Needle and thread

This afternoon am jealous of Anthony, and he is certainly not jealous of me.

I don’t have anything profound or even worthwhile to say on the matter, but God bless the Jarret family and God bless the lives this will change.

Back to where we started, more than who we were.

“Come, and let us return to the Lord

For He has torn, but He will heal us;

He has stricken us, but He will bind us up.

After two days He will revive us;

On the third day He will raise us up,

That we may live in his sight.

Let us know,

Let us pursue the knowledge of the Lord.

His going forth is established as the morning;

He will come to us like the rain,

Like the latter and former rain to the Earth.”

Hosea 6:1

 

Today is like this…

• Copeland on vinyl
• Rainy, green Fort Collins
• Hope in Jesus only
• Excitement for Eikon tomorrow (ask me about it?)

20

Twenty is an insignificant birthday.  I’m old enough that I’m definitely a grown up, but too young to have any new privileges.  Not that I’m much of a drinker anyway.

 

I remember when my twin friends Austin and Brandon Schauer turned twenty and how weird I thought that was.  They didn’t look any more mature…

 

So today I’ll celebrate by working for five or so hours, driving home to watch the Nuggets thug it out with LA, and hopefully coming home in time to hug my parents and start a load of laundry before bed.

 

There is a lot I’m thankful for.  My life is brilliant and so full of meaning because Jesus is doing a good work in me.  He reanimates my body every morning when he wakes me up, as he has for the last 7300 days without fail.

 

Cheers to a lot more really good years.  The lines for me have fallen in pleasant places.

 

Also I noticed just now that i’m in the middle of Your picture has been my blog for  a year now.  So that’s neat too.

The sun forebear to shine.

I’m about to rant about my inward struggles.  Although this is what blogging is all about, if you’re not interested (and I wouldn’t blame you) then just don’t even bother reading this.  No hard feelings.  Just need to say these things to the world for some reason.

 

Bullets serve this post well…

• I’m tired of being disconnected and disorganized.
• I’m tired of double-booking.
• I’m tired of not getting work off in time and messing up more important things.
• I’m tired of leaving my keys in inconvenient places (my apologizes to Tim and Alyssa).
• I’m tired of making dumb, costly mistakes.
• I’m tired of how messy my room is.
• I’m tired of how my stuff is all over the house, unlike the other guys.
• I’m tired of how much I suck at studying.
• I’m tired of how pseudo-ADD I am.
• I hate that I still don’t know where my glasses are.
• I hate that my guitar still has mismatched strings.
• I hate that I run my car into things.
• I hate that I run my car into things right after the car becomes legally mine.
• I hate that I run my car into things right after we reduce my insurance to liability only.
• I hate that I have two court dates set due to my careless driving.
• I hate that all I do is wish I was better at school, or even that I liked it, or appreciated it.
• I hate that I re-wear socks every day.
• I hate that my bank accounts are a mess.
• I hate that as soon as I pay off my Credit Card again, I have to use it for some huge, unexpected thing.
• I hate how much money I owe my dear parents.
• I hate how they pretend like they don’t mind that I’ve never been able to pay them even a little, expect for my computer.
• I hate how I had to sell my iMac back to my Dad (see “I hate” line above).
• I hate how I don’t even have a whisper of direction in my life.
• I hate how I constantly blame God for that.

 

Could I go on all day?  Yes.  I’m stressed because I am a mess.

Am I happy?  Confident?  Satisfied with my lot in life?

Absolutely.  Joy is all over me. Jesus is completely my strength.

So what’s the deal?  God is still unreasonably good to me.  I believe that.  I am just a sloppy, undependable steward of his blessing and favor.

• I hate that I’m a sloppy, undependable steward of his blessing and favor.
• I hate how I’ll get to heaven and still hear “Well done my good and faithfull servant” no matter what I do down here.
• I hate that God will sincerely mean that, and means that even today.
• I hate that I don’t understand that kind of grace.

Sorry you read that whole thing, thanks though.

Too Bright to See Too Loud to Hear.

Tonight I did homework for a number of long hours.  While it was Wednesday I listened through the new Kings Of Leon album, “Only By The Night”.  Into Thursday I listened through the new Underoath, “Lost In the Sound of Separation”.  It was a satisfactory listening experience. On my big green couch.

 

The truth is I’m in the mood for anything musically after a certain time of night.  Everything starts to have more depth and meaning, everything becomes more elegant.  In the morning if I’m still really into what I was listening to the night before, it’s something I need to remember liking so much.  This applies.

 

I like both of the above albums quite a bit.   I don’t have anything musiciany or critical to say about either album right now, other than way to go Kings for kicking teeth in and way to go Underoath for being sharply creative and singing about Jesus from your scene little guts.  I enjoy your records, I like your sound.  Both of you bands.  Lets all be friends.

Act like big city kids when the sun goes down.

Vinyls don’t make it into bins at Goodwill unless they are awful.

I don’t make it to Goodwill unless I’m really bored.

 I don’t get really bored unless I’m denying I have a lot of things to do, tricking myself into feeling like I have nothing to do, so I do nothing when I have lots to do.

It’s actually a great feeling.

She was a quintessential college student straight from Alley Cat, wheeling her fix-gear into the store.  I flipped through a few worthless plastic records as she walked through isles of clothing people didn’t want but felt guilty throwing away.  Blonde hair cut short, glassy blue eyes and a plaid jumper over jeans, she glanced directly up at me.  I stopped flipping records over and briefly locked eyes with her, smoothly turning back to my time wasting task of making completely sure I didn’t want to purchase Lawrence Welk “Christmas Memories” for 99 cents.

People are of a different value than anything.  She’s a person, a compete, living work of God.  Completely self sustained, mechanically speaking, without any internal need for electricity or petroleum products.  A machine that feels, looks, and listens all on its own with a soul God died for once.

Next thing I know she was flipping through vinyls with me, laughing as Neil Diamond came and went back into the rejection pile on the ground next to us.  

We made small talk.  I asked her not to buy all the good ones.  Some boy with a pink and green shirt came up behind her and they left in high spirits.  I smiled and put the records back into the bin.

 

I love people, and that’s all.

The lines for me have fallen in pleasant places.

I’m at a retreat in Estes Park leading worship for 60 screaming fifth and sixth graders.  We sing “What a mighty God we Serve” and “There is no one like you” at the top of our lungs.  It’s fantastic.  Drop your pride and come to Scene56.  See what you must become like to enter the kingdom of Heaven.

 

I broke a string about an hour ago as I sat on the stage and sang “There has never been anyone like you, there is no one like you there has never been anyone like you, There Is NO ONE LIKE OUR GOD…..yea.”   In the happy silence after the song, some little girl kindly says to me out loud, “Your guitar is broken…” .  So I smile and rend the string from its peg, making her laugh.  I then sat outside under the falling snow while the children’s pastor talked about other world religions of no value, and changed my broken G-string (oh ha funny).  

 

Its a funny thing, kids.  I was so sure that this weekend I agreed to leading would test my limits and make a better servant out of me.  I have no patience for chaos you see (some drummer I am), and game after disorderly all-inclusive designed-for-eleven-year-olds relay game should put me at my whit’s end.

 

But as I replaced a Phosphor-Bronze .026 guitar string with the closet diameter backup (a tragic .017), I was overcome with a feeling very opposite of being at your whit’s end.  It felt a lot like hearing and smelling rain in the morning from your warm bed with hours to sleep before you have to go anywhere, if that means anything.  See I am allowed the privilege of leading worship in His house, and it’s good to me.  I don’t have anything profound to say on the matter.  Just I’m very happy doing it.

 

I couldn’t care less if  was fifty twelve year olds or fifty thousand twenty-somethings.  Where I am is where I am and we sing the same things at the same time.  If God hears from heaven and he smiles and he likes it, I’m who I want to be.  

I’ll say it again.  I’m already who I want to be in Christ Jesus.  

 

There is no one like our Godddddddd, yeah.

My Exit, Unfair.

I’ve been enjoying the blog “Stuff Christians Like” quite a bit lately.  Its a cleverly satirical, unchurchy analysis of Christians and how we live.  It’s moving and hilarious.  This most recent post, however, wasn’t as funny as it was convicting to me.  

 

You see, “Stuff Christians Like”  has become a lot more popular than the writer ever expected, with thousands and thousands of people reading it everyday.  The author, a man named Jon, is always trying to deny that God is doing something through his blog, much like I deny that God is actually doing something through me, my music, my day job, or my relationships.  Anyway, he quoted a section of  The War Of Art by Steven Pressfield, talking about the struggle that artists of various types have with making their work their life and fully using their gifts.  This was convicting to me:

 

The Artist’s Life
Are you a born writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.

Do it or don’t do it.

It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.

You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.

(This part spoke to me the most…)

Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution.

Give us what you’ve got.

 

 

I Love it.  Tell me what you think.

Light story

I could only see a little through my eyes. A sliver of light cut some sort of wall in two pieces, and small patches of shadow ran accross the light in order and at the same rate. Something like a dim spotlight shone on the wall, but that didn’t make sense so I closed my eyes again because I didn’t want to figure it out.

 

For a while I laid there, wherever I was, trying to disappear again from consciousness, but apparently my brain was awake enough to ask questions. I moved my hand to my face to feel for contusions or stitches as an explanation for why my head hurt. All I learned was that my fingers smelled like cigarettes and I needed to wash my hair.

 

Opening my eyes again I looked into the brightness. I could make out nothing but the sliver of light with the shadows racing over it.

 

Sometimes the brain is better at producing images than the eyes, and suddenly, invoulentarily, I was somehere else. I saw her in the hallway of her apartment with her hood pulled over her head and a crooked smile over dry lips.  She softly says “Hey-ay” as I take off my shoes and walk through her door, my chest all warm inside.  Those grey eyes have been tragically embossed into my mind for months.

 

I was in a moving vehicle. That explained the moving shadows and the vibration in the floor.  Rays from the coastal sun intersected with the foliage beside the uneven road on their way into the cabin through some narrow open window, but that didn’t give an explanation as to why my head hurt so much I couldn’t see.  The air smelled like Thai food with a hint of diesel fuel and all i could hear was the rumbling of the engine and some sort of chains rattling around.  

 

A bump passed beneath us somewhere and knocked my head against the metal floor in the vehicle. It hurt so much I just closed my eyes again as the joyride continued.

 

Something about my situation didn’t concern me.  There are more important people than I.  I don’t know anything to make me valuable and I have hardly a cent to my name with no one to ransom me, so I probably wasn’t being kidnapped for anything.

 

Maybe they were taking me home to see everyone.

She’s gonna teach me how to swim.

I was inspired by Sean’s latest blog, utilizing a neat list format.  I haven’t written in a while, so hopefully this will help me formulate my thoughts?

 

Halfway through SB ‘09 in La Jolla, CA.

• Yogurtland/Yogi Topi/Golden Spoon = Fantastic  Frozen yogurt parlors are the next big thing.  Move over Cold Stone.
• Renting Bianchi hybrid bikes and riding all over town was a hoot today.
• I saw two Bugatti Veyron’s and #3 of 20 Lamborghini Reventons in the world.  Good car day with Marcus Lutz and Bucky Johns.
• Being sunburned isn’t fun.  Being overwhelmingly sandy isn’t fun.  Being sore and tired isn’t fun.  Being all of them at the same time after a whole day on the beach is fantastic.
• I really like As Tall As Lions.  That band is great.
• Also really enjoying Thievery Corporation. Good electronica.
• The most notable band lately, however is Faultline.  Holy cow this band is so good. “Where is my Boy?” featuring Chris Martin is the saddest most sensational song I’ve heard in some time.
• Nightclubs are a great place to have a church.  Great sound systems, Lots of good lighting and projectors, creative seating arrangements, etc…  Rock Harbor church at the Shark Club was a great experience.  Plus they have real sharks in giant tanks.  Cool.
• California is a great place to visit, but I couldn’t ever really live here.
• I miss Fort Collins.
• I miss Phil. (Awwww)
• I love my fantastic friends here in Cali.  Go spring break.