My life drags with lost momentum. Even in these recent days, with a job and plans for the future, I question my external value. From where will confidence come in 50 years without these activities to pad my identity?

The thought of growing old is frightening in a country that esteems beauty over age. The contractors at the end of my driveway watched my mom walk through the mud but later offered my roommate a ride to our door. Maybe it’s a silly reason to be somber. But there was something dull and devalued in my mom’s eyes even as she joked about the incident.

A forced smile. “Isn’t that funny?”

In this vein, a thought to reinfuse glory into our forward gaze:

“And their hands aren't gnarled, they're in love with the earth.
And they're dying to go there again.
We say the essence of life is strong in our youth,
Slowly buried under wrinkles of skin.

But there's God in the way that life comes to an end,
In the way that it draws to a close,
In the saying of soul to the house of the skin,
You're too weak now to really oppose.

Singing:
Take me,
Take me,
Write my name in the most Holy Tome.
And when it's my time
To assume the sublime,
Take me to my promised home.”

-Waterdeep, “Take Me”

this one's for you...

There's really nothing worse than a green banana.

Jesus

Carried in their devotion
lifts me to you -
my strength not bolstering
rest, receive.

Precious golden moment
quiet, open, heart.
Memory burned into soul history
moment out of time, alone together.

Fearing but not afraid in
love’s rushing embrace.

Not the Mob

I’ve joined the family business. A mild form of nepotism and certainly not harmful; it turns out to be less exciting than Italian-style family ventures, but still important and I’m learning a lot.

I always wondered about those kids who work in their parents’ teriyaki shops all weekend – are they bitter? Now I'm starting to understand. There’s this sense that even if my tasks were to seem inherently directionless or without a greater significance, there's an underlying motivation because each moment of work offers a payback to me. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? It’s not about helping my dad make money so he can treat me to Starbucks more often. He would do that anyway. It's about true fulfillment found in assisting someone I love and knowing that even if his company doesn’t make it in the long run, my labor was not in vain. I am storing up treasures where they last – in heaven, or in his heart. My presence is a support and encouragement to him. This deeper meaning makes the mundane manageable.

Glad it’s this way:

• Grandma’s homemade cookies
• Breaks for piano playing
• Daily “corporate meetings” which usually consist of me throwing down the hammer and earning in response my dad’s amused smile
• Suddenly, I’m in sales. And I don’t feel too dirty about it!
• Unexpected excitement about a generator
• I can fancy myself either Pam from The Office or a kid at a teriyaki shop.

Wish it wasn’t but it is:

• A concern for my dad that makes it hard for me to emotionally disconnect from his stress

not ( ) enough

Tonight I tried to outrun it. I thought freeway speeds on residential roads would ease anxiety; 35 just wasn't cutting it. It felt good, but didn't help me breathe better. It seems my demons fly fast too.

Simply this: I have been measured and found wanting.

Grace

“It is hard to get reconditioned to the conditioning of grace. A flower doesn’t bloom in one hour of sunlight, and a believer’s soul needs constant exposure to the rays of grace day after day, year after year, before it moves from an intellectual assent to a truth that our lives bask in and live by.”

(Walk On: The Spiritual Journey of U2, Steve Stockman)


"Dr. John Witherspoon was a great American and a man of God. He was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and president of the College of New Jersey which later became Princeton. He lived about two miles from the college and drove over in his buggy each day.

"One morning a neighbor came excitedly into his study and said, 'Dr. Witherspoon, you must join me in giving thanks to God for His providence in saving my life. As I was driving this morning the horse ran away and the buggy was smashed to pieces on the rocks, but I escaped unharmed.'

"'Why,' answered Dr. Witherspoon, 'I can tell you a far more remarkable providence than that. I have driven over that road hundreds of times. My horse never ran away, my buggy was never smashed, I was never hurt. God's providence has been for me even more remarkable than it has been for you.'"

(God's Psychiatry, Charles Allen)


"Theologians of the Reformed school use the New Testament word grace (free favor) to cover every act of divine generosity, of whatever kind, and hence distinguish between the common grace of 'creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life,' and the special grace manifested in the economy of salvation - the point of contrast between common and special being that all benefit from the former, but not all are touched by the latter. The biblical way of putting this distinction would be to say that God is good to all in some ways and to some in all ways."

(Knowing God, J.I Packer)

plastic idols

I am stuck on the verse in 1 John 2 that commands me to squelch, or at least tame, my lust for the world. To stop feeding my greed for coolness or the crushing admiration of the appearance and accomplishments of others.

What is inherently sinful about this life I seek? Vanity. Competition. An outward instead of upward focus that will leave my poor heart exhausted and convinced of its own unoriginality, and even worse, neglect the unbelievably precious me that could be if only I stopped striving for otherness. This would be the tragedy; not the experiences I imagine I'll miss out on or the pats on the back I'll never enjoy.

It is time to choose my loyalty, and I do choose Christ, the life in which my true life dwells. "Your real life is hidden with Christ in God." Not in vintage record players or depressing music or sonnets by lamplight. These things must be enjoyed for the genuine glory of God, or else not be enjoyed at all - as gods they will deflate, crumble, fail, break, steal my hope, seal my fate: I will always remain as small and self-contained as they are. My cool little idols. Tragically plastic and unromantic.

writer's block

stark white January sun against naked charcoal trees
the beach to myself.

Maybe it's my belief in common human experience that makes me reject the idea that I have something unique to contribute through writing, or song composition, or art...

What emotions have I lived or verbal expressions have I formulated that haven't already been articulated by thousands of others throughout decades of existence? Is it a futile waiting for the perfect vocalization or a completely new sentiment that will keep my soul timid and voiceless forever? Or is it simply fear of failure or ridicule?

You have given many precious experiences to many people who feel more deeply and articulate more profoundly than I do.

Am I denying a gift, counting myself unworthy? Am I storing the blessings of others in my own secret well out of insecurity? Let it not be.

I don't want to join the masses of watery Christian novels or musings of mediocre poets who use long words to their own detriment. I sometimes think that the continual outpouring of writing since its origination has left me in the year 2008 facing a saturated market, so to speak. But this is not the case. For the same reason the music industry continues to live, authors can still sell books.

Why? Is it because they restate old truths for a contemporary audience? This seems useful, perhaps, but rather uninspiring. Or are people actually writing new themes? Could it be that your creative energy is still flowing and growing through human words? Could my writing become an outpouring of your Spirit and somehow bless the world? Could I find the bravery to act if I become convinced this is true?

I pray to discover a new confidence. I have a lot of bravado but very little deep assurance about who I am and the gifts you've given me. Is timidity my divine thorn or a tragic flaw?

Jesus, what a beautiful afternoon. How I can sit here with harsh wind nagging me back to the comfort of my car but the crisp beauty of the Sound and novelty of crashing waves giving me a militant determination to brave the tumult, and the Holy Spirit for company while thoughts of self-destructive tendencies give my mind sober fuel for endless questions.

Despite all my issues, I am still happy to be me.