I believe that God loves irony.
Think about it. He already knows everything. All of human history is just one big dramatic irony. With every stunning revelation, God must just chuckle and say, "Hey, I knew that!"
I think irony is one of my favourite forms of humour. As a result, God and I have had many a good laugh together. Those are some of the best moments I have with God. I will be talking to him, sometimes frustrated, sometimes broken, seeking for some answer, when suddenly I will realize that what I am seeking is a truth God has already told me or a verse that I have learned.
Then I will say, "Oh. Yeah. Now I get it." I usually end up laughing. What else can I do? It has been good learning to laugh at my occasional incompetence. I enjoy laughing with God. In those moments he seems so much like a best friend or an older brother. It is great. I love talking to God out loud.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
On the Rain
It rained today.
I loved it. The rain felt more like spring than any of the sunshine we have had so far. Don't get me wrong, I love the increasing warmth as much as the next guy (actually, with my high cold tolerance, most people probably love the warmth a bit more than me), but water is life. Life falling from the heavens.
The wind swept the drops like mist into my face. I wore my glasses today and had to wipe them off every time I entered a building. I don't really mind. Cleaning your lenses is just the right balance of appearing intelligent and appearing nerdy at the same time.
I bet Monet liked to watch the rain falling on the French hills. I certainly hope he did. Monet is by far my favourite painter. Water often makes me think of his work. So many of his paintings that I like best have water in them. I love going to the river and looking at reflections in the water. They look like a Monet painting turned upside down. It is wonderful at night, standing above the riverbank, watching the current paint the streetlights in hurried brush strokes, making them come alive.
Rain drops on your glasses makes everything blurry. Colours cluster in splotches that vaguely resemble forms you've seen, almost the way you see them in memory.
There is a song about rain by the Newsboys that I always loved as a child. On the night before his execution, Peter addresses Jesus. He asks him to let it rain because water always reminds him of Jesus. It describes the times where Jesus interacted with water. So many. So often it was miraculous. It is still one of my most beloved songs.
"A new dawn is breaking. Another hour, and then I'll leave this place. I am ready Lord to give my life up. I'm so ready, Lord, to see Your face. Water like a promise, and in this final hour, I think my final prayer shall be: Would you let it rain?"
It was a grey day. Sometimes people call days like this ugly. I don't think so, and I don't always understand why others would. Perhaps they don't care for the inconvenience or the slight chill you get from water droplets running down your skin. I don't mind.
Not at all.
We haven't had a thunderstorm in quite some time. I love thunderstorms. I love all sorts of weather, truthfully. However, the thunderstorm is the king of weather. Nothing compares to that sort of might. Everyone respects the thunderhead and his deafening shout as his lightning rends the sky.
Wind has fascinated me for years. There are so many wonderful analogies to the wind. One that stands out comes from another song of my childhood. This one is by DC Talk. It is about the eternal. One of the most poetic ideas I have ever had is to be carried away by the wind. At least, I hope that's poetic. It seems like it should be, and I've put it in a couple poems, so that's good enough for me.
"Can you see God, have you ever seen Him? I've never seen the wind. I've seen the effects of the wind, but I've never seen the wind. There's a mystery to it."
I shout sometimes. Not very often by any means. Just the rare sometimes. One night last year, it was raining pretty hard. I was hoping for a really heavy storm. When my heart is heavy, I have a spot outside where I like to go to talk to God by myself. That is where I go to shout. That is where I went that night. I wanted to feel God's presence so badly. I wanted to feel. I wanted to cry. And I wanted it to storm, for the heavens to rage and let loose their fury so I could be awed by the majesty, the wonder of it all. I felt like, if the floodgates of heaven could be loosed, perhaps my tears could be as well.
I shouted that night. I'm pretty sure I sang the chorus of that song by the Newsboys.
I didn't see any lightning that night.
And I didn't cry.
And I didn't feel the presence of God overwhelm me in an instance and fill me with divine emotion.
But he was there. I know with absolute certainty that he was there. That was the closest I had ever felt to God. And he whispered rather than shouting. When my tears finally did come, and they came in a torrent, the Spirit fell on me with a fury and overwhelmed me. I never saw it coming.
I was walking today, and a strong breeze blew across my path. I kept walking, but I faced the wind and closed my eyes. It was heavenly, and probably a bit dangerous. I could have easily walked into another person, hurting us both. But it would have been worth it. For a moment I was gone. The wind swept over me like a gentle caress, baptizing me with tears of compassion.
"Let it rain. Lord, we're waiting for Your rain to fall. Let it rain, bringing back the wonder of it all; and I can see Your face again, when You let it rain. I can see Your face again, when You let it rain."
I lived today.
I loved it. The rain felt more like spring than any of the sunshine we have had so far. Don't get me wrong, I love the increasing warmth as much as the next guy (actually, with my high cold tolerance, most people probably love the warmth a bit more than me), but water is life. Life falling from the heavens.
The wind swept the drops like mist into my face. I wore my glasses today and had to wipe them off every time I entered a building. I don't really mind. Cleaning your lenses is just the right balance of appearing intelligent and appearing nerdy at the same time.
I bet Monet liked to watch the rain falling on the French hills. I certainly hope he did. Monet is by far my favourite painter. Water often makes me think of his work. So many of his paintings that I like best have water in them. I love going to the river and looking at reflections in the water. They look like a Monet painting turned upside down. It is wonderful at night, standing above the riverbank, watching the current paint the streetlights in hurried brush strokes, making them come alive.
Rain drops on your glasses makes everything blurry. Colours cluster in splotches that vaguely resemble forms you've seen, almost the way you see them in memory.
There is a song about rain by the Newsboys that I always loved as a child. On the night before his execution, Peter addresses Jesus. He asks him to let it rain because water always reminds him of Jesus. It describes the times where Jesus interacted with water. So many. So often it was miraculous. It is still one of my most beloved songs.
"A new dawn is breaking. Another hour, and then I'll leave this place. I am ready Lord to give my life up. I'm so ready, Lord, to see Your face. Water like a promise, and in this final hour, I think my final prayer shall be: Would you let it rain?"
It was a grey day. Sometimes people call days like this ugly. I don't think so, and I don't always understand why others would. Perhaps they don't care for the inconvenience or the slight chill you get from water droplets running down your skin. I don't mind.
Not at all.
We haven't had a thunderstorm in quite some time. I love thunderstorms. I love all sorts of weather, truthfully. However, the thunderstorm is the king of weather. Nothing compares to that sort of might. Everyone respects the thunderhead and his deafening shout as his lightning rends the sky.
Wind has fascinated me for years. There are so many wonderful analogies to the wind. One that stands out comes from another song of my childhood. This one is by DC Talk. It is about the eternal. One of the most poetic ideas I have ever had is to be carried away by the wind. At least, I hope that's poetic. It seems like it should be, and I've put it in a couple poems, so that's good enough for me.
"Can you see God, have you ever seen Him? I've never seen the wind. I've seen the effects of the wind, but I've never seen the wind. There's a mystery to it."
I shout sometimes. Not very often by any means. Just the rare sometimes. One night last year, it was raining pretty hard. I was hoping for a really heavy storm. When my heart is heavy, I have a spot outside where I like to go to talk to God by myself. That is where I go to shout. That is where I went that night. I wanted to feel God's presence so badly. I wanted to feel. I wanted to cry. And I wanted it to storm, for the heavens to rage and let loose their fury so I could be awed by the majesty, the wonder of it all. I felt like, if the floodgates of heaven could be loosed, perhaps my tears could be as well.
I shouted that night. I'm pretty sure I sang the chorus of that song by the Newsboys.
I didn't see any lightning that night.
And I didn't cry.
And I didn't feel the presence of God overwhelm me in an instance and fill me with divine emotion.
But he was there. I know with absolute certainty that he was there. That was the closest I had ever felt to God. And he whispered rather than shouting. When my tears finally did come, and they came in a torrent, the Spirit fell on me with a fury and overwhelmed me. I never saw it coming.
I was walking today, and a strong breeze blew across my path. I kept walking, but I faced the wind and closed my eyes. It was heavenly, and probably a bit dangerous. I could have easily walked into another person, hurting us both. But it would have been worth it. For a moment I was gone. The wind swept over me like a gentle caress, baptizing me with tears of compassion.
"Let it rain. Lord, we're waiting for Your rain to fall. Let it rain, bringing back the wonder of it all; and I can see Your face again, when You let it rain. I can see Your face again, when You let it rain."
I lived today.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
On Looking at the World
We live in a world of great darkness, filled with suffering, anger, pain, and brokenness. Terrible things happen to people, and people do terrible things. Tears, be they hidden, quelched, or patent, gather in the corners of everyone's eyes. Those tears exist for a myriad of different reasons, but their existence is irrefutable. The world should not be this way, but it is. This world is a tragic place.
But...
There is a God who is present and active in this world and he is desperate to set it free. He is absolutely desperate. Every now and then, God decides to show up and remind me of this.
Tonight, I got to talk to and pray with a couple of my friends about what God is doing in their lives. God is so great, and he is so powerful. Sometimes, it can be easy to forget just how mighty God is, especially when we limit our faith in him, but it does not change who he is or what he can and wants to do for his children. It was remarkable and awe inspiring to see God working in the lives of my friends, working with power. I don't think either of them knew this, but God used them as a reminder of his faithfulness and his desperate desire to redeem this fallen world. God is good.
Yeah. God is so good.
After these conversations, God set a song in my heart, one I have not heard in a very long time, but one which deserves to be sung more often. It is one that I personally love, and with a lot of things on my mind, it brought me a great deal of joy:
Hallelujah
Jesus is alive
Death has lost its victory
And the grave has been denied
Jesus lives forever
He's alive! He's alive!
He's the Alpha and Omega
The first and last is he
The curse of sin is broken
And we have perfect liberty
The lamb of God is risen
He's alive, He's alive!
Jesus is alive!
But...
There is a God who is present and active in this world and he is desperate to set it free. He is absolutely desperate. Every now and then, God decides to show up and remind me of this.
Tonight, I got to talk to and pray with a couple of my friends about what God is doing in their lives. God is so great, and he is so powerful. Sometimes, it can be easy to forget just how mighty God is, especially when we limit our faith in him, but it does not change who he is or what he can and wants to do for his children. It was remarkable and awe inspiring to see God working in the lives of my friends, working with power. I don't think either of them knew this, but God used them as a reminder of his faithfulness and his desperate desire to redeem this fallen world. God is good.
Yeah. God is so good.
After these conversations, God set a song in my heart, one I have not heard in a very long time, but one which deserves to be sung more often. It is one that I personally love, and with a lot of things on my mind, it brought me a great deal of joy:
Hallelujah
Jesus is alive
Death has lost its victory
And the grave has been denied
Jesus lives forever
He's alive! He's alive!
He's the Alpha and Omega
The first and last is he
The curse of sin is broken
And we have perfect liberty
The lamb of God is risen
He's alive, He's alive!
Jesus is alive!
Monday, March 30, 2009
On What I Learned from a Man Named Cummings
So, a couple posts ago, I alluded to some thoughts to be developed later. This post still has nothing to do with those thoughts. Apparently, they are developing much more slowly then I anticipated when I posted that. I also fear that when those thoughts finally come, it will be such a great belching forth of my thoughts, that no one will have the patience to read it all. Ah well, until then I shall continue to provide little snippets of reflection or pieces of my life.
This poem was inspired by a speaker I heard last Friday. The analogy he made was by no means a new one, but something about how he said it triggered my poetic urge. However, I did not write about it that day. Instead, I wrote another poem that had been churning inside of me for some time. Nor did I write about it the next day. That day, I wrote a poem about thought and ideas slipping away before I had a chance to set them down. I've written several poems like that. It seems to be a recurring worry for me. Even yesterday, I did not set down this inspiration. I wrote about sand, loosely in reference to time. It was a cheep analogy but I think I served it well. I hope. Anyway, it took until today for me to finally figure out what structure would hold together the shell of a poem I was contriving, so I wrote it down. I am not sure if its finished form is quite what I thought it would be when I began, but I am just glad that it is finally on paper, and now it shall be online as well.
Being
come to me
all you men and women of the earth
come
and fall
on your knees before me
worship me
for my power is endless
and my reach knows no bounds
i have risen to the highest
and you shall all be my servants
for i
am
god
and you shall obey me
or i will cast you away
and you
will suffer
alone
i am your lord
and i command worship
from all
please me
and i shall show you favour
but i will never fulfill you
i will
never
give you life
for i
am man
and i cannot
i am merely
man
you can sacrifice to me
and i will accept your offerings
i will take even more
and when you have nothing left to give
i will cast you away nonetheless
and we
shall suffer
alone
for my power is fleeting
and my reach will fail
no matter how i cling
the cracks will widen
give way
i will fall
in the end
even i
am a slave
a slave to myself
and i work myself mercilessly
trying to gain more power
trying to gain more praise
trying to gain more pleasure
trying
but even i
still suffer
alone
i am in the dark
with all the scum
the ones that I look down on
the low
and the filthy
the weak
but i am one of them
and we all
are
gods
for ourselves alone
fighting for supremacy
struggling
climbing
to rise to the highest
to look down on all
but it's all just king of the hill
king of the landfill
and we're pushing each other down
and we cry
we weep in the dark
we suffer
alone
in the dark
and i will
suffer
alone
in the dark
forever
if i don't
come to him
come
and fall on my knees before him
worship him
for he will fulfill me
he will
give me
life
only he can
he is
God
and only he is free
for only he is love
and he
loves me
how can i not worship him?
how can man not?
This poem was inspired by a speaker I heard last Friday. The analogy he made was by no means a new one, but something about how he said it triggered my poetic urge. However, I did not write about it that day. Instead, I wrote another poem that had been churning inside of me for some time. Nor did I write about it the next day. That day, I wrote a poem about thought and ideas slipping away before I had a chance to set them down. I've written several poems like that. It seems to be a recurring worry for me. Even yesterday, I did not set down this inspiration. I wrote about sand, loosely in reference to time. It was a cheep analogy but I think I served it well. I hope. Anyway, it took until today for me to finally figure out what structure would hold together the shell of a poem I was contriving, so I wrote it down. I am not sure if its finished form is quite what I thought it would be when I began, but I am just glad that it is finally on paper, and now it shall be online as well.
Being
come to me
all you men and women of the earth
come
and fall
on your knees before me
worship me
for my power is endless
and my reach knows no bounds
i have risen to the highest
and you shall all be my servants
for i
am
god
and you shall obey me
or i will cast you away
and you
will suffer
alone
i am your lord
and i command worship
from all
please me
and i shall show you favour
but i will never fulfill you
i will
never
give you life
for i
am man
and i cannot
i am merely
man
you can sacrifice to me
and i will accept your offerings
i will take even more
and when you have nothing left to give
i will cast you away nonetheless
and we
shall suffer
alone
for my power is fleeting
and my reach will fail
no matter how i cling
the cracks will widen
give way
i will fall
in the end
even i
am a slave
a slave to myself
and i work myself mercilessly
trying to gain more power
trying to gain more praise
trying to gain more pleasure
trying
but even i
still suffer
alone
i am in the dark
with all the scum
the ones that I look down on
the low
and the filthy
the weak
but i am one of them
and we all
are
gods
for ourselves alone
fighting for supremacy
struggling
climbing
to rise to the highest
to look down on all
but it's all just king of the hill
king of the landfill
and we're pushing each other down
and we cry
we weep in the dark
we suffer
alone
in the dark
and i will
suffer
alone
in the dark
forever
if i don't
come to him
come
and fall on my knees before him
worship him
for he will fulfill me
he will
give me
life
only he can
he is
God
and only he is free
for only he is love
and he
loves me
how can i not worship him?
how can man not?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
On Illumination
The thoughts to which I alluded in my last post are still forthcoming. However, I recently wrote a multilayered poem of which I am rather proud and indeed a bit fond, so I thought I would share it.
Illumination
The light above the sink
Shines a pallid white
Casting a soulless gleam
Like an impersonal authority
Bidding me hush
Be quiet
Sit still
When I look in the mirror
The light bears over me
Inspecting
But quietly
In silent judgement
And by its sickly rays
I see a face
As drained of colour
As these white walls
Grey stone
Painted a semi-gloss white
These walls are dying
Breathing weakly
And gasping
Their last struggle
Illuminated by the hollow fluorescence
The putrid light
that sticks in my throat
Dry
And insufferable
Washing out colour
Like winter washes away autumn
Burying all
In cold sterility
And the light glares unmercifully
Creeping up my spine
If I try to look away
Even the shadows it casts
Are smothered ghosts
Wafts of smoke
That scream and die
I need the sun
I need it to shine
Shine
That its warmth
May fall all around me
Resting on my skin
And wrapping an arm around me
Like a brother
Offering comfort
Offering love
For the sun will stifle death
Piercing winter's shroud
And calling forth colour
Life
Sweeping away the remembrance of bondage
Of so many evils
To stand in the open air
In the sunlight
And feel the rebirth of the soul
As the sun gives us sight
Waking us from our empty dreams
Into truth
That withers our man made rays
And shows them for what they are
Fragile
Lifeless
A misrepresentation
Of what it attempts to imitate
Somewhere
We forgot
We lost track of what real lights are
And filled our lives with artificial meaning
Manufactured illumination
A light that is not white
But blank
And I call out for the sun
Illumination
The light above the sink
Shines a pallid white
Casting a soulless gleam
Like an impersonal authority
Bidding me hush
Be quiet
Sit still
When I look in the mirror
The light bears over me
Inspecting
But quietly
In silent judgement
And by its sickly rays
I see a face
As drained of colour
As these white walls
Grey stone
Painted a semi-gloss white
These walls are dying
Breathing weakly
And gasping
Their last struggle
Illuminated by the hollow fluorescence
The putrid light
that sticks in my throat
Dry
And insufferable
Washing out colour
Like winter washes away autumn
Burying all
In cold sterility
And the light glares unmercifully
Creeping up my spine
If I try to look away
Even the shadows it casts
Are smothered ghosts
Wafts of smoke
That scream and die
I need the sun
I need it to shine
Shine
That its warmth
May fall all around me
Resting on my skin
And wrapping an arm around me
Like a brother
Offering comfort
Offering love
For the sun will stifle death
Piercing winter's shroud
And calling forth colour
Life
Sweeping away the remembrance of bondage
Of so many evils
To stand in the open air
In the sunlight
And feel the rebirth of the soul
As the sun gives us sight
Waking us from our empty dreams
Into truth
That withers our man made rays
And shows them for what they are
Fragile
Lifeless
A misrepresentation
Of what it attempts to imitate
Somewhere
We forgot
We lost track of what real lights are
And filled our lives with artificial meaning
Manufactured illumination
A light that is not white
But blank
And I call out for the sun
Monday, March 16, 2009
On Thoughts to be Developed Later
With our firm foundation on the Declaration of Independence, we here in America tend to set freedom as our highest virtue.
Sometimes I wonder if this is entirely a good thing.
Sometimes I wonder if this is entirely a good thing.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
On the Post-Modern World
I can't believe I passed by my 50th blog post without even realizing it. Now I won't be able to celebrate a marker until I reach 100, whenever that comes. Ah well, perhaps it is better this way.
The following poem started out mostly as an experiment in style and vocabulary, but I really liked what came out of it, I am not sure if I think it is done, but I am finally going to post it and see if it gets a reaction. Maybe it is silly of me to expect one and even sillier to admit it, but now that I have, please feel free to tell me what you think, or if it even makes any sense at all.
The Nebulous Malaise
I am the phantasmagoric
Image of the waning
Light that rains in destitute
Shards as I shake my jaded
Fist at all the lofty
Dust in the broken
Derelict
Death
Wears a tragically ornate
Masquerade among the foolhardy
Confidants who think that their vapid
Silence amounts to more than the gleaming
Fragility of modern
Aspiration
Hunger
Gnaws in all the shouting
Hearts that palpitate beneath the shadowed
Egos in their corrupt
Dungeons as the transcendental
Cowards avoid the dreadful
Genuine because fractured
Comprehension refuses the bloody
Truth
Burdens
Plummet through the everlasting
Darkness with flabbergasted
Souls who battled fitful
Time beneath the ever watchful
Fate they fashioned with a purloined
Pestle by beating out the obtuse
Beauty of incomprehensible
Uniqueness
Shadows
Poison the disconcordant
Avenues where the effervescent
Lightning lies in murky
Heaps with the malused
Thunder as the ostentatious
Shroud defenestrates sacred
Hope
Loss
Permeates the distant
Spirit of former
Idealism with a stagnant
Disillusionment as the raucous
Sea consumes the flailing
Stragglers clinging to an irresolvable
Nothing
Distance
Hides behind falsified
Proximity when the opaque
Faces dissemble with practiced
Barriers before dissipating like stifling
Smoke to which we give our metamorphosed
Worship though it hangs like beggared
Loneliness
Pursuit
Continues in the labyrinthine
Twilight where I find the perpetual
Derision and the looming
Menace of colluding
Fears
Light
Illumines the broken
Vagabonds and leads their belaboured
Spirits through overbearing
Shame where I am found in tattered
Knowledge with discarded
Logic of the striving
Generations who have led me to this brutal
Juncture and I finally discern the repulsive
King whose humiliated
Body shows the immaculate
Source of long-awaited
Life
The following poem started out mostly as an experiment in style and vocabulary, but I really liked what came out of it, I am not sure if I think it is done, but I am finally going to post it and see if it gets a reaction. Maybe it is silly of me to expect one and even sillier to admit it, but now that I have, please feel free to tell me what you think, or if it even makes any sense at all.
The Nebulous Malaise
I am the phantasmagoric
Image of the waning
Light that rains in destitute
Shards as I shake my jaded
Fist at all the lofty
Dust in the broken
Derelict
Death
Wears a tragically ornate
Masquerade among the foolhardy
Confidants who think that their vapid
Silence amounts to more than the gleaming
Fragility of modern
Aspiration
Hunger
Gnaws in all the shouting
Hearts that palpitate beneath the shadowed
Egos in their corrupt
Dungeons as the transcendental
Cowards avoid the dreadful
Genuine because fractured
Comprehension refuses the bloody
Truth
Burdens
Plummet through the everlasting
Darkness with flabbergasted
Souls who battled fitful
Time beneath the ever watchful
Fate they fashioned with a purloined
Pestle by beating out the obtuse
Beauty of incomprehensible
Uniqueness
Shadows
Poison the disconcordant
Avenues where the effervescent
Lightning lies in murky
Heaps with the malused
Thunder as the ostentatious
Shroud defenestrates sacred
Hope
Loss
Permeates the distant
Spirit of former
Idealism with a stagnant
Disillusionment as the raucous
Sea consumes the flailing
Stragglers clinging to an irresolvable
Nothing
Distance
Hides behind falsified
Proximity when the opaque
Faces dissemble with practiced
Barriers before dissipating like stifling
Smoke to which we give our metamorphosed
Worship though it hangs like beggared
Loneliness
Pursuit
Continues in the labyrinthine
Twilight where I find the perpetual
Derision and the looming
Menace of colluding
Fears
Light
Illumines the broken
Vagabonds and leads their belaboured
Spirits through overbearing
Shame where I am found in tattered
Knowledge with discarded
Logic of the striving
Generations who have led me to this brutal
Juncture and I finally discern the repulsive
King whose humiliated
Body shows the immaculate
Source of long-awaited
Life
Friday, March 6, 2009
On Transforming Worldviews
The world is changed.
Every now and then, something happens, an event or an internal exploration, that makes a person question their worldview. It is usually the occurrence of something contradictory to and unexplainable by their opinions and understandings, though sometimes it can come about by self-assessment. When this occurs, a person has no choice but to adjust their worldview in order to understand this new happening.
Today...I ate Chinese food....and liked it.
Every now and then, something happens, an event or an internal exploration, that makes a person question their worldview. It is usually the occurrence of something contradictory to and unexplainable by their opinions and understandings, though sometimes it can come about by self-assessment. When this occurs, a person has no choice but to adjust their worldview in order to understand this new happening.
Today...I ate Chinese food....and liked it.
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