Er... Let's try that again, shall we?
Yes, I do indeed have a blog.
Sort of.
Thanks to the limited (AKA virtually nonexistent) time I've spent with it lately, my little bloglet has been left unkempt as a hippie rocker's hairdo. These things don't write themselves, apparently, which makes sense considering the fact that they're inanimate pixelated objects. In any case, I haven't sat down with Mr. Bloglet for almost two months now, and I've missed it.
The last couple of months have been decidedly, wonderfully busy. I moved in with my brother and sister-in-law halfway through August and started school at Colorado Christian University a few days later. Between being a full time music student, a worship team member, a college ministry team leader, and a part-time babysitter and self-employee, I haven't exactly had a lot of time for extra projects and activities! I wouldn't trade it for the world, though: this is the happiest I've been day-to-day in a long time. I'll be the first to say that happiness isn't everything -- peace is worlds better -- but happiness in conjunction with peace is absolutely priceless.
In many ways, it's utterly overwhelming for me to be at a school like CCU. If I'm being honest, I had completely given up the dream, even the idea, of having a truly enjoyable college experience. After the last two years, I just assumed that any college I attended would be nothing but a means to an end: I'd stay in only as long as necessary to get my degree, than get out. The thing that amazes me, then, is this: from the first week that I set foot on CCU campus, I felt like I was a part of something there -- a community, a body of believers, a network of friendships and relationships. I'm still a new face, and I'm still getting to know people and be known by them; but I'm still a part of it all, and that floors me. Finishing college is still a means to an end in some respects, but for once I don't dread and/or regret that means. I'm actually in a place where I am learning rather than being forced to memorize and regurgitate political agendas; I'm surrounded by a community of people who want to run after Jesus with me and build me up rather than try to reshape and redefine the core of my identity.
It's funny... In many ways, being here is forcing me to realize how deeply affected I was by the semester I spent at CU in Boulder. I don't say that to bash the school in any way; my experience there really had little to do with the school. I do know, though, that I was in a terribly broken, dark place emotionally, mentally, and spiritually when I was there (although I was, strangely, at peace). Back then my saving grace was God's making me realize that denying my brokenness, my fear, and my utmost dependence on Him was killing me (and I don't say that lightly); I'm realizing more and more that it doesn't do me any good to deny that the memories and the residue of that experience are still with me and still affect the way I think and live. I don't think it's possible to be in a place of total fear and depression and not be radically changed by it, even if the ultimate change was and is for the better.
I know I'm rambling. All I mean to say through all of that is that I am inexpressibly grateful to be where I am physically, mentally, and emotionally right now. I wouldn't have appreciated the environments I'm in (especially CCU) right after high school nearly as much as I do now. The presence of God in these places is indescribable...
Life is wonderful. Life in the truest sense of the word is utterly joyous.
Regardless of that, though, and regardless of how I'm feeling or not feeling in any given moment,
God is in control. And He hasn't let me go.
He is good.
I think I'm in love...
Friday, October 7, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Unedited: Truly Alive
Some things are best written unedited.
I know: writers aren't supposed to write without revising. Editing provides the coherence and fluidity that a first draft simply does not contain. First drafts are too choppy, too raw.
Sometimes, though, that rawness is exactly what a writer needs to communicate.
I've been living a lot lately. Not simply "living" in the ordinary workaday sort of way; living in the "I'm climbing 14,000-foot mountains and traipsing all over this beautiful state and its great outdoors" sort of way. It's a sort of living that only summer can provide, and it's the sort of living for which Colorado provides an unsurpassed environment. Breathtaking mountainscapes, rolling valleys, the neverending panoramic views of wild flowers and sedges and pines... I don't think you've really lived until you've looked into this sort of infinity and been brought to your knees. It's been my privilege to do so continuously for the past two weeks.
Venturing home from these adventures was bittersweet at first: sweet because home is, after two weeks of being away, more welcoming than any other destination could be. It was bitter, not because I had to leave behind a baseball tournament in Steamboat, along with the neighboring mountain towns and views; but because we were forced to creep towards home in what we considered an ungodly standstill of a traffic jam.
Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment I'm humbled and awed by the blade of a leaf, almost brought to tears by the intricate network of life in the forest; the next moment, I forget to notice the obvious beauty all around me because of a line of cars. In fact, my family decided to pull over for dinner in Georgetown, typically a 1 1/2 to 2 hour drive from home, to avoid becoming a permanent part of the parking lot on the road. (This decision was probably best for everyone's sanity and stress levels, in all honesty!)
About an hour later, we left the European restaurant we discovered to face the roads once more. The traffic, though lesser, was still present. Needless to say, we were still a little impatient. Getting home at a decent hour is of utmost importance, after all.
We drove for about an hour before reaching Golden at dusk. Yet again, the line of traffic started to slow. This time, though, our countenances shifted quickly from annoyance to concern. On the left shoulder of the road, a dented car faced the wrong direction, its bumper torn away and left to embellish the pavement. My dad slowed our truck to talk to the seemingly uninjured passengers standing next to the vehicle, urgency and immediacy in his voice.
"I used to be an EMT. Does anyone need any medical help?"
The man's face twitched in a moment of realization before he responded,
"...Uh...check the car up ahead."
A few yards ahead on the right side of the road, a mass of twisted steel and glass balanced on what I suppose you could call tires. Nothing about the object seemed like a car, not when the front of the once-vehicle was only a tangle of wires and metal shards. The screaming woman trapped in the driver's seat was engulfed in the wreckage, surrounded by strangers whose greatest desire was to see her stay safe and alive.
My dad whipped his truck into park behind the accident, then jumped to the scene. My mom and I could only stay in the car, praying for his and the other aids' wisdom and the injured woman's safety.
Time dragged by as we all waited for emergency personnel to arrive. After an eon of seconds, the lights appeared on the horizon, soon followed by the sound of wailing sirens. As soon as they had moved into position, taking over where the good Samaritans had left off, my dad came back to the car and once again pulled onto the winding highway.
The rest of our journey was broken between conversation about the occurrence and a heavy silence. Our sentiments, though, united our thoughts for the duration of the ride. The things we spoke and thought revolved around a central question, though:
Were we stuck in traffic just long enough to be at the scene of the accident at exactly that time?
None of us knows what is happening in that situation right now, nor what the woman's life will look like tomorrow or a year from now. What we do know is that we were in exactly the right place at the right time. My dad was the only one at that place for a while who knew anything about medicine, who knew that he needed to get her head immobilized to prevent any further injury to her possibly broken neck. He'd be the first to say that the situation was and is not about him; he'd also be the first to say, though, that such a use of his EMT experience and training is not accidental, and that it still affects him (in more ways than one) to be a part of it.
Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment we were growing weary of a traffic-packed highway, counting down the minutes until we pulled into our own driveway; the next, we were begging the seconds to slow, praying that the woman's moans and blood-stained face signified her life more than her pain.
My family and I finally arrived home, and we are more than grateful to be here safely. Tonight was (and still is, really) one of those slap-in-the-face realizations: I take so much for granted. Tonight was a reminder that I am alive, and that I have much to live for. It was a reminder that I don't have a clue about how big God is, and that I'll never really comprehend it. It was a reminder that I wasn't meant to "live" my life by wishing that I were in a different moment than I'm currently in. It was a reminder that every moment is sacred, that every second is to be LIVED and cherished.
I'm humbled tonight. More than anything, though, I'm grateful. My heart is raw, but it's raw once again with the realization that I'm alive. (And oh, how I wish that I didn't forget that so easily...) Whether I'm writing or reading or eating or drinking or sleeping or changing the world in one of a million ways... I'm alive, and I intend to LIVE my life in that realization.
I know I can't do it by myself. I also know that I'll forget that. I know that I'll slip and fall and make horrendous mistakes because I'm human... but that's all the more reason for me to try. It's not my strength that allows me to live, after all. The Spirit of God is ALIVE and well, and He's living in me.
And that is the most humbling thing of all...
I know: writers aren't supposed to write without revising. Editing provides the coherence and fluidity that a first draft simply does not contain. First drafts are too choppy, too raw.
Sometimes, though, that rawness is exactly what a writer needs to communicate.
I've been living a lot lately. Not simply "living" in the ordinary workaday sort of way; living in the "I'm climbing 14,000-foot mountains and traipsing all over this beautiful state and its great outdoors" sort of way. It's a sort of living that only summer can provide, and it's the sort of living for which Colorado provides an unsurpassed environment. Breathtaking mountainscapes, rolling valleys, the neverending panoramic views of wild flowers and sedges and pines... I don't think you've really lived until you've looked into this sort of infinity and been brought to your knees. It's been my privilege to do so continuously for the past two weeks.
Venturing home from these adventures was bittersweet at first: sweet because home is, after two weeks of being away, more welcoming than any other destination could be. It was bitter, not because I had to leave behind a baseball tournament in Steamboat, along with the neighboring mountain towns and views; but because we were forced to creep towards home in what we considered an ungodly standstill of a traffic jam.
Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment I'm humbled and awed by the blade of a leaf, almost brought to tears by the intricate network of life in the forest; the next moment, I forget to notice the obvious beauty all around me because of a line of cars. In fact, my family decided to pull over for dinner in Georgetown, typically a 1 1/2 to 2 hour drive from home, to avoid becoming a permanent part of the parking lot on the road. (This decision was probably best for everyone's sanity and stress levels, in all honesty!)
About an hour later, we left the European restaurant we discovered to face the roads once more. The traffic, though lesser, was still present. Needless to say, we were still a little impatient. Getting home at a decent hour is of utmost importance, after all.
We drove for about an hour before reaching Golden at dusk. Yet again, the line of traffic started to slow. This time, though, our countenances shifted quickly from annoyance to concern. On the left shoulder of the road, a dented car faced the wrong direction, its bumper torn away and left to embellish the pavement. My dad slowed our truck to talk to the seemingly uninjured passengers standing next to the vehicle, urgency and immediacy in his voice.
"I used to be an EMT. Does anyone need any medical help?"
The man's face twitched in a moment of realization before he responded,
"...Uh...check the car up ahead."
A few yards ahead on the right side of the road, a mass of twisted steel and glass balanced on what I suppose you could call tires. Nothing about the object seemed like a car, not when the front of the once-vehicle was only a tangle of wires and metal shards. The screaming woman trapped in the driver's seat was engulfed in the wreckage, surrounded by strangers whose greatest desire was to see her stay safe and alive.
My dad whipped his truck into park behind the accident, then jumped to the scene. My mom and I could only stay in the car, praying for his and the other aids' wisdom and the injured woman's safety.
Time dragged by as we all waited for emergency personnel to arrive. After an eon of seconds, the lights appeared on the horizon, soon followed by the sound of wailing sirens. As soon as they had moved into position, taking over where the good Samaritans had left off, my dad came back to the car and once again pulled onto the winding highway.
The rest of our journey was broken between conversation about the occurrence and a heavy silence. Our sentiments, though, united our thoughts for the duration of the ride. The things we spoke and thought revolved around a central question, though:
Were we stuck in traffic just long enough to be at the scene of the accident at exactly that time?
None of us knows what is happening in that situation right now, nor what the woman's life will look like tomorrow or a year from now. What we do know is that we were in exactly the right place at the right time. My dad was the only one at that place for a while who knew anything about medicine, who knew that he needed to get her head immobilized to prevent any further injury to her possibly broken neck. He'd be the first to say that the situation was and is not about him; he'd also be the first to say, though, that such a use of his EMT experience and training is not accidental, and that it still affects him (in more ways than one) to be a part of it.
Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment we were growing weary of a traffic-packed highway, counting down the minutes until we pulled into our own driveway; the next, we were begging the seconds to slow, praying that the woman's moans and blood-stained face signified her life more than her pain.
My family and I finally arrived home, and we are more than grateful to be here safely. Tonight was (and still is, really) one of those slap-in-the-face realizations: I take so much for granted. Tonight was a reminder that I am alive, and that I have much to live for. It was a reminder that I don't have a clue about how big God is, and that I'll never really comprehend it. It was a reminder that I wasn't meant to "live" my life by wishing that I were in a different moment than I'm currently in. It was a reminder that every moment is sacred, that every second is to be LIVED and cherished.
I'm humbled tonight. More than anything, though, I'm grateful. My heart is raw, but it's raw once again with the realization that I'm alive. (And oh, how I wish that I didn't forget that so easily...) Whether I'm writing or reading or eating or drinking or sleeping or changing the world in one of a million ways... I'm alive, and I intend to LIVE my life in that realization.
I know I can't do it by myself. I also know that I'll forget that. I know that I'll slip and fall and make horrendous mistakes because I'm human... but that's all the more reason for me to try. It's not my strength that allows me to live, after all. The Spirit of God is ALIVE and well, and He's living in me.
And that is the most humbling thing of all...
Sunday, July 17, 2011
A Few Thoughts...
"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Sound familiar?
To high school and college students, of course, the question has metamorphosed into "What are you going to major in?" or "What are you going to do with your degree?" but the sentiment remains the same: we should all know exactly what our lives are going to look like by the time we turn eighteen. If you don't, you're certainly not on top of the ball, and the horrendous, unforgiving job market will swallow you whole.
Aforementioned high school and college students, please feel free to scream in frustration.
I would never argue that we shouldn't have aspirations. Having high hopes is a good thing, a necessary thing. I would even argue that running into life with no dreams, expectations, or goals is wrong. I think the problem, though, is that we allow our goals to become our dictators. We weren't created to live under dictatorships, even (and especially) if we are the sole rulers and recipients of our individualized, totalitarian ten-year plans.
The truth is that not many (if any) of us really know who we are or what we're going to do for the rest of our lives. And why should we? I'm becoming more and more convinced that the plans I make for myself are considerably less than the plans that God has for me. I still have to play an active role in following him and listening to him, yes, but that certainly does not mean that I should dictate every element of my own future.
My mind was traipsing through these thoughts as I was walking the other day, and I suddenly felt like a control freak caught in the headlights of reality. I've learned an incredible amount about surrender and trust over the past few years and months, but I still try to grasp at the straws of my own back-up plans. In other words, I try to settle for infinitely less than what God can and will do with me if I allow him to.
Ironic, then, that this weekend of all weekends, the pastor at my church spoke about the Israelites' childish lack of trust after God led them out of Egypt. ("You rained down bread from heaven for us when we complained about being hungry? Awesome! We'll just hoard as much as we can in case you don't do it again like you promised you would...")
And it truly is childish, isn't it? I stare at the God of the universe and dare to tell him that I can see into the future better than he can, then attempt to pull myself up by my own bootstraps when I trip over my ideas and ideals shortly thereafter. ("You did what you promised like you said you would? Awesome! I can do the rest of my life on my terms, though, because still I don't trust your competency and ability more than my own...") How long will it take me to really realize that I'm incapable of doing any of this on my own? How long will I doubt that what He says -- all of it -- is true and good? Above all, why on earth do I second-guess his love for me and his motives for doing so? I suppose it all shows how fickle and broken my own heart and soul are...
But I digress.
I was out walking the other day, thinking through all of these things and more when it hit me: I am created in God's image. It's a simple truth that I've known for as long as I can remember, but it's a truth that carries such astounding weight...
Above all things that he does, God simply is. He is love, he is the Creator, he is just, and he is so many other things... but he is. He exists, and he takes such joy and carries incomprehensible value and glory for nothing other than being. It is out of that being that he loves, creates, gives, and acts. It was out of that being that we were created, and we were created in the image of the God who is. I think, then, that before we become anything in particular, we have to learn how to simply be. God takes joy in us for who we are and how we glorify him, and I don't think that we necessarily have to do anything to glorify him. Taking joy in existing, realizing his majesty in the simplicity of merely living: I'm starting to see how much joy and value these things bring to life, and how much joy and value they bring to him.
When I do become something or do something, then, I want it to be a reflection and extension of my joy of merely living. I unashamedly admit that I want to live an incredibly full, world-changing life; I also admit that I have no idea what that means or how it will come to fruition. I have no doubt, though, that it will come to fruition, even though my life will almost certainly unfold much differently from how I imagine that it might. In any case, though, I think that what I ultimately do will be much more impacting and God-glorifying if I am aware of how glorious it is to just be alive.
I do not know much, but I know these things to be true:
Sound familiar?
To high school and college students, of course, the question has metamorphosed into "What are you going to major in?" or "What are you going to do with your degree?" but the sentiment remains the same: we should all know exactly what our lives are going to look like by the time we turn eighteen. If you don't, you're certainly not on top of the ball, and the horrendous, unforgiving job market will swallow you whole.
Aforementioned high school and college students, please feel free to scream in frustration.
I would never argue that we shouldn't have aspirations. Having high hopes is a good thing, a necessary thing. I would even argue that running into life with no dreams, expectations, or goals is wrong. I think the problem, though, is that we allow our goals to become our dictators. We weren't created to live under dictatorships, even (and especially) if we are the sole rulers and recipients of our individualized, totalitarian ten-year plans.
The truth is that not many (if any) of us really know who we are or what we're going to do for the rest of our lives. And why should we? I'm becoming more and more convinced that the plans I make for myself are considerably less than the plans that God has for me. I still have to play an active role in following him and listening to him, yes, but that certainly does not mean that I should dictate every element of my own future.
My mind was traipsing through these thoughts as I was walking the other day, and I suddenly felt like a control freak caught in the headlights of reality. I've learned an incredible amount about surrender and trust over the past few years and months, but I still try to grasp at the straws of my own back-up plans. In other words, I try to settle for infinitely less than what God can and will do with me if I allow him to.
Ironic, then, that this weekend of all weekends, the pastor at my church spoke about the Israelites' childish lack of trust after God led them out of Egypt. ("You rained down bread from heaven for us when we complained about being hungry? Awesome! We'll just hoard as much as we can in case you don't do it again like you promised you would...")
And it truly is childish, isn't it? I stare at the God of the universe and dare to tell him that I can see into the future better than he can, then attempt to pull myself up by my own bootstraps when I trip over my ideas and ideals shortly thereafter. ("You did what you promised like you said you would? Awesome! I can do the rest of my life on my terms, though, because still I don't trust your competency and ability more than my own...") How long will it take me to really realize that I'm incapable of doing any of this on my own? How long will I doubt that what He says -- all of it -- is true and good? Above all, why on earth do I second-guess his love for me and his motives for doing so? I suppose it all shows how fickle and broken my own heart and soul are...
But I digress.
I was out walking the other day, thinking through all of these things and more when it hit me: I am created in God's image. It's a simple truth that I've known for as long as I can remember, but it's a truth that carries such astounding weight...
Above all things that he does, God simply is. He is love, he is the Creator, he is just, and he is so many other things... but he is. He exists, and he takes such joy and carries incomprehensible value and glory for nothing other than being. It is out of that being that he loves, creates, gives, and acts. It was out of that being that we were created, and we were created in the image of the God who is. I think, then, that before we become anything in particular, we have to learn how to simply be. God takes joy in us for who we are and how we glorify him, and I don't think that we necessarily have to do anything to glorify him. Taking joy in existing, realizing his majesty in the simplicity of merely living: I'm starting to see how much joy and value these things bring to life, and how much joy and value they bring to him.
When I do become something or do something, then, I want it to be a reflection and extension of my joy of merely living. I unashamedly admit that I want to live an incredibly full, world-changing life; I also admit that I have no idea what that means or how it will come to fruition. I have no doubt, though, that it will come to fruition, even though my life will almost certainly unfold much differently from how I imagine that it might. In any case, though, I think that what I ultimately do will be much more impacting and God-glorifying if I am aware of how glorious it is to just be alive.
I do not know much, but I know these things to be true:
- God is nowhere near finished with me. He's already done incredible things with me, but I know that He's not done yet. I'm hanging on to him as tightly as I can, but trying to remember that I can't even do that on my own...
- I was created first to be, then to become a creator and artist. (After all, every aspect of life requires artistry and creativity of some sort, doesn't it?) I don't know exactly what that looks like yet, but I am being stretched (unwillingly, at times) to continue writing and to pursue music...
- I'll have to continue my thoughts on the last sentence in my next post, because this one is already fairly lengthy!
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