Anywhere

The car is parked
You are shivering
So I hand you my jacket
And you hide beneath
I sit on my hands
Not sure what to do
Looking out the driver’s side
I swear we have been here before
Maybe that is just it
This road we know so well
Seems so right, so familiar

I don’t care
if we take the long way there.
I don’t care
if we take the long way there
If you are with me

You ask me
But I say I’m not cold
Right now
I just want you to stay
We’ve taken a wrong turn or two
But unveiled new things
Along the way
Remember that old tree we climbed,
worn and off the common path,
with a view only for two?

Though a sigh lends to questions
Though a silence stands between
You are still here
And I don’t want to be anywhere
But here, with you

I don’t care
If we take the long way there
If you are with me

Abraham

Patriarch of the stars
Father of the sands
Won’t you hear my plea
To intercede for your descendents
For the smell of sulfur in the air
Is beginning to remind me of Sodom
The injustice
The gluttony
The idle hands
The poor ignored
Is beginning to look like Gomorrah
The ash, I can taste it in my mouth
We distance ourselves from these fabled cities
For we were founded on freedom and truth
Our ignominy tells no tales
Is there a righteous man
Even one?
Patriarch, oh that you were here
To plead on our behalf
That the righteous might rise up
And be heard before it is too late
For our transgressions
Are the catalyst
In which we’ve been dousing ourselves
Before the city is lit ablaze
Patriarch of the stars
Won’t you forgive us
For treating your children
As grains filtered one by one
As the sand of time
Falling
As we watch
With able hands, each life
Waste away

Righteous man, rise up
Save your city from destruction
For the cry of the forgotten
The rumble of the empty stomachs
The voicelessness of the downtrodden
Is beginning to sound like the haunting chant
The chant of justice, of judgment

Father of many
Righteousness was credited to you
For faith in an unseen covenant
As fools we have disgraced your blessing
Ascribed to us
For our “sin so grievous”*
I fear, is a piercing outcry
That will not be ignored
Father of many
Won’t you rescue us
So that the righteous
Will not be swept away with the wicked? *


*Genesis 18:20
**Genesis 18:23
Concept impetus: Ezekiel 16:49

greatest fear

I’m sorry things have been so unclear
So unpredictable, so overcast
So sorry that who I am
So often affected by the forecast
But I’m beginning to learn
And see things anew
That when the sun is hidden
And the moon vacant
When clouds make us hold our breath
That the dark night is actually brighter

I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Is a tear shed for you
In joy, in pain, in suffering, in solace, in peace—-
In silence
I don’t have the words
But I’ve been trying to find them
Because our existence is so fragile
My greatest fear
Is that those I love the most
Know it the least

I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Are tears shed for you
In laughter, in loss, in doubt, in comfort, in rest—-
In silence
Overflowing from a heart
That fears
That those I love the most
Know it the least

quote

I so connect with this:
Jon Foreman (at www.myspace.com/jonforeman)
"...Lately music has been my compass: it's neither the map, nor the road but a steady constant that can help me make sense of the both.

Most of the time, the songs that I write are more honest than I am. Sometimes I don't play certain songs for people because I'm not ready for that sort of honesty.

I don't write many happy songs, at least not lately. Which is odd because I'm a fairly upbeat guy. So I've got a few theories as to why this might be the case

It might be because life wears down on you. And you lose that part of yourself.

Or it could be because the songs are the only place where these types of ideas can find a release- like a dream where your subconscious is trying to tell you something.

Or perhaps I don't write songs when I'm happy. You know, a celebration requires a few friends and depression requires solitude.

Either way songs have become my way of finding beauty in the midst of chaos and the pain. It's a way of finding redemption for mistakes and regrets that I have.

In this way I feel like the creative process brings me closer to God. As a creator of a song I get to take all these broken fragments of failure and chaos and weave together something beautiful and meaningful. Decay. Death. Pain. Fall. And if God is a songwriter then these fallen leaves of mine can be redeemed. "

advent conspiracy

A few blogs back, I posed the question as to why we need to distract ourselves from reality with these guilty pleasures. In some form, we are all subject to this. Unless you are St. Francis, you probably spend some of your time surfing the web, watching movies, reading the latest New York bestseller or whatever as an escape. We also organize these kinds of activities into bigger things like professional sports which have enough viewers where people are actually paid to be physically fit and compete.
Then we have holidays and celebrations, which really have some good intentions where families gather and enjoy each other, united in whatever it is that has drawn them there for that moment. Oh how we have commercialized such things. I have heard professors say that the calendar is structured in such a way that it has some sort of rhythm, to constantly be refreshing us and reminding us of the gospel. Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, Advent, All-saints Eve, etc. Despite the best intentions of our forefathers, it has evolved into a maelstrom of constant consumerism. Think about it, we are always gearing up for the next big holiday so we can eat excessively, blow things up, and buy extravagantly for one another. As soon as Fall hits, the Halloween candy pops out, way in advance. Before you know it, the turkeys are everywhere and we eat so much we blame our lethargy on tryptophan (when scientists say it is actually just because our stomachs are so full). Then Christmas, oh Christmas. This brings me to what I want to get at.
Last year in church I heard about a brilliant movement, called the Advent Conspiracy. I love it, it’s bringing back the scandal of the gospel, tearing back the garish colors of Christmas and going anti-tradition by reminding ourselves that we lost the point somewhere. This movement says that we try something different. It talks about relational giving. To give something that really means something to those that are important to you, to make something or to offer up your time or skills. We tend to buy each other things that get hidden somewhere in the garage, or passed on to someone else. The fact that we have enough to give meaninglessly says that there is a perfidious imbalance of wealth. Why are we giving to those that do not really need anything? Because of love. There are other ways to show love that actually mean more. This is tough and it goes against everything that we have been doing our whole lives.
The reason I want to bring this up (other than that the pastor talked about it again this year) is that the whole world thinks it is in economic crisis. I know that I am going to hear things about how Christmas spending is down and how people can’t afford to have Christmas. Whatever. I would not be surprised if these new economic stimulus packages come out, with hopes that we’ll spend it on ourselves at Christmas or another holiday.
For more info go to http://www.adventconspiracy.org. They have more stuff and statistics, about how much America goes into debt each year to bring this season into our homes.
Some of the ideas I have heard are awesome. Like families volunteering their time to serve the poor during the holidays and spending their gift money instead on building wells through Living Water in places that do not have access to potable sources. A lot of churches are doing this together, and I think this is a neat way to see a little bit of sacrifice draw people together.
Or you can go to http://www.kiva.org and take part in the revolution of microfinance. Giving small loans to people who do not have money so that they can turn around and start a small business with it or think of it as sponsoring entrepreneurs that would never have a chance on their own. You get to hear the stories and progress of the people using your “loan.” This is the whole idea of teaching a man to fish rather than just giving a fish.
Or go to http://www.heifer.org and look at a gift catalog and buy someone livestock for their farm to make it a little more sustainable.
Or go to http://donate.worldvision.org and buy someone a goat, a shelter, or pay for a kid’s education for a year.
Another gift catalog… http://giving.samaritanspurse.org.
Even my Peace Corps buddy is into this, in a way, without even knowing it. He told me about kiva.org and how he requests that instead of receiving gifts for his birthday or Christmas that people support this organization with that money. In that way, he is spreading the word about these kinds of organizations and opening their minds up to it as well.
Personally, I think it would be awesome to buy a family a ger in lieu of my time in Mongolia. The winter is brutal, having a shelter is the minimum anyone should have.
What are your thoughts? I do not want to be hyper-critical of society and holidays. Holidays are great; let us draw together and instead look beyond our little worlds and instead of trying to forget reality, make a change. Doing this together, as families, as friends has a longer last impact. The website for Advent Conspiracy has some ideas for relational giving and other stuff, so check it out.
Oh, and let me know if you want to help buy someone a ger.

reverie

What would you say
If I told you
Last night
I felt like going for a drive
Windows down, the cold wind
Sweeping through
Eyes closed
Yet seeing so clearly
Soaring, free
Breathing breath not my own
Maybe then I’d remember
And wake up to your eyes
Shake me awake if that’s what it takes
In reverie everything is so clear
And yet my vision is blurred
So real but beyond my grasp
In reverie revelry
Looking out the passenger window
Watching it all go by
Driving as fast as I can
To get there
The scenes so busy, so illusory
They all fail to stain my memory
In reverie
Wake me up to your eyes

souliloquy

Haven’t talked to you
In a little while
It’s been wrong, all wrong
I kind of thought
That I could get by with just listening
After all,
What could you possibly want from me
When your eyes are the truth
They penetrate through
All our formalities, structures and isms
Your heart is the scent of purity
A blossom of love
And mine reeks
Devoured by its own insularity
I have to admit
That it is hard to give of yourself
When you are used to receiving
For this gift, this gift of pain
Looms, ever growing, overbearing
Entropy for the soul
How can I understand
That you carry these for me
That this weight
Is a mere haunting shadow
That feels so real
Your light is so much lighter
Oh, deliver me
Deliver me from this inertia in my spirit
No more soliloquies
I’m crawling back to you
One word at a time
So that I can continue to listen
For your whispers

paths

Am I lost
Or just waiting to be found
I never thought
I wandered that far
I don’t even remember
When it all started
All I know is
That I can’t see home from here
And I’m unsure which way is back
I thought, I just thought
That I heard your voice in the distance
So I ran after you
Until the air was thin
And my lungs burned
As hot coals
And my sinews could muster no strength
I thought, I just thought
That I might see you
That I might hear you
That you might urge me on
Or send me home
I don’t even know
Am I lost
Or just waiting to be found

visions of the sea

This is one from Mongolia. Never got around to posting it while there; was feeling some of the same things and so I remembered I had this written somewhere. Strange, I never knew what it felt like to be landlocked, always having the ocean within a few hours drive. It manifest itself in the longing for the sea; in this time I couldn't shake thoughts of Noah, Odysseus, and Jonah...for some reason I kept dreaming of the sea.

Landlocked
Yet visions
Of the open sea
Are more vivid
Than the sight
Of water
To the parched throat
Trapped without
The ocean near
Surrounded
Free to roam
The open plains
To climb unclaimed land
Worn and winded
Its peaks
Sanded and stolen
By the desert
As it drinks life
From the land
Creeping, rushing
Like a flood
Oh, drowning
Cast a line
Before these waters
Strand hope
Clench
The horse’s mane
As the sun
Magnifies the grace
Of this wild beast
There is no solace
Across the steppe
Landlocked
Trapped at sea
As a sailor
Desperate
For the sight of land
Landlocked
Oh, drowning
Cast a line
Before these waters
Strand hope

go get drenched

It is unpleasant and inconvenient when you are in it, but nice to watch enveloped in the arms of shelter. It hides the sun with its sender and yet it gives off that magical smell when it is done.
Rain.
We do what we can to avoid it. We have umbrellas, raincoats, ponchos, cars with windshield wipers. We cover our heads with jackets when running from the house to the car. We stay inside when it pours.
I never really cared for rain because it always hindered me from doing what I wanted to do. Or it would just make things tougher to deal with. It made me feel trapped. In Thailand if I wanted to anywhere, I had to walk down the street and find some public transportation which would mean getting wet along the way. Most Taxis reject soaking wet people and it isn’t a good idea anyway because it seems that the air-conditioning in vehicles only chooses to work when its not hot, creating a shiverfest and leaving the driver with a wonderful set of odors to mask with cheap perfumes. Then there is the crowding in a bus, huddling close, but not too close to the other passengers. Funny, there are different rules for personal space, I find that people do not want to be pressed close to a soaking stranger—who knows what kinds of stuff is dripping from their frame?
Acid rain aside, I think rain has purifying elements for the soul and mind. What is about a storm that gets one thinking—is it the moodiness of the torrent that resonates with something in us? When I think back to all of the times I have been drenched it has led to some good soul searching. I remember the times when I used to walk to the university in the rain, it wasn’t a real rain, a mere drizzle by tropical standards, but the short walk was somehow cleansing. Maybe it is breathing in that wet, cold air when it has been so dry and hot for months.
I forgot about this feeling, this something, that is stirred when walking in the rain until I decided to brave the cold and wet to go pay rent because I refuse to drive a distance so short. It felt so good, so familiar, like something I had missed out on for so long.
So, I propose this. At least once in the rainy season, leave the umbrella at home. Let the elements drench your skin and let the beauty or whatever it is that strikes you, sink deeper and permeate into your being. I think we lose something when we separate ourselves from nature with our shelter and man-made things. I think that for a moment we are finally letting ourselves be vulnerable to God when we quit hiding behind the inferior things we make and let our parched souls soak up his wonder.

train tracks

Oh, we’re in trouble
Not sure where to go
Can’t we just leave it all behind
Board the next train
With no set destination
As we nervously triumph
With the blare of its horn

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

The great beast fights inertia
as it pulls at the tracks
begging it to let it go
who thought this could be so freeing
when its path is determined
we’ll get off in some small town
maybe make new names
or we’ll head along some unmarked trail

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

Like a fish tangled in a net
Our lives twisted and caught
In a cobweb of wires and excess
Keeping us together
Or suffocating our deepest longings?
Oh we have to get out
You are not here alone
Take my hand,
Together we’re stronger

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

flags and Nascar

I have been thinking about symbolism and the American flag. There is an entire set of etiquette in dealing with it such as it cannot touch the ground or it needs to be burned and it is always to have a light on it otherwise it is to be only flown between dawn and dusk. Most people know these things and they never really mattered to me until I was given the duty of hoisting them each day. I actually hate this responsibility because of the fear of the flag touching the ground as I attempt to attach it to the halyard.

A few weeks ago, a certain person on duty failed to fold the flags neatly after taking them down. I for one, am no patriot. I am the kind that grimaces on the fourth of July when we have to sing "Proud to be an American". Travel overseas and see the conduct of Americans or the way we are viewed and it makes you not so proud. Anyhow, I at least have the sense of respect for my country to do things right and not wad up the flag.

Just last week I was having trouble hoisting the flag due to the fact that the California flag had not been removed at night. The California flag sits below the American flag when raised, thus it was a tough task trying to put on the American flag while trying to keep the other flag from touching the ground. It was as if I needed another set of arms and hands. After a few close calls, I succeeded, very clumsily.

Later that morning a student participating in ROTC told me that while they were doing their PT, one of the officers, in a moment of pride for his country exclaimed, "Who the f*** is putting up the flag?!" This made me cringe in a moment of fear and embarassment at my feeble attempt to do things right. I guess I had not demonstrated enough pride and respect in the process to the point of offending someone proud to serve our country.

Does this seem a little extreme to you? Maybe I've just gotten a little defensive, but I think that this represents a misplacement of values. It is just a flag. Yes, it is a symbol for everything that America stands for. But it is just a flag. All of these federal regulations and the intensity of one's reaction to clumsiness says that things are out of order. Is the flag sacred? In my eyes we can fringe upon borderline idolatry. Yes, we need respect but still...

Think about it. Do we treat God's word with the same kind of respect? I see us putting it on the ground all the time. God's words...that seems pretty sacred to me, and to be putting it on the ground, what kind of disrespect is that? Not to mention for all of the people that died and fought for it to get to where it is today--in the hands of the common man in language that we can understand.

On another line of thought...what's the deal with Nascar anyway? One of my roommates was flipping through the channels and stopped there for a second. It just seems ludicrous to me in this time where there is a supposed "oil crisis" or the need for more fuels, that we sit amused watching it being guzzled up where nothing good comes of it. Black gold, just being used as cars circle for hours around a track. Waste?

All for the sake of entertainment, we waste. It occurred to me the other day that the wealthier a country, the more absurd the entertainment. I was thinking about how the US has so many t.v. shows and reality shows and game shows. Then I was thinking about how Japan is known for having random game shows that entertain us here. Why is it that we have to distract ourselves with such absurdity when the rest of the world is dealing with reality? Why the need to suspend reality?

confessions

I confess that I sometimes just do not care because it feels like a burden no one can shoulder. Or is it that I care too much but just do not know what to do and so I choose to shut my mind off because there is a direct correlation between knowledge and responsibility.
I confess that sometimes I do not want to know what is going on. I confess that I choose to settle into this ever narrowing Americana tunnel-vision. So then I distract myself with things that really do not matter. When I open up the newspaper it is easier for me to turn to the comics or the sports or the healthy living but it is almost too painful to look at what is going on in the world—even when the newspaper you read arbitrarily filters out the WORLD section into a quarter of a page.
I confess that when I pick up a TIME magazine it is much easier to read about crazy new inventions or new movies or an up and coming writer or trend rather than a war that is ravaging the lives that number greater than the entire city I live in.
I confess that when I turn on the television it is a struggle to make myself turn to a news channel when I could lose myself in laughter of Cosby or Home Improvement re-runs. I confess that I rather read the running line of updates across the bottom of news channels and have it as quickly leave my mind as it races across the screen than watch a report on it.
I confess that it is easier not to care until someone brings it up in conversation and then to become passionate for a moment. I confess that these moments are disturbing and you hope no one will bring them up, stirring my heart that has felt overwhelmed for so long.
I confess that I want to cry when I see beggars and want to give them money even though I have lived my whole life being told not to. I confess that that feeling fades with all too much haste. I confess that I do not do anything to help these people.
I confess that I love getting letters from my sponsored children across the world but I forget to pray for them even though I know they live so simply and through much hunger and difficulty.
I confess I refrain from writing or saying things that I believe because then I will be held accountable. I confess that with the things that my eyes have seen that I am ashamed how idle my hands are, how soft and un-calloused they are—unlike my heart.
I confess that I strongly believe that when faced with a decision the harder choice is most often the better, yet I tend to favor what is comfortable.
I confess that I waste even when I see how it impacts the rest of the world. I confess that I detest plastic because it poisons the earth in the process of making it, recycling it, destroying it, or drinking from it but will never be able to completely quit using it. I confess that I think this is messed up. I confess that I think all we care about is convenience. I confess that luxury and convenience have been mistaken for necessity.
I confess that I really just want to do what pleases God and believe is right and yet am afraid of what that looks like.
I confess that I probably will not be any different after this, that I will quickly forget this.
I confess that God is just but sometimes we refuse to believe it and so I judge according to my own understanding. I confess that this justice means that there is no compromise and yet we think we can fudge here and there.
I confess that I do not love enough.
I confess I do not know where to go from here, that I do not know how to tie all of this together.

curious mornings

By no means am I a morning person. Anyone that knows me has probably witnessed the fact that I take quite awhile to shake off drowsiness, which comes in the form of being slow to rise and grumpy upon waking. The Proverbs are filled with practical wisdom; one of my favorites is found in 27:14, “If a man loudly blesses his neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.” I recall sharing this with my roommate my freshman year, hoping that he may glean something from this Biblical caveat.
As much as I may appear to despise the morning, I actually really like it. So far as I have shifted the hours that I work I have enjoyed greeting the start of a new day. I find that the sun is somewhat like me—it is not an instant riser—it takes its time. Or is it that it wishes to be respectful, to not be so abrupt in urging us out of our slumber?
There is nothing like the crispness of the dawn air; somehow it renews me as it fills my lungs with its purity, unadulterated by the flurry of busyness of the day. There is also a sense of wonder and curiousness as I see color restored as shadows are lifted. It is as if secrets are whispered for all to hear and yet I find myself among the few that are fortunate enough to be up and hear it. What is the secret though?
It is a curious feeling, one that you wish you could share with more. Yet, most of the time when we are up before the sun, we have busied ourselves excessively ALREADY to the point that the purity of the dawn air simply fills our lungs rather than actually permeating our being. The beauty in the way that the mystique of the morning lingers unexplained is so expansive that it is new each day and why lovers draw closer, for they have shared in an eternally ephemeral masterpiece that is theirs to keep.

follow?

Ozzie Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest for August 17th starts out with the verse Luke 18:22 which reads, “Yet thou lackest one thing; sell all that thou hast…and come, follow Me.” [capitalization is Ozzie’s, not mine]

In this day’s reading, he talks about how Jesus has a lot for us which we listen to, yet not necessarily hear. Yet, there are those times when we feel like we are falling or for a moment you are stuck or it just smacks you in the face like a splat on your windshield. Mr. Chamber’s says those words are “amazingly hard” when they actually do get through to us. I think all of us are pretty aware of this, if you read the same Bible as me, there are some shocking things going on in there that we tend to rationalize away through saying it was hyperbole, analogy, or has a different meaning because of context or even get lost in the intellectualness of it all rather than looking to God’s heart.

What did strike me as I read this is when the devotional goes on and says, “Our Lord never pleaded, He never cajoled, He never entrapped; He simply spoke the sternest words mortal ears ever listened to, and then left it alone.” He then asks, has God ever said something challenging to me which I have clearly heard? I did not really want to hear these words because it places so much responsibility on us. Just the idea that maybe God has not specifically requested of us to sell all our possessions, but there is something else he asks before we are to follow him and then we are given a choice—to do it quick or turn away downtrodden by what we cannot do.

Jesus is pretty hardcore sometimes. Yeah, He is human and there is this balance between the guy that weeps for loss of friends and enjoys a good party from time to time to the guy that says to a disciple in Matthew 8 he should follow him NOW, not even taking time to bury his deceased father. Right before that he says to a teacher of the law that wants to follow him, “man, I made everything you see around you. I AM, and I spoke it into existence. Foxes, birds, ants—they all have a place to call home and yet I do not even have shelter. I am a sojourner; I am homeless. Are you sure you are up to it?” I could distract myself with the idea that Jesus was just trying to make a point of all that it costs to walk and talk with him. Yet, when I ask myself if I would be able to leave behind my responsibility to family I get a little lost in the practical aspects that need to be taken care of. “What will my family think? Jesus does not really mine right this very instant, he can wait a day or two. I cannot just leave them like that.” Do you think you could? Given the burial has not taken place yet, that means the loss is very recent and one would still be immersed in the pain and mourning.

On top of this He says, “let the dead bury their own dead” which at first glance can look extremely callous. And yet, the implications of this are deep—six-feet deep—if you will. The idea is that those that are not truly alive are concerned with the wrong things rather than following. This is pretty scary, but what does that say about me when I turn down the chance to follow up on what Jesus is speaking to me? That I am dead?

This is all really important to munch on, to let it set in, process, then regurgitate and ruminate on it. I am just not sure how. So many times, reading the newspaper or watching the news or talking with friends you get these crazy ideas or strong feelings about something. Or when reading the scriptures suddenly you get excited about a passage or something makes your blood pump a little faster because you never noticed that verse or thought about it that way. I think it appropriate to credit the Holy Spirit in pointing out things to us that we have seen a million times but suddenly are almost highlighted and illuminated so clearly. Given the perfect, holy communion between the persons of God, would it be too much to say that convictions or passions can be Him speaking to us [a little indirectly?]? This is scary because we get all into whatever it is at the time but not necessarily do anything about it. Where is the follow through, taking actions to our ideas and beliefs. To know something and not do anything about it is perfidy—we are breaching something that was entrusted to us in faith.

So many times I think, “man, I just want to follow.” Well, it is time to rethink, to look anew, to see all the offers Jesus has put out there, lovingly, without demanding.

There is hope though. Oswald Chambers says near the conclusion of the devotional, “Our Lord knows perfectly that when once His word is heard, it will bear fruit sooner or later.”

Lord, cure this leprosy of the soul.


It is time to follow.