Thank You.

Tired

keep your chin up.

Fed up.

Swallow.

Failure.

Don't back down.

Complain.

Stuff it.

Self conscious.

Keep smiling.

Disconnected.

So is half the world.

I guess I'm not the only one

so I'll stay if you will, and fight.

Sometimes I could just lay down and die

because I'm afraid of this fear I wear.

Look in the mirror and see my natural face---

I miss the makeup, that other me.

Sometimes I could just lay down and cry

imprisoned in slow-motion corporate machinery

when I really want to dance,

to shake my body, to punch the air, stamp the ground.

I looked inside my heart and saw a horrible vision

of death and black, dirty decay.

Tell me it was a lie?

Tell me I'm clean?

I want to come out of this prison

and laugh at death once more

But I fear the God of old Israel

who seemed then to want fearful reverence

I just can't keep myself sorted.

Does He want my feet or my hands?

I could be happy with so much less

I'm needing so much more.

Because I've got it so good

& I've got it so bad.

-----

The above I wrote at work the other day. Some days I feel I could explode as I constrain my energy to the slow-moving but flurried pace my tasks require. The pent up energy stays in my head, and I analyze things into the ground. Other days I'm joyful and not bothered by the speed of the clock's hands. Generally, when the nature of a task allows me to listen to my ipod, I have the joy of listening to some downhere, Derek Webb, and podcasts by Ravi Zacharias. Occasionally, however, there's a day where even that doesn't help.

Sometimes makes me question my mental health, but I see trends affecting my mood & energy. Caffeine, breakfast, sleep, all play in for sure, and I'm not consistent with any of those factors. Water intake probably matters too, and I'm not consistent with that. Nor have I gone out of my way to exercise for months (I know myself enough to say when spring hits, I'll be out running, but that doesn't solve the winter problem).

But one big factor I've spent most of my life not giving much space to, is how my day is affected by starting it out in surrender. And then, thought by thought, impulse by impulse, surrendering my entire day to God. I'm like a battery that, by neglect, has grown so weak that I can't even hold a charge. So, staying on the charger. It's making such a difference.

My emo relapse this evening is a standard self-conscious reaction to all the video editing I've been doing from the Downhomie Palooza last summer, where I took it upon myself to be a really ridiculous narrator of the whole weekend retreat. It was a blast at the time, and I had a blast recently showing the videos to another downhomie, but alone, being as amateur of an editor as I was videographer (my aim & steadiness grew more careless as the weekend progressed. Kinda matches the outlandish narrating.) But to sit there editing--seeing myself, my expressions, from the outside instead of the inside--it brings on a self awareness I'd rather not have. Next time I'd love to do it again, but with a real video camera, and a steadier hand, and a slightly calmer behavior.

Anyway. I also just blew my evening on the computer, something I was trying to stop doing by getting off facebook and Twitter. Fact is, I somewhat miss facebook, and much more, miss Twitter. I miss being able to shout out to people. Technically I have access to all the same people through other means, but I haven't bothered. Okay, so I got a bit of laundry done and some work on the video, which is itself hard to pin down as a valuable work or not. People will laugh at times, maybe tear up a bit other times, and to finish it will be to follow through with something I promised. I guess my disillusionment with computer stuff is how intangible the results are.

Which leads me to something that happened today that was exciting!! Something broke! Why should I rejoice that something broke? I was having a fine time copying hundreds and hundreds of papers, when the copier jammed. I opened it up, saw the paper scrunched up like an accordion folder. Pulled on it.... and suddenly I saw chunks of red rubber! I backed away and said "Oooh, not good! bad news! May day! May day!" People are used to my mutterings, and the bosses were in the back of the room looking at a scanner, but the our delivery driver happened by, and reached in and pulled out one of the pieces of rubber. We tested the copier and it seemed to still work, but in one spot the toner wasn't sticking. So we stopped the copying process, I switched to scanning, and I felt a general sense of upliftedness.

I asked myself, why do I get a kick out of this? Making copies happens to be my favorite task, so I wasn't excited because of switching out. But it's a spot of excitement in the day? But really, there's such a sense of relief--release of tension. Why? My best guess is that, I spend so much time thinking and pondering intangible problems I can't do anything about. Here, suddenly, is something that's broken. Not maybe broken, but certainly broken. And there's a solution. Call the service guy. He comes. He knows what's wrong, he replaces the part, and that's that.

I know I'm a sinner, I know Jesus Christ is the one who fixes that. But sometimes there is so much more on my mind than whether I told a lie, thought a wrong thought. I think constantly about creating art, finding clients, writing, getting a place of my own, and then battling with the discontentment, impatience, and covetousness that fills my thoughts.

It was in one of the appendices of Desiring God that Piper wrote, number 11 in a 15-section list of ways to fight for joy: "Get the rest, exercise, and proper diet that your body was designed by God to have." Sometimes I make such a separation of my spiritual life and my physical life that I feel no motivation to do what's right physically. I loved this comment: "What brought light to this perplexity is that one of the ways the Spirit produces His fruit in our lives is by humbling us enough to believe that we are not God and that God can run the world without our staying up too late and getting up too early." Yes, I'm guilty often of staying up late with the idea that I had yet something to accomplish, some way to redeem a long day full of wasted moments.

But no--the day is at an end and it's time to say, "Lord, this morning I offered my day to You, even as I rolled out of bed and set out to take it back. I offered it to You a few more times, and I felt your love... who am I to say how well I served you today? I don't feel good about how it went. I tried to be kind. But later I hid. I tried to share. But then I fell into the pool whose reflective surface I'd been staring at. I hate it when I spend that much time thinking about myself, God. But one miraculous breath at a time, You showed that You still have a purpose here for me. As I heard a fine speaker say recently, here's the paper you gave me--I scribbled on it, I ruined it. Can I have another? Tomorrow can you help me breathe again--and move--and have my being? Your kingdom come--Your will be done, for thine is the kingdom, the power, the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

Tales From The Vienna Woods

If you can get your hands on this piece of classical music, listen to it and let your imagination form its own story before reading this. Otherwise--here is the romance as the music told it to me.

Fade in: A foggy overcast morning looking across a valley at a dark forest.

0: 20 A castle. Tall, powerful.

0:37 Waking up--zoom in, and the quiet morning isn't so quiet as there is hustle & bustle within the castle walls,

0:50 the drawbridge comes down, soldiers march along the walls. All is well.

1:12A young man comes walking out of the castle, along the moat. He's a picture, he's a word, he's a presence, he's a solemn, pleasant melody.

1:40 He walks across a damp field,

1:55 along the shore of a lake where waterfowl are waking in the foggy brightening morning.

2:08 Then he sees her.

2:14 She's a picture, she's a word, she's a presence, she's the same melody on a different instrument; she looks shyly at him and the air sings delicately.

2:30 the melody is perfect. Though the notes are the same as what they've known in themselves, to see the same tune on a different person is a delight.

2:45 Smiles of mutual recognition; they take hands. They dance a little jig, and you see snapshots of them walking and talking through some months or a year.

3:10

Pomp & ceremony: what else, but a wedding with lots of waltzing!

They dance with friends & relatives, with important people.

4:20 The last dance of the wedding is theirs--to the same tune the air sang around them separately, but with the joviality of a wedding feast instead of the holy awe of their first acquaintance.

The dance goes on, but the pictures blends from the wedding into a waltz through life--

(5:15) festivals come and go; parasols and prams and gentler walks.

5:50 Now they're middle aged--the waltz is a little more stately. Strong, robust, but with more goals and task orientation; less fluid.

6:23 What's that--the children marrying? first grandchildren? These changes are sad and joyous. A little sigh, but this is natural and good; a new measure of life.

7:24 ??? children whining and running all over the garden?

7:45 Behave now, grandchildren... grandma's on a float in a parade, proudly waving like a queen.

8:30 The house is emptier now, but the two find their steps are a little lighter for it, and now, the waltz is freshened and clumsy by toddler grandchildren joining in.

9:00 And the grandchildren are now...in their young way... gaining gracefulness, and life is speeding up again.

9:40 In fact, what's this modernity coming about--trains and big steam ships? Life is getting more hurried as the couple is slowing down.

10:00 The dance is halting, slower, but the two know each other so well, in each others' arms they still dance like they did at their wedding. In fact, an observer forgets they're older and halting, and sees two who are in love, dancing like the wind. A great ceremony of celebration is held for their 70th wedding anniversary. What a tiring day, by the end....

11:50 but here they are now alone, two very old people who never stopped loving each other completely (see Portrait of a Marriage by Pearl S. Buck). He looks at her; she looks at him--their faces light up with tender sweetness. She doesn't see an old faded face; she sees the good soul that has embraced hers all these years; a face smoothed slightly, perhaps, through misty eyes. The melody sings as young and delicate as ever, sparkles like tears of joy. The exact same tune unbelievably deeper and sweeter in light of the many journeys they danced through in life--they have never forgotten the beauty of the moment, of their complementariness. They barely need murmur the words: "It's been a good life, my dear, my love."

12:25 The. End. Into the land of eternal sunshine.

Rip What You Sew

the young and the old-- the mortar of this life.

Look out for them, you middle aged.

You're a brick, you're a beam, you're the structure is what you say.

Not for long, and you hide from the eyes sinking deeper in the glass

'cause not long will it be and your parents will be gone

and you'll have no where to face but behind you at the children you neglected

and who learned from your rejection of the old.

Should the children feel grateful if permitted from conception to the crib?

The old for not being put to sleep?

Is being from a previous era of thought the same as inexperience? no!

Is being a blank canvas with no experiences the same as inhuman? no!

Dare any judge the value of a life as less than worth fair nurture?

Children are raised, the middle ones age.

Children are not children for long, but that brief window is eternity for them; remember?

They'll call the shots in a little while, and you're teaching them not to save a place for you.

And I say to you who want to do away with the weak, the young, the old,

you'll reap what you sow...when your mind is still on target

but your body's broken down,

and the people walk away and leave you cold

will you wave a feeble hand and weep for little children who are murdered by the laws you sought to pass?

But now you're young and in your prime, say "call me sister not your mama"

You're fighting for the right to be alone and without guilt

fighting with your words to say that words don't have to mean

a thing unless you say they do; let's call it ripping what you sew.

Like rain

Rain.

Drip, drop

(or rush).

Who could ask for a more comforting sound?

It's like a rush of purification, sometimes violent, sometimes most gentle.

It's not just similar in my mind, but almost synonymous, with redemption.

Saturation.

Drenched.

Standing in it, you're soaked and vulnerable to whatever wind there may be--

or maybe you carry an umbrella and delight in the nearness to the weather without getting too wet.

Water, liquid, thirst, quench,.... Ahh.

Followed by a warm dry towel; your hair ratty & wet as you sip tea or chocolate.

Perhaps there was a time when I was a child when rainy days meant boredom and blah. But now I couldn't ask for something more beautiful. Gray skies are thoughtful, not weary; they are honest, not mean; rain is a re-ordering of elements, a redemption of all things colored by dirty dusty days.

Rain in my soul; may I endure suffering like the earth. Frosts tills the ground; then comes the rain, that plants may grow and for a greater good.

In the rain, new colors show. Rocks show deeply brilliant colors. Plants are more vibrant. Yes, rain may break some things down, but it nourishes and washes.

----

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down beneath God’s righteous frown,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul, for my soul,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb, I will sing, I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb, I will sing.
To God and to the Lamb Who is the great “I Am”;
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing;
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on;
And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on.
And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing and joyful be;
And through eternity, I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on;
And through eternity, I’ll sing on.