not only by reason, but by heart.

My thoughts have of late been focused on somewhat of a truth-seeking inquisition. I've found that while i know for a fact that my God is real, my erratic doubt leaves my faith --and by that i mean my belief that He will, not that He can-- a reality that is only sporadically within my reach.

The difficulty in following Christ isn't believing that he did what he did. That said, I'm very aware that it's certainly not the easiest thing in the world to grasp... much less believe. Had I not experienced God like I have, I'm sure that I wouldn't have believed it myself. I feel the difficulty is knowing Him and trusting Him.
(I hate the Christian answer as much as you do.)
Once it's unearthed, however, it is a flagrantly terrifying thing. We refrain from handing over our entirety because we're placing everything we are into something that we don't entirely understand, or more truthfully, something we aren't 100% sure is factual.

If our absolutes are founded in our truths and if we are so certain of our God and our faith, why do we as Christians not ask the hard questions and relentlessly challenge our beliefs?
If God is who we believe He is, then why is it that we avoid challenging Him like the plague?
Truth has this arcane way of exposing itself.
Are we afraid that when we seek out truth, Christianity will not make the cut? That God will be proven to be nothing more than a myth and the sophistry of the age?

I have my doubts about God. There are some days that my doubt outweighs my faith by a few anvils. More important than those doubts, however, is what I've found in response to them.

If we find that God is a fallacy, then good for us. We've found truth. However if we find (as I have) that truth seems to rest on the bedrock of a Creator, do not stop until God is as real as the eyes you're reading with. Relying on tradition or the faith of your family will leave you either a nervous wreck or worse,

indifferent.

[On that, allowing only your own perception to be the judge of truth and fiction is a rail towards failure. Einstein said "Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods."]

Test everything. Hold on to the good.
- 1 Thessalonians 5:21

the frantic construction of a palisade between God and my own selfishness

i'm starting to come to the realization that joy isn't necessarily a sum of your happiness over a certain period of time. It's not the amount of fun we have or achieving our goal of frowning less and smiling more. I think that it may be part of it, but when i look back on the most joyful times in my life and back on the joyful times of Paul and Daniel and Isaiah, i can't say that it was because there was some overabundance of sunshine and unusually green grass that they found on the other side of some white picket fence.

cause in all honesty, when we're trying our best to do what God wants

(at least in my personal experience)

anything in overabundance is scarce except maybe second chances and undeserved love.

and joy.

cause i mean, my happiness doesn't come from myself. it's difficult if not impossible to take no other resource but ourselves and flip our mood to be something authentically good. Why? because the center of our discontent isn't anything outside of ourselves. we can blame everything, but ultimately it's because we are doing too much or too little of something.

Alcohol and over-socialization are only two of the virtually fool-proof ways to distract ourselves from the fact that the joy we have falls short of what it is we're actually craving.

what i'm trying to work out is that what we're craving
this comfort,
this sense of belonging,
this sense of identity,
the sense of accomplishment,
and a means to reach all of these,
and even though we can fill them with all of our stuff (that's always really cumbersome and really, really empty,) something always ends up falling out or falling short.

In between the lamentation or discontentment we call our short lived high "joy."

but for some reason or another, when i tie a blindfold around my eyes and march to the beat this ancient drummer that i'm trying so hard to know and understand, all the things that i've convinced myself that matter like financial comfort, my dignity, or my own plans for my ministry end up building a barricade between myself and the life and Christ have for me.

such a bulwark keeps us far too focused on ourselves, and i think that is the root of our discontentment and the ultimate obstruction of our joy.

just an observation.

chapter 6: chicago or "let's see what happens"

by tomorrow night i will have met my new family,
moved into my new house,
and begun my next task for the son of david.

i'll meet new people
make new friends
who need him as much as i do

and i will love them
and love them
and love them.

when he shows up, i won't be surprised.

faith?

pause the music on my playlist above.
it will be much more enjoyable with the correct music playing.

the winner is... devotchka

we've been trusted with things that only we can do.
so we've got to go to do what we have to.
but you need to know that i try daily
to love you as much as you have loved me.
i am the most blessed... though i don't deserve it.

and my heart is broken before work

St. Petersburg police cut up tents of the homeless










with liberty and justice for all.

in hopes to destroy the wall created by those who help.

There is a blatant difference between the people of the social classes; A very distinct constant that separates the pinstriped plush from the pauper. The difference is something far more obvious than money... it's one of those deals where everyone knows it, but no one talks about it.

all sorts of people hurt, all kinds of people are addicted, and all types of people partake in domestic violence. These aren't characteristics of class. these are characteristics of people. Money has absolutely nothing to do with it. There are people who have been well informed about investing, banking, mortgages, budgeting and government aid for schooling. There are others who don't really have the money to be advised. But money is the difference in class, not the difference in people.

Money doesn't create separation. money doesn't force individuals apart. money doesn't make the majority of your friends within the same monetary standing as you. Money doesn't make you the more significant and hold more worth.



This narcissistic perception of ourselves does.


I stood at the top of a hill that plateaued under a bridge downtown today. There were hundreds of liquor bottles, fast food bags, used condoms, containers from donated food people picked up from Daily Bread. The place was dirty, graffitied, and isolated from the rest of downtown. I passed a guy on the way there who I'm sure had been there a few times before, and I gave him a friendly hello. He responded seconds after we had passed each other with an inaudible grunt; this was after he stared at me as if i was crazy. I didn't belong there, and he knew it.

The class itself is divided by money, yes. but the dividing wall that ultimately divides God's children rests on the soul fact that we want to view ourselves as better off, as more in tune than those around us. We crave this need to hear from those in close proximity in our lives that we're doing something right, that we're successful, that we're loved, that we're witty, that we're beautiful, that we're wanted.

People see the poor as just that.

Poor.

Therefore, we, the UNpoor, see ourselves as their source of hope. We as the unpoor see ourselves as what these people should be more like. because we have our lives together, because we have a car. because we have nice clothes. because we sit behind a desk all day so that we can by the new shoes and plasma screen and vacation want. The poor are the sick, and it's up to the rich to heal them from there terrible fate.

Our relationships with the poor revolve around donating, around helping. we are the supplier, we are the doctor. We hand out food and donate clothes because "they need it". Sitting and smoking a pipe with a less fortunate friend for the sake of friendship has never been considered an attractive act of kindness. There is no organization involved. nothing to promise you safety. It's nothing you can take your Christian friends to and help the hungry and feel good about yourself.
So this healthy, loving exchange between people never occurs. Because it doesn't fit the comfortable mold of the contemporary idea of "loving the poor."

And our excuses? We can't instigate friendships? we don't live in the same areas? we have nothing in common?

we have the same hurts, the same questions, the same kinds of relationships... we'd just never know because clothing and houses and distanced neighborhoods get in the way.

Those with less see that, i've been told.

Being on the "more fortunate" end of the spectrum may be nice for the reputation and ego. But it leaves very little room for love. It seems to me that those who don't have a lot seem to understand the idea of love and God.

Jesus Christ seemed to think so
.

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God."

love like smoke

We all should start swinging... And I mean literally start throwing our fists left and right towards everyone we so deeply hate. The immature, the piercing, the angry, the unforgiving, the liars, the heart breakers, the thieves, the murderers, the terrorists, the parents, the children, the deserving, and the not.

I mean come running at them out of nowhere like some gurrila ambush and catch them completely off guard, so that when they see at the last second what they have coming, they won't have time to react, besides maybe a bit of profanity or some awkward sound or movement.

Like, no jokes. everyone should ball their fists and throw them in the direction of the hated. Have every single bit of anger and rage built up so that you can finally let everything out at once, rather it continue to build up over time.


and in a split second, alter the course of our hands so that they fly past their faces and wrap around their backs in an unexpecting embrace. and I mean press the insides of our fists to their backs and pull them into us in a desperate and defeated act of humility.

yeah, we'd squeeze a little hard than necessary, and yeah i'd kinda hope my tears got all over his nice new shirt. and i'd fight to restrain my voice as i told him everything i could think of that made me hate him so much.

but then we would finally let go, and look at them straight. look at them dead in the eye

and be able to apologize for everything; and at the other end of the spectrum, would finally be able to forgive everything. It would be done with. Everything.

It sounds simple and improbable. But i'm positive that we'd see that suddenly eye contact wouldn't be such a burden, and love would pervade the heart like cigar smoke in the lungs.

A quick 4am proverb.

When our futures are certain (and when I say this, I mean however broad), the segment of time between now and our futures becomes far more precious... And I've realized that this is so because I've never had to prepare for something so epic and beautiful.

How much can one person grow? I mean to answer this.

A haiku and a thought.

[Reaching contentment
Is to relinquish the search
for life and His plan.]

Restlessness and discontent make an impeccable recipe for progress. If we're comfortable in our lives, perhaps we're doing something very wrong.

What are we willing to give up to live past our own potential, and live up to the potential we were made to live up to.

You see, I've given up on my fear of failure because I've come to the realization that with the life ahead of me, I will inevitably fail far more than most.

I'm looking forward to every stumble.
It's all part of the race.
[Heb. 12:1]

Transcendentalism

It scares me that since I've been here, I haven't been able to write anything of substance. My way of thinking is gone because everything is loud and shallow.



People care about Calvinism and free will more than the people who believe in it. They care more about praying and reading their Bible than they do actually building a relationship with God, if that makes sense. People pray over their food because "it's what Christian's do." People read their Bible and go "witnessing" to people. If these people cared about the people more than they cared about their souls, they would get phone numbers and hang out with them, opposed to cramming Jesus down their throats for ten minutes, then booking it to save someone else's life before curfew. I know that their intentions are good, but it drives me crazy.



Yeah, Jesus would spread the word, but not because he had to, but because he loved and cared about the people. He had dinner with a tax collector at his home. I doubt if one of these evangelists would go to a party if they were invited by someone to whom they were sharing the gospel with.



...ending my rant.



At one point in my life I believed that if i just moved away, if i just got far from everything that i knew, i would be fine. I would be able to start clean and fresh. This wasn't true at all.



No matter where I go, I'm still myself. Nothing about that is changing anytime soon.



“Traveling is a fool's paradise... I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there besides me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from."



Transcendentalists make me feel a little less crazy. They also frustrate me with their brilliant diction and illustration. Sometimes I wish I was like Emerson. Back in the day he and a few others formed the Transcriptural Club and published a journal for all of the public to take in. Works like Emerson's "Nature" were first published there, and people were deeply influenced and inspired simply by what he had to say.



I get discouraged because many times I wish that my page, in the infinance of (which isn't actually a word... i suppose i mean the infinite nature of) the Internet will maybe have a fraction of that impact.



However, I'm well aware of the fact that I fall short.

Just a thought.

So I was thinking about it

and when I'm tossed along some valley or stream
or along some westward route by a loved one's hand
and as my dust blows by the feet of everything created
I'll laugh at the erudition and vainglory of men
and the bookish schools and pseudo-intellectuals
when I am able to wrap my arms around Him.

So I mean, what's there to worry about?

It's not what makes the world go 'round, it's what makes the ride worthwhile.

Perhaps

maturity is achieved when love becomes not only a catalyst for change, but for responsibility.

That statement really only makes sense if it's applied to very particular situations. None of these situations have anything to do with romantical love. Love initially is relational, Godlike. It's never infatuated or romantic.

And it's love in that form which instigates the perfection in life... at least the perfection that lasts.

love -noun
1. A silent conversation soundtracked by mixtape #13.
2. Fireworks in the snow
3. Necessary too-long hugs.
4. Running to catch torrential downpours
5. Hot chocolate with a hint of french vanilla.
6. Playlists specifically for hookah.
7. 3:32 am coffee runs.
8. Stories from the crazy war vet.
9. Stars, pipes, and fresh tattoos.

My Darlin Clementine.

"This is it. It's going to be gone soon."

"I know."

"What do we do?"

"Enjoy it."

-------

You can never really know how long you have. Ever.

What time we have will be judged by what we did with it, not what we didn't.

Just a thought.

Subway Dreams

I had a dream I was in a metro car, sitting in a seat to the right of the door (the ones with the glass in front you,) and I was writing and drawing on this notepad. I'm not really sure what I was drawing, though I'm not positive it was relevant.

I just kept writing, watching people get on and off. I wasn't getting off, looking for, or even counting the stops until mine... I guess I had no intention of getting off, but just passing the time and riding it around. It was fall I think, because I was wearing jeans, a black pea coat, and fingerless wool gloves, and my hat, of course.

All of a sudden the train stopped inside a tunnel, with only a couple emergency lights lit. The doors opened, and I just left nonchalantly down the tunnel into the dark.

----------------

I keep reading your letters that I haven't responded to. I apologize for not writing, I just never have much to say, and I really hate writing things that I don't think are important.

It's been an quaint few weeks, I'd say.

Musing.

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting
go and holding on

--Henry Ellis

.

Childhood playthings.

Once, I built a fort around the dog house in my back yard to keep out all of the attacking infintry. I held my own with sticks, rocks and homemade slingshots, while calling out to my non-existant troops to "push forward! They're retreating!" I would then kick down the wall I built and charge into the very center of the battle and hack away at my advisaries with my mighty sword that I had drawn from my belt loop sheath.


I never lost a battle, yet the victories never grew dull. I was always so proud of my accomplishment.


These days, my battles are against real infintry, and there's nothing good about my victories.

Wednesday Morning Coffee and Fries.

I'm sitting at starlight cafe doing homework, which I find pretty ironic... skipping school to do homework; but it's pretty typical for me.

I was working on my soundplot for tech theatre, which is already two days late, and the lady ordering her drink at the counter passed out and fell to the floor. She seizured, but only for four seconds, (for some reason, i counted time.)

Everyone leaped up to help. Some called 911, some got her pillows, some just surrounded her and asked if she was okay... it had to be incredibly overwhelming, so I thought it would be best to stay out of the way. I have this thing about people watching. It's completely unintentional, but I like it, so I see no reason to stop. I saw the baristas flipping out because they didn't know how to handle the situation, an English teacher continuing to correcting papers, trying to pretend nothing was happening, and a little girl. The little girl was smiling.

Not at the lady of course, but at her mother, who had fled from her table to help the woman. Her mother was fitting a pillow beneath the woman's head when the little girl looked at me, looked at her mother, then back at me... with subtext of "That's my mom." I smiled and nodded. She was then instructed to go to the back and find a damp washcloth to put over the fallen woman's forehead.

She immediately obeyed.



Proud of her parent who, she believed, had saved this woman's life.

Once the ambulance came and left, and I knew everything was okay, I got to thinking on my heroes. I realized my heroes were either dead, intangible, or no longer worthy of being my hero.

Ralph Waldo Emerson one said "At last every hero becomes a bore." Some day, the mother of that girl will no longer be a hero. She will no longer be invincible. She will be a mortal mother "who just doesn't understand."
She will grow to find new heroes, idolize other people that are much more extravagant than her mother.

I realized that a child's perception of any human hero holds the characteristics of God. I was told once that people will only let you down. Friends are amazing, and they can be the most ideal companion, but in some way shape or form, they can't live up to what you'd like.

I've realized I don't have heroes. I look up to certain people, but I keep their flaws and imperfections in the back of my mind, dulling the effect of their awesomeness.

I've raised my expectations for my heroes... so much so that I think only one will ever be considered mine.

He can't let me down.

Truth and Trust

The statement below is true

The statement above is false

I've found the problem isn't deciding which is true, but which you are willing to trust.

Are we really telling the truth, or trusting that others will trust and believe it is?

Inability.

i can see perfectly what i want to write... but that's the problem. i see it.

i see predestined heartbreak from a much higher source. it's his time to leave soon, but he doesn't know how. he has blue eyes. she has green. the girl wears dark colors, not as sign of depression, but as a sign of earthliness, thoughtfulness... for the reader, not for herself. her colors are subconscious. i see guitars, lattes, a blue crayon, a single bedroom apartment, an unlit pipe, shaggy brown hair and and overgrown beard. i see fading hope, but passion. i see maroon walls. a lover in the corner of the crowded room, smiling at this shaggy, overgrown musician. smiling cause she knows the song he's playing is for her. She's sipping on her favorite drink. cafe latte. simple, but that's the way she likes her things, simple. she's writing in her notebook that she carries everywhere with a blue crayon.. cause that's all she could find on her way out of work. (she's an elementary school teacher... first year.)

they're walking home, hand in hand... a loft apartment downtown. they have to climb up a narrow flight of stairs to their place. they don't talk much at all on the way home. not because of nothing to say or anger or awkward situation... but because there is comfort in their silence. They take in everything. They soak up every bit of goodness that they can, because life is hard. a cool night like this can get them through five bitter ones.

i see all of this in picture, but not in structure. absurdly frustrating.

i can write all of this, but i can't seem to put together everything i want you to see.. i see this... i dunno perfect picture. i see this happen, and as it plays in my head on my own little personal projection screen I'm frantically trying to write it down before the next scene.

i think that's my problem. i want people to see movies in what i write, and vice-versa if I'm to act something out. i feel like if i act something, I want them to see the work and thought and detail behind it.

i suppose this as a post will be more productive than what i would try to write. I'm aware that it is difficult to follow and doesn't make a lot of sense, but maybe you can see where my mind is going with this.

hopefully this did someone in the world some good.