On Feeling Bedraggled

I realize that I have been quite negligent with my blogs lately. It is a fact that bothers me quite a bit, especially considering the recent stretches where I was quite productive. Perhaps it was because I had more time. The month of February is a monster that I have still not yet tamed. In fact, thus far it has done a pretty good job of tossing me around like a chew toy. I am so very drained, and I feel like in every aspect of life I am just trying to catch up. I keep having to remind myself to rely on Jesus. He will pull me through whether I can see the possibility or not. I trust him.
As a side note, if anyone who reads this ever contemplates being both set designer and assistant stage manager for the same show, I would strongly caution you against it. You do not want that kind of stress in your life.
On the up side. If I make it through this week, then I have made it to Spring Break, that glorious time of year for which students across the world desperately hope. To sleep, to write, to see LA. Yes, that's right. My Spring Break plans now include a trip to sunny California, and I shall finally see the ocean.
The ocean.
I cannot wait.

On the Future

Desperation

Where are you, God?
Where are you?
Are you here?
Yes.
I'm sure of it
So close
you're near
I'll find you yet
I will
I'll find you
here
On these pages
Through these words
Within these verses
Where are you?
I'm striving
Striving to reach you
I need
To lay my hands upon you
Just a touch
Let my finger graze your skin
your robe
Even that
And I will be made whole
I'm writing
With a desperation
Hoping
Frantically hoping
That I will find you in these lines
That it will all somehow make sense
Somehow
I'm stepping Out
Not sure
Where my foot will land
If my foot will land
Or sink
Down
Down
Into the deep
But you're here
Calling
Striving
Stretching out your hand
To mine
And you're calling me
To follow
So I write
Not knowing
where my words will land
If my words will land
Or sink
And drag me
Down
Down
In the dark
But I need you
Need you
I need you so desperately
So I will play the fool
Just to get to you
The pages
Will pile up around me
No matter what
I'll write
I will write
Because you are so close
So very close
And my need is stronger
Than this paltry wall
So I dig
Through the roof
Digging down
Down
Because you're on the other side
So near
And you're waiting there
For me
If only
I could break
Through
Then this would all make sense
I'm sure of it
For you'll be there
It will all make sense
I'll find you
I need to
I need
Faith
For I'm still in the fog
I believe
Lord, help my unbelief
You gave me a pen
And told me to find you
So I will
I'll write until it all makes sense
I'll write until I find you
You
I'll know you
And my words
Will speak
Your name
Your name like food
To fill the soul
O Lord
I need you, Lord
Desperately
So I'll write
I'll write until I find you
Till you are in the words
God
Come
Please
I need you

I wrote this poem in church on Sunday. I always like the poems I end up writing during sermons. They do not always reflect what the speaker was discussing, but they usually turn out good nonetheless.
This particular poem sums up a lot of what God has been doing in my life of late. I don't know if it all comes across to someone who is not me, but this really describes where I am. Generally speaking, I try to avoid looking too far into the future. Sometimes this can be an annoyance to those in my life who want me to make plans, and when it is necessary, I do look to the future, but usually it just causes worry, something I do not want in my life at all. It just so happens that lately, my future, specifically what I am going to do after graduation, has become a recurring question in my life. I did not necessarily see the pattern until my roommate posed the question yesterday. We were talking about a drawing project on which I was working, and he just asked me, "What is it you actually want to do? You write, you act, you design sets, you draw comic art...what do you want to do?"
I do not know.
The easy answer is that I want to write. Most of the time that is what I tell people, especially those who are only casually interested. However, when those close to me ask something, I usually give it a more careful inspection. In this instance, I was shocked out how unsure I actually was. Yes. I still want to write, but I will be doing that no matter what my occupation is. But just what sort of career do I actually hope to pursue?
I do not know.
Unlike so many students who come to college with no idea what they want to study and then gradually figure it out as they find themselves, I fall into the category of those who come to college knowing exactly what I want to do, and have since just gotten more and more confused. Most of this stems from my theatrical involvements. I love the theatre, and I have already given so much of myself to it that it would almost seem a travesty to give up those pursuits once I graduated. I am still not even a theatre major, but I might as well be. I act enough like it anyway.
Fortunately, ever since this summer God has been encouraging me in this area. I forget every now and then, but he is faithful to remind me that I am in his hands. God has reassured me that I will be able to use my writing to serve him and to reach people, even though right now I don't know how. So that is largely what this poem is about. I shall keep writing, creating, and keep pursuing God, and surely the two will converge, and then I will understand God's leading. Then it will all make sense.

On Friendships

Past

Passing
The faces
The faces
Recognition
So many that I know
Quiet
Eerily quiet
Only our footsteps
Our passing footsteps
Speak
Of memories echo
Do you remember?
Surely
You do
I can see it in your eyes
Your eyes
That don't look at me
Or maybe they do
I'm not sure
I looked away too quickly
I passed by too quickly
Too quickly
Passed
We talked together
We laughed together
We dreamt about this day
When we would walk here together
But now
Here
Silence
Strangers
You look the other way
At something in the distance
So as not to look at me
But
Now I'm doing the same
Until you are behind me
Passed
And I hang
My head
Low
So I don't see
The faces
The faces
I know so well
But I don't what's behind them
Not anymore
Not who
Who
Are they
Am I
Footsteps walking on

On Faith

For a long time, I have been mulling over certain questions regarding faith. Right off the bat, I must be clear that these thoughts are not questions regarding my personal faith or any doubts regarding my religious convictions. Rather, my mind has slowly been developing thoughts on the topic of faith, particularly faith in Christ as it is a topic very dear to me.
As integral as faith is to the Christian's life and as basic as it is to following Jesus, it seems to be little understood by those who profess it. What really is faith? The dictionary defines faith in this way:

1.	confidence or trust in a person or thing: faith in another's ability.

2.	belief that is not based on proof: He had faith that the hypothesis would be substantiated by fact.

3.	belief in God or in the doctrines or teachings of religion: the firm faith of the Pilgrims.

4.	belief in anything, as a code of ethics, standards of merit, etc.: to be of the same faith with someone concerning honesty.

5.	a system of religious belief: the Christian faith; the Jewish faith.

6.	the obligation of loyalty or fidelity to a person, promise, engagement, etc.: Failure to appear would be breaking faith.

7.	the observance of this obligation; fidelity to one's promise, oath, allegiance, etc.: He was the only one who proved his faith during our recent troubles.

8.	Christian Theology. the trust in God and in His promises as made through Christ and the Scriptures by which humans are justified or saved.

I find the first entry in this list simply fascinating. "confidence or trust in a person or thing: faith in another's ability." Sometimes it seems that we limit faith to a simple belief in the existence of God or compound it as the other seven definitions in this list. How often do we truly have faith in God's ability. As James 2:19 says, "You believe that there is one God? Good. Even the demons believe that--and shudder." It seems that one of the prevailing human failings is to limit our conception of God and what interaction with him truly means. So often, it seems that we are content to merely acknowledge God's existence as though that were the end of the matter. I am convinced that even those who have truly discovered a relationship with God do not always truly understand what it means to have faith in him. And I am just as guilty of this fact as any. I know that there are great lapses in my faith in God, even when my belief in his existence has remained unchanged and unshaken.
Jesus says in Matthew 17:20, "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there, and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."
I have never seen a mountain move.
Now, granted, there is an awful lot you could say in this regard. You could say that faith is dependent upon God's will, and why would God ever will for a mountain to be moved? That would just be silly, and we all know that Jesus himself said, "You shall not but the Lord your God to the test." But then why would he say that? Why would he tell us that faith could move mountains if he had no intention of rewarding that faith or even, as could be suggested, punishing those who would test him by actually asking that a mountain be moved. But what about Ninevah? In the story of Jonah, God sent the prophet to declare his coming wrath on the city, but when the people had faith and repented, God chose not to deliver his fury upon them. And what about Abraham? He spoke in direct contradiction to God's will, asking him to change it because he had faith that God would not punish him for the test. Or what about Gideon, who actually had so little faith that he had to ask God more than once for a sign and received one every time. By the definition of some, these situations could certainly be considered testing God, but in each case, faith is rewarded.
So why aren't mountains moving?
Well, some would say that the entire idea of mountains moving is purely an analogy. They would say that, in fact, the salvation of Ninevah is actually the moving a figurative mountain in itself. Perhaps. And this is often how the verse is used today, especially in prayers. I suppose I can accept that, but not entirely. Maybe that is just my romantic side, wanting to believe that mountains can move, but what if it is true? And that is with faith the size of a mustard seed. What if someone had faith the size of a sunflower seed? Could they shake the foundations of the earth? What if someone had a faith the size of a pumpkin seed? Could they speak a word and change the orbit of Mars? What if someone had a faith the size of a golf ball? A golf ball is so very small, but compared to a mustard seed, it is almost inconceivably enormous, and with a faith the size of a mustard seed, mountains can move. I do not think that our human minds can possibly conceive of God in big enough terms to contain a faith that size. And yet, God is so much more than that. He is bigger than the greatest faith could possibly contain. His ability far exceeds anything we would ever ask of him. Perhaps mountains are not moving, because we are not even asking God to move them? Now, I am not going to suggest that we should all go out trying to tell mountains to move or that if you cannot move them, then you must have a weak faith. I don't know if that is true or not, but I do wonder why we are afraid to ask God to do big things. Why don't we have faith in his ability?
Why is it so hard to trust in him?
Some would answer this question by saying that they have been too often disappointed. Far too many prayers have gone unanswered. Far too many times they have called on God and gone unanswered. Well there are plenty of responses to this. Perhaps God is saying no or perhaps he is saying wait or perhaps it is a time of testing. Maybe it is a selfish prayer and maybe God has something better in store or maybe it is even the dark night of the soul. I have heard all of these answers, and sometimes they are true. But...what if sometimes the answer is that we simply did not have enough faith? A man once stood before Jesus asking him to drive a demon our of his son. His words were, "Lord I believe. Help my unbelief." Then Jesus drove out the demon. Why do we so seldom ask God to help our unbelief? Perhaps that is for what we should be praying.
Maybe all of these ponderings are tied in with closeness to God. Maybe the reason that no mountains are being moved is that those who have faith enough to command them have so entirely changed their view of the world through knowing the Lord that they would never even think of telling a mountain to move unless it was to advance his name, and I know that I personally can think of very few situations where a moving mountain would actually be beneficial in advancing the kingdom of God. We have a tendency to make selfish prayers and ask God to serve us when we are infants spiritually, not even having the faith to believe that God can give us even our most selfish, simple desires. I know that I was in that position for a long time. However, as my faith has grown, the selfish things I once asked of God are now almost meaningless since I know him better (though I do have lapses, I admit). Mostly this is in terms of material items or my own well-being or advancement. It is almost a sort of catch-22.
Now it is time for the main thrust of all of my ponderings, especially of late. All of my former ramblings in this post are thoughts I have had before, but many of them have come in response to my musings on the question of healing. This is one of the more unselfish prayers that we Christians tend to pray, and we pray it often. However, by route of all of these other thoughts on faith, I sometimes wonder why we pray for healing. "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away." We are so often taught to praise God whether in good or ill. Should we then be content to just accept the pains and illnesses that come to us? We are so often taught that we learn through pain and that it comes to test us. Why then are we so eager to avoid it? If we wanted to be closer to God, wouldn't we accept pain and sickness. Well, these are dangerous trains of thought. The former has lead some misguided Christians to forgo needed medicine in favour of letting God be the healer, even though God can work his will through medicine. The latter idea can lead only to attempts of penance or the self-flagellation practiced of old, and that is not how Christ called us to live. Still, there are times when I hear about the desperate attempts and procedures some go through to extend there life, I almost wonder why. In Philippians 1:21 Paul writes, "For with me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." Why do we cling so fiercely to life? As Christians, we are free from the fear of death thanks to the sacrifice of Christ. I am not saying that we should take the lesser Roman Road to an "honourable death." However, (in my extreme youth) I think there comes a point where one can simply accept that it is time. Life must end at some point, and we have no reason to fear it as much as we do. And maybe a true faith in God, a trust in him, is the only thing that will ever allow us to be able to accept death joyfully. But how much faith would it take to make that step? A sand's worth? A mustard seed's worth? Perhaps it depends on whether or not your fear is mountainous.
So where does that leave us? And what does it mean in terms of healing. I desperately hope that I do not sound condescending, or as if I have stumbled upon some great secret because of my great faith. Far from it. Rather it is out of self-frustration that my analytical mind set to work on devouring this subject. I feel somewhat like a cow, chewing the cud. I took a big bite full of ideas and over time I have just been processing them, bringing them back up, and processing them again. That is probably not the best possible example. But I digress. The truth of the matter is that I have asked God for the gift of healing. Prayer has always been a vital part of my connection to God, whether I thought my prayers were answered or not. Because of the chronic migraines from which I have suffered much of my life, I have been well acquainted with prayers for healing. Perhaps years of desiring escape from that burden combined with my sense of compassion are what created my desire to have the gift of healing. However, I have also wondered if it was for more selfish reasons. Maybe I just wanted to be recognized for that gift. Because I wanted to be the one who heals people. It is likely that I am being far too hard on myself, but then again, Satan does tend to take even our most pure and selfless desires and turn them into something corrupt. Perhaps I first asked God to bless me with the gift of healing out of good intentions, but I fear that other desires may have crept in as well.
All of this internal conflict, deep thought, and a pinch of cynicism eventually brought me to a place of asking why God would ever heal people. If I look at things in a strictly logical sense, I see very little reason. For the briefest moment, I concluded that my faith would be put to better use if it was not expended in the pursuit of healing. After all, God's will shall be done nonetheless. However, it was in precisely that moment (and this can only be the whisper of God) that I remembered just how many of Christ's miracles were healings. This God, this Saviour in whom I strive to have faith, is a loving God. He is a compassionate God. And although he sometimes allows it, he hates it when his children suffer. Jesus even compared himself to a doctor in his coming. How could my mind have possibly taken me to such a place that I forgot about Christ's compassion. How could I have forgotten the parable of the persistent widow? In that moment, I found myself quite a fool. So whether I have the gift of healing or not, I shall continue to pray for healing, but only out of love, as my Lord did.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

On Foundations

Last night saw the inception of my very own webcomic, Foundations, set in Ancient Greece. Drawing the first comic was great fun, and the scanning and colouring were no more difficult or time consuming than I expected. However, getting the rotten comic online proved absolutely horracious (yes, that is not a real word; it is a combination of horrific and hellacious, but I like the sound, and it just seemed fitting). All in all, it took about an hour for me to figure out how to get the comic online, the right size, and without any distortion. For some reason, whenever I tried to upload it as a jpeg from my computer, the colour would invert. I was really at a loss for a while. Nonetheless, I somehow managed to get it online. The site is fairly unattractive right now (I'm working on that), but I have a webcomic now, dadgummit. I just hope it is worth the trouble. It feels a little ill-omened right now.

On the Issue

Pornography

Who will set them free?
Who?
Who will release them from their bonds?
Bondage
Dreadful bondage
The men who sit incarcerated
Fastened to a wall
Of shame
Trapped
Oppressed
Shackled by desire
Trapped
But they face it with bravado
Or ignorance
Unawareness of their imprisonment
Forgetful of freedom
In their windowless room
They have lost the sun
And a flickering lamp fills the void
They call man's handicraft
Daylight
The call the settling of dust
Wind
The memory of freedom
Is as feeble as their strength
But nonetheless
They smile
Thinking all is well
For prison seems normal
All around
Are men in chains
Men under burdens
So no one speaks of the captivity
Do they know?
They must
Somewhere deep inside
They must be aware that they suffer
They must
Perhaps if you look
Carefully
You can see it in their eyes
The eyes
That led them astray
The eyes
Long glazed over
By years of looking into the void
Who will set them free?
Who?
Who will be the rescuer?
He
Only he
Jesus
He alone has strength
And he can break the chains
If only they would come
Come
If only they would rise
Shake off the muck
And reach
Reach
And seek to take hold
Of those deep-scarred hands
Tender
But terribly strong
And he will crush the fetters
Shatter the stocks
And open the door
Of the unspoken prison
Letting in a light
A radiance
Bright enough to purge
That their eyes might remember truth
If only they would come
Someone shake their chains
They all suppose they suffer
Let them know it is true
Let them know there is freedom
It is near
It is attainable
Someone shake their chains
Let the rattling of cold iron
Awaken them
Remind them of the sound of bells
Of freedom
There is freedom
He is freedom
He alone
Let them know

Lately, there has been a great deal of talk amongst certain groups at my school about the issue of pornography and its presence and effect on our campus. Pornography is a terrible berden to those who fall under its curse, and what is worst: people don't talk about it. It is an addiction veiled in fear, in shame. It is almost a taboo. Despite the general sentiment that pornography is an evil in our society, it is brushed under the rug either because it is considered a "normal" male weakness or simply because no one knows how to address it. This is even more evident in Christian circles where pretence has a tendency to overpower truth. What men on my campus, in my community, in my country, and around the world need is freedom from pornography. So many other issues can be linked to this so often secret sin, this double standard. Christ is so much more than willing to free his children, but first they must be made aware of their oppression, and then they must desire grace. Once they do, Jesus will be there waiting for them, ready to wash away the stain and fill it with his Spirit.
Pray that men will stand.
Pray for freedom.
Pray.

On the Call

The Artists

The drums
Do you hear?
The drums are calling
Calling
With their steady beat
Beckoning the suns to war
The drums
The drums
I hear their call
The men are marching in the streets
Following the drums
Answering the call
And I find myself among them
Marching toward fate
Our footsteps fall like thunder
And the drums play on
Ringing in ever year
The drums of fate play on
Bidding us continue
Continue
Into the mystery
Into the blank slate
And now our numbers thin
Some falter
Some turn
They don't understand
Still we march
Amidst the deafening drums
But we don't look back
We can't
Our eyes remain fixed
Fixed
We are answering the call
And we cannot delay
No matter our pity
Pity for the slow
For the fearful
For those who have stopped
For those who have fled
But pity most
For those who cannot hear
Those who are unaware of the drums
Of the call
They shall know yet
They shall hear
And they shall see
The torrent shall break upon them
Sweeping away all too fragile reality
Then they shall know
We press on
Further and further we go
Onward
Ever onward
All our strength
And all our will
We hasten to reckoning
Glorious and terrible
We are fired by dreams
By visions
By revelations
By the light that fills our eyes
By the ceaseless rhythm
That dictates our step
The rhythm to which our hearts beat
That passion
That secret
Leading us to reckoning
And the fray
Where resistance comes at last
Driven by their fear
Maddened by the sound of drums
And the earth shakes
As reality falters
For we're tearing at the fabric
Pulling down the facade
The flimsy excuse for a barrier
Painted grey
And aged to match
We will tear it all down
And burn the rubble
Reality shall burn
And even its smoke shall pass away
In the light of truth
The truth that beckons us onward

I accepted not long ago that I am an aesthete. I have also discovered that I am a romantic, this is in the philosophical sense of course, and I am realizing more and more just how much of a romantic I am. My view of artists may be a bit glorified in this portrayal, beckoned by truth to create mighty works and share their view with the world. Granted, there are those who only create art to "entertain" or something silly like that, but I will hold onto my idealistic fantasy of the artists nonetheless. I like to believe that all those who create feel this urge, some sense of wonder wholly other to themselves that drives them to their art. Even if what is created is a twisted form of the truth (which would be tragic), I would still rather believe that they create out of a sense of obligation that they cannot fully understand but cannot at all ignore.
I am such a romantic.

On Incarnation

This Sunday was Christmas Sunday, and my church celebrated with a service comprised mostly of singing by both congregation and a fantastic choir. Due to various influences, I ended up at the church for both service sessions that my church has scheduled. A dear friend invited me to sit through the service with her again and I agreed, thinking to myself that it would be nice not only to hear the wonderful music again, but also that it would be an excellent opportunity to do some writing. I like writing during services, and some very good thoughts tend to come out of it. It usually starts on a theme from the service and goes wherever the pen leads, but not always. On this particular morning, I decided to write a poem. With Christmas approaching oh so rapidly, the miracle of Christ's birth has been in my mind, particularly the fact of God becoming man and all of the implications surrounding it. These were some of the thoughts that were poured into the following poem, the product of my mind full of allusions being surrounded for an hour by hearts praising the greatest and humblest being in the universe.

Image

We tried so long
To make man a god
We took the greatest
And made them more
Praised them
Raised them
Exalted them to the highest
But they all
Fell
And showed themselves men and women
With wings of wax
Smoke dissipates
Mirrors shatter
And we see ourselves in the broken glass
Disjointed fragments
Showing a true image
A disconcerting image of disjointed souls
Brutal in its honesty

And the malcontents
Seek another deity

So God
Made himself a man
The greatest
Made himself the lowest
So that perhaps he would be seen
For he is the flawless mirror
That we might see ourselves
A reflection cast in diamond and gold
A truer image
And unbelievable image of what a soul could be.
Breathtaking in its honesty

And the malcontents
Were terrified

We tried so hard
To kill a God
We took the greatest
And made him the sacrifice
Pierced him
Raised him
Put him on display for all to see
And he showed us
Glory
Showing the truest image
In penultimate transparency
Brutal in its ugliness
But beautiful
A radiant image cast in light
Showing the malcontents
Their long-awaited deity.