This past year I have done more thinking than I ever have. I've thought and thought till I thought more than Pooh Bear thought. I've thought till my head hurts, and I've come to a few startling realizations.
The one that I want to share today is one that is probably the most pressing on my heart now. It seems to have affected every single relationship that I have. And my failure to realize it has hurt more than a few relationships.
Right at this moment, the sun outside is just the perfect amount of sunshine. It's a bit cloudy, just enough that the heat is not unbearable. Just enough so when I drove today the light flickered on my face and arms while the cool breeze blew the smell towards me of blooming flowers.
On occasions like this before, I wouldn't have noticed. I would be entrenched in the shadows of worry and thoughtless thoughtfulness. I would think and think and think, till I lost the reason why I was thinking and just wallow in a void of black.
It's been like this for a long time. I think about how life was so perfect years ago, I'd think about all the bad things that happened over the years, I'd think what I could've done to prevent them, I'd think about what I could do now, I'd think about what so-and-so meant when they said that, I'd think about dead-end jobs, about school, about people, about problems, and on and on.
But today it hit me. Why am I trying to analyze every little thing when God has His hand on my chin, lifting my face to His creation and is saying to me, "Do not worry. Everything that has happened in your life, I was there, and everything that will happen in your life, I will be there. Now stop being such a sap, and live."
My jaw drops in astonishment. Is it really true that all I have to do is...just live? Live for God, obey His commands (not because I have to, because I want to), get out there and be His man?
The sun starts feeling a little warmer and my thoughts a little more joyful.
When you are driving to work, do you sit there and think about everything you'll have to do, and all the problems you'll be facing? When you are on the doorstep of sin, do you comfort yourself and tell yourself you deserve it and God will forgive you later? When a difficulty steps in between you and your friends, do you think it's automatically their fault and "when will they apologize?" During the day, do you keep a keen eye spotting everything that you can do that "will be fun," something to keep you occupied, something that you'll enjoy, instead of what is God-pleasing and righteous?
There is a company out here called "Just Live," they do zip-lining across the island along with high ropes courses and other challenging things. Now I'm not asking you to jump off a 40-foot waterfall, I'm asking you to do something a bit harder. Look at God, cast off your worries, and just live. Simple.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Tombs
I once believed graves beautiful,
Magnificent scrawls repeating life after death.
Bleached white and glowing brilliantly,
Glossy stone records the Passed's name distinct.
Undergrowth feebly caress its vertical walls,
While flowers bloomingly tell of the unknown's forgiveness.
The forked crack speaks of ceasing hardships
And its wholeness repeats enduring restoration.
But, alas! the sun's set.
Its brilliance smothered in gloom.
The Name, one beyond judgement,
Haunts the Onlooker from its chiseled chasm.
The crack no longer sputters coherent,
Only terrorizes with its perverseness.
Roses sometime will grow to be magnificent,
But the coming chill will wither her utterly.
No longer can I see this process of salvation,
My eyes become blind by their disillusioned tears.
I cry out for my lonely body,
Its chest weighed down by six feet of dust.
Magnificent scrawls repeating life after death.
Bleached white and glowing brilliantly,
Glossy stone records the Passed's name distinct.
Undergrowth feebly caress its vertical walls,
While flowers bloomingly tell of the unknown's forgiveness.
The forked crack speaks of ceasing hardships
And its wholeness repeats enduring restoration.
But, alas! the sun's set.
Its brilliance smothered in gloom.
The Name, one beyond judgement,
Haunts the Onlooker from its chiseled chasm.
The crack no longer sputters coherent,
Only terrorizes with its perverseness.
Roses sometime will grow to be magnificent,
But the coming chill will wither her utterly.
No longer can I see this process of salvation,
My eyes become blind by their disillusioned tears.
I cry out for my lonely body,
Its chest weighed down by six feet of dust.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Skinny Lattes; Skinny Europeans
There are a lot of single women in this world. I don’t mean that in a creepy way. But the rate of loneliness is going up in my opinion, and so is the anonymity of the world.
Young girls long to get married. Married women long to be single. And the middle-aged single women sit in cafes, as skinny as their lattes, with an expression of pondering. Pondering what you may ask? Maybe the man who left them on the alter? Maybe the poofy cat that she just buried in a lovely spot under that big oak in her backyard. Or, maybe she’s just trying to make up her mind on which sultry, young lady that buffoon of a bachelor will give a rose to. And another sip on your cappuccino.
And that’s life. People living in a reality where reality is not a word. Instead, what they know is a warm, dreary feeling that lifts us up above this dull room, this stuffy house, the translucent sky, till we lie with our backs on the clouds, our fronts warmed in the sun of tomorrow. And to tell you the truth, I like it. Alot.
You read a book about extraordinary people arguing about their love lives only for it to end unhappily, with that precious vase introduced in chapter three (you know the one, Grandma gave it to Ada on her seventh birthday), breaking to pieces. It represents the unhappiness in which poor Ada will live the rest of her life wallowing in.
And that little argument you had yesterday about why your response was a bit too harsh to that simple question seems so much more simple. In fact, it was only because you were feeling overwhelmed by the immense feeling of sadness at all the events that happened to you in the last 48 hours, and had in no way anything to do with the one you were snappy to.
But after the argument, you feel alone. So alone. And then you realize that someone is there. Someone who understands. Ada. Poor, sweet Ada went through the same feelings after that jerk of a man broke up with her over her over-cooked pasta. “I told you it wasn’t Al Dente!” he cried. That chapter will always bring a tear to my eye.
But it’s not pasta that wrecks our mundane lives. It’s the frightening thought that haunts your every step. It bites your heels when you check out at the grocery store. When you go on a walk past the neighbor’s. The thought that no one, no matter what you do, no matter how many escapist novels you drive your nose into, no one will understand. Gives you the chills, doesn’t it? The self-checkout is looking alot better, huh? A few hours on Second Life and I could go to the amusement park without worrying one bit about that.
Little looks, little motions, and your happy reality turns to black as you are sucked into a dismal drone of disappointment. Judgment. Rejection.
But in the long run, what does it matter? Rejection. As long as your content; or content to be discontent, that works too. Or just use a time-worn tradition and jump in front of that oncoming subway. What does it matter.
Or does it matter a lot. Acceptance. Being understood. Do all your hopes and fears, expectations and accomplishments hang on that very knob. Being understood. Like a dirty, old coat, that has been tossed around, used for years, do you throw your hopes on the back of your neighbor’s chair, maybe hang it up on their coat-rack? Does your neighbor know? Or will he forget and use that coat-rack as kindling to battle the bitter cold raging at his door?
Is it better to be understood and rejected? or misunderstood and content?
Let me know. Leave a comment.
Young girls long to get married. Married women long to be single. And the middle-aged single women sit in cafes, as skinny as their lattes, with an expression of pondering. Pondering what you may ask? Maybe the man who left them on the alter? Maybe the poofy cat that she just buried in a lovely spot under that big oak in her backyard. Or, maybe she’s just trying to make up her mind on which sultry, young lady that buffoon of a bachelor will give a rose to. And another sip on your cappuccino.
And that’s life. People living in a reality where reality is not a word. Instead, what they know is a warm, dreary feeling that lifts us up above this dull room, this stuffy house, the translucent sky, till we lie with our backs on the clouds, our fronts warmed in the sun of tomorrow. And to tell you the truth, I like it. Alot.
You read a book about extraordinary people arguing about their love lives only for it to end unhappily, with that precious vase introduced in chapter three (you know the one, Grandma gave it to Ada on her seventh birthday), breaking to pieces. It represents the unhappiness in which poor Ada will live the rest of her life wallowing in.
And that little argument you had yesterday about why your response was a bit too harsh to that simple question seems so much more simple. In fact, it was only because you were feeling overwhelmed by the immense feeling of sadness at all the events that happened to you in the last 48 hours, and had in no way anything to do with the one you were snappy to.
But after the argument, you feel alone. So alone. And then you realize that someone is there. Someone who understands. Ada. Poor, sweet Ada went through the same feelings after that jerk of a man broke up with her over her over-cooked pasta. “I told you it wasn’t Al Dente!” he cried. That chapter will always bring a tear to my eye.
But it’s not pasta that wrecks our mundane lives. It’s the frightening thought that haunts your every step. It bites your heels when you check out at the grocery store. When you go on a walk past the neighbor’s. The thought that no one, no matter what you do, no matter how many escapist novels you drive your nose into, no one will understand. Gives you the chills, doesn’t it? The self-checkout is looking alot better, huh? A few hours on Second Life and I could go to the amusement park without worrying one bit about that.
Little looks, little motions, and your happy reality turns to black as you are sucked into a dismal drone of disappointment. Judgment. Rejection.
But in the long run, what does it matter? Rejection. As long as your content; or content to be discontent, that works too. Or just use a time-worn tradition and jump in front of that oncoming subway. What does it matter.
Or does it matter a lot. Acceptance. Being understood. Do all your hopes and fears, expectations and accomplishments hang on that very knob. Being understood. Like a dirty, old coat, that has been tossed around, used for years, do you throw your hopes on the back of your neighbor’s chair, maybe hang it up on their coat-rack? Does your neighbor know? Or will he forget and use that coat-rack as kindling to battle the bitter cold raging at his door?
Is it better to be understood and rejected? or misunderstood and content?
Let me know. Leave a comment.
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