Spray Paint

I never get it right. After that first light coat, and already a drip or two, I kind of say "what the heck" and spray it all liberally. This results in a beautiful sheen of color with some drips and some strange crackly areas. I probably should have sanded the item better, first.

I also think my cat is experiencing a high similar to catnip euphoria, just from the fumes I brought downstairs with me. I knew I shouldn't have done it indoors. I thought the studio would be a fine place to do it, but then I had to peel plastic off the window to vent the room (and it is still technically winter.) Anyway, I came downstairs and he started making some huffing noises and wanted to be near me.

One more thing. Singer-songwriters by the first name of Matthew, I seem to like. Matthew West, Matt Maher, Matthew Perryman Jones, Matthew Mayfield. I'm sure there are more. That's why I'm on my way right now to the "M" section on Noisetrade.com, where I discovered Matthew Perryman Jones and Matthew Mayfield.

P.S. Generally not Matts, but Matthews. I was sampling Matt after Matt at Noisetrade and thinking I'd disproven my theory, until I realized it was only Matts. I skipped on to the Matthews and immediately felt my theory was being supported again. Not that none of the Matthews sound amateurish, but they seem to have a better ear for what is beautiful.

P.P.S. My sister says I didn't prove anything.

Pausing at a late time

I imagine the house full of people. Words sweep his face like gestures; hands wash the air in gentleness. He stands between me and the chandelier talking to someone out of sight-- at his slight balancing movement a ray bursts under his arm, behind his head (as seen from relative shadow). Words are notes, musical letters.

The antique-red walls would have fingerprints from the children. I could only see them from this angle. The dining chair with its back to me, strings dangling from the booster seat, is excruciatingly beautiful because my friend sits next to me plucking a guitar.

The present is all but a memory; the greatest beauty of a moment is the vintage of its passing. It keeps a person up far into the night, trying to remember what is happening a moment ago.

But to rightly squander time is to inhale it like a sweet aroma, to swallow it like a first meal in a week, to run over it barefoot like it's a perfect green lawn, to forget it like forgetting yourself, to love it like your first breath.

Maybe in the eternal sunshine of graduation one can taste and see every facet of beautiful memory.

It's just that beauty and joy don't collocate forever in a teakettle waiting to be poured. Beauty is Northern Lights heaping themselves above the sky, joy is facing fear. Beauty and joy are in the utter distraction and awareness of sanctification.

Letting not the emptiness of a false present past rob me of sleep: might dreams be fearless and forward-pacing.

I've got a little stretch of sidewalk to shovel. I feel like part of a cozy community when I do it. Sometimes the neighbors have beat me to it, but I think they realize I do get to it.

I stomped around the house tonight memorizing the first three verses of Hebrews 12, emphasizing phrases by words and syllables. (Could I have but select chapters from the Bible, I'd start with Psalm 103 and Hebrews 12). My cat was mystified and entertained by my antics. He'd certainly never seen me act quite like that. And that, after a shocking hour of piano practice. "THEREFORE. SINCE. WE. ARE. SURR.OUND.ED.BY.SUCH.A.GREAT.CLOUD.OF.WITNESSES. LET US THROW OFF EVERY HINDRANCE AND THE SIN THAT.SO.EASILY.EN.TANG.LES.LET.US.FIX.OUR.EYES.ON.JESUS."

The spiritual journey sure has its valleys and mountains. How simple is the Gospel, really? Life just isn't simple. The journey is long. The only really unmovable pillar is the rock of Jesus Christ. "THE AUTHOR.AND.PERFECTOR.OF.OUR.FAITH." Spinning in a mind battle of fears, insecurities, and failures, I've found such peace lately: not counseling myself out of my fears. But dwelling on Jesus' unchanging faithfulness. What if the 'worst case scenario' does happen? I don't want to think about it. But the deepest fear--the fear of annihilation--is answered in He "WHO.FOR.THE.JOY.THAT.WAS. SET.BEFORE.HIM.ENDURED.THE.CROSS." Stormy waves don't move Him. I believe His word that He doesn't change, and I believe He speaks truth, which means it's true I can hide in His sheltering love.

No matter what happens in this life, my soul is safe in His refuge. What can death do, anyway?--hasten the day of everlasting peace? I'm not marginalizing the pain that happens in life. But I've found such refuge of soul in Jesus Christ.

The Race

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles..." Hebrews 12:1, TNIV

I guess something's going on in my soul, but whatever it is, it's making me look at my life in grief and frustration. Anything I might choose to do with my time gets nixed because there is something else I should be doing instead. The result is that I keep my body supplied with calorie intake, sleep, and scripture reading, and I go to work and church, and sometimes I talk on the phone for a long time.

Aaah.

I'm immobilized by vectors.