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A Brief Check In

Well, I'm back in Texas. Perhaps I should state that I left Texas before I announce my return to Texas. I've tried to write this post before. It's been a very slow process and I've given up more than a few times.

I miss my Danielle something fierce. In addition to the beauty of being with family, it was incredible to be with her for the Thanksgiving break. I know have only two weeks before I'm hanging out with her again.

This won't be anything deep or colorful. I just wanted to let the two or three readers that I still breathe and I still think. Good things are forthcoming.

Musings From a Whore

I'm back in Texas. It's an odd feeling. It's sort of bittersweet. As much as I love Texas and my roommates and my guys, I miss home. I miss family. I miss the lovely girl I left behind. I know that Texas still has a few years left for me. It's not easy being away from the ones you care about. I'm thankful for the family of friends I have down here. They are extremely sustaining to me.

The Cardinals continue to give me hope. While the evil that is the Chicago Cubs have pretty much run away with the Central title, the Redbirds are still in the running for the Wild Card race. If we can catch up to the Brewers (and if the Phillies slump and distance their third place slot from us), we'll have a shot for October. Yes, those are big if's. But that's what September baseball is all about. Time and chance. It's kind of like life.

My heart has been shocked and rocked these past couple of weeks. I've started reading Jeremiah. The first three chapters alone have shook my bones and ripped my heart. It's hard to leave them. The language is extremely gripping and unapologetic. God straight up calls Israel a whore. Not only that but a sex addict of a whore. He describes her as a wild donkey, sniffing the air in her heat, looking for someone to mate. He calls her a wayward bride who bows down like a whore under every green tree, on every hill. She scatters her favors to every foreigner.

As God is laying down His list of truthful charges against His faithless people, He asks them the key question in chapter 2, verse 18. "What do you gain?" He asks them why they chased after the Egyptians and the Assyrians and sought the benefits of their gods. In Ezek. 23:20, He calls Israel a whore who goes after Egypt and Assyria for the size of their genitalia. Such is the weightiness of God’s grief over a people who are faithless. But I see my own reflection in Jeremiah 2. What do I gain when I chase after my own interests? What do I gain when I establish my own happiness or my own satisfaction in anything other than God? Have I not come to realize that it is an evil and bitter thing to forsake my Lord? Then God goes on to describe in 2:20-21 how it was He who liberated them from Egypt. It was He who planted them like a choice vine in the land of Canaan. Israel had lost sight of how great and awesome and terrible and beautiful God is. They forgot that it was Him who liberated them from Egypt with the most colossal displays of splendor and power. They had no long term memory of what He had done for them.They’d simply forgotten. And so, they ran rampant from place to place looking for satisfaction, bowing down like a whore under every green tree.

It’s so easy to shake my head in disbelief. How could anyone leave the greatest good in all existence? But isn’t that true of me? Isn’t it true of all the children of God? This is me. I forget that He liberated me from the bondage of sin. I forget that His grace overran my evil and recalcitrant will. forget that He rescued me from the domain of darkness and transferred me to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom I have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. Jeremiah 2 is me! My face is hauntingly clear in every word. Every time I let the gravity and blazing wonder of what the Lord did for me at the cross fade, I become vulnerable. My heart is prone to wander and I’m inclined to bow down like a whore to lesser things. I lose all fear of God and sin becomes a much less dangerous thing in my mind. I give Him my back and not my face.

Now, the heartbreaking truth of my faithlessness in Jeremiah 2 is healed when I read chapter 3, from verse 12 onward. Though God could be eternally angry with His faithless people, He’s please to instead be merciful. Oh, thank God! What did God require of His wayward love? 3:13: “Only acknowledge your guilt.” And what guilt was that? Their guilt (and my daily guilt that is covered by the blood of Christ) was rebellion, the scattering their favors among foreigners under every green tree and a failure to obey His beautiful voice. But, if they would only return, the Lord promises to no longer look at them in anger, to heal their faithfulness, to return them to their home (in exiled Israel’s case, Jerusalem), to give them teachers after His own heart and blessings. The only thing more overwhelming than the thought of my own infidelity is the promise of His constant and unconditional fidelity. If He were not faithful to His own word to never leave nor forsake me, I would be hell bound and loving it. Thank You. Thank You for what You bring to mind when I reflect on my own faithlessness. Thank You for capturing my devotion and love as a husband captures the affections of his bride.

The Lion Has Roared

I'm convinced that no good thing dwells in Chicago. That's the Cardinals fan in me talking. Chicago, particularly Wrigley Field, is a breeding ground for evil.

I would like to take this opportunity to spread the word about www.noisetrade.com. It's an amazing website that lets you download great music at very little cost. You either tell 3 (three) friends about an album or you pay what you want for it. It's that easy. Go try it out! I've found William F. Gibbs to be a perfectly incredible musician and I'm enjoying his album tremendously.

I was reading Amos today. It's sad that he's not as famous as his cookie counterpart. But the Old Testament Amos has so much more to offer than a popular baked goods franchise ever could. Remember that, please.

Is God secretive? Is He the unknowable shaker of nations? Does He operate behind a black veil of cosmic espionage? Does He act and leave humanity with no clue as to His motivation? Certainly, the greatest King in existence and conception need not justify His reasoning to a people born from dust. How wonderful, then, and how thrilling is it that God does not act without revealing His motives to His people? Amos 3:7, in the midst of imploding and burning nations, states with a full and undisturbed confidence, "For the Lord God does nothing without revealing His secrets to His servants the prophets." Praise falls short by light years to express the gratitude due to a merciful God who gives warning shots. His wrath is not blind and puerile, like a whimsical 2 year old that throws a fit because no one will play nice.

In chapters 1 and 2 of Amos, the Lord describes plainly and in unsettling detail why fire and wrath is destined for these certain peoples. And where are God's secrets crystallized? How can we know His motivation, His mind? In the words of His prophets! Those words have been entombed in paper and leather and they scream comfort to His troubled people. They scream comfort to me. The Bible encapsulates the thoughts of God. It doesn't reveal all God intends or purposes. The secret things belong to the Lord (Deut.28:28). But He has made clear to us what He would have us know. There is no need for guess work when it comes to figuring out what the Lord is like and what He demands.

I love 3:8: "The lion has roared. Who will not fear? The Lord God has spoken. Who can but prophesy?" Warning! There is a danger out there and it will kill you! That danger is God. You will ruin yourself if you keep living with a blind eye to consequence! God will undo you! What person who knows that can but prophesy? Meaning, who can but proclaim that truth (prophesy meaning to declare truth, not only to foretell a future event God has revealed)? I have heard the lion roar. I have heard and I have read. My heart has been run through by Romans 1:18 that says that "For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth." So then how can I not but shout it? How can I not make it clear that God is furious, and rightly so, with what the peoples have done and who they are? If I truly understand the fearsome qualities of that mighty lion and the danger He poses to those who are deserving of His wrath, how can I not be moved into action? It's a question that will haunt me and stick in my mind like shrapnel. I thank God for such haunting thoughts.

Midnight Shakes the Memory

T.S Eliot once wrote that "Midnight shakes the memory." I've loved that line. I wish that I came up with it because it is intensely accurate for me. The other side of daylight is when my mind starts working and starts trembling and starts talking. And here is something I've been kicking around these past couple nights. It seems like such a silly confession, such a silly problem. But for a distracted mind like myself, it's no paper tiger.

I tend to feel guilty about reading fiction. Funny, isn't it? Stay with me now. I've felt guilty about it for some time. Fictions feels lie a mistress kept in the dark by my fidelity to Scripture. Why would I feel that way? I think it's because Truth and fiction wear the same clothes. They're dressed up in leather and paper and they wear black and red ink on their faces. And so, when I spend too much time drowning in Vonnegut, I'm soon smothered with guilt for neglecting my delight in my mind's immersion in the Word. So, I've kept my distance from fiction and imagination for fear of whoring after a greater love than God. I'm very much a monomaniac. When I devote myself, it's to one thing and to one thing only. And my mind becomes a breathing, bleeding hell of shame for being "lured" away by a good paperback.

That's why I'm so glad that Francis Schaeffer wrote "Art and the Bible". It's been so liberating to see that God's sovereignty is not threatened by artistic expression and, in fact, He uses it and created it. The God who incarnated His Word to save my soul isn't scared that Hemingway or Bradbury will posses my heart. They may capture my interest but interest is only the surface. It's the paint job on the hull. What's beneath, what's impenetrable, is a captured heart, bought by Christ's blood.

Speaking briefly of "artistic breakthroughs", I'd like to say this. I have no patience for epiphanies. In the same way that progress for the kingdom is stalled by people waiting to hear God's will for there lives, how much creativity remains dull while writers and artists wait for the lighting to strike? All you need is the mellow motivation of coffee or a song or a beating heart. No one expects gold in every prospector's pan. If that were the reality, it wouldn't nearly be as exciting to hunt for it.

Your PB from J for today: "You just shook your head! That doesn't make you happy?"

Chases

I just got back from the dentist and, of course, had to have chocolate cake and a Dr. Pepper. I've recently been introduced by various friends to some incredible musicians. Mind if I share? I hope that you don't. Do check out Steve Moakler on itunes. I believe he was, until recently, a student at Mizzou. This guy has a phenomenal voice and the rare ability to spark a good song into existence. Also, a band called Fundamental Elements has become so amazing to me. Their song "That Girl", especially, is so brilliantly sassy and fantastic that I put it on repeat for hours on end. Also, I've found an amazing rapper (yeah, I know. Rap sucks.). But this guy is straight theology injected into rap. It's incredible! He's got Piper sermon excerpts on Romans 5 and a song defending the doctrine of limited atonement. He's name is Shai Linne. You'd do well to check him out, even if you're like me and can't usually stand rap. I could list more but this would become a showcase and review and that thought wearies me somethin' fierce.

I've been struggling epically with desires and contentment. Some days are much easier than others. Some days aren't. I was reading through 1 Timothy 6:6-11 the other day. Paul says that it is with contentment that great gains in godliness can be found. Why? Because we have nothing here. We are the terrestrial tenants. And so, Paul argues, since our eternal destiny will not be inclusive of the stuff we accumulate here, then why crave it? Yes, these verses deal immediately with material possessions and the harmful senselessness of it. But, like everything, this is an issue of the wellspring (what Prov.4:23 calls the heart). It's a contest of desires. If I have food and clothing, I'm supposed to be content. Why? Because my desires are to be sated with something else, with something more. What am I to chase and be satisfied with if not the beautiful things on the earth?

A relationship is something that I can't take with me to glory. Despite what the poets sing, a romance is limited to life on the ground. It's like a balloon tied to a tree. It will never leave the atmosphere. So what do I do? I am designed to desire. The original blueprint for man included him being a chaser. But cravings can burn my world down if they seek to embrace the many infernos found in my stay on earth.

But verse 11 unleashes me! Look at this: "But as for you, O man of God, flee these things [the things of this world that I tend to crave]. Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness." Pursue these! Chase these! Chase them down and capture them. Engross yourself in the art of pursuit. But why is that hard for me? Because the object of that chases is godliness. It's a pursuit of something that my sinful flesh wants nothing to do with. It will require an iron fist and a heart in love with God. Righteousness. Godliness. Faith. Love. Gentleness. I want more of them. And I want to want more of them!

If I can become thoughtfully desirous (the opposite of infatuated) with these traits of a man of God, I can enjoy and find intense (and intensely real) fulfillment in Christ, thus glorifying God. And for me to seek that kind of contentment in the love for a woman (though that love be good), I'd be missing the point entirely. I can't take it with me. But those 1 Tim.6:11 attributes will be with me in glory and, indeed, already permeate it. To chase a romance without first having captured godliness is a remarkable display of wasted time.

Passion Without Faithfulness?

The topic of passion has been in my mind these last couple of days. I recently stopped by a youth group meeting at a church I had not attended in years. Many of the old, familiar faces were no longer there. But there was a very noticeable "electricity" in the group. I hate using that word to describe a feeling. But the students in assembly were simply charged with an almost palpable sense of community and fellowship. I thought that was interesting. Then the pastor got up to preach. Despite the clarity and steadfast treatment of the text, I noticed that he used the word "passion" a lot. I think I actually lost count of the number. He urged the students to have passion and commended them for their passion and plead that they would cultivate and control the right and wrong type of passions, respectively.

Why bring this up? It's not only in this one instance that I have noticed an overabundance of passion-oriented preaching. Note that I didn't say "passionate preaching" but passion-oriented preaching, preaching that is geared towards and designed for the purpose of the self production of passion. And when I say passion, I mean an intense zeal and excitement. This mild obsession with passion doesn't seem, to me, an entirely even-handed treatment of the Christian life. Did I say mild? Isn't there an entire annual conference called "Passion"?

Now, let me make one thing clear. I am not against passion. I am not against godly emotions (or "affections", as the Puritans would say). I love it when I read or study a text and the words rip apart my pride and melt my eyes and shatter my sinful flesh. It provokes this rumbling, hot fervor and zeal for my Master's glory. I would call that a passion. There is a passion for passion in the youth culture of the Body of Christ. I've witnessed it in many different churches and individually in the lives of Christians. To me, this passion is almost alarming. It is alarming because it is unbalanced. What is it missing? It lacks a definite emphasis on faithfulness. Passion has become the 10th fruit of the Spirit. The mark of passion has almost entirely become a mark of the godly. If you would be godly, they seem to say, you surely must have this passion. A Christian or a church that seems "dead" or is simply more subdued in their expression of worship or zeal is branded as unspiritual by many young Christians I have spoken with. That idea is a danger to the church. Because passion is not always there. Passion cannot always be there.

Sometimes I open my Bible and the ink slides off my mind into a harmless puddle on the floor. Now, maybe I'm not a very spiritual and passionate Christian. Or maybe, like most of us, I'm simply a human Christian. When that happens, am I to be despondent for my lack of passion? I am to be faithful.

In Revelation 2:4-5, Jesus rebukes a church for abandoning their first love (namely, Christ). That church had fallen out of love with Jesus. They had no passion for Him. They had no godly affectionate response to their Savior. What does Christ command them to do about it? Wait for that passion to come back? Pray that God would stir their hearts back to a godly zeal, fit for worship and service? No. He tells them to repent and to "do the works you did at first". Do the works you did at first? That is faithfulness. It is obediently seeking after the Lord through the Scriptures, through prayer even though you feel dry and dead and empty. That is what faithfulness is. And it is that faithfulness that produced that godly passion in the first place.

My fear is that passion is getting the spotlight and faithfulness is trapped back in Galatians 5 with the other marks of the Christian. Young Christians are taught and encouraged to sprint and to search for energy bursts yet they seem ignorant the truth that our faith is a marathon. When Paul talked about Christianity as a race, he was not talking about a sprint of passion but a faithful, long trek that was indeed passionate. We need to be training and conditioning ourselves with this marathon mentality. It is a desperate need today.

Thoughts About Words

Lines from Vonnegut collide with Psalm 119 and my thoughts sling to the floor like cold mashed potatoes. I asked her what she thought Beauty was. We were talking about Beauty with a capital B. As she boiled down her answer to a purely good shine, I washed my throat with Dr. Pepper then whistled along to a beautiful song. We bantered back and forth about flowers and rust and babies and scars and sunsets. My knees felt like they had been kicked in. Would my pillow release me from the usual morning headlock? Could I twist its wrist? Would I even whimper in defiance?

Like an oak tree that drops its resurrection fruit, such furious words slide down the clock and break my nose with their reckless velocity. They brought live ammunition for their corroded cannons. Did they even know who they were aiming for? But they shot me in the head and in the heart and in my arms and legs. And how grateful I am for these wounds! If they had not buried alive those words meant for my heart, I might just be healthy and whole and comfortable today. What a terrible thought! But I praise God for such providential and dusty shrapnel that bled my soul dry and restarted my mind. Praise God for Scripture. Amen.

Back Home

This night is warm and windy. Though I'm tucked away in our dark living room, I like to imagine that there are clear, liquid stars overhead, barely stirred by a virgin summer breeze and dying to fall. In this sky stuffed with heat, the constellations seem to be melting. I'd love to see what star droplets look like. Would they drip through the Earth's crust like battery acid through paper? Would I be able to gaze at their glory long enough make a memory before my eyes burned away? Silly thoughts from a tongue tied dreamer.

I've been in dogged pursuit of what it means to be sensible. I heard once that men should be old when they're young and young when they're old. What I wouldn't give merit such a description when this corpse is hugged by the unfamiliar earth. Unfamiliar. What a world I've lived in these 21 years and yet I've only covered a pinprick of the area with feet too small for adventure. Still, I've never gotten used to this place. I pray to God that I never start to love this blue ball He's made for us. Though I'm thankful that He sparked it and spun it, I've daily been increasing in my jagged awareness that I'm a tenant. More and more, I feel like I've stumbled into a festival full of strangers and I'm not wearing a name tag. I pray that this sentiment doesn't shrink my compassion for those strangers. All the same, I'm thankful for this restless spirit. May God keep such venomous comfort as far from my shores as He wills.

Go Cardinals.

Your PB from J for today: "You get that from this grove, yes?"

I have a lot of growing up to do.

Once More, From the Beginning

I must confess that my love for music had been in distress these last couple of years. To be more exact, it's really my love for the double bass that was in the death throes. I blamed the university. In truth, I know that I was half at fault. Sawing away at that block of wood was like chewing on a flavorless piece of gum. The enjoyment has already left but you're still repeating the motions. I'm happy to announce, however, that my love is growing warmer for the instrument. I've begun to record myself practicing and it has made all the difference. To be confronted with such awful habits and inconsistencies! But once I swallowed the bitter pill of observation, I was able to go back to the bass and correct it. Collapsed fingers. Hunched shoulders. Thoughtless and constant vibrato. These cracks have haunted the surface of my playing for years and my teacher has always pointed them out. But until I was able to see the flaws through a lens, up on a T.V, I had no idea that they were that unruly! Recalcitrant habits of an immature hobbit.

I'm trying to write again every day and, while this isn't particularly important or stunning to most people, it does serve my purpose.

Come, May. Come soon.

Applause is a strange thing. Applesauce makes much more sense.

April is the month of death and longing. I continue to scramble and I trip over my own feet. Every moment feels like it's five minutes to hindsight. What do you do when your knees go out from jumping through too many hoops? I'm going to need a walker soon. Weather in Texas has been beautiful. It's been absolutely beautiful, like a home team victory. I've been recovering from all the carpet burns on my mind. You're such a sappy cello tonight. But such happiness! It makes me want to slip into my skinny jeans and dance around while eating low fat yogurt. If I could see the inside of your eyelids, I could understand all your dreams. This life is a fist fight and our jaws are porcelain. We eat up the uppercuts and gulp down the shortcuts. Make sense?

Honestly

Well, what can I say? I'm home for Spring Break right now. It's so nice. I really do enjoy getting up at 12:30 in the afternoon and sitting around in my pajamas until the evening. It makes me forget that I actually have responsibilities and obligations (those urgent headhunters). At the request of a friend, I've continued to write in my little notebooks. It's been a very rewarding process so far this week. I enjoy scribbling down half-cooked ideas and thoughts at red lights and in coffee shop corners. I admit, it helps me to drool out letters in this little corner of the blogosphere but it can get awfully lonely. One thing I liked about xanga was the feeling (or maybe the illusion) of comradery. Someone would leave a comment and you would comment back. It was a give and take. Here, it feels more like I'm working in a backroom exhibit that charges way too much money for entry. I have narcoleptic feet.

So here's the rub. I love honesty. It's one of the most attractive things to me. I hate myself when I find that I've been disingenuous. My affinity for honesty sometimes gets me into trouble. But honestly, I feel I can't help it. It pains me to my bones that the secular arts reach such heights and delve such depths of honesty that the arts in the church have long forgotten. Christians used to write incredible concertos and build achingly beautiful cathedrals and etch prose that could break your heart. But in decades past to this very hour, we've offer cardboard cut-outs. Perhaps it's because we have traded sincerity for excellence. We think that if we sing "Glory, glory, glory" enough times over the same four chords, somehow the fact that any artistic glory is lacking might just disappear. I'm going to focus mainly on music because it's what I know.

I'm not sure exactly where the trend started. Maybe no one can pinpoint the year. But music that is created by Christians has suffered terribly at the hands of inferior musicians. There are a small number of Christian musicians and singers that I will listen to these days. While I agree with their goal (to glorify God through music) and thank God that they do it, I simply can't find much aesthetic satisfaction in listening to them glorifying God. Maybe that's a weak statement. I don't know. But I do know that, as a musician, I get more enjoyment in listening to the skill of a pagan artist (one that does not know Christ as Lord) than a Christian artist. Am I ashamed of admitting that? I am not. I think you should be careful with what music you listen to because a lyric has a way of infiltrating your head and building a nest in your heart. And if that lyric glorifies sin or smothers your love for God, then that music has to be cut out of your life. But not everything a non-Christian writes is going to do a Christian harm.

What are most songs about that were written by non-Christians? They're about relationships. They're about desires and thoughts and people. They're about daily living. And I'm not talking about the vocal minority that sings about sex using vulgar and childish language. But the lyrical content runs the gamut. Now, contrast that with what Christian artists write songs about. They are songs about God, about the atonement, about loving others. Are those bad things to sing about? By no means! But do those things encapsulate life? What about desires? What about divorce? What about buying groceries and having a conversation with a stranger? I'm going to agree with the singer/songwriter Derek Webb when he says that Christian music addresses about 2% of life. But the life I lead isn't always about praising God and singing glory to His name. Practically speaking, it can't be. Yes, I want every aspect of my life to give Him the honor due His name. But my life is made up mostly of going to school, sleeping, eating, doing homework, talking with friends, etc. My life is not a very lofty, transcendent story. And I think, in general, life is not made up of lofty, transcendent moments. I want the honest Christian to start writing songs about life as it really is. I want the honesty that paints life in its true colors. I can think of too few bands and singers who have been willing to do that.

Your PB from J for today: "They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh!"

Cravings

Have we all had fun storming the castle?

I've been thinking about desire and how it relates to the supremacy of God in my life. I was listening to a lecture by John Piper yesterday and he said something very penetrating. Maybe my armor was weak over my heart and that's why it cut in so easily. I'm not sure. But he was talking about why he was a Calvinist. He said that when people think of Calvinism, they usually think of five controversial doctrinal points, the last of which is the most volatile and cold. But when Piper thinks of Calvinism, he thinks of how God's sovereignty touches everything. His main concern on a Saturday night is weeding out what he can spare. He has too much to preach on because he sees every single text as interconnected because everything in the Bible and in life connects to God. This is something I think God has been teaching me recently. Could it be possible that the Gospel fits into all the cracks? Could it be that holiness is not just intended for relationships and church and devotional moments of fervent and intimate worship? I think that holiness fits into how we buy our groceries and how we do our homework and how we lay on the couch after a hard day. I'm convinced that nothing is nonspiritual. It all falls under the umbrella of God's Word. All that to say, I've been thinking about desire lately.

What I'm now about to spill here is nothing novel. I know it's old. But it's been shrapnel in my mind. I feel that I must blame Charles Haddon Spurgeon and the apostle Peter for the nagging appetite in my head. I've been speared through the gut with this ice cold realization: Christians have forgotten what desire is for. We really have. I'm not talking about a craving for cheese cake or chocolate. I'm not talking about a desire for a spouse (although that's closer to the mark, perhaps). But when you read 1 Peter 2:2, what are your observations about nourishment and maturity? "Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation (italics mine)". Craving is an essential part of spiritual growth. Desire is the hinge on which joy swings. But Christians, especially evangelicals, don't seem to realize that. Spurgeon makes the argument in his sermon "A Weighty Charge" that love is directly tied to desire. He says that a love for God can only be sustained by a desire for more of it. "O Christians, remember that you must advance or backslide. You must build higher and higher. Love must become more and more supreme in your souls or you will decline."

If we really knew what we were missing, we would be lustful and covetous after it. Love is an inferno. But if it does not consume fuel, it will die. C.S Lewis was right. We really are a half-hearted creatures. God must find our desires too weak. While we steer our cravings towards sin and self-gratification, we miss the point of our desires. Our desires were intended for God. He is the ultimate. Do we realize that at His right hand there are pleasures forevermore (Ps.16:11)? Have we tasted the sweetness of His words (Ps.119:103)? And if so, has it left us desperate for more? I'm convinced that there is no more dangerous state of mind than that of satisfaction. To be satisfied is to stay put. To remain unsatisfied is to always want to move forward, to want more. As the prophet said in Jeremiah 15:16 "Your words were found and I ate them and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O LORD, God of hosts." When things delight me, I want more of it. That's why I am addicted to Dr. Pepper. It delights me. I enjoy it and so I want more of it. I am striving after the divine addiction. As dear C.H once said, "He who loves God most is happiest." Amen, Mr. Spurgeon. Amen.

Fail to Modify

A noun is a person, place or a thing. An adjective is the modifier of a noun. The professional work of an adjective is to describe a noun. It adds colors to the shadows, if you will (and even if you won't). A noun by itself is pure. It is simple. I realize that "pure" and "simple" are in fact adjectives themselves. But think of a noun without an adjective. Think of a meadow without it being charming. Think of a sunrise without it being sublime. Now think of a person only as a noun. That might sound impersonal and cold at first but follow me for a bit.

My first decision of a new acquaintance must be that her or she is a noun not an adjective. Adjectives inevitably come later. But what if I see them as a human being instead of as a tall human being or a loud human being or a beautiful human being? First impressions are where we turn someone into what we think they are. Sometimes our perceptions are justified. Sometimes a mean person really is a mean person. But when we paint false descriptions onto someone based on their appearance, we immediately modify the noun and unjustly so. We turn them into something they very well might not be. It's so hard not to. But when I'm successful, I find it's easier to love them. This doesn't mean I'm to throw aside all elements of discernment. But it does mean I take slower steps in "categorizing" people who are not pieces of language.

How much easier life is when we don't have to prove ourselves!

Your PB from J for today: "The only joy she found was in her daily ride."

What'd I Say

So, I've realized the error of launching raw words into the atmosphere. They reveal all too much. And then some.

I want to spend the day talking 96% with my eyebrows. Honestly, how much of what we want to communicate actually needs to be spoken? I'm talking about what is truly necessary to say. The more loquacious folks probably talk in about three quarters dross. Most of what most people say seems to be fluff. It is small talk. And don't get me wrong, there's a great deal of charm in clever conversation. And that's what I'm talking about here. Just simple every day conversation. Not speeches, not sermons, not essays. Just how we speak to each other. But what if we amputated the "um" and the "ya know?" and the "haha, yeah" from our daily dialogues? The ornamentation of dead air is one of the strongest impediments to any meaningful confabulation. My constant tendency is to be lazy and sling my words out like mashed potatoes (let alone my poor articulation). But if my words were to stand up straight and represent a heart and a mind that wants to be heard, how much deeper could they penetrate their targets? I'm going to try and be sparing with my words. I'm going to only hold them back until I'm ready to use them. And when I use them, I'm going to paint them in all the colors of my mind and teach them to dance to my back beat.

I feel better now. The written word is a sweet getaway car.

Let's re-instate an old tradition, shall we?. Here is your PB from J for today: "There is nothing nearby. Not for miles."

Hopeless? Romantic?

I've been finding puns in every conversation. Help me please.

Sometimes my heart feels like a porcelain chin in a fist fight. I was a bit hesitant to write on matters of the heart, what with Singles Awareness Day fast approaching and all. But I can't survive another minute on auto-pilot and I must purge this gum ball machine of a mind.

I suppose I am a romantic. This has been brought to my attention recently. For a long time I was a hopeless romantic. I was in hot pursuit of the sunset every morning, chasing down that one golden girl who was the embodiment of all satisfaction. When I go in, I go all in. I'm a bit of a monomaniac that way. But Olde Man Tyme has beaten me with the big hand of experience and the sharper little hand of pain. He's an excellent disciplinarian. After a few shipwrecks and bombshells, I'm afraid I've resigned myself to be a spectator. But I'm not even an enthusiastic fan of the sport. I'm the greasy heckler in the back row who screams obscenities at the boxers. These things ought not to be this way!

Proverbs 4:23 tells us to guard our hearts above all things, for from it flow the wellsprings of life. The Bible often uses soft words loaded into strong arguments. This particular verse has been shrapnel in my mind for years but it has been slow to trickle into my heart. Due to my neglect, I've endured a good amount of pain, much like the rest of my fellow travelers. I have the feeling that most of us are walking expectations wrapped up in wishes. We are constantly pining after fulfillment and in so doing we leave our hearts back on the barb wire we had to climb over. Like Spartan infants, we expose them to whatever wind blows by. No wonder we are the walking wounded, addicts to the mighty Valentine heart. I have not been a vigilant watchman.

I think we should all stop playing with fire. We're a bunch of monkeys, knee deep in kerosene, with lighters. But you can't just outlaw dating. Certain Christian authors tried to do that. As long as you breath oxygen and crawl the earth, you have to deal with the reality that people will date. But we crave so quickly and deeply a fast happiness that we tear into each other's hearts like jackals around a fresh kill. There is no protection. There is no insurance. There is no commitment.

So right now, I'm just a tangle of smiles and clenched fists. Don't pay any mind to the cynical, bitter color of my words. It's late and I'm tired. I've just been thinking more than I should. But the sentiment remains. I am truly angry at myself and the other monkeys. There is much more I could say here. Indeed, perhaps I should stop and patch up some holes in these sentences. Maybe I should delete some of the more sour phrases. It feels uncomfortable and unfinished, like going to bed with half of your nose stopped up. But whatever I said, I said without thinking and editing would just subtract from the sincerity. That's my excuse anyway.

Today was warm as pipe smoke. I'll be better in the morning. Don't you worry 'bout a thing.

Have You Seen It This Way?

I'd like to see a prehistoric dawn. Wouldn't you? Be on the look out for one. Take your camera.

I often have to forgive the actor in me. I hope you will do the same. The actor in me is desperate for the invisible spotlight. He seeps up onto the surface and bows to the crowd passing me by on the street. Tipping his fedora, he'll recite supreme poetry out of the deepest pit of memory just to win and woo you over. Now, is this to say that I am never sincere? I hope not. If I am merely a disingenuous fake, I would never bother to spill this onto the internet. I am not possessed by an alter ego. I'm not at the mercy of some clever parasite. But the actor in me is never content to sit in the green room while the audience is shouting for the encore. The actor is me. I cheat myself into behaving how I think they would like it. These spells of madness are very subtle and increasingly infrequent. But if you think about it, perhaps you have a thespian in you as well? I think very few people have mastered such lapses of drama. We must knuckle down and lock down that tendency to be a professional. Do you know what I mean? You might have never felt it. If you haven't, maybe I'm prodding sensitive flesh that doesn't need investigation. But most of us lean towards behaving like a professional instead of being a genuine, flimsy, hilarious human being. Oh Lord, please forgive the actor in me.

Shells

I'm sick right now. It might be a little bit of the flu. Weather Dot Com informs me that Texas is dealing with a widespread flu outbreak so it makes sense that I would have it. And there's nothing better to do when you're sick than to write, right? Write.

You know what I've realized is so ridiculous? The phrase "come out of your shell". Those words are usually aimed and launched at innocent (and often unsuspecting) introverts. Apparently, the popular consent believes us to be crustaceans. I'm sure you can imagine how alarmed I was to learn this. But the vocal majority is blood earnest in thinking that we are trapped in a stifling layer of hateful reticence. In such a crusading spirit of goodwill, extroverts have been trying for millennia to extract us out of our constricting prisons of bashful hesitation. The theory behind such efforts in public education and social gatherings is the belief that what you see is not what you get. A quiet man is really just a loud man trapped in a quiet man's body. He only needs to realize his potential and shake of his laconic shackles.

I suppose, at most, I can only speak for myself. So, let me be frank. I am not bound. I am not a prisoner to my shy personality. I am not a crustacean. There is no wacky, outgoing subconscious in my inner being that is just dying to break out. What you see is what you get. I wear no taciturn exoskeleton that I maintain simply to keep up pretenses. Now, I must beg you on behalf of myself and all those beautifully quiet people out there. Don't force anyone to be someone they're not. No one is trapped.

A Missouri winter is cloudy days without snow punctuated by sunny days without warmth. Truly, it's good to live in this state of misery.