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| "With a gun barrel between your teeth…you only speak in vowels.” --Fight Club
When you’re rushed, when you’re pushed, when you’re being watched, when you’re handed an opportunity..the gun barrel is locked in position. There's no time to catch your breath, much less pay attention to those roses.
Do you crack? Truth is...you might. Terrifying and humbling as it may be...you're not always going to have what it takes. You're going to spill a lot of milk, and your tears..arent going to clean it up. In times like that, you're tested. A fully trained, armed soldier isn't always the card drawn...when the enemy descends upon your gentle, even sleeping breaths, you have to give it all you have...even if short, cracked vowels are the only result.
There's strength in restoration...hit me with your best shot. Next time I'll come prepared.
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| Today, my otherwise sickeningly prompt professor walked into class precisely three minutes after the clock announced commencement. She walked solemnly to her position behind the podium and observed our class for what seemed a very long 2 minutes. Her eyes trailed up and down the aisles, searching for something..perhaps words, perhaps heart. At the closing of 2 minutes, her eyes managed to glitter with tears as they adressed the class as a whole for the first time. She smiled thinly, politely.
"Late last night, I received a phone call from my best friend in Cambodia. I was so excited to hear her voice that I must not have noticed the slight tone change, as if something attached itself to her words as they entered my end of the receiver, and I, unable to distingush it. She called with purpose, to tell me that a mutual friend of ours had died. He took his life a few hours prior, leaving behind nothing for us save a few words scratched onto notebook paper."
She paused for a moment and continued,
"The paper said this: 'I forgot...I forgot all of the things I was supposed to remember.'"
She turned the lights off and played a short acoustic song, just loud enough to fill the room and turn our attention away from the mundane of both the ice forming on the corners of the windows, and the fact that Peter's eyes sparkled an impeccable shade of green today in his spot next to them.
I don't think I'll ever forget that day. Her opennes. His admittal.
Are there things we must remind ourselves of in order to survive? Is it more than an unconscious effort to breathe, to exist...is life sustained by laughter, by heartbreak, by challenging your mind? This man forgot. He forgot everything life was about. He found himself trapped in simple existence. It wasn't enough. It's not enough.
With but one thing I challenge you....REMEMBER.
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| "...the best writing stays away from all things cliche and trite" --my writing professor. Does it really? Is it really that crucial to stay away from the cliches? Someone decided that repetition or sounding redundant is wrong, unless disguised under the label of "creativity" "tradition" or "classic." Why must all of the glory and respect be designated for these so-called "classics" and tradition... who decides what's wrong and what's brilliant? I rather like cliches when the moment can be described by nothing other than a phrase such as 'like father like son.' Planning is advised, yet the free spirit scoffs at the schedule... | | |
| "I hate him. He's stupid. And we're NEVER gonna be friends, not in my whole life!"
The words of Caleb, (an adorable little boy that I babysit), who falls just short of a warm and fuzzy relationship with the little boy next door. Well, since they both share the same playground during the same times, I suggested that Caleb do something nice for him to mend this lack of friendship..kind of a "kill him with kindness" technique.
We brainstormed and Caleb finally agreed and was really excited about it. We baked cookies that Caleb decorated, and built a transformer out of legos for the boy next door to play with at the park.
Long story short..the neighbor wasn't quite as excited about this friendship as Caleb was. Turns out that cookies with white frosting are "girly," and he already owned a better transformer. The look on Caleb's face was a few notches above devastating.
Caleb quickly receded back to the "I hate him. He's stupid..never friends.." thing. Oh, except now you can add "ingrate and meany" to the list.
...I don't know about you, but I've definately been there. Perhaps It's just my naiveté, but when you do something genuinely kind for someone, you find yourself hoping for at least a shy smile of recognition --certainly not a rebuke or negativity. It hurts. [I'll get back to this in a second..]
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the story of Christ's death, burial and resurrection is following me everywhere lately....
Honestly, Christ's death is a little more than I can handle sometimes. Realizing the anguish that my futile attempts at "fun" or a" better life" have caused..I mean, wow.
And there's not even some petty excuse I can come up with to justify anything..."It seemed like a good idea at the time," isn't even noteworthy.
More than that though..what really gets me... is the passionate, unshakeable love that Christ has for us.
Christ intentionally suffered and died FOR the people who were mocking Him.. spitting on His face.. beating Him..denying Him.
I can't even imagine.
Remembering Caleb's face when his kindness turned on him..the crushing look on his face..Christ's death isn't even comparable. "Thank you"...doesn't even put a dent in it. I'm left speechless.
 2 Corinthians 5--
14 For the love of Christ controls us, having concluded this, that one died for all, therefore all died; 15 and He died for all, so that they who live might no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose again on their behalf. | | |
| MUSIC.
Christ aside, there is nothing more powerful than streams of chords, rushing through your mind, captivating your thoughts, and forcing movement.
Location: Anywhere.
Genre: You decide.
However, there are rules restricting genre/location mixes:
1) Screamo is absolutely always innapropriate during funerals/wakes. There are no exceptions, do not attempt lest little gnomes cover you with stickynotes bearing adjectives such as: insensitive, moronic, immature, etc..
2) If your music playing device is within my reach, and country-twang non-sense is your genre of choice...you might wish to duck as your iPod takes flight.
3) Regardless of the "beauty" of the organ, this instrument will NEVER assist in the flow of pre-game adrenaline. Nice thought but, sorry coach.
4) If a particular kind of music makes you dance particularly...idiotic... you should probably refrain from listening to it in front of the opposite gender to avoid embarrassment. Just a thought..not like I would know. stupid techno.
(There are many more of such restrictions..inform the world if you feel so inclined.)
Rules aside, I've found myself gripping tightly to the fingers of this marvel through just about every phase of life.
I believe it began when the death of my great-grandma was announced at the age of 5..i frantically scrambled up the stairs into the nearest room, turned on the tape [yes, tape] player, and a hymn called 'Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus' kept the tears from falling before I slid from the wall to the ground.
Somewhere in the middle of life music was my greatest pleasure. Whether it was singing Christmas carols, drowning out the world, or dancing in convertibles with friends, I loved it. And of course, you must mix in a few guilty pleasures..NSync at sleepovers, Shania Twain for Lip Sync, and I may or may not have been a huge fan of the Spice Girls ;]
One thing I've sadly just recently discovered is how well my love for my Savior and my love for music coincide. I had completely compartmentalized them. Sure, there were worship songs in church..I had the hymnbook memorized. But I wasn't worshipping, I was singing. Someone said this week that "Music is a reflection of God's creativity..."
Such different styles and tastes from everywhere around the world. Everyone worshipping him in different languages with different beats and harmony and dancing. Yea i said it. d-a-n-c-i-n-g. I don't know about you but, MY Jesus dances.
I used to struggle with reading my Bible...a lot. Especially when I came to college and the professors will hand you 500 page books about as numerous as parking tickets that I..may or may not have..collected.
I figured out that if i read a few chapters and turn them into song lyrics, not only does it help me seek out an exegetical idea and application from the passage, but also organizes the main points in a way that keeps me interested.
Thursday night praise is huge too. Or even playing worship music while you throw on some jeans and brush your teeth in the morning. You don't have to sing. You don't have to raise your hands. And you definately don't have to appreciate handbells.
Just put your heart into it. Whatever that means for you. And my opinion regarding location and genre still stands...anywhere and any genre. ;] | | |
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