"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
"The single most notable feature of freedom is its humility. It defers to the results of human action and does not attempt to design them in advance."-Leonard Read
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
As of tonight, I have been a Christian for 10 years.
White knuckles gripping the pew, hearing the words of the
preacher I had heard hundreds of times over, I began to truly realize the
gravity of life and its sublime wavering. “I am in danger…I am repulsive…I am
responsible…” Sitting here now, I can only reflect on all the moments etched
into my mind. Each memory echoes with the mist of ripened identity, an identity
that is not my own. “I am valuable…Life is precious… Sacrifice is righteous.” In
my pursuit of Christ, I have come in contact with that which is most consequential.
I am trailing something deliberate. I am in the midst of something visceral. I
am on the edge of something celestial.
What
began as a travail of fear has now become my labor of love. What was once an
obligation is now the only path of living. It is my lifeblood. It is my substance.
It is the only good thing about me. The beautiful thing about that is that I
could never have made that first step on my own. Truly I am nothing more than a
culmination of those who have poured themselves into me. The sense of community
and longing I feel is what keeps me here in Faith. In the smallest of embers, I
can radiate the nature of my God. Many years ago, God the Father reached out
across the void seeking be known and thus He created. Here and now, He awakens
that same desire in me.
I
recently had an old friend tell me that they were proud of the person I become.
I can’t say how much that means to me. To know that others see me as one they
can trust, as one they can rely on this keeps me grounded. However, if I was to
be honest with you I would have to say that they couldn’t be farther from
knowing the truth. I’m not yet proud of the man that I’ve become. I am no
longer plagued by the demons which I once thought unconquerable, but I’m far
from where I need to be. I am and forever will be a man who is most intimately aware
of his own flaws. Don’t try to console me and tell me I am good. Don’t tell me
I am trying. I am utterly weak as the day I was baptized.
“I will stand at my watch
and station myself on the ramparts;
I will look to see what he will say to me,
and what answer I
am to give to this complaint.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
He makes my feet
like the feet of a deer,
He enables me to
tread on the heights…”
May I always be ready for the correction that comes forth.
May I always rise to stand on higher planes with the eager push of My Father.
Lord grant me the serenity to rise to the challenge.
“All who have this
hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure” – 1 John 3:3
What was it J. C Ryle said? 'No,' he replied, 'I am serious; for all are serious round about me. God is serious in observing us,- Christ is serious in interceding for us,- The Spirit is serious in striving with us-The truths of God are serious,-our spiritual enemies are serious in their endeavors to ruin us,-poor lost sinners are serious in hell,-and why then should not you and I be serious too?' Oh! Young men, learn to be thoughtful. Learn to consider what you are doing, and whither you are going. Make time for calm reflection. Commune with your own heart, and be still. Do not be lost merely for want of thought."
May I
forever be lost in the midst of thought. May those around me always be lost in
thought also.
If you were to ask me how I truly am any given day, I would
tell you the same thing every time.
“I’m not ok. I’m never ok.”
It’s difficult
to labor under this strange feeling of sorrow and convalescence. At its core,
the struggle is a lack of understanding. How exactly does one cope with the
sorrow of a sin torn world and the joy of a hope in salvation? “We praise the
banker that we may overdraw our account and find good qualities in the
highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets.” I don’t know how to
balance these things. In the face of these thoughts I can only raise my own Ebenezer.
May these stones of remembrance stand firm in the face of the years. May the
dust of our actions rise only as far as the heart of our Father can carry them.
To those who seek to be human and nothing less, you are not alone. May we stay “within
and without simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety
of life.” I’m here stuck in the same insecurity I’ve always known. I’m no
teacher. I’m no hero. I’m nothing more than one who wants to be better than my
friends might say. “I just want a small part in your passion play.” I can only
express one overwhelming feeling. In the midst of the cadence of our lives,
here in this moment, I am grateful. Thank you.
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
I'm not very attracted to the advocates of the world. That level of self-righteousness seems like a mighty big contradiction. Now the visionaries on the other hand, they're too crushed to even get off the ground. They're all still reeling from the constant barrage of exploding shells and gunfire overhead. You didn't hear me say it though. I'm not sure that I'm allowed to have an opinion.
No, you're right. I'm the one in the wrong. I understand. No, I'm not just placating you, and I'm not being sarcastic. I genuinely know that I'm the one who made this mess. Is that my own swan song calling? Who would have thought the end of your life could have burned so bright?
I guess I just don't understand why it all has to be so difficult. It sure seems to me like so many of the hardest parts of our lives are just self-inflicted wounds. At my least attentive moments I do catch myself thinking that perhaps we all just gave up on the fact that we think we know so much about the world, it might change things for the better. Gentility can only exist in the place of great strength. Authority can only be exerted by the one willing to hold his tongue. Greatness can only persist when it goes unnoticed. No the world isn't backwards, we're all just glued to the ceiling. We could all use a little humility, me most of all. We could all use a little heart hope. That can only come when we give up our own solutions. Maybe that means that injustice, destruction, and failure are our only options. I'm willing to bet we're in better hands than that.
"Stark asked for a savior, and settled for a slave."
"Well, I suppose we're both disappointments..."
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
This is the purpose for which gratitude has been designed. Mayhaps it's more what it sounds like. It's held in the palm of your closed fist held behind your back. Every once in a blue moon, you're given the chance to express a series of moments. That thin thread keeping your life in narrative is the one that you should clasp to your bosom each night. Kiss it, nurse it, tell it all your secrets at ungodly hours of the night. I want to be there when those quaking moments of quiet rock your galaxy. It's strange how the intimate shaking of two lives can make the most beautiful exposure. Where's the one holding all of my negative space? I'm stuck in the black that comes before the white, always telling the gray twilight that I've got no place for it's complications. Nevertheless it throws it's arms around me and tells me I'm welcome. I can't stand the tremble of it's whimsy. If I linger too long in the midst of it's circular reasoning I'll find myself just as confused as those I seek to guide. Oh future! Oh grand mystery! Why do you taunt me so? Dear Lord, I'm not worthy to stand on edge of this gulf. I know I've made it with my own hands. Shine through the mist, bridge this fissure. Draw me near to you. I'm not deserving to make the pilgrimage. In the midst of suicidal thoughts and long-overdue revelations, the inoperable latency of one's own sense of wonder is the true signal of our past's own swan songs. The surreal sentiment holding us each tethered to this life can only accomplish so much any given Sunday. One could find it within themselves to say that they belong caught in the midst of this great travesty. Truly, these moments will never die. In the never ending calamity of our hearts, inside the the clashing of both our souls, we will find where we belong.
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
I hope I gave you at least one real moment of magic in your life. I know those moments are oh so hard to find. I can't craft the subtly of that.
The stillness of that moment when we looked up at the stars lingers in a part of my soul that I want to keep. I may not always touch it, but I know for certain its there. I was so cold.
This all could be part of this thing I've been saying lately. "I want to be a guy with secrets." I want to be that guy who knows how to keep some things to himself. There's a practicality in that. Not only do I get to save you from some of the useless and foolish things I'm prone to say sometimes, but I also get to own the memories that keep me alive. It's really hard to do. I like to talk. So do a lot of other people. The thrill of sharing with someone is worth the risk of losing your treasured instance.
It's a funny thing when memory runs through one's veins. Maybe that's what makes us different. It's not blood we shed when we're pierced. It's pure recollection resting beneath our skin. That silence is so precious to me. We can't taint it with the noise of this world. The core of a man so far down that the movement of violence would seek to finish is what we'll guard with our lives. When it passes, so do our souls.
"There in the dark the truth of it is we're all so afraid to be quiet as the weight of mystery presses in on us. But there are some things you and I are just not meant to know. Can we just stop to wonder that we're here at all?" In all truth. I just want to go back to that firefly field just one more time so I know that it's real. I don't want to see what I've seen since then. I don't want to know how the story ends. I just want to live in that moment forever.
In some ways we always will.
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
And just like that, the headlights shut off. Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness around you. Your brow is damp from the thick moisture in the air. The promise of summer storms bring that sweet weight to the air as it fills your lungs. Lifting your eyes to behold the vast iron gate set before you, you look beyond to the garden of the dead stretching on for miles. That's when you hear the clicking. Behind you, a morose skeleton crew begins to form. Where did they all come from? Dressed all in black, you catch brief glimpses of the faces hidden beneath their deep hoods. Are their eyes glowing, or is it the subtle glow of the city to the west? On each of their backs protrudes a large metal turn key much like those wind up toy soldiers you've seen in the department store windows. Slowly, painfully, the keys are turning, grinding, clicking, tightening their grip on the insides of each as the damned toys deliberately move towards the necropolis before you. In each of their hands hangs an aerosol can. You look around and all the faces behind you each carry the same weight. Amidst the silent crowd you can notice an intoxicating mix of energy and malice. They are familiar to you. In fact, you've seen the streets they walk down each night. You've paced beside their corpses as they shamble from door to door. Any given day, such a display would frighten you, but here the fog you can share their anxiety. Suddenly, a very different clicking joins the totality. Hands begin to shake, arms begin the convulse, limbs flail up and down. Up and down, up and down, up and down. The rattle of their pigmented acrylics vibrate through the damp earth pulsating with the all of the astringency and vitriol of the old world. Toys shake their fists in unison cursing every vault, every sepulcher, every ossuary in the derelict boneyard before you. This deafening chorus rises through the air, you can feel the nervous thump, thump, thump deep set in your chest.Everything inside you ripples in waves both dour and resolved. Can the soul scream? No this time it whispers.
And all at once, the clicking stops. Somewhere in the stillness behind you a voice (is it your own?) murmurs in a barely audible tone, "It's time." That's when the rain starts... "You jump the fence and open the gate, and then begins the race. Watch them as they march to fate, the toys flood in to take their place, Eager hands no more will wait, throats like graves, ears full of grace. Switch them on, expose the hate, ultraviolet across your face. Silence can have no place here, scrawl your mantra down each row. Breathe in your pain, and nurse your fear, let the night extol your woe. Beyond the the strings of the puppeteer, tell me of the things you know. Beyond the madness you hold dear, tell me all things you don't.
A graveyard has the best laid floor plan, It's measured in it's plots. How fruitless is it to bury a man and hide his soul for naught?
Dance in the grave as fast as you can, a soul cannot be stopped. One's own life is too short a span to fight for what is lost. Lay beside a blank gravestone and lay aside restraint. Wake the dead with some great sound and some bright spray paint. The stories they will go around, the'll say we were a day too late. For those who search it will be found. They'll know the truth beyond the gate.
It will happen in the middle of the night, it'll happen very late. They'll whisper of our secret fight, of our time inside the gate. It will paint the underbelly of the kingdom light, of everyone who takes the bait. Why do you weep for those in the night? Good things come to those wait. Close your eyes as you lay down your head and watch our old souls drift Keep your sorrow on a silver thread, keep your grief abreast. All you do won't insult the dead when you desecrate their rest They are gone, they are blessed. They won't ever know the difference..." Your dirty work completed, you and your silent crew turn from the graves you've painted.That's when the cogs start turning. That's when the gears commence their grinding. That's when the clicking begins again. You swear you can hear sirens begin to wail in the distance...
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
I've lost track of which is which with twilight on my window. The panes
of glass, once smeared and cracked with frozen condensation that
covered mine view up from here but only for the moment. Now we are far
too high for Frost among the sable, handsome Jack he weaves about both
in and out of fable. And as he makes his honest rounds, the light has
gone for good, I'm left alone, on my own, as all young men must brood. On we sail over God's deep creation, I am no longer certain if
what lies beneath me be the briny expanse or some forlorn kingdom. A
kingdom of cloud long since forgotten, I wonder and I write. It stands
alive amidst the swells and deepening incantations.
What
hurts occurred within the halls of your nightly kingdom. Oh king of the
sky, Oh Lord of the west, I would like to know aright. What tears were
shed, and what plans were rent? What secrets are inside? Your
continent, like ours is meant, to thrive under the light.
Did the reckless wind sing his songs when he wed the gentle moon? Did the stars give way to mirth at the bounty of your boons? Aurora Borealis her self paused to wonder at your beauty and your fear, in spite of all your splendor...
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
Racing down the road with smoke in my view,
Will you tell me you can see it too?
Broken down in the middle of the street
This isn't such a bad place to be.
Under the car now what is that smell?
This'll be a story to tell.
Call in your folks to ask them for help
They'll come down for you just as well.
Pop up the hood and what do you see?
Just the burned out parts of you and me.
Switch 'em out for some brand new wheels,
Those old scars have long since healed.
Coolant boiling over a critical mind,
I can feel every bone in an overwhelmed spine.
"I told you to be patient, I told you to be kind,"
Over your head the street lights aligned.
Feel like I'm running on empty, stuck in reverse
My alignment is off and my tires might burst,
Now you've seen me at my very worst,
But attend to the wheel, it always comes first.
Living on the edge, just like a stunt man,
If I were you, I'd not trust me again.
I was probably never part of your plan,
Now I'm just a single guy driving a minvan
Bypass my riddles and look past my codes,
You'll always believe just what you've been told.
But you can rest assured, I'll carry that load.
and meet you later on somewhere down the road.
"I get so distracted by some people's reactions that I don't see my own faults for what they are. At times it's so self destructive, with no intent or motive, but behind this emotion, there lies a sensible heart..."
