A One Sided Conversation

I remember the first time I heard Bob Dylan. I thought he sounded strange. Sort of like a dying duck that had been smoking Marlboro Reds for years and years. I soon learned, however, that he was a clever duck and quickly became quite jealous of his ability to put strands of incredible lyrics together. He was like an architect, building phrases out of words that came across as poetry and melody combined. I like to call him Bobby, as if I know him.

Jealousy. Funny thing Jealousy is. It can come out of nowhere. I could be walking down the street and be perfectly fine until I see that good looking guy with his good looking girlfriend, taking calls and checking emails and sending flowers from the palm of his hand. If only I had that phone. I want that phone. How come he gets to have that phone? Will the phone work the same for me? I wonder if I can get it for cheaper than it is supposed to be. I'd probably be famous if I could just get one of those stupid little phones.... The list of thoughts goes on I guess. Anyways, thats a side note.

Notes. I have a box of notes in my closet. Notes from when I was a kid, all the way up to the present. If you've given me a note, chances are that it is in that box. Just looking at the box makes me feel funny inside. There are long notes, short notes, happy notes, angry notes, plain notes, colorful notes, funny notes, serious notes. Some of the notes are torn from age and some are just a little dusty. I like to think that when I am older, I will read all of the notes before I die and remember the things I just couldn't remember otherwise. By then, hopefully even the notes that remind me of things I may not want to remember now, will be so old and far from the present, that they bring a smile, maybe even a laugh, to my face. Maybe by then I'll have a couple of boxes to go through (hopefully all good notes). 

Good evening. 

So Long For Now

I think recently I've realized I need to change this thing. Until I know what I need to change about it I don't think I'll write. At least here. 

Until then, maybe you can answer the question I've been asking myself recently. 

What if we all just stopped and realized we are already loved?

I Am Me

I woke up this morning and have stayed in by bed for over an hour. The blinds are closed, the lights are off and there is not a single noise in the house except for the humming of the air conditioner. I am in a small room. The bed is as old as me and there are books everywhere. I am living here temporarily and my possessions look like vines slowly taking over the walls and empty spaces that were there before I arrived. I have very little really. Clothes, books, guitars and some golf clubs that a good friend of mine gave to me that are in desperate need of cleaning. I've thought of selling one of the guitars....I need the money.

I woke up this morning and have stayed in my bed for over an hour. My mind is wide awake, wandering in the deep recesses of my heart. Mornings like these can scare me. It's like going into a dark attic after watching a scary movie. I don't want to think about what I'll find in the corners but I can't seem to keep myself from straying to far. So I let it happen. 

I woke up this morning and have stayed in my bed for over an hour. I am remembering a Psalm that I have been reading this week. It says something about God having formed me in my mothers womb, how he knit together my soul and knows the words I will say before I say them and the thoughts I will have before I think them. It goes on to say that there isn't a place I can go to escape his spirit. If I went into outer space, he'd be there, if I fled to the center of the earth he'd be there, if I tried to sail to the middle of the ocean where there is nothing but water and air, he would still be there. Not only would he be there, but it continues with the line "Your right hand would still be upon me." I think that means he loves me and accepts me unconditionally.

I woke up this morning and have stayed in my bed for over an hour, but I think it is time to get up.

Fears

Tonight I was sitting at a coffee shop reading a book. It is funny how words that someone wrote in another place and time and even another state of mind can mean so much to me. If you've ever had one of these moments you know that they stick with you for the rest of the evening and maybe even longer. There was a line in the book that said the best stories are always lived by those who are willing to go through the pain that they cost. I sat on that for a while. 

I'm actually still sitting on it. At this point I am still wondering if I have ever attempted to actually live, let alone live a great story. In the world I live in it is easy to find myself inside of a box of the right things to do and steering clear of all of the wrong things to do. And sometimes the right thing to do gets labeled as the wrong thing or maybe even worse, the unwise thing to do. For a self conscious person, it's a nightmare. There is something inside of me that tells me if I never risk I will never live. And to risk, I need to overcome my fears. Which leads me to the question I have hated all my life. What am I so afraid of? Because when I am honest with myself it seems to come down to such silly things. I am afraid of what people will think of me. I am afraid that I will fail and people will laugh at me or say, "I told you so." I am terrified that if I jump off the cliff there will be nothing to catch me. I am afraid of letting my family down. I am afraid of letting my father down. 

These seem to be the fears that swallow my dreams. But I have a feeling that is about to change. Or at least I'm praying that it will.

Fail

I fail. In fact, I fail a lot. I have been a failure in relationships. I have been a failure in school. I have been a failure in ministry. I have been a failure in self control. You name it and I've probably failed in it. But I haven't failed life. I think what I like most about life is that it always moves forward. There is always a new day. Maybe God made it that way to remind us that He is very much the same. We can fail time and time again but He is always inviting us to move forward, to learn from it and to grow from it. I guess I have begun to have a strange appreciation for failure. It reminds me that I am alive. It disrupts my flow of life and steps all over my pride. But in the off chance that I succeed in something that I have failed previously, well quite honestly it makes it all the more meaningful. To be honest, if I was always successful I think I would probably forget what true success is. Surely it has to be more internal than external in the end. It must come down to the change and growth of the heart. And to be successful in this way, we have to fail.

Love?

Love is a strange thing. We probably get most of our ideas of what love is through movies or Tv shows here in America. I know I did, which, needless to say, was an incorrect view in most cases. I had usually thought of it as this great overwhelming feeling inside that made me nervous and had the strange effect of robbing me of my vocabulary. Or perhaps it was connected to some romantic scene from the last movie I saw in which the man runs down the woman that he almost let get away, but finally comes up with the greatest line ever used in the perfect moment to use it, which of course leaves them at happily ever after. Now, I'm sure that at some level, these moments can truly speak of love. But the more I live, the more I realize that love of the highest level doesn't really look like these moments. In fact, in my experience, it doesn't look like them at all. 

I was walking home from work one evening when an older woman whom I knew passed me. I said hello to her and we got into a conversation. Let me introduce you to Alice. She is around 50 and from the Middle east, is missing some teeth, has a terrible skin disease and by all rights and purposes would not be the first image that pops into most peoples minds when they think about love. I asked her what she was doing and she told me that she was on her way to Jack in the Box for dinner. I asked her how her brother was doing. She told me that he was the same, but when she gives him food from Jack in the box, which the doctors may or may not necessarily know about, his smile is from ear to ear and he does his best to respond with what little ability he has at the moment. Let me introduce you to Alice's brother. He is around 55 and from the middle east, is paralyzed and mute. His communication generally rests in his eyes, his smile and the small murmurs that he can manage on a good day. He lives in the assisted living facility just down the street. 

I can still remember the first time I met both of them. I was at the assisted living facility playing bingo and music for the people there when a nurse asked me if a couple of people and I would like to go upstairs and say hello to Alice's brother. I had no idea what that meant but I surely wasn't going to say no. When we walked into the room Alice and a nurse were standing on either side of her brother, asking him to eat. Though he didn't respond vocally, we could tell he didn't seem to want the Jello. It really was a mess. It was one of those moments when humanity was at its rawest. There was nothing sexy about this. There was spit on his shirt and the nurse's and Alice's shirt. Bits of red Jello everywhere. I am pretty sure the bed pan had just been used and the murmurs he was making sounded terrifying. I was exhausted and I hadn't even set foot in the door. Little did I know that this would become one of the greatest pictures of love I have ever seen. 

Alice visits her brother every day. Every. Day. Every day she walks from her home to the assisted living hospital. Every day she takes in the smell that only a hospital can exude. Every day she walks to the elevator after signing in and rides it up to the third floor. Every day she walks down the hall before making it to the last room on the right. Every day she walks in and her brother is there, lying mute and motionless in a bed. And every day she sits down to talk to him and take care of him. Every day. Surely the day I witnessed was not a great day, but probably wasn't the worst day either.

 Love does not rest in the high and lofty notions that we usually put it in, but it shines in the dirtiest trenches of life. It braves the mess of humanity and hides among the mundane. It is not scared of scars or smells or uninviting rooms. It finds it's way past the normal human will or want. It pushes past a desire of self and makes its home in the discipline of service. It lowers itself and accepts humiliation. Most of all, it does not care what others think because it knows what is right. And because its name is Love, it carries this knowledge out in action. Alice knows Love and this Love shines through every imperfection that she carries with her. The world may never know her and she will probably never seek to be known. Her everyday life may never leave the 3 mile radius she frequents right now and she will probably fade into the background of a busy city with busy people. Perhaps in the end we will all sit around a table in heaven and Alice will be sitting at the place of honor. We would all wonder what she did to be given that seat. Maybe someone would ask, "Lord, who is the woman at the head of the table." To which He might respond, "She is a woman that the world missed. She is a woman that the world never saw. But I assure I saw her. And I loved every minute of it." 

A Good Brother

Let me start by saying that I am certain of nothing except that if there is a God, then He must love us dearly. In fact, I believe that He loves us so dearly that He came out of His God place and made a home here. He had a mother and a father that loved Him as a son and He loved them as his parents. Not only that, he had brothers. Now if you are an only child you may not fully understand the significance of this, but having grown up with brothers I think this is worth noting. Brothers fight. They get sick of each other. They call each other names. They are competitive and rough. If this God Man grew up with brothers then it was nothing like the company He was used to from where He came from. These young boys had flaws. They had deep hatreds and deeper loves. They were probably curious and somewhat reckless. Maybe they were shy and quiet or perhaps outgoing and loud. Either way, they weren't perfect. They made mistakes. They had dreams and passions, fears and frustrations, desires and needs. What is truly amazing to think of is if this God Man, who at this point could be considered a God Boy, were really the Maker and Creator of all things, then that would include these boys, these brothers. A creator stepping into His own creation is one thing, but the Maker of humanity not only stepping into, but becoming a part of the lives of those whom He created is something else! To think as He watched His brothers interact, He, the Master Craftsman, who not only knows them to the core of their being, but actually made the core of their being out of His own image and likeness in all of His wisdom and power. To see them for who they truly are despite what is happening on the outside. And He was their brother.