The church crumbles and falls. You stand there aghast. What do you do? Some walk away, leaving the crumbs to rot. Will you turn your back? Will you walk away? Where are the ones willing to roll up their sleeves? Who will muddy their hands and mend the hurt and pain? Or will we watch the crowd disperse and when no one’s looking slap some putty in the cracks and call it good? This can’t go on. I’m just a kid, what can I do? Sometimes I wonder who really knows what they’re doing. You wonder why the world looks on and laughs, well look around you. You won’t even mend the cracks. Where’s the unity? Where’s the body? We can’t move on without a foot, without an eye, without an ear. A heart is not enough. A mind is not enough. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. The parking lot of the church is paved with apathy. The pain is deep and it’s not easy, but you can’t just throw your hands up in the air and leave us here to make it on our own. We need you. Stick your definitions in the trash and wipe that self assured look off your heart. You are not right. God is right. The narrow minded will be blown away when all is revealed. How dense can you be? How foolish are we? Jesus, light of the world, shine your love upon this broken vessel.
Inviting Marilyn Manson Over for Dinner
Today at the beginning of chapel the campus pastors took a moment to share about some new prayer thing that was happening, and they shared a quick story about praying against the Marilyn Manson concert that was in town this week. Sherry made a slip of the tongue and said something about, “When Marilyn Manson comes to Bethel.” Everyone laughed and thought it was funny, and Sherry’s face turned red and she laughed for a minute before continuing.
But I wasn’t laughing. I obviously didn’t listen to much they were saying about the prayer meetings. I was thinking about Marilyn Manson. He’s taken a lot of flack lately. A lot of people have been picketing his shows because of whatever connection there may be between the “goth” followers of his music and the Columbine shootings. As rumor has it, at the Minneapolis show somebody put a big yellow smiley face somewhere on the stage, and when Manson saw it, he stopped the concert mid-song, and stormed off the stage. Sherry related this story as a victory story for the group that was praying for the presence of God to be in that concert hall.
Water Balloon Attack
Okay, so there, I was, just coming back from a late night Perkins run, standing there for half a second saying goodbye to my girlfriend, and wham! A water balloon slams into my feet. Nobody’s around. Nobody’s screaming and laughing. Nothing. Just a random water balloon that rocketed out of nowhere and soaked my shoes. So we stand there for a minute, trying to figure out what’s going on. The moment we turn our backs–wham! Another one! Needless to say, when I returned to my townhouse, I ran.
“I climbed the door and shut the stairs / I said my shoes and took off my prayers / I brushed my clothes and took off my teeth / I pulled down my alarm and set my sheets / I shut off my bed and I climbed into my light / And all because she kissed me goodnight.” (Kiss Goodnight by Ace Troubleshooter)
(you all have Ben to thank for that. I wasn’t going to include it here, but he just pushed me too far. ;) )
Write Even When You Don’t Want To
The other day I was reading some more in Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water, (one of these days I’ll actually finish it) and she was talking about the writing process. She said that sometimes you just have to write no matter how you feel. Whether you’re inspired to or not. Because if you don’t write because you don’t feel like it, you won’t accomplish much. It’s a lot like prayer. You have to go ahead and pray whether you feel like it or not.
I found that really encouraging, mainly because I’ve seen the truth of it. Look at these ponderings. I started this back in December, and I’m still going strong. It’s not that I want a pat on the back or anything, I’m just marveling at how much I’ve written, whether I wanted to or not. Some days you don’t know what to write, and you just have to sit down and do it. The volumes of ponderings (all archived for your convenience) are proof of what happens when you write no matter how you feel. Some days it turned out pretty crappy. But I like to think that some days I touched upon something.
I find this encouraging as a writer. Even tonight, I didn’t really know what to say when I sat down. But something comes out, and that’s what it’s about.
Climbing a Tree
How long has it been since you’ve climbed a tree? You cling to the rough bark and feel your muscles flex as you pull yourself up, writhing and swinging like a disjointed monkey, dirtying your hands with nature. I climbed up there and realized fear. Have you ever been scared while climbing a tree? That’s what happens when you lose the child like freedom. How will I get down? What if I fall? I can just see my foot slipping and my body painfully slamming into the trunk as I frantically grasp for a branch. How odd that so long ago as a little child that never worried me. Falling never crossed my mind. The fear of pain or failure was never there. Yes, the pain did come, a scraped leg or a bruise on my elbow, but it never stopped me. Now I look at my hands and see scratches. I feel the tender pain on the palm of my hand from scraping against the tree-and I like it. Later I went back to that tree, and climbed it again. I scratched my hands some more, but this time I felt the child like freedom. I stopped at a branch and enjoyed the new found perspective. The wind blew, and I could feel the massive tree sway, I could see the ground far below me moving. But I kept climbing heavenward. I want to climb trees like a child. I want to climb dreams like a child. I don’t want to live life safely with two feet planted firmly on the ground. I want to feel the sting in my hand and know that the blood is flowing and I am soaring.
Inspired by Dead Poets’ Society
Today I spent almost the entire day working my tail off on homework. Considering I spent most of last night doing the same thing, it gets to be rather exhausting. But I got a lot done, so that’s good. You know the one thing I hate about being a writing major? Writing crappy papers. Since I’m a writing major there’s this feeling that everything I write has to make people stop and go, “wow.” But sometimes you have these papers that you could care less about and you just have to crank them out. I was doing that yesterday. Now it’s not like they’re bad papers. By normal standards they’re decent. I’ll probably end up getting an A on them. But if these were for a writing class, I think I’d go crawl in a hole. I suppose you have to get the bad writing out of your system somewhere. And you can’t poor your heart and soul into every little report about the impacts on the graphic design field by the legendary Paul Rand. I think you’d burn out pretty quickly if you did. Oh well, that just bothers me.
Landed an Internship in Chicago
“Come on, oh baba don’t you want to go / Oh come on, oh baba don’t you want to go / Back to that same old place / Sweet home Chicago” (The Blues Brothers)
Hey, guess who’s going to Chicago for the summer? That’d be me. Seems like I landed myself an internship in the windy city. Of course the pay is nonexistent, so I’ll be finding myself another job, but the housing’s free. So if anybody reading these ponderings is gonna be anywhere near Chicagoland this summer, give me a call. You can buy me lunch.
It’s really amazing how things work out sometimes. It only bolsters my faith that God watches out for us and has things planned so well.
Columbine Shootings
Lately I’ve read several articles about the Columbine shootings, and it’s really made me think. In some senses, I rejoice, because these articles have been confirming the fact that a girl was martyred in that school, something the news media ignores. Not that I’m rejoicing in death, but when someone dies like that, it deserves to be heard. Her action can inspire thousands. But what I feel is sadly lacking from these articles is a call to action. I found this quote rather ironic, “Another student, Rachel Scott, seventeen years old, had just days before performed in the school play, cast in the role of an outcast, a student searching for herself in a world of peer pressure and popularity contests.” The writer was trying to show what a real person Rachel was. And yes, it’s sad that she died. But playing the role of the outcast? The very words ring in my ears. Outcast. Who were the outcasts? Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. I’m not trying to justify their actions, but it seems that people need to realize just how important it is to reach out to people. If Jesus Christ had been at Columbine High, who do you think he would have had lunch with?
Spring and Love
Well, it’s officially spring. Today it was finally warm enough to don the shorts and have class outside. The two sure signs of spring.
“I still can’t believe you two,” he started. “I still have to do a double take when I see you guys together.”
So do I. So do I. Sometimes it’s strange how things work out. You just can’t explain it. The next thing you know you don’t want to let go. You find yourself looking back to catch one last glimpse before it’s time to go.
While sitting at my desk this morning in my pajamas, reading an e-mail, I heard a knock at the door. Annoyed, I stomped over to the door, grumbling about roommates who forget their keys. I opened the door to a bouquet of flowers. Not for me, but for one of my roommates. It was his girlfriend. She was standing there all dressed up with flowers in one hand and a plate of breakfast rolls for the townhouse in the other. “Fresh out of the oven,” she offered. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself, standing there in my pajamas, grumbling only moments before about flowers and food.
Noticing the Day
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.” (Psalm 19:1-4)
Ah, what a beautiful day. What a beautiful evening. What a beautiful night.