... but it's okay (a lesson in grace)

I put off my tedious article summary of how tuberculosis avoids our immune systems to blog...

I choose to lead my core group in being active participants in the world around them, and maybe to do something for someone else for a change (not saying they don't anyway), instead of sit in that chair with my name on it and rest after a tough week...

Necessity takes a back seat to video game rivalries and discussions about the nutritional value of iceberg lettuce...

Everywhere I go, I'm really cold...

No matter how much I sleep, I never fail to wake up exhausted...

Sparks flash and scald the parts of my heart that have been cold for such a long, long time...

Sometimes, I feel empty...

My Father seemingly flashes in and out of my life...


... because I know that we're always together, anyway.
... because I'm comforted by my status as a new wineskin.
... because my mom tells me that I'm no good to anyone cold.
... because it's always passion that wakes me up.
... because I won't always have the snow.
... because I won't remember anything in this life as well.
... because there's more than one kind of comfort.
... because I'll need to look back later...

... to see how this promise of [grace] is fulfilled.

Defense

You thought I was serious?

You thought I actually wanted that?

Who knows where you've been... taking dreams and sucking the lives out of regular people. But if you gave me a pencil, I couldn't make a diagram. Not of your menace.

So, I'm just saying that I don't want any part of it.

NONE.

YOU! I can't believe your nerve. Who just takes breath for fun, for the heck of it? They don't deserve your fists, they deserve for you to look away! Your eyes cause tremors, and your glances drive people into comas. I would pluck them out if I could reach you, you sick coward.

I can't even describe the horrible spite in my soul that I have for you!

Yet you are the water, and I'm stranded on the ice. No matter how I beg, no matter how loud my prayers-- you'll be there. Slowly, surely making your way down the interstate, waiting for just the right exit. After all, the road was named after you when it was built in the first place.

The funny thing is that they taught me to build roadblocks, but I don't bother with them.

You know why? God helps those who help themselves. You said it yourself.

Try it again.

I dare you-- nay, I will bury you.

A plea

My mother told me that I was born with my eyes wide open. Time was never wasted with needless crying. I was looking for you, even when I didn't know you. Call it a hunch.

But there was no curtain. No masquerade, no hoops... no prerequisites. There were no guards at the door, with which you could search me for the weapons I wielded against you. You probably can't describe the pain, especially when I didn't apologize. Maybe you wasted time crying.

Look at how you have entranced me! Look at how you have deliberately guided me into your mystery: and not against my will! Escape plans are as good as tinder now. Just more fuel to feed the flames-- the flames that I, Prometheus, claimed.

Was it just? Maybe. You say no; my sources disagree. When the piece is finished, when the world is on fire with what I have brought them... I pray it doesn't take me that long. My eyes are open again, and I don't waste time with crying.

Stop my heart if this necktie ever gets comfortable.

Sing as you always have when my eyes search.

Fall upon my head from the sky when I forget your quiet majesty.

Burn my rationale when I hold back.

Be the only door-kicking boots I'll ever wear.

Fill my mind with your mercy-- my heart with your promises.

Rip the roof off my hut.

Hold me while I drown.

Remind me of your love as I stand in the gallows.

Be all I see when I finally close my eyes.

Call it a hunch.

The Sword

Offense shocks me from my slumber,
as electric arcs stab my fingertips.
Caustic passion wells up in my soul,
and pours out through embittered fists.

I wonder how my message is so quiet.
The love spews from my mouth
as the penetrating, ear-splitting cry
of my enemy’s blood flows down.

Can you see through this tightened iris?
...and now? Oh, the boiler—burning in kind
behind my terrible, white-hot eyes.
Beloved black smoke clouds my mind.

My heart pounds like a war drum.
My lust is the fight: is it true what he said?
He was betrayed. “It will be your grave.”
Mercy is not my name; I would rather be dead.

November 6, 2008

Failure is not fatal

Wind passes right through my skin as I fall down
this furious speed will only destroy me
Crippling and devastating momentum
approaching maximum velocity
And this is how it's going to be
the point of it all
'Cause this is what was meant for me
recklessly I fall

Hulking, smashing, I come crashing
nothing like when I was small
I am unstoppable
I am the cannonball

Thirty-two feet per second I increase
as the exponents will multiply
I'll never stop to look back behind me
cutting through the bright blue sky
And this is how it's meant to be
untethered I will soar
I'll barrel towards the earth below
it's what I was made for

Hulking, smashing, I come crashing
nothing like when I was small
I am unstoppable
I am the cannonball
That feeble coward that you knew
has undergone an overhaul
I am unstoppable
I am the cannonball

And everyone will say it's just an accident
like some mishap or a tragedy
I think that failure has a purpose
and I don't believe it's chance if I fall
And I know that if I ever do fall
he will catch me
And if he ever lets me fall down
for the good of those who believe him
He will make me into a cannonball

Unblemished, and faultless
A burning luminescence
Unequaled precision
Beyond your scope of vision

("Cannonball" by Five Iron Frenzy)

Facebook strikes again

This would be the second time that Facebook has taken down one of my videos, without prior warning or permission, due to an anonymous (to me) copyright claim.

Let me catch you up. A while back, I made a video. It consisted of video and pictures that I took on my camera during a week's worth of nature's goodness in Montana. Every single picture and every single second of video was shot with my own hands. The only thing in the video that did not belong to me was the background music, and I gave it just acknowledgment.

Now, that's the only reason I can see why they would do this. As far as I know, it's not against the law to use background music for a video. Even then-- I'm not intentionally attempting to damage the reputation or earnings of Boston, Newsboys, Switchfoot, Fastball, or Fatboy Slim with my video. All things considered, I'd say that even with my totally destructive video, they're doing "more than fine."

So, why? Why, Facebook? Am I such a terrible citizen that you deemed it necessary to devalue my hard work to criminal shame, without any semblance of a warning at all?

I filed a counter notice. We'll see where it goes.

Wasted votes

"No, seriously, who are you voting for?"

I'm not sure if anyone takes me seriously the first time I tell them that I'm voting for Ralph Nader. He's actually my favorite candidate, and if you find that hard to believe, then maybe you should detach that corporate media slurry hose from your mouth every once and a while. Look at what the man stands for... and look at what I stand for. If you don't think I would drop what I'm doing to take part in one of his causes, then we should chat sometime. You know, one on one.

I think he's very Christ-like. He cares about people, and he's never been paid to say it. In fact, all of the money he receives is guided by his own hands back to the people. I love that. He doesn't care that people don't think he's going to win. He sees the need to change the American political system back to the way it should be-- as it was laid out in the Constitution-- and he believes the only way to do this is from the inside. It's unfortunate that he'll never be on the inside, however, and this is probably why he'll never be elected. So, all you political noobs who want my vote in four years better start taking notes, because Nader resonates with people like me.

So, what is this talk about my vote being wasted?

Through the lens of a corporate-driven election, yes, it's wasted. I'm not voting for the two scumbags they want us to vote for. It's very true that Barack Obama refusing to debate with both John McCain and Ralph Nader on two separate occasions was a pretty smart political move. Why take on two old farts, when the people are fine with you taking on only one? It makes sense; but you see, it doesn't score any points on the accredited "legitimizing-the-opinions-of-other-citizens" meter. Now, that's what I call reaching across the aisle. I'm sorry, that might have been a bit close to home... just to be fair, everyone knows that McCain has been in big oil's back pocket, confessed to voting with a real stinker of a president 90% of the time, voted in favor of the Bailout just because "something needed to be done", and pulled one of the most monumentally shameless pandering ploys available for recollection from my own memory by picking Palin as a running mate. Seriously, what a tool.

Coming back to this ridiculous election, it's becoming every day more similar to a bad youth Christmas pageant-- the kind where Joseph and Mary are the star of the show, and you're just the unfamiliar kid in the corner dressed like a sheep, and I'll let you guess which one of these weiners is Mary. It's awful to watch people try to be active in the political process, only to be led by the nose to only two of the six legitimate candidates. So, on the grand scale of things, I suppose my vote is twistedly for McCain... somehow.

But it got me thinking, that's for sure.

Over and over, I've made fun of single-issue voters. Primarily, Christian single-issue voters are about abortion and gay rights (or wrongs, rather). Now, I'm being persecuted, because I don't stand on either side of the political fence. One side wants me to vote in line with my Biblical values (which I've read, and buddy, "pre-emptive strike" and "regime change" are not the same as "love your enemy"); yet the other argues that my vote draws from their pool of votes out to the radical (which is a viewpoint that hasn't even been legitimized by your actions in any way-- thanks to your shrewd politics, you've alienated a powerful group).

It makes me think that people shouldn't be persecuted by how they vote. It's their vote, after all.

Vote for McCain. Vote for Obama. Nader, Barr, McKinney, Baldwin... maybe just the candidate that promises to do what you want them to do-- it doesn't matter to me. Just vote, and I promise not to make fun of you.

Wasted votes. You've got to be kidding.

James' top 10 of relevance

This is how you copy your friends. Also, to blog when I really don't know what to say... and the music I hear says it all so well.

1) "Weighed Down" > Jars of Clay

(As we deny that love is still the king / not as weak as we make him out to be / love lies here waiting all alone / can a king be a king weighed down?)

2) "Showdown" > Pendulum

(But it's simple, you were wrong / you must have known that we did not belong / I know you thought I sold my soul / but you never told me to my face / I just had to let you go)

3) "The Spy Hunter" > Project 86

(Pawns standing in awe / of the game, of the stage / you worked so hard at building an empire / of secret rooms to display to yourself / and add to your wealth / and the sting of, oh, it stings / when I saw it all come crashing / I witnessed the sound of a million voices / screaming for a public hanging)

4) "Countin' Down the Days" > PAX217

(Now I'm waiting for the day, the day to come / when I, when I will be with you / I know where you went / I know where you are / I know who you're with 'cause your just like Him / I'm gonna see you in a little while)

5) "You're On Fire" > MxPx

(Now that you're on fire, you're voice is like the wind / now that you're on fire, let life begin again / now that you're on fire, a new day has begun / now that you're on fire, you are like the sun / more than anything I'd like to see / better brighter days for you, for you and me)

6) "This Is The Countdown" > Mae

(you tread to stay above the waterline / but never taking off the weights that / keep us stuck here / in the comfort, in the fear / I’ll never know what we were fighting for /but I’m still looking to break out)

7) "Farsighted" > Five Iron Frenzy

(to all the farsighted, the skies never looked so clear / hello to the hopeful, goodbye to the full of fear / glorious, luminous / the heavens have painted, have brushed you with angel wings / and you know in your heart / that the farsighted see better things)

8) "The Nothing" > Equalibrum (misspell intended)

(lurking in shadows and creeping in darkness / is a will to commit an unspeakable harm / so this is the pick of a beat of heart / that women and children are easily marked / completes every deed and as vicious imparts / it's here and it's keen and it's visibly sharp / appearing in flesh in its various forms / shadows the earth as it hovers and swarms / feeding on anything breathing and warm... / when you open your door, it's already inside)

9) "Permanent Holiday" > Suicide Machines

(just to today, I was forced to say / I'm going on a permanent holiday / I'll drop what I'm doing, it's okay / I'm going on a permanent holiday / left a note saying I'll be gone for a long time)

10) "15" > Surrogate

(so forget about the money / and forget about yourself / and forget about the calculated risk / it never ends well)



There it is. I would suggest these songs to anyone; their rockitude is unmatched.

How to jump the gun properly

So- dreams the other night. The first one is a little creepy, and doesn't really tie in, but I thought I'd add it in anyway. This is my journal, and there's something about it that makes me want to ensure that I don't forget.

Dream #1: My friends (I forget the faces, exactly) and I are inside an old creepy house with lots of windows and two stories. It's the type of dream that isn't exactly in B & W, but not totally in color either. Sort of a grayscale/sepia tone going on there, with old looking furniture. Very unhappy clouds in the sky, but no rain. Stay with me, now. For some weird reason, a freaky little girl comes down out of the sky in a cyclone-type funnel and begins to walk toward the house. It's always a freaky little girl, right? Anyway, she attempts to convince the rest of us that one of us has committed a blatant offense which must be punished by death.

Do we take the bait? No. We stab the ho.

Afterward, she reappears out of the sky and accuses another one of us of a different crime, and we take the liberty to sing her a different lullaby for her next dirtnap. Gun-- dead. Even blunt-freaking-broomhandle: vanquished. Every time we do this, the bodies continue to pile. It's no wonder I woke up and thought I was losing my mind. Jury's still out on this one.

Then, the dream that correctly corresponds with the title...

Dream #2: I come across the revelation that I can graduate this year. That's right, in Spring 2009, with the rest of my classmates. This is the one that woke me up for good-- the terror of seeing the ASP in a dream is truly formidable. But it made me think... could that be true?

When I checked the ASP, I got my answer. Myth "confirmed."

Thoughts poured down through my brain, and my cognition was awash with the possibility of graduating this year: $24,500 that would not even need mention, a headstart on my peers in the field, a launch into the life I'm pursuing, and a real chance to test by fire the solidity of my faith in an unbelieving world. Hold, please.

Would I even be ready?

"... but the Lord directs his steps..." Guys, I don't know about this one.

Stallion's song, reprise

Ice cream? You've got to be kidding. I wasn't there, but I swear I could see the insult shatter against Papa's stern countenance in the nursing home.

This stallion wrote his rules-- he knew that within the limits of God's pasture, the grass was greenest. The best part was the wind against his back. The only time he wore a saddle was when he became too weak to buck it off; even then, he still refused to be tamed. And here, in the nursing home, he was making ice cream with the other women. How did you think it was? Is the stifling chafe of this saddle supposed to be as worthy against the skin as the soft breath of freedom?

"It sucked."

Just let it come, he said. Even before he began to improve, he accepted the end. You can't live forever. If this is how it must be, then take me away. This was neither a plea to live, nor a plea to die.

It was only the simple submission that the life of a saint is never his in the first place.

[Rest in peace, Papa. Should the skies fall, my heart will never forget you.]

Victory and/or death

You know, I can't believe it's finally here. We leave for Cedar Bend tomorrow. I hope to G-d that this semester will be as memorable as it has been fast.

Anxiety and excitement spark back and forth in my brain in equal amounts. Of course I don't know what will happen-- that's part of the experience. How much could I control... what levers are in my reach to tweak? The usual situation, though, ends up showing me that my finger is too weak to push these kinds of buttons: they're meant for bigger hands.

Hallelujah. I will say again, hallelujah; for uncertainty is the yeast of our daily bread. For who can see the product of a baker's labor until after it is too late to turn back? In the same way, I lead my group as we test this depth with both feet. It will be dreadfully uncomfortable, and we might not emerge again in this ocean. But I tell you the truth-- I would rather drown as a body suspended and dependent on the permeating, penetrating sea of the mercy and love of Christ than breathe another breath of the deadly, destructive oxygen that swamps the world. I fear not that I may never again take in the air of self-centered arrogance... no, I embrace the sacrifice of succumbing in worldly death to G-d's endless, overwhelming grace.

I'm warning you. It costs little to be safe. It costs everything to be free.

Politics makes my truth hurt.

Some of you may have seen commercials on TV, with scary corporate logos that read "Human Double Inc" and "EMBROLUX." If any of you may possibly have been misled by this hostile attempt to invade your private mind, read and be enlightened:

ARTICLE 1
Section 27. (1) Nothing in this section shall alter Michigan’s current prohibition
on human cloning.

and...

(2) (c) No person may, for valuable consideration, purchase or sell human
embryos for stem cell research or stem cell therapies and cures.

Oh, so Proposal 2 won't legalize human cloning or sale of human embryos. What a relief!

The Big Dream

My dream involves physics. You were warned.

In class today, we were discussion the "conservation of linear momentum." In English: things don't just start moving. The energy has to come from somewhere, and in quantities related to mass and speed. So, we used the example of a car on Earth. When a car accelerates, it pushes off the Earth. Therefore, the total momentum of the planet Earth is affected every time I pull out of the parking lot. What a trip. So, this got me thinking. I raised my hand, and asked the question,

So, if we coordinated every car on Earth to drive in the direction against Earth's rotation, could we theoretically add an hour to the day?

In theory, yeah, that would work. I thought it made sense. My question was shortly thereafter shot down like a New York yuppie in the parking lot of U of M Flint.

No, there's really no way.

A curse on you, dream-stealer! I say all of that to say this: don't be afraid to ask the big questions. I know it would take hundreds of years for cars all going the same direction to even add ten minutes to a day... but the idea is fascinating, isn't it? Some people want us to believe that the border of "no, there's really no way" is lined by concrete walls and razor wire, with armed guards at every possible crossing. I tell you that the imagination treats this fence as the wall of a sand castle-- the overwhelming, God-modeling tide of human curiosity blows it away as soon and often as it desires, and this is not a behavior that can be repressed.

Thank God.

A little nugget of wisdom

I hate when people say that. However, I feel like this saying, which I recently received, is important:


"When work begins to feel overwhelming, just remember that you're going to die."


I can only hope. puh.

Stallion's song

"You've lived your whole life for us, Dad."

Those were the words of assurance from my mother to my grandfather this past weekend. I watched on, uncomfortably, as a man I always knew to be so tough and strong was held to a hospital bed by the lead weight in his lungs. Machines, tubes, wires-- medicine was doing jobs he'd been doing unassisted his entire life. Simple breath came as a chore; one painful chore after another. The morphine took the edge off, but I could see that cringe of pain in his face every time his heart monitor began to chirp. Tears flooded the room. After all, this was the man who survived so many attempts on his life from nature... then, to hear him mutter the battered words: "I give up." Tears were our only reaction.

It was too much... for all of us.

It was then that Father Bob cautiously waded into the room. The fear of death and the red-hot hand of pain must have been evident in Papa's eyes, because Father Bob knew exactly what to say. And God began to speak... not from a loop, not a recording. This was for him, and us.

"Tony, this is not giving up. This is not defeat. This is victory. When you see that light, you don't hesitate. You run for that light, Tony."

Saline fear gushed out from Papa's eyes. The works of his life, the people he lifted up in spite of himself, the world he changed forever-- they came to the front. Fear was not his salvation, and he was firmly convinced. God's vessel was ready to return to its harbor.

So, who will carry this man's legacy? When he finally departs, will he know that the love and power that comes from the perfect law that gives freedom... will he know that I, for the rest of my days, will keep it with me?

Rice A Roni

[ME is browsing Facebook on his computer in the kitchen, visibly bored. A lukewarm skillet, filled with uncooked rice/vermicelli mix sits on the stove top. MIRACLE enters.]

ME This Rice a Roni is taking forever to cook. [exasperated sigh] Maybe I added too much butter. I dunno.

MIRACLE Oh, well, see here? This knob? You turn it up.

ME [not paying attention] Dude, I already have it up more than I should. It's gotta be too much butter.

MIRACLE No, I mean this knob. [points to the "rear left" knob, which my skillet is on] Unless, of course, you want to use the right one.



Where would I be without my friends?
I mean, besides hungry. =)

Life on an abacus

I know it was for the freshmen, but something that Dr. Correll said during the seminar today resonated with me. I wish I could quote it, but I can't produce what he said, verbatim. So instead, it's story time.

Back during my freshman year, I took a class called EDU 100; the introductory education class. Not being completely convinced of my calling to teaching, I decided to give this class a shot to be my make or break in the field. Now, everything was going well until I began my classroom observations. My assignment was to observe a typical 10th grade biology classroom-- my projected stomping ground after graduation-- for a few hours every week. That which I expected to be an eye-opening experience made sure not to disappoint. It was interesting to me enough, as a scientist, to watch cause-and-effect relationships all around the room; to break the act of learning into a cold science. I'm not saying that's all that happened, I'm just saying that was my reaction. My life, as I knew it, would be built around a daily seven-hour block of tables, figures, definitions, and dissections; hook-ups, break-ups, dances, and assemblies. Some people have no trouble living life in a predictable schedule. I declined. It was in that moment in time when I used college to discover something about myself, and that was that I handle routine the same as a plague.

So, back to senior year. I sit in White Auditorium, next to the greatest core instructor ever, contemplating the way I live. When I returned to my room, I looked at my daily schedule on Facebook... and sighed in relief. What was presented to me was as much of my life that may be presented on a table: the portion of my existence that shows up on a graph. Let me tell you, and you can check for yourself, it's not much. Others need me to be predictable, and I understand why. But even more so, I need... I desire; I am unbridled in my desire to be unpredictable.

After all, who decided life should be that way? The tedious comparison of every second against the colored paper table on the door... the dull, grayscale moments of my day slowly descend into obscene cold in my soul. My soul, then, exploding from being compressed, somehow, into a cubic representation of a "productive" existence. Screams pour out from under the lid of the casket where a childlike approach to faith and living is contained, as rays of light in the darkness. The overgrown path to the Father, warmed by the bare footsteps of indomitable children, guides me through every day.

Sanctified to Wonder

Burn.
Landscape,
all I see--
all I see burns.
See
what comes!
The nothing
inside our homes.
Love,
power,
forgiveness;
are they the same?
Turn,
fall down.
"Break our hearts;
we broke your heart."
Love,
power,
forgiveness;
have been the same.
See
our God!
His mercy,
his compassion.
Burn.
We all
meet with you
after we burn.

You
will give
praising lips
the words to say.
You,
the dreams,
deliverance,
wonders of You.

(Joel 2)

Usurper

It's interesting to see what I do when I actually do it. I find it interesting to see that my soul believed that I wasn't kidding around when I adopted my family motto (translated from Latin): deeds without words. Hunger is what I now deal with, fire is the inhabitant of my spirit. I simply cannot stop becoming more of the man I am meant to be in Christ... and it is absolutely one of the most thrilling processes I've ever experienced.

However, it would be admittedly more thrilling if it didn't involve so much work. Biochemistry is not easy, nor is spiritual formation, nor abnormal psychology, nor physics. Unlike similar, former phases, I am unhinged in the pursuit of what is good. Nothing holds me back from being what I need to be. Nothing holds me back from harnessing what I am through action.

Like I said, thrilling. I'd recommend this to everyone.

A lightning-rod wrist

Worship is the admission that we mean nothing in the vast scope of a wonderful creation.

Worship is the celebration that we mean everything to a vast and wonderful Creator.