We Will Not Wait

The future's hurtling toward us like a freight train,

And here we are just waiting for it to hit.

We're not running scared,

We're not even watching;

We're just waiting.

Why?

Our future is not set in stone,

Our future is not made of steel.

Our future is gold--it's manipulable,

Malleable,

Changeable.

Our future is what we want it to be.

So why are we waiting?

We are the Young;

Already our future has changed,

Shifted from one plan to another.

And when the change turned to a downpour of changes,

We gave up that freight train,

and with our Midas Touch

Turned our future into gold.

Shapeable.

Malleable.

Changeable.

This is our future.

We will not wait.

Crocodile Tears

Apparently I had written this weeks ago during my History of the English Language course and left it in my book with something entirely different written on the other side.

The sway of palm trees,
         palm leaves
  in the cool, cool night
The sphinx begs a riddle,
        unanswerable,
    but the answer is in the wind,
           as unharnessable as
                                a cloud.
And down by the river,
    the crocodile weeps 
       with scaly tears,
            and salty fears
   which come with the rain
    and irrigate the earth.

And 'nothing' is the answer
    to the sphinx's riddle
   (but) the wind makes
          the palm trees sway,
   and the crocodile tears
          in the quiet midnight
            are more heart-wrenching
                than dry, human eyes.

Pray Without Ceasing

Yesterday, in one of my devotional books, I read a piece which declared prayerlessness to be a sin. Initially, I wasn't all that surprised. Total lack of communication with God? I suppose at some level it could be labeled a sin. What took me by surprise was the fact that the author went on to declare that anything less than ceaseless prayer is a sin.

'A sin?' I thought. 'Surely not a sin.'

It's an interesting perspective, though. It gave me pause. Is anything less than ceaseless prayer really a sin? By not being in absolutely constant communion with God, am I actually leading a lifestyle of sin?

I doubted at first, of course, because it's so drastic. How could it be sinful to have a few moments when God isn't at the forefront of my mind? That question really did give me pause. I began to wonder if, perhaps, I was writing off the author's dramatic declaration simply because it wasn't the feel-good devotional I wanted. This challenged me.

There has only been one time in my life in which I was even close to ceaseless prayer. My first two years of high-school, I probably thought of myself the least, because I wasn't as pretty as I'd have liked to be, and I wasn't popular or particularly amazing at sports, or academics, or anything, really. I spent that year with a lot of focus on my relationship with God and on my own behavior as a Christian going to a Christian school where most of the students played a lot of the church games they always do as adolescents in the church. I remember sitting in a chapel session that was focused on that idea of praying without ceasing.

Whoa. It wasn't a novel idea, really, but the fact was that I had never heard it put in such plain terms before. Ceaseless prayer? It's just talking to God about anything and everything that happens during the day. You see a random person. You pray for them. Just a quick prayer, nothing special or wordy or eloquent. Something like, "God, whatever that person struggles with, be in the midst of their life today." Or if you see something particularly beautiful, thank God for it.

I started to try it, that very same day.

It took practice, of course. I was constantly having to remind myself that I should be praying. I prayed for the people around me, and I prayed for people I thought of, and I thanked God for whatever I saw that I thought was good or pleasing, and I went about my day. It was hard, though, if I was upset or angry.

After a while, it got easier. Even when upset, I prayed for whomever I was upset with, or I prayed kind of like David--you know, the "rescue me, God" and "You are my stronghold, I take shelter under your wings."

I think, to be honest, while nothing much really happened during those years, I remember them as some of the times I was most joyful.

It's been a long time since then. I've tried a few times to get back in the habit, but that hasn't really been cutting it. If I want to try ceaseless prayer, I'm going to have to be very, very intentional about it.

But back to the beginning. Is a life without ceaseless prayer really sinful? It's a strange thing to simply call the absence of lack of continual communication with God a sin, but I'm starting to see his point. Without constant communication with God, it's that much more difficult to know God's will. It makes sense to me that if we aren't in constant contact with God in some shape or form, then, essentially, we are sinful. I know in my experience that knowing the right thing to do isn't easy. During those few years in which I tried to engage in ceaseless prayer, though, I remember it just wasn't difficult. The right thing always seemed crystal clear. I was spending my arguments praying for the other person, rather than trying to figure out how to win the argument. I was much more easily able to put down my pride and admit being wrong than ever before (which, if you know me, is probably one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn).

Basically, when I'm not talking to God, I sin a lot. When I am talking to God, I sin less.

Granted, I'll always mess up (I know I'm not perfect in any stretch of the imagination), but that doesn't change the viewpoint. It's almost like being physically lighter, more buoyant--as if gravity has a little bit less of a hold on you as it does everyone else. Probably because it does.

The Will

Well, I bought Death with some candy and a cane,
and he wrapped me in swaddling clothes and gave me a new name.
Then the waters above came crashing down,
and the birds didn't sing, but made a lot of sound
and the axis turned, and the world went 'round
til the sky bled, and God said,
"let your will be done"
Let it come.

Grief

How do you grieve someone who is not dead?

Untitled Song

V1

What is stopping me now

Nothing is standing in my way

If only I knew how

To get up from the floor on which I lay

There's no more tears,

I shed those long ago

I've only fears

to stop my dreams today

Chorus

And these words I write

are nothing more than

the beginnings of a song

trying to convey

some emotion inside.

And these notes are all I have

to make things right

If only I knew what was right.

V2

As I'm standing by the waves

waiting for whispers in the wind

Whispers in the wind.

(asking)

"Where is God in all this mess,

where is my God,

where is my God?"

Chorus

And these words I write

are nothing more than

the beginnings of a song

trying to convey

some emotion inside.

And these notes are all I have

to make things right

If only I knew what was right,

if only I knew what was right.

Repeat verse 1 and chorus

The Important Things

There are lots of important things in life, I think. Things as simple as knowing who you are, or hanging with the right crowd are vitally important. Things as complex as relationships and doing the right thing are also very important. The future, who you want to be, what you can do to become better, what graduate school you go to, where you want to live, what you believe, what values you have, how you deal with things, whether or not you let things go,how you view your mistakes, how you view things that aren't mistakes, but you don't know what category to put them in...all these things are important. Almost everything is important in life.

Which is why even the simple act of giving up is important. There is a time for everything under the sun, Ecclesiastes says, and this is the time for giving up. Not on everything. Just one thing. It's something that I've been holding on to, and have had a lot of trouble letting go. Some of you will be able to guess. Some of you will not. But in the area of letting go--let's just say I've always had trouble with it.

But this letting go, this giving up...it is important. It's nice to finally be able to feel as though it no longer has a hold on me. Previously, I would be worried about losing something--well, that something was already lost, and I was mourning its loss. Now, it's time to begin a new chapter.

I am more alive and focused on the important things in my life than I have been for a long time. I am able to pour myself into what I do every day, whether that be writing, spending time with friends and family, sorting out my thoughts, looking for a job, spending time with God, or just taking a break. I've let go. And it's a very freeing thing.

There's nothing new that I've learned from this. There's nothing that's really changed. That's what makes this all so curious--there's nothing to be gained or lost from this. It's simply the passing of time, the decision to change focus.

God has a plan for me, and I'd prefer to focus on making it possible for some of those plans to show up.

Sanitation

Wash your hands with extra soap

before you say what you mean.

If it needs to be said,

write it down, before

what hasn’t been said

overtakes it.

There are three rules to letting go:

cut strings, say things,

and follow the stages of grief.

There are no rules to

doing things right—

the church, the city,

the family forms

the structure of

“right” and “wrong”;

but there are no rules.

Nothing means anything

anymore,

but what isn’t being said

means everything

and changes nothing.

If your hands are dirty,

sanitize, and

leave no evidence

when you go.

My Old Heart

I had an old heart before

it had a chance to be young;

I knew before it happened

what it felt like

to look down the barrel of a gun,

the trigger clenched

by the hands of a ticking clock,

and when the shot rang out,

I saw my young heart bleed out

with my old, old eyes

and watched my young heart

die,

and mourning for it,

I spend my time

avoiding what it remembered

terrified to forget.

Our Intertwined Hands

Winter is coming on fast;
we fall facedown in the snow,
feel the cold and the warmth
of our intertwined hands.
Gloves blocking your touch,
and we feel the rush
as time flies by,
as time flies by.

And the chill in my heart
isn't caused by the wind,
taking risks on one end
and none for our sakes.
As it slips from our hands,
and we understand,
our time runs out,
our time runs out.

And as we say goodbye,
the tears spring from our eyes,
but we're careful to leave
no stains on our shirts.
As 'we' turns to the past,
'we' beg the moment to last
as we kiss goodbye,
as we kiss goodbye.

Separation is cold
like the white winter snow;
it refuses to cease
(and) Spring is obsolete.
We put our heads in our hands
as ice covers the land;
lie facedown in the snow,
facedown in the snow.

And finally the earth begins to cry
with warmth and tears to break the heart of ice.
With our tentative first steps we look around
and fall facedown,
we fall facedown,
facedown.
(and pray)

I write you a letter or two
with my bare left hand.
Though our future is gone
I can still feel the warmth
of our intertwined hands
and of you in my plans;
don't tell me goodbye,
don't say goodbye.

Springtime is coming again,
and you're smiling, my friend.
My heart's on my sleeve;
don't tell me to leave.
And when these lyrics are done,
we'll salute the sun,
our hands intertwined,
our hands intertwined.