I want everyone reading this to know that I wrote it about a week ago and was too lazy to ever finish or edit it:
Today's prompt from 365 Days of Writing Prompts is called Breakdown: "Tell us about a habit you'd like to break. Is there any way it can play a positive role in your life?"
Yes! I do. My roommate would probably say it is Candy Crush, but I would say it's a bigger habit than that: it's laziness.
The only possible positive role my habit of laziness may have in my life is it keeps me from over-working myself. On the spectrum, I definitely lean more toward not doing enough than doing too much. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe.
I knew getting an iPhone would doom me, yet here I am. Thank goodness I was smart enough not to download the facebook app. But I was foolish enough to download Candy Crush and other time-sucking games.
I play them under the guise of relaxing my brain, especially after a long day of work. I just need to wind down, I tell myself. Texting is suddenly faster (and funner) now, too, so I've been doing a lot more of that as well.
But I can't blame my sin on my phone, now can I? No, I had the same problem years before I ever got my first cell phone. My whole life has been spent in front of the computer screen. My whole life I have whined, "I'm bored!" and when my mom would suggest something useful I could do, I'd resolve to just stay bored rather than exert myself in anything less than super fun.
Little has changed.
In school I've been a procrastinator. At work, I love payday and I love clocking out. I avoid doing my chores. I would rather buy junk food than cook. I rarely practice bassoon even though I'm still actively playing.
When does the cycle end? How do I force myself off the couch? How do I muster energy from nothing? How do I muster motivation?
Monday, November 3, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Toxins
I've been imprisoned for 8,205 days.
I was born here and I fear
I shall never leave.
Instead of iron bars,
There is a force field.
I can roam
Within the barbed wire
From sea to shining sea.
Where is the freedom
From an upbringing?
Where is the freedom
From a poisoned culture
When every other culture
Has a poison
Of its own?
The cyanide is materialism
Drizzled on our food
We've grown immune
Or at least we live
With it.
We need it.
It's not cyanide;
It's heroin.
Every American is addicted at birth
And breaking free is too hard.
It's who we are.
We are addicts
To our culture.
Move to Asia.
Your sin will follow you.
Move to Antarctica.
You will die
From withdrawal.
"Your want is a need here."
That iPhone. Need.
Those clothes. Need.
That paycheck. Need.
That car. Need.
Have you lived among
The saintly plebeians?
Do you know what it's like
To do without?
To be the receiver
Of charity
Rather than the taker
Of "needs"?
Moths will eat your thirty scarves.
Moths will devour your sweaters.
Time will crush your devices.
And your habits will drain your paycheck.
How can I live in this world
But not be of it
When I can't help but breathe
The toxins?
If I throw my computer
Across the room
And watch it shatter on the wall,
What will I accomplish?
I will crumble to the floor
In sobs.
And then I will piece
My sin back together
As meticulously as it was built
In the factory.
Because that's what addicts do.
Loose my chains.
Take me home.
Please.
I didn't mean to be
A felon.
I've been adding and adding to a giveaway pile in my room. I decided that my three-week-old iPhone should go with it, so I went to the Verizon store and was told it was too late. I'd signed my name in blood, I guess. Later I learned that not all hope was lost, but I still felt the force of the blow. I sobbed all the way home (but held it together when my mother called me) because I felt trapped in a materialism I didn't want, trapped in my sin of an addiction to a device (that will probably remain in some form no matter how much stuff I get rid of), trapped in the regret of my choice to move on into the smartphone world.
When I finally turned on my radio, this Lecrae song was playing and it was so perfect for the moment but it just exacerbated my frustration.
Something is seriously wrong with me. Who cries because they have to have an iPhone? I don't know if I am being incredibly selfish and ungrateful or if I am being valiant in my pursuit of a more minimalistic lifestyle.
Anyway. That's the story behind the poem.
God bless.
I was born here and I fear
I shall never leave.
Instead of iron bars,
There is a force field.
I can roam
Within the barbed wire
From sea to shining sea.
Where is the freedom
From an upbringing?
Where is the freedom
From a poisoned culture
When every other culture
Has a poison
Of its own?
The cyanide is materialism
Drizzled on our food
We've grown immune
Or at least we live
With it.
We need it.
It's not cyanide;
It's heroin.
Every American is addicted at birth
And breaking free is too hard.
It's who we are.
We are addicts
To our culture.
Move to Asia.
Your sin will follow you.
Move to Antarctica.
You will die
From withdrawal.
"Your want is a need here."
That iPhone. Need.
Those clothes. Need.
That paycheck. Need.
That car. Need.
Have you lived among
The saintly plebeians?
Do you know what it's like
To do without?
To be the receiver
Of charity
Rather than the taker
Of "needs"?
Moths will eat your thirty scarves.
Moths will devour your sweaters.
Time will crush your devices.
And your habits will drain your paycheck.
How can I live in this world
But not be of it
When I can't help but breathe
The toxins?
If I throw my computer
Across the room
And watch it shatter on the wall,
What will I accomplish?
I will crumble to the floor
In sobs.
And then I will piece
My sin back together
As meticulously as it was built
In the factory.
Because that's what addicts do.
Loose my chains.
Take me home.
Please.
I didn't mean to be
A felon.
I've been adding and adding to a giveaway pile in my room. I decided that my three-week-old iPhone should go with it, so I went to the Verizon store and was told it was too late. I'd signed my name in blood, I guess. Later I learned that not all hope was lost, but I still felt the force of the blow. I sobbed all the way home (but held it together when my mother called me) because I felt trapped in a materialism I didn't want, trapped in my sin of an addiction to a device (that will probably remain in some form no matter how much stuff I get rid of), trapped in the regret of my choice to move on into the smartphone world.
When I finally turned on my radio, this Lecrae song was playing and it was so perfect for the moment but it just exacerbated my frustration.
Something is seriously wrong with me. Who cries because they have to have an iPhone? I don't know if I am being incredibly selfish and ungrateful or if I am being valiant in my pursuit of a more minimalistic lifestyle.
Anyway. That's the story behind the poem.
God bless.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Happy Pill
Some pills are over-the-counter.
Some pills are prescription.
Some pills are under-the-table.
But your pill fills the room.
Your pill is a giggle.
Laughter is a drug.
You clown around
To get your hourly fix.
At night you google
"Asphyxiation"
But when someone
Walks in the room,
You grasp at hope.
Where is the joy in a pun?
Where is the joy in a joke?
Where is your joy
When someone else laughs?
The leaves dance green in spring.
They are still robust in summer.
But in autumn they blush
Before they die.
Break your addiction.
The one that no one knows about.
Break your habit.
Quit feeding the snake.
Seek joy, not humor
Or you will die.
Like the leaves
And comedians.
Some pills are prescription.
Some pills are under-the-table.
But your pill fills the room.
Your pill is a giggle.
Laughter is a drug.
You clown around
To get your hourly fix.
At night you google
"Asphyxiation"
But when someone
Walks in the room,
You grasp at hope.
Where is the joy in a pun?
Where is the joy in a joke?
Where is your joy
When someone else laughs?
The leaves dance green in spring.
They are still robust in summer.
But in autumn they blush
Before they die.
Break your addiction.
The one that no one knows about.
Break your habit.
Quit feeding the snake.
Seek joy, not humor
Or you will die.
Like the leaves
And comedians.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Substitution
I was praying (literally) for inspiration for a poem, as I haven't written anything in such a long time but so wanted to create, give back in some small way, when my dear friend Lexi texted me regarding a decision we've both been facing, and my prayer was answered. This is the result.
Alexis was once in love,
Deeply and passionately.
Sometimes the bright spark
Of sawdust caught aflame
Leads to a steady, lasting blaze.
But it usually vanishes.
With Alexis, things had
to end abruptly.
Her dazzlement remained.
Years later, she flirts unashamed
With the Rockies of Colorado,
With the Smokies of Tennessee.
But their eyes do not glint
In the sunlight
Quite the same way.
Their wisdom
Cannot make her cock her head
The way his could.
Their grins do not flip
Her heart in wild ecstasy.
A gas fireplace could not burn
Her soul comparably.
Surely another can be found!
Surely the good Lord
Created a replacement!
Alexis searches and prays
For a substitute
For the snowy mountain caps of home.
Someone strolls in casually
With a smirk and a wink.
Mountains of bronze,
Skies of azure.
Alexis leans in,
Rests her head,
Ignores the doubt.
Safety nets smell
Like cologne
And gas fires
And hot desert air.
Somehow it happens.
In the night Alexis is unsettled.
In the night Alexis slips away.
He woke up to empty sheets
But does not miss her.
She watches the sunrise to her right
As she drives to who-knows-where.
But the steering wheel knows
Somehow.
Who said truer words
Than Dorothy
When she clicked her heels?
Alexis returns to the one she loved,
The one no one could replace.
Alexis comes home
To the only one
Who could ever be home.
She knocks and he lets her in.
And there she stays.
Gray skies and white mountains
Were never sweeter.
There the fire brightly burns,
Inexhaustible.
God bless.
Alexis was once in love,
Deeply and passionately.
Sometimes the bright spark
Of sawdust caught aflame
Leads to a steady, lasting blaze.
But it usually vanishes.
With Alexis, things had
to end abruptly.
Her dazzlement remained.
Years later, she flirts unashamed
With the Rockies of Colorado,
With the Smokies of Tennessee.
But their eyes do not glint
In the sunlight
Quite the same way.
Their wisdom
Cannot make her cock her head
The way his could.
Their grins do not flip
Her heart in wild ecstasy.
A gas fireplace could not burn
Her soul comparably.
Surely another can be found!
Surely the good Lord
Created a replacement!
Alexis searches and prays
For a substitute
For the snowy mountain caps of home.
Someone strolls in casually
With a smirk and a wink.
Mountains of bronze,
Skies of azure.
Alexis leans in,
Rests her head,
Ignores the doubt.
Safety nets smell
Like cologne
And gas fires
And hot desert air.
Somehow it happens.
In the night Alexis is unsettled.
In the night Alexis slips away.
He woke up to empty sheets
But does not miss her.
She watches the sunrise to her right
As she drives to who-knows-where.
But the steering wheel knows
Somehow.
Who said truer words
Than Dorothy
When she clicked her heels?
Alexis returns to the one she loved,
The one no one could replace.
Alexis comes home
To the only one
Who could ever be home.
She knocks and he lets her in.
And there she stays.
Gray skies and white mountains
Were never sweeter.
There the fire brightly burns,
Inexhaustible.
God bless.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Lesson from a Fly
Moments ago, I was sitting on my stoop drinking a most delicious smoothie when a fly took interest. Can you blame it? It landed on the lid of my cup, but when I swatted at it, it flew away.
This fly's instantaneous response to my hand was, I think, a grand life-choice. It rejected something temporary for something lasting. It risked starving for a chance to live through this moment. This may seem normal and perfectly sane, but humans are rarely so wise!
Oh, the god of instant pleasure and gratification! Married to the goddess of quick fixes. How we worship them.
A basic example: choosing cake over salad. If all we eat for the rest of our lives is cake, we will surely die much sooner than if all we eat for the rest of our lives is salad (or at least I assume...I have never tried).
Another example: We choose sin over eternal life.
It's that simple.
Be like the fly. Fly away from that smoothie instead of getting the smack-down.
God bless.
This fly's instantaneous response to my hand was, I think, a grand life-choice. It rejected something temporary for something lasting. It risked starving for a chance to live through this moment. This may seem normal and perfectly sane, but humans are rarely so wise!
Oh, the god of instant pleasure and gratification! Married to the goddess of quick fixes. How we worship them.
A basic example: choosing cake over salad. If all we eat for the rest of our lives is cake, we will surely die much sooner than if all we eat for the rest of our lives is salad (or at least I assume...I have never tried).
Another example: We choose sin over eternal life.
It's that simple.
Be like the fly. Fly away from that smoothie instead of getting the smack-down.
God bless.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Misplaced
I suppose it makes sense that it is on my worst days that I long most achingly for my best days.
If you have known me for any length of time, you probably know about my 2013 and 2014 summer adventures in Juneau, Alaska. As time passes, I talk about it less, but nary a day goes by that it does not cross my mind.
Sure, I went to Alaska on Juneau Summer Project with Cru. It was the absolute time of my life, and sometimes I miss summer project more than anything else: the people, the relationships, the community.
But days like today, I ache for Alaska itself most of all: the terrain, the miserably wet weather, the water, the chill remedied only by a campfire, the wildlife, the glacier, the trees. I could go on.
Today was a rough day at work for me. It was very stressful and I felt like my arms were being pulled in multiple directions at once all day. I put 116 miles on my truck just from driving clients around town. I love my job but today it was just not easy and the whole day I felt like I was failing. I left the office with a stack of work to finish tomorrow, which I hate to do to my future self, but I just couldn't stay late today; eight hours was enough to do me in.
Days like this make me wonder about the meaning of home. I love my city. I love, love, love it. I love my living situation. I love my job. I love all the people here. I love the busyness and vibrancy. I adore my church. I love seeing God move in a city that I have become invested in. I love the fruits that are starting to grow because I have decided to root myself here.
I love this place like it is my home. But somehow I do not feel entirely at home here.
My citizenship is in Heaven. I recognize that and I long for it desperately. I can't wait to brush off my hands from the work of this life and rest in Paradise. But I've never been there. I don't really know what it's like.
What I do know is the one and only: Juneau, Alaska.
I will never forget the first time I saw snow-covered mountains. I was flying from Seattle to Juneau in May 2013. I was listening to "Sometimes" by David Crowder Band on my iPod. My breath was taken away. My jaw dropped.
It was my first glimpse of the magnificence I would be immersed in for the next two months and for another six weeks a year later.
Can I really only have spent three and a half months in Juneau over the duration of my life? How can a place I have spent so little time in inhabit such a large portion of my heart?
Last Sunday, my pastor talked about being in the world but not of it (based on John 17:10-19). I can feel it. I feel my other-worldliness. I can feel how misplaced I am here. I can feel that I am home, but only sort of.
This is why my aching love for Juneau makes such a great metaphor for Heaven. I love it so much more than where I am. I love it for selfish reasons: I love what it does for my soul. I have never felt closer to God than in the Alaskan wilderness. He is surely here in my city. He surely resides in my heart wherever I go. But his might is so tender in Juneau. His intimacy is so near.
I have had a foretaste of the feast to come.
I can't go back to Juneau right now, as much as I wish I could, just as I can't go to Heaven right now, as much as I would love to.
I am "stuck" in this city, on this planet.
But it's coming. I will go back to Juneau. And I will reach Heaven, and when I get there I am never coming back. How could I? I will finally be home. For now, I will rooten* myself where God wants me to be rooted.
God bless.
* "Rooten" is a word I made up a couple blog posts ago. I'm keeping and recycling it.
If you have known me for any length of time, you probably know about my 2013 and 2014 summer adventures in Juneau, Alaska. As time passes, I talk about it less, but nary a day goes by that it does not cross my mind.
Sure, I went to Alaska on Juneau Summer Project with Cru. It was the absolute time of my life, and sometimes I miss summer project more than anything else: the people, the relationships, the community.
But days like today, I ache for Alaska itself most of all: the terrain, the miserably wet weather, the water, the chill remedied only by a campfire, the wildlife, the glacier, the trees. I could go on.
Today was a rough day at work for me. It was very stressful and I felt like my arms were being pulled in multiple directions at once all day. I put 116 miles on my truck just from driving clients around town. I love my job but today it was just not easy and the whole day I felt like I was failing. I left the office with a stack of work to finish tomorrow, which I hate to do to my future self, but I just couldn't stay late today; eight hours was enough to do me in.
Days like this make me wonder about the meaning of home. I love my city. I love, love, love it. I love my living situation. I love my job. I love all the people here. I love the busyness and vibrancy. I adore my church. I love seeing God move in a city that I have become invested in. I love the fruits that are starting to grow because I have decided to root myself here.
I love this place like it is my home. But somehow I do not feel entirely at home here.
My citizenship is in Heaven. I recognize that and I long for it desperately. I can't wait to brush off my hands from the work of this life and rest in Paradise. But I've never been there. I don't really know what it's like.
What I do know is the one and only: Juneau, Alaska.
I will never forget the first time I saw snow-covered mountains. I was flying from Seattle to Juneau in May 2013. I was listening to "Sometimes" by David Crowder Band on my iPod. My breath was taken away. My jaw dropped.
It was my first glimpse of the magnificence I would be immersed in for the next two months and for another six weeks a year later.
Can I really only have spent three and a half months in Juneau over the duration of my life? How can a place I have spent so little time in inhabit such a large portion of my heart?
Last Sunday, my pastor talked about being in the world but not of it (based on John 17:10-19). I can feel it. I feel my other-worldliness. I can feel how misplaced I am here. I can feel that I am home, but only sort of.
This is why my aching love for Juneau makes such a great metaphor for Heaven. I love it so much more than where I am. I love it for selfish reasons: I love what it does for my soul. I have never felt closer to God than in the Alaskan wilderness. He is surely here in my city. He surely resides in my heart wherever I go. But his might is so tender in Juneau. His intimacy is so near.
I have had a foretaste of the feast to come.
I can't go back to Juneau right now, as much as I wish I could, just as I can't go to Heaven right now, as much as I would love to.
I am "stuck" in this city, on this planet.
But it's coming. I will go back to Juneau. And I will reach Heaven, and when I get there I am never coming back. How could I? I will finally be home. For now, I will rooten* myself where God wants me to be rooted.
God bless.
* "Rooten" is a word I made up a couple blog posts ago. I'm keeping and recycling it.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Comfort
Two and a half weeks ago, I slammed my middle finger in the door as I was leaving the house.
I can't remember if I cried out or not, but my instant reaction was to shove my finger in my mouth. I ran back inside and ran cold water over it. I knew I needed to get ice but I couldn't bear to pull my finger out from under the water long enough to get an ice cube from the freezer. My fingernail was a dark purple instantly.
Now the swelling has gone down and my dead, black fingernail is curling in on the sides, getting ready to fall off. For about a week I had to keep icing it because the pain was so persistent and the swelling so extreme.
When it became clear to me that I was wallowing in self-pity about my poor fingernail, I couldn't help but remember the post I wrote a couple months ago in response to the book I was reading, Tortured for Christ. I couldn't help but remember the story from that book of a pastor persecuted for his faith in Communist Russia. One of his particular punishments was having all his fingernails and toenails torn off.
How could I feel sorry for myself when he faced this pain so bravely? How could I be so miserable because of one smashed finger, in pain but so very far from death, when others, even today, stand on the brink of death and find joy in their suffering because they suffer for Christ?
I knew that I must find joy in my suffering. I spent about an hour journaling about this, talking to my Lord about the hope I have in the joy of Heaven and how my current pain is brief and endurable if I must suffer it as a prerequisite to such everlasting treasure.
Still, it became clear to me that I have an idolatry problem: the idol of comfort.
What do I want so very badly?
I want rest. I want to be warm. I want to be well-fed. I want to be happy. I want to live in a nice house with nice furnishings. I want sexual comfort (as opposed to the sexual tension and sexual destitution that comes with singleness). I want nice smells. I want tasty food. I want to have free time. I want to read pleasant novels. I want to be free from pain. I want to have money to spare. I want a new car. I want a full closet of clothes. I want the freedom to travel and do as I please. I want nice weather every day, all year round. I want to be healthy. I want constant emotional support. I want nice friends with comfortable lives like mine. I want fast internet and considerate drivers. I want to be spared from any and all awkward situations. I want to be lazy and have someone to do my work for me. I want to be a brat and not feel guilty about it. I want to be smarter/prettier/more talented/better than other people so that I can have plenty of confidence (or cockiness, whatever). Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera.
I want to be comfortable.
Now, find me a single Bible passage that says this is God's desire for me.
...No? Nothing?
And yet, when I remember that God certainly does not call me to these things (even though I have lived in the luxury of many of them for most if not all of my life), I despair. I remember that what God might call me to is pain. What if my smashed fingernail is just the beginning?
This is where I discover yet another lie that I am believing: the lie that if I reject my idol of comfort and embrace a life of following Christ, I will be miserable. The lie that I will not only be sacrificing wealth, physical well-being, and general comfort, I will be sacrificing joy.
I don't have a solution to this problem. I can't wrap up this particular blog post in a nice bow, because I am still fighting this idol and still fighting these lies. And although I may and hope to make great progress in this area as the years of my life pass, I suspect I will struggle with it my whole life.
After all, as I write this post I have been going back up to the list of things I want and adding things to it. This is my sin. I'm not saying I should have the things I want. I'm not saying there is anything good (or inherently wrong, in most cases) about my having them. But I am saying that I have a problem. And I am saying that this problem is quite extensive.
So far my progress (thanks to the Holy Spirit) amounts to recognizing the idol and recognizing the lie and beginning the process of conversing with God about it.
We'll see how far I've come in fifty or so years.
God bless.
I can't remember if I cried out or not, but my instant reaction was to shove my finger in my mouth. I ran back inside and ran cold water over it. I knew I needed to get ice but I couldn't bear to pull my finger out from under the water long enough to get an ice cube from the freezer. My fingernail was a dark purple instantly.
Now the swelling has gone down and my dead, black fingernail is curling in on the sides, getting ready to fall off. For about a week I had to keep icing it because the pain was so persistent and the swelling so extreme.
When it became clear to me that I was wallowing in self-pity about my poor fingernail, I couldn't help but remember the post I wrote a couple months ago in response to the book I was reading, Tortured for Christ. I couldn't help but remember the story from that book of a pastor persecuted for his faith in Communist Russia. One of his particular punishments was having all his fingernails and toenails torn off.
How could I feel sorry for myself when he faced this pain so bravely? How could I be so miserable because of one smashed finger, in pain but so very far from death, when others, even today, stand on the brink of death and find joy in their suffering because they suffer for Christ?
I knew that I must find joy in my suffering. I spent about an hour journaling about this, talking to my Lord about the hope I have in the joy of Heaven and how my current pain is brief and endurable if I must suffer it as a prerequisite to such everlasting treasure.
Still, it became clear to me that I have an idolatry problem: the idol of comfort.
What do I want so very badly?
I want rest. I want to be warm. I want to be well-fed. I want to be happy. I want to live in a nice house with nice furnishings. I want sexual comfort (as opposed to the sexual tension and sexual destitution that comes with singleness). I want nice smells. I want tasty food. I want to have free time. I want to read pleasant novels. I want to be free from pain. I want to have money to spare. I want a new car. I want a full closet of clothes. I want the freedom to travel and do as I please. I want nice weather every day, all year round. I want to be healthy. I want constant emotional support. I want nice friends with comfortable lives like mine. I want fast internet and considerate drivers. I want to be spared from any and all awkward situations. I want to be lazy and have someone to do my work for me. I want to be a brat and not feel guilty about it. I want to be smarter/prettier/more talented/better than other people so that I can have plenty of confidence (or cockiness, whatever). Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera.
I want to be comfortable.
Now, find me a single Bible passage that says this is God's desire for me.
...No? Nothing?
And yet, when I remember that God certainly does not call me to these things (even though I have lived in the luxury of many of them for most if not all of my life), I despair. I remember that what God might call me to is pain. What if my smashed fingernail is just the beginning?
This is where I discover yet another lie that I am believing: the lie that if I reject my idol of comfort and embrace a life of following Christ, I will be miserable. The lie that I will not only be sacrificing wealth, physical well-being, and general comfort, I will be sacrificing joy.
I don't have a solution to this problem. I can't wrap up this particular blog post in a nice bow, because I am still fighting this idol and still fighting these lies. And although I may and hope to make great progress in this area as the years of my life pass, I suspect I will struggle with it my whole life.
After all, as I write this post I have been going back up to the list of things I want and adding things to it. This is my sin. I'm not saying I should have the things I want. I'm not saying there is anything good (or inherently wrong, in most cases) about my having them. But I am saying that I have a problem. And I am saying that this problem is quite extensive.
So far my progress (thanks to the Holy Spirit) amounts to recognizing the idol and recognizing the lie and beginning the process of conversing with God about it.
We'll see how far I've come in fifty or so years.
God bless.
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