this point in my life. I would either be embarrassed, break down crying, try to kill everyone in the room, shield my friends' eyes, or perhaps attempt to do all four simultaneously. I am not to be held accountable for anything I do to you while watching this movie.
Now that I'm done ranting (no I'm not), I'll beginning with my logical explanation:
The movie starts with not the opening credits, but a dedication of sorts... kind of like at the beginning of a book. "For my dog Frank, who was always there for me," or "To my Dad, for keeping me honest," or something of that sort. The opening dedication for 500 Days of Summer goes a little something like this:
"Author's Note: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Especially you Jenny Beckman... Bitch."
Hmmm... bitter much?
While watching it for the first time (to this date the only time I have been able to watch the film in its entirety. I tried again a few months later, but was unable to get further than the 30 minute mark), I promptly forgot this first warning sign and watched on... very sure that this film was describing my heart-broken life in all its bitter detail.
The film begins with the classic boy meets girl. Tom works as a greeting card writer in a fashionable part of L.A. Summer begins working there as a secretary. Tom and Summer are very different. "How?" you ask? Well, let me put this as bluntly as possible: Tom's a girl, and Summer's a dude. Yes, it's weird; no, it's not what you think. Let me explain:
Tom is a sensitive guy. Not only is he sensitive, but he's whiny, needy, "in touch" with his emotions, and is kind of pathetic. He's clingy, and obnoxious, and all the things that guys really find gross and unattractive in women. Tom is a guy technically, but he represents all the bad stereotypes of women.
Summer is a head-strong girl. Not only is she head-strong, but she's immature, cavalier, sexually obsessed, and doesn't really see the point of committing to a relationship when you could just "have fun." Summer is a girl technically, but she represents all the bad stereotypes of guys that women hate.
The movie would be bad enough if it was Tom being the sex-obsessed guy, and Summer being the whiny girl. In fact, I am pretty sure that if that movie were ever pitched to any forward thinking Hollywood production company they would reject it outright, their brains bleeding after they hemorrhaged at hearing such a horrible and stupid idea. So why, when the gender roles are reversed, is it suddenly acceptable, and not only acceptable but cool and a movie worthy of putting on film critics' "Best Movies of the Year" lists?
In the end the relationship explodes (duh) after a conversation where Summer compares them both to Sid and Nancy (if you don't know who Sid and Nancy are, click here, then come back and read the rest of my rant/essay/reviewishthingy). Tom is offended by such a comparison and retorts: "But Sid stabbed Nancy with a knife! I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious!"
"Noooooo...." Summer replies. "I'M Sid."
"Oh... so I'm Nancy," Tom says, a little dazed.
The gender flipping is explicitly referenced here. How could it be missed? Soon after, Summer tells Tom that the relationships should probably end. The sex has been good, but Summer still doesn't believe in "love." What a mature, upstanding woman.
For the last half-an-hour or so of the film, Tom follows Summer around like a pitiful puppy dog, until he at last learns that she's gotten engaged. Tom (with good reason) is incredulous. Summer talks him down though, reassuring him that he taught her what love really was... he just wasn't the right guy for her. They share a tender moment where Summer encourages Tom to pursue his dream of becoming an architect instead of a greeting card writer, and then she leaves.
The final scene is Tom waiting for an interview at an architecture firm. While waiting he meets one of the other applicants, a girl... they agree to meet for coffee. And with the final credits fast approaching, Tom calls out as she's walking away:
"What's you name?"
"Autumn!" she calls back.
To quote a friend of mine: Really? REALLY??? How am I supposed to believe, or have any kind of faith that either of them really learned anything at all? How do you know that Tom will grow a skin and not get his heart torn out by Autumn too? The name kind of implies that the cycle is just continuing. What about Summer? When the sex isn't good anymore, won't she just dump her shiny new play thing and move on to whatever is the newer, shinier thing? The sequel would probably begin with them just as broken and hallow and empty as they were when they first broke up.
The film is not about real life.... well it is, but not the right kind. It really does represent where our wonderful world is headed: Men chickening out, and women taking the lead... or becoming really screwed up versions of men as the case may be. But that is not the way that God created the world. The version of the world that 500 Days of Summer portrays is badly broken, and not something we should emulate. Not only that, but it is not something we should enjoy watching either. The first time I watched it, it simply induced a pity party of supernova proportions. Living in the suckiness of the past is a lame way to live your life, however accurately or inaccurately the film might portray past events of your life. Get out of yourself. No... life is not all about you. There is more to this life than sex and getting instant gratification, or simply getting, getting, getting from a relationship. Where's the give? Where is the givING for that matter?
I have fallen into the self-pity trap more times than I can count. There is no getting around that. But instead of that hurting my ethos, I hope strengthens my exhortation to the small number of readers that I have: I've been there. I've done that. Don't fall into the horrible, horrible stereotypes of this film. Read your Bible... there are some pretty good stereotypes to live up to in there.
All that said... I may still go to work for a greeting card company someday.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
BOOK
There's a book I carry around with me a lot. I was told the other night that it is a book of magic spells. I had never thought of it as such before, but I suppose that it makes sense.
Many of the pages are bent and twisted, but none of them are ripped (yet). It's green, but the binding on the outside has started to fade to black in the places where the nicer parts of the cover have worn away.
My friends quote it more than Harry Potter or the latest movie. I'm pretty sure that some people I know have burned copies of it.
There are lots of things that I've added to it. Not words, mind you. If I added any words to it, it wouldn't be the same book. But there are many things in it now that were not there when I first received it. There are many scraps of paper sticking out at funny angles. Some of them torn from notebooks, some notes from lectures, one is florescent pink. There is blood in the book now. There is salt residue from my tears. There is highlighter on my favorite sections, and there is grease from my thumbs.
I hope that when I die, it is found close by my side. It's a magic book. The deep magic.
Many of the pages are bent and twisted, but none of them are ripped (yet). It's green, but the binding on the outside has started to fade to black in the places where the nicer parts of the cover have worn away.
My friends quote it more than Harry Potter or the latest movie. I'm pretty sure that some people I know have burned copies of it.
There are lots of things that I've added to it. Not words, mind you. If I added any words to it, it wouldn't be the same book. But there are many things in it now that were not there when I first received it. There are many scraps of paper sticking out at funny angles. Some of them torn from notebooks, some notes from lectures, one is florescent pink. There is blood in the book now. There is salt residue from my tears. There is highlighter on my favorite sections, and there is grease from my thumbs.
I hope that when I die, it is found close by my side. It's a magic book. The deep magic.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Nothing Quite Like It
The strangest things can take you out of yourself. As humans, fallible and fallen, we often focus inward, looking for something to cling to. That thing may be good or bad (at least our perception of it seems so), but in reality it is usually bad. Introspection has a brother, his name is Selfishness.
Grocery shopping in a haze of numb stupidity, I notice a boy, small even from a 8 year-old's point of view, running around the snack section screaming. Following close behind is a man with the happiest and good natured of faces. He is yelling almost as loud as the boy.
I stop what I'm doing and just watch, a smile spreading across my face as I do so. A father and son, playing, rejoicing, completely oblivious to the shoppers surrounding them. If an attendant of the store had tried to interrupt them, I doubt that either of the two would have paid any attention what-so-ever.
Stop looking inside. Look out. Pay attention.
Grocery shopping in a haze of numb stupidity, I notice a boy, small even from a 8 year-old's point of view, running around the snack section screaming. Following close behind is a man with the happiest and good natured of faces. He is yelling almost as loud as the boy.
I stop what I'm doing and just watch, a smile spreading across my face as I do so. A father and son, playing, rejoicing, completely oblivious to the shoppers surrounding them. If an attendant of the store had tried to interrupt them, I doubt that either of the two would have paid any attention what-so-ever.
Stop looking inside. Look out. Pay attention.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
God the girlfriend
“You’re my escape/ From this messed up place/ Cuz you let me forget/ you numb my pain/ How can I tell you just all that you are/ What you do to me/ You’re better than drugs/ Addicted for life/ Feel you coming on so fast/ Feel you coming on to get me high”
Sounds like a perverted cross between Song of Solomon and a heroin dream, right? No…they’re the lyrics to a song by on of the largest “Christian rock” bands out there: Skillet. The song, for all the average kid in the average youth group can figure, is about how much the singer needs God… or a girl, or his next drug fix.
The problem is not simply in the music that we listen to, however, but it is now in the way we think. Recently, a friend of mine posted something about having a new girlfriend on Facebook. The comment was rather ambiguous, something to the effect of: “Whatshisface has a special someone now!” That by itself would not have bothered me at all, but it was one of the comments that followed the original post that worried me. A mutual friend of me and this guy (we’ll call him Bob) posts a reply saying: “OMG! Like… it’s Jesus isn’t it?”
Too often since the advent of Christian Contemporary Music (CCM) nominal Christians everywhere have started referring to God in the shallow and demeaning terms of drugs, ambiguous girlfriends and feel good kicks. Not very edifying terms to use when referring to the Almighty Creator of the universe. And now, even stronger Christians, secure in their faith and walk, are falling into this trap. We must stop.
If anything, the way we address the relationship we have with Jesus Christ should be the other way around. The Church is the bride of Christ; Christ is not the girlfriend of the individual Christian. He is not there to make you “feel good” and take away all your problems. This is by and large one of the huge and dangerous symptoms of charismatic theology: theology based on feelings. Feel good, you’re doing pretty well spiritually. Feel bad? Well, then you probably screwed up somewhere.
At the beginning of John 9, Jesus and His disciples come across a blind man who has been blind from birth. The Disciples immediate question is: “Who, sinned Lord, this man or his parents?” “Neither,” Jesus replies. "But this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”
Hard times are used for God’s glory, not always because we did something wrong. We are married to Christ, He is not here to make us feel good, or give us a pick me up or a temporary solution to temporary pain. He is here to provide salvation. He is here to save us. The end of the world is a wedding, and Christ is the one putting the ring on our figure. It’s not the other way around.
Sounds like a perverted cross between Song of Solomon and a heroin dream, right? No…they’re the lyrics to a song by on of the largest “Christian rock” bands out there: Skillet. The song, for all the average kid in the average youth group can figure, is about how much the singer needs God… or a girl, or his next drug fix.
The problem is not simply in the music that we listen to, however, but it is now in the way we think. Recently, a friend of mine posted something about having a new girlfriend on Facebook. The comment was rather ambiguous, something to the effect of: “Whatshisface has a special someone now!” That by itself would not have bothered me at all, but it was one of the comments that followed the original post that worried me. A mutual friend of me and this guy (we’ll call him Bob) posts a reply saying: “OMG! Like… it’s Jesus isn’t it?”
Too often since the advent of Christian Contemporary Music (CCM) nominal Christians everywhere have started referring to God in the shallow and demeaning terms of drugs, ambiguous girlfriends and feel good kicks. Not very edifying terms to use when referring to the Almighty Creator of the universe. And now, even stronger Christians, secure in their faith and walk, are falling into this trap. We must stop.
If anything, the way we address the relationship we have with Jesus Christ should be the other way around. The Church is the bride of Christ; Christ is not the girlfriend of the individual Christian. He is not there to make you “feel good” and take away all your problems. This is by and large one of the huge and dangerous symptoms of charismatic theology: theology based on feelings. Feel good, you’re doing pretty well spiritually. Feel bad? Well, then you probably screwed up somewhere.
At the beginning of John 9, Jesus and His disciples come across a blind man who has been blind from birth. The Disciples immediate question is: “Who, sinned Lord, this man or his parents?” “Neither,” Jesus replies. "But this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”
Hard times are used for God’s glory, not always because we did something wrong. We are married to Christ, He is not here to make us feel good, or give us a pick me up or a temporary solution to temporary pain. He is here to provide salvation. He is here to save us. The end of the world is a wedding, and Christ is the one putting the ring on our figure. It’s not the other way around.
Learning to Keep Our Mouths Shut
I will readily admit that I do not do this enough myself, but I am changing that. And I thought I would just let everyone know a little bit about cultural differences, false assumptions and how they can both lead to miscommunication and hurt feelings.
First off, I'd like to clarify something with all my American readers: people from other countries like being from other countries. No, by and large, they do not want to be Americans. I am specifically talking about Canadians here. They are very content in their Canadianness, and do not need to be convinced otherwise. Telling a Canadian that they are practically an American for whatever reason is rather offensive.
One thing that we should remember is that our bias is showing. Often I speak out of ignorance, because I never bothered to learn about a different culture or event, etc. Only afterward do I realize that what I said was just because I am an American and should have known better. We need to keep this firmly in mind: as Americans, we are kind of oafish, and much of this comes from the vocal seculars and from our leaders. A good picture of this is Israel and their decline throughout the last half of the Old Testament. If the king was bad, the nation as a whole started to decay rapidly. This seems to be true of any nation, just look at Nero or Constantine. I know that those are extreme examples, but the point remains the same.
As Americans, we ought to realize that we often have a negative stigma, and come off a certain way to people of other nationalities. As Christians, we should be fighting that. We should be like the faithful few in Israel and be kind and considerate hosts and helpers. We should be looking for opportunities to display our better qualities.
I was at a wedding a few days ago, a Irish/French/American wedding, with a French and an American pastor officiating. And during the toasts at the reception, both pastors gave a brief toast. The American pastor's was quickly forgotten when the French pastor stood up and gave his blessing:
"The Irish are known for their loyalty, the French are known for their love of life, and Americans are known for their generosity. May you both be blessed with all three."
I chewed on his words for a long while. "Americans? Generous? Could it be?" But it's true, American CHRISTIANS are some of the most open-hearted, generous people I have ever met. May this truly be said of more of us. May we let our generosity speak more often than our mouths do.
First off, I'd like to clarify something with all my American readers: people from other countries like being from other countries. No, by and large, they do not want to be Americans. I am specifically talking about Canadians here. They are very content in their Canadianness, and do not need to be convinced otherwise. Telling a Canadian that they are practically an American for whatever reason is rather offensive.
One thing that we should remember is that our bias is showing. Often I speak out of ignorance, because I never bothered to learn about a different culture or event, etc. Only afterward do I realize that what I said was just because I am an American and should have known better. We need to keep this firmly in mind: as Americans, we are kind of oafish, and much of this comes from the vocal seculars and from our leaders. A good picture of this is Israel and their decline throughout the last half of the Old Testament. If the king was bad, the nation as a whole started to decay rapidly. This seems to be true of any nation, just look at Nero or Constantine. I know that those are extreme examples, but the point remains the same.
As Americans, we ought to realize that we often have a negative stigma, and come off a certain way to people of other nationalities. As Christians, we should be fighting that. We should be like the faithful few in Israel and be kind and considerate hosts and helpers. We should be looking for opportunities to display our better qualities.
I was at a wedding a few days ago, a Irish/French/American wedding, with a French and an American pastor officiating. And during the toasts at the reception, both pastors gave a brief toast. The American pastor's was quickly forgotten when the French pastor stood up and gave his blessing:
"The Irish are known for their loyalty, the French are known for their love of life, and Americans are known for their generosity. May you both be blessed with all three."
I chewed on his words for a long while. "Americans? Generous? Could it be?" But it's true, American CHRISTIANS are some of the most open-hearted, generous people I have ever met. May this truly be said of more of us. May we let our generosity speak more often than our mouths do.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Rain
It's really raining now. Coming down in steady, even droplets. Not sheets. We never get sheets of rain here in Idaho. Any rain at all in October is a rare occurrence, as we practically live in a desert. This summer was brutal. The crops of wheat and snow peas get all their hydration from the winter snows, which apparently provide enough moisture to keep them growing all year. In fact, I've heard that too much rain around this time of year will ruin them.
Not only is it getting wetter and colder, the days are starting to shorten. Sun doesn't come up as early as it used to a week ago. I know this because I wake up a sunrise... usually. This morning I technically should have gotten up before the sun. I didn't.
School is nearly empty. While on a summer night you might walk through the halls and hear the small "cricket, cricket" of the silence. Now it seems more like a cave. Dark, a little dank, but a solitary shelter from the wet drip outside. A few more animals have decided to huddle in the cave with you... but here, there be dragons. Errrr... I mean finals.
Compared to the beginning of the week, the school is kind of dead. "Kind of," what a pathetic, measly sort of descriptor, wheezing on death's doorstep. I can think of better adjectives, but finals week is drawing near a close and stronger metaphors I cannot think of.
Pulling my headphones off, I breathe in the sudden silence that replaces the raucous punk music that was being intravenously fed into my blood stream. I sigh a little. There are a few squeaking doors, the far off sound of a generator, the whoosh of cars splashing through puddles outside. And of course, the ever-present "clickity, clickity, click" of my fingers on the keys.
Not only is it getting wetter and colder, the days are starting to shorten. Sun doesn't come up as early as it used to a week ago. I know this because I wake up a sunrise... usually. This morning I technically should have gotten up before the sun. I didn't.
School is nearly empty. While on a summer night you might walk through the halls and hear the small "cricket, cricket" of the silence. Now it seems more like a cave. Dark, a little dank, but a solitary shelter from the wet drip outside. A few more animals have decided to huddle in the cave with you... but here, there be dragons. Errrr... I mean finals.
Compared to the beginning of the week, the school is kind of dead. "Kind of," what a pathetic, measly sort of descriptor, wheezing on death's doorstep. I can think of better adjectives, but finals week is drawing near a close and stronger metaphors I cannot think of.
Pulling my headphones off, I breathe in the sudden silence that replaces the raucous punk music that was being intravenously fed into my blood stream. I sigh a little. There are a few squeaking doors, the far off sound of a generator, the whoosh of cars splashing through puddles outside. And of course, the ever-present "clickity, clickity, click" of my fingers on the keys.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Fall Sets Up Shop
So the uncomfortably warm season we all call "Indian Summer" has set to flight at last, and fall proper is now upon us. The rain the past few days helped greatly. Waking up to the pitter-patter of drops on the sidewalk 12 feet below you is always a pleasant way to wake up... except that it rarely helps the getting out of bed portion of the morning, which usually follows waking up.
Some of the more extravagant and vain leaves changed colors early, sometime in early September, but most are still clinging to immortality and refusing to lose their grip on the oaks that line the very crooked streets of Moscow, Idaho. I don't blame them. If my life span were only in the single digits, I'd cling to my last few moments of life a little longer too.
The buses buzz around the small granary town like over-fat bumblebee drones hovering around a bee hive, ferrying people from the outer edges of town into the small, yet quaint downtown.
The downtown is harsh to small businesses though. It's a great spot for hippies and hipsters to chill, grab a cup of coffee, smoke some weed and show off how culturally relevant they are.
Pitter-patter. The rain soaks the rabidly thirsty ground. Pitter-patter. Feet in the puddles.
Even the people that sell weed are having a hard time. The corner shop at 6th and Main just shut down. Its preferred facade was pretending that it was a flower/gift shop. The odd hours gave it away though. I always knew they sold a lot more than your average roses and daisies. But hard times fall on the druggie and the sober alike. Mikey's gyros are more addictive anyway. A hippie can do without drugs as long as he can get his fix of organic Greek food.
There are a lot of twenty-somethings wandering around downtown in robes. If it weren't for the midwest/northwest American feel of the town, you might guess that you were wandering around the set of the latest Harry Potter movie. But it's just the NSA students. No, not National Security Agency, but New Saint Andrews... a name that was not so subtly plagiarized from a college across the pond with the same name.
It would take a lot to explain where New Saint Andrews College came from, where it's going and why it's still around. Suffice to say that they run on the quarter system, having four terms of eight weeks each every year. Hence, now is final exams.
The leaves dry up on the ground as the sun comes out. The warmth, however, doesn't come back. I feel like I'm stepping on Lay's chips every foot I put forward. Now I'm craving salt.
Three exams down, three to go.
Some of the more extravagant and vain leaves changed colors early, sometime in early September, but most are still clinging to immortality and refusing to lose their grip on the oaks that line the very crooked streets of Moscow, Idaho. I don't blame them. If my life span were only in the single digits, I'd cling to my last few moments of life a little longer too.
The buses buzz around the small granary town like over-fat bumblebee drones hovering around a bee hive, ferrying people from the outer edges of town into the small, yet quaint downtown.
The downtown is harsh to small businesses though. It's a great spot for hippies and hipsters to chill, grab a cup of coffee, smoke some weed and show off how culturally relevant they are.
Pitter-patter. The rain soaks the rabidly thirsty ground. Pitter-patter. Feet in the puddles.
Even the people that sell weed are having a hard time. The corner shop at 6th and Main just shut down. Its preferred facade was pretending that it was a flower/gift shop. The odd hours gave it away though. I always knew they sold a lot more than your average roses and daisies. But hard times fall on the druggie and the sober alike. Mikey's gyros are more addictive anyway. A hippie can do without drugs as long as he can get his fix of organic Greek food.
There are a lot of twenty-somethings wandering around downtown in robes. If it weren't for the midwest/northwest American feel of the town, you might guess that you were wandering around the set of the latest Harry Potter movie. But it's just the NSA students. No, not National Security Agency, but New Saint Andrews... a name that was not so subtly plagiarized from a college across the pond with the same name.
It would take a lot to explain where New Saint Andrews College came from, where it's going and why it's still around. Suffice to say that they run on the quarter system, having four terms of eight weeks each every year. Hence, now is final exams.
The leaves dry up on the ground as the sun comes out. The warmth, however, doesn't come back. I feel like I'm stepping on Lay's chips every foot I put forward. Now I'm craving salt.
Three exams down, three to go.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Indian Summer
I'm not sure quite how I feel about this time of year. The days are too hot... but that's only by comparison to what one would expect from an Idaho fall. It's not hot in comparison to say....... the Sahara. But expectations can have powerful weight, so days are rather frustrating. It's like a mini purgatory between summer and fall.
The nights, on the other hand, are wonderful. Especially if you can drive a few miles out of town around 7 PM just for the heck of it. Roll the windows down. Smell the leaves, the BBQ, that fresh coat of paint the neighbors put on their house just a few hours ago.
Soak up the random acts of vandalism. Why yes, the college kids are back in town and have nothing better to be doing. Watch as a cop takes pictures of the gooped up cars, while you take goo-gone to your own car's siding.
The end of the week, you're still alive, and you know that the Indian summer can't last that much longer. Can it?
The nights, on the other hand, are wonderful. Especially if you can drive a few miles out of town around 7 PM just for the heck of it. Roll the windows down. Smell the leaves, the BBQ, that fresh coat of paint the neighbors put on their house just a few hours ago.
Soak up the random acts of vandalism. Why yes, the college kids are back in town and have nothing better to be doing. Watch as a cop takes pictures of the gooped up cars, while you take goo-gone to your own car's siding.
The end of the week, you're still alive, and you know that the Indian summer can't last that much longer. Can it?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Caveat
That is unless not saying something will cause irreparable damage to another person. Like... lying.
I have this feeling that there needs to be a deep exegetical discussion on what exactly "wise speech" is. Do not have time now.
I'll touch on this again, I am quite sure.
I have this feeling that there needs to be a deep exegetical discussion on what exactly "wise speech" is. Do not have time now.
I'll touch on this again, I am quite sure.
Just a General Rule
Think about what you're going to say before you say it. Cliche, yes. Oversaid, yes. New perspective? Here we go:
A rule that my dad set down any time we went out for dinner. "Order an amount of food that might be too little. We can always order you more; we can't order you less."
So... in summary: you can always say more if the need arises. You can never take words back. Never.
Remember that, kids.
A rule that my dad set down any time we went out for dinner. "Order an amount of food that might be too little. We can always order you more; we can't order you less."
So... in summary: you can always say more if the need arises. You can never take words back. Never.
Remember that, kids.
Time to Start Over
I've got rock and roll buzzing in my ear like a hive of bees, but that's not what occupies my thoughts right now. The lose pieces banging around with pots and pans in the hollow spaces of my cerebellum are telling me that I think about me too much. I don't look out enough. Too often the lighthouse that has been permanently fixed to my head has been turned inwards in a desperate attempt to see what might be in there. But instead of illuminating what's inside, I've just been blinding myself. Yay, me. See, there it is again. Me, me, me.
I fail to notice the flowers growing out of a crack in the sidewalk, or the ants that have swarmed around them. Selfishness seems to equal nonobservance. Like those two blind dudes that seem to always be falling into holes in the Bible. Time to start turning the lights outside. Maybe I'll see where I'm standing, and where the ledge that I like to fall off of is.
The leaves are falling outside. Some of them are red, some yellow, a lot of them are still green. I didn't take any time to jump into them and listen to them crunch under my feet. I forgot that I'm a creature in a created world. That doesn't work. In Christ we live and breathe and have our being.
So... time to start being.
I fail to notice the flowers growing out of a crack in the sidewalk, or the ants that have swarmed around them. Selfishness seems to equal nonobservance. Like those two blind dudes that seem to always be falling into holes in the Bible. Time to start turning the lights outside. Maybe I'll see where I'm standing, and where the ledge that I like to fall off of is.
The leaves are falling outside. Some of them are red, some yellow, a lot of them are still green. I didn't take any time to jump into them and listen to them crunch under my feet. I forgot that I'm a creature in a created world. That doesn't work. In Christ we live and breathe and have our being.
So... time to start being.
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