turned to real life

The high mission of any art is, by its illusions, to foreshadow a higher universe reality, to crystallize the emotions of time into the thought of eternity.

That might just be one of the truest statements I've read in a while. The concept of everything having a purpose, of dwelling on things that make an impact, has much greater significance in life than I ever considered. At church a few Sundays ago, the pastor gave me a new perspective when he said, "We have a physical body and a spirit in Heaven, and we are agents of change to broker His kingdom here on earth." Suddenly there is an inarguable dichotomy between things that matter most and the things that simply don't, because of their impact in the spiritual realm. On eternity.

The words "reality" and "eternity" are ones I've struggled with ever since things started to matter; first with the idea of them and then the practicality of believing in both. I wasn't sure it was possible at first. Reality were the things all around me, the things I knew to be true because I saw them. Reality was being sure of what I knew and acting on something I believed in. But when I thought about what it meant to live with an eternal perspective, it makes you wonder how you're to know something is true when it isn't there to protest its existence. How do you act confidently on a feeling that could be analyzed and trivialized and discounted?

Mom has always told me I see things in black and white. In many situations I don't see the 18% gray until someone formally presents it and shows me there was no either/or dilemma to begin with. It seems to simplify things, because otherwise I'm afraid I over-think it. It's nice to have clear options to choose from because it feels like I made progress in discovering them.

But I have been learning that there are all sorts of black and white, either/ors that hold my world together. And those ones are okay. The constant struggle between flesh and spirit have become so much more real to me when I let go of enough of myself to finally realize it. I think that's why I wanted to try fasting. To see what it would feel like to allow God to physically sustain me, also. I have discovered that eating is not so much a necessity as it is a hobby. Going each day with a hollow feeling in my stomach doesn't compare to how it feels having a hollowness in my spirit. That is what hurts the most, what I know I can't live with. But food is something I do for fun, because I like picking things apart and enjoying it for what it is. I thought I was doing it wrong at first, that I was missing something important because it wasn't supposed to feel more like a dieting plan than a spiritual act. But when it wasn't something I depended on enough to structure my day around to begin with, it becomes less the food itself and more what it represents. And the distraction isn't a question of how much time I spend eating that should now be transferred to time spent with God. When the distraction of food is taken away all that's left to contrast is what my body wants and what my spirit desires. It's like taking away the insulation and being sure, knowing, that no matter how cold your body is it's still staying warm because your heart is still beating.

The other black and white either/or the Lord has been showing me is self versus surrender. I think I have an image of myself, quite a glorious image actually, and I've been too busy dwelling on it. It's like with oil paint, when it doesn't dry for days and you can go back and modify and alter until hours later it feels right. But in all the obsessive modifications you lose sight of what exactly you were painting to begin with. I've discovered that when I get so caught up in self and ego that I lose sight of who I am supposed to become. There is no more big picture, there is only now. Thoughts in this moment, words in this conversation, actions in this situation. When I focus on making myself feel better and more important, I sacrifice the value of other people. And the only reason I feel the need to do that is for self assurance. If I was able to look directly at myself, not in a mirror but face to face, I don't think I'd like the helpless, unconfident person in front of me. That person would know the phrase "identity in Christ" and still not know what to do with it in a real-world sense.

I think that's because it isn't real-world. It's beyond it. When you're able to give up enough of yourself, it gives the Spirit so much more room. Room to dwell in and room to work in. It really is true, that out of the overflow of his heart a man speaks. One verse that has been inexplicably recurring in my life is John 7.37-38,

If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.

We are to be channels, means through which the Spirit flows and causes other people to trace the stream back to its heavenly source. I used to think the important part was to press in and receive from God, otherwise we would have nothing to give. As important as that is, now I am realizing that if the vessel is dirty or full of rocks it makes it more difficult for the water to flow. And not only that, but the water becomes tainted and a poor representation of how pure it was when it first melted. I don't want God's ability to use me to be limited by what I would do the least damage to. I am learning that sometimes God really does have to operate in spite of us, but wouldn't it be easier for everyone if we just sided ourselves with Him completely?

Now I understand more why we ask the Lord to purify us; what it means to say,

Purify my heart, cleanse me from within

And make me holy

Purify my heart, cleanse me from my sin

Deep within

Refiner's fire, my heart's one desire

Is to be holy, set apart for you, Lord

I choose to be holy

Set apart for You, my Master,

Ready to do your will

Because there is so much of me that needs to move out of the way first. That has become a much more powerful analogy for me. It's like all the little black bits left in the Brita filter to make the water drinkable.

I can't believe how much I have been learning this summer. It's almost overwhelming, though exhilarating at the same time, to discover so much of myself that needs to be changed. It's exactly what Mom wrote to me a few months ago:

God's objective for you is always Romans 8.29, to conform you to His Son's image. So let God do His work in your life, and change you so much so that you will represent Him well–excellently–to other people. Then you would honor Him and glorify Him. And isn't that what our redeemed lives are about?

So having an eternal perspective has now become my reality, and I am learning to make it the very centre of purpose in this life.

when the sun goes down

every day is exactly the same

I woke up this morning and the first thought in my head was a song by Nine Inch Nails.

I believe I can see the future

Cause I repeat the same routine

I think I used to have a purpose

But then again

That might have been a dream

I think I used to have a voice

Now I never make a sound

I just do what I've been told

I really don't want them to come around

Every day is exactly the same

Every day is exactly the same

There is no love here and there is no pain

Every day is exactly the same

The second thought was Psalm 118:24, which says, This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

The only thing that's really the same every day is work. 11.00-16.00, 11.00-16.00, 11.00-16.00, 11.00-16.00. But that in itself is not all bad, I can handle the monotony of work. What I can't deal with as well are the parts of my world that are in standstill. It's characteristic of summer, to be devoid of the routine and schedule and the normal that characterizes the school year. But it doesn't make it any easier knowing that, because certain parts of my world have stopped moving and sometimes I genuinely just feel like stopping too. It'd be better, not having to wait but just fast forwarding through the commercials and the slow parts. It'd be more realistic, to acknowledge those are part of the episode and just be patient and sit it out. It'd be absolutely ideal, to live up those moments every bit as much as the exciting scenes.

What if I could recognize the beauty of each individual day? What if they didn't all just blend into one, but instead I saw the world the way P.O.D. does in "Alive"?

Everyday is a new day

I'm thankful for every breath I take

I won't take you for granted

So I learn from my mistakes

It's beyond my control

Sometimes just letting it go

Whatever happens in this lifetime

So I trust in love

You have given me peace of mind

I think the key really is having an attitude of thanksgiving, because otherwise the new and the different can simply happen too subtly to be noticed. In those times I've found the Lord throws something huge at you, to make sure you don't miss it. It came in the form of a long-awaited phone call from SLO UMC. It's been about a month of (I'm sure) very annoying phone calls from me, trying to just get an estimate from them on how much it'd cost EPIC to rent their sanctuary once a week in the fall. We really need a new location, and we were down to their church as the only place we were really pursuing. For one event, they usually charge $500.00 for their sanctuary. The most I could do was explain our financial situation, and pray with everything I had that they would be willing to help us out. Would you believe they'll let us have it for $100.00 a month?! That's even less than the thirty dollars per use I'd originally suggested. It just blew my mind when she told me. She said their committee agreed they loved that we were part of Cal Poly and were a Christian ministry, and they wanted to make it work for us. The very first thing I did was call Ptub, and he was just as excited as I was. We have a location for next year!!! I can't believe it.

So as soon as I hung up, I decided to start my day over at 11.48.

pieces of what (?)

This is where I want to be right now. Not Niagara Falls specifically, but maybe somewhere just as beautiful and awe-inspiring and far, far away. And not physically, but emotionally. There are so many words, ideas, thoughts, exchanges and moments that can't be described, they just add up into something I don't know how to handle.

one day at a time

My current favorite song is Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz.
Mostly because it reminds me of driving 50 miles an hour with Curtis down windy back roads to middle-of-nowhere, VA.
The funny thing is that the lyrics are awful and they're talking about a total loser.
So sad.

Yesterday my boy and I went on an adventure up to AG. There are lots of things to laugh about, and lots of things I want to remember. Maybe winning yellow truck along the way is one of them, hehe. I ate a burger. That is a big deal okay. My favorite part was getting fruity ice cream and eating it on a bench at a park overlooking the ocean. We watched the sun go down behind the houses while I taught him Chinese phrases. I was laughing so hard at the way he pronounced everything. What is he going to do in China this summer?! I don't know. He'll be going around telling everyone not to be messy and that he's afraid of spicy food. We saw a police chase on the way back. Three, four then five police cars racing after this one car that was foolish enough to think he could just keep driving and not have to stop. That was adventurous all by itself.

Last weekend we went hiking up to a water fall. We had to ford creeks to get there, covered wagon style. Except it was nice to have his big car with high clearance, otherwise there would've been some swimming involved. The weather was hot hot hot but the trail wasn't too long, only 3 miles. We got to the water fall and it was lovely seeing it, though we hadn't brought swim suits so the most I did was wash my hands in it. On the way back we jumped off the trail to a nice pile of rocks by the water and just sat and talked and prayed and watched the fish and salamanders swim. He needed to get back to allow time for his Sunday night dinner, so we didn't stay for that long. But it was just long enough to enjoy the day and to enjoy being with him, so it was perfect.

A lot of things are perfect right now. I don't know what I ever did to deserve him but I still feel like I don't. I don't deserve how thoughtful and sweet and selfless and genuine he is. This summer is going to be one of the most difficult things of my life thus far; infinitely more so than last summer. But at least this summer I am sure. Sure of him, sure of me. I have five days left with him and many more memories that still need to be made.

away from the sun

The aimless wanderings of a soul turned black, searching desperately for a calm he's never known. The quiet, the silence, the emptiness of her heart, beating in slow constant rhythm with the ticking of the clock. Time, time, time. Gone, gone, gone. Maybe they're hoping for meaning by the end of the journey. Maybe purpose will appear the longer they cross their fingers and the harder they close their eyes. Blurs of colour, orange on black and black on green, emotions run wild until they are lost for good.

Beyond what the eye can see, out of reach from anything that tried to hold it back. Yet all that remains is a blank darkness echoing off the walls of its own isolation. Silence is golden except when it grows and grows until there is no more room for anything else. Then the little people find themselves no longer capable of dancing, searching or hoping. Illusion is reality and there appears a strange confusion in discussing anything related to the future or what is to come.

There is no future because dreams are stagnant and there is not enough motivation to inspire change. Instead the children cry for no one to hear, and the infants die with no one to hold them. All dressed up in the fancy clothes evidencing the guilt of abandonment are the tiny bodies who had no one fighting for their last breath. Nor was there anyone to hold the little girls hand as the money was exchanged and her body would never again be her own. When they tore the boy away from his family, gave him a gun and taught him to kill, there was no one to tell him he was never destined to be a killer.

People, people everywhere, in every part of the world where the darkness has gathered and begun closing in on itself. And yet there is no one to bridge the gap, to stand in the middle and condemn what never should have been. The words, the thoughts, the ideas that never turned to actions lay fallen on the edge of a long, long road. Its end cannot be seen but it doesn't need to be. The whole world knows where its been and where it is going.

Someday the light at the end of the tunnel will flicker back to life. Someday the black will turn to gold and reflections of what should always have been will filter back into what is. In that day it will not matter whether you were broken or poor, whole or wealthy. It might even be enough on that day simply to be, with enough hope to envision what you could become.

But that day is not today. That day is distant and clouded to the point that it could only be reawakened when hearts are ready to call it into existence. So meanwhile we wait, with every advancing second heralding the approach of what is all too familiar and altogether dreaded. The tears will continue to trace streaks down crumpled faces and the only reason to stop screaming will be because the lungs are no longer filled with air and the heart is no longer keeping rhythm for a broken existence. Then all the fighting will stop because there never was anything to fight for.

certain words in uncertain times

I write.

Not because I want people to read.

And not because I have important things to say.

I write because I feel things.

Maybe it's more symbolic than anything. But if I wrote in tiny letters in my green book that's all they would ever be– tiny letters. At least if I have the option to publish this I can be sure that I'm part of something bigger, and maybe even something worth being a part of.

Shhhhh. Don't let on. But sometimes there are just so many words, words. And even if, when placed end to end, the words don't make sense together, at least they were spoken so they can be heard. At least they were written so they can be read. If we never tried, they would never have the option of going on forever and ever.

Sometimes it's easier to deal in the abstract than in the concrete.

The abstract doesn't make me cry.

I have been doing a lot of that over the last couple days. I think if I was crying for me, it would be that much easier to talk myself out of it. But it's the names, the faces, the lives that I know about and read about and hurt for that I can't fix.

I hate brokenness.

I hate apathy.

I hate emotions.

The ones that are deep inside you that you can't even use a colour to describe because it's black, it's all black and dirty and the only way to get rid of it is to cry and make it hurt somewhere else. Or to let it go.

I can't let it go.

If I let go it feels like I don't care anymore. If it's no longer hurting inside it's like it never mattered or I've given up. Does it feel any different when you've let go because you've released it into greater hands? Is it supposed to feel empty and flat or empty and renewed?

I don't know what it means to move on. One of the hardest things about being alive is finding the motivation to do it. Sometimes there are things that make me excited about life. But thoughts and moments are not enough to survive a whole lifetime on.

You know what I want more than anything right now? I want to be up high. High in a plane or on top of a mountain or anywhere that is up high enough for me to look down and see how tiny the world is. The little houses, the little cars and all the lights, blinking moving and always in a hurry to be there and to get it done. Always. So I want to be far away from it to get the proper perspective of how small it really is. I get people sick. If I was honest, I have those moments where it's much too difficult to be around people because I don't want to feel what they feel and I get so tired of trying to make it right when I know I can't.

But from far away you can't see those things. You can't see the colours of how people feel or what they do about it. It's just small and manageable and maybe even under control. I don't want to stand in the middle of it; I don't want the houses to be life size and I don't want to be small enough to fit inside the cars. Because within the four walls, amidst the joy and laughter, is always more hurt and anger and sorrow than people know what to do with. And the destinations that those cars map out for themselves are long lonely drives to temporal reality.

Please be real. Real enough to make it stop hurting, even if it's not going to go away. But maybe if there was enough truth and honesty the words would stop being so abstract and the feelings would disappear. Names. Faces. Lives. It doesn't work to be goal-oriented when there's nothing to be done.

Fix it. I know you can do it.