It's 10:30 PM. The car is full and my room is empty. The boxes are closeted, books are shelved, duffel bags crammed together. Tomorrow I'm going to get in my car, slam the gas pedal down, back out of my driveway at 45 freakin' miles per hour, and blaze like a white hot lightning bolt down 80, watching the ever widening cone of disintegrated car windows blow outward from my car's sonic boom. I'll tear past chicago, stopping at the oasis highway restaurant beyond the city's western suburbs, face my guitar amplifier east, and play my signature megapower chord - the chord of apocalypse, created by inverting the chord of life and adding a flat fifth above it, and when that electricity gets picked up through the guitar and blasted out the amp at ten thousand million percent amplification, people are going to pay attention. [Ya wanna know why? Cuz it's a friggin' tube amplifier, that's why. If you don't know what that means, your have the innate value of a slug.] And that chord is going to blast like a tidal wave of sonic destruction over the windbag city of chicago. It's going to be the sound of ten thousand million unhappy orangutangs that got steroids injected into their vocal cords, screaming after being cut off in the insane chicago traffic for the umpteenth time today. Do you think the engineers in chicago built buildings to withstand that sort of sonic onslaught? Two words: total annihilation. People who tolerate four hours of meaningless bumper to bumper traffic everyday so that they can meander through their braindead jobs don't design buildings that can survive powerchords.
I do not tolerate four hours of bumper to bumper traffic. I do not tolerate four minutes of bumper to bumper traffic. I simply do not tolerate bumper to bumper traffic. And other drivers know that. When people feel my chi energy flowing from my car's front bumper, the vast reservoirs of potential energy created by my infinite impatience and illimatable wrath, they sorta get out of the way. So as Chicago disintegrates behind me, I'll be back in the car, accelerating into greater and greater speeds until time slows down, because I want to eat dinner at grandma's house, and it's a 12 hour drive to Des Moines.
And when I get there, I'm going to get a good nights rest, drink some tea, listen to a little jack johnson on my iPod, and eventually I might read some russian literature. It sounds very peaceful doesn't it? Don't relax; I keep the tubes on my amplifier warm at all times.
Okay well it's my bedtime, fortunately my words will continue to stream around the globe through cyberspace, so I can continue my worldshaking from the confines of my lovesac.
iowa or bust
whatever you do, don't stop
I'm invincible!!!!
Actually I'm not. However, I am 23, and I don't feel my mortality with any great conviction. Rumor has it that flash floods are bloody dangerous. So I'm a little surprised at how cheerily I drove through one recently.
Whoops, you need context: It rained a lot in N.E.Pennsylvania and New York last night. The highway closed, the water in the area is contaminated, and last night there were flash floods everywhere. This presented me with some scary decisions while trying to get to Clarks Summit to get to BBC and pay my astronomical library fines.
Apparently, flash flooding doesn't always look scary or dangerous. In my case, I knew the water was deep, I knew it was bad, but it didn't click that the radio warnings might really apply to me. Ford Escorts are probably designed to drive through flash floods, right? But everyone was thinking the same thing, even the people driving junkers. It was either make it through a little water, or wait an hour or two to get wherever we're going. Stopping seemed scarier somehow. That's life: the water's rising, but keep on moving because stopping is way scarier. So think with me: if you were at a fork in the road, right leading through deep water and to your destination, and left providing a possible alternate route if you were willing to stop and wait, would you go left, or would you have watched the cars in front of you somehow make it through the water and decide you could make it too? [Subaru drivers: no it's not rhetorical.]
While I drove through, I was thinking, "If something bad happens, I'll feel really stupid." But since I was fine, I guess I'm just cool.
music, hope, sanity, gratitude
The music thing. Bloody, bloody music. If it weren't for McGrew, Beethoven, and Taylor Camerer, I'd have gone stark raving mad. (Indirectly I also owe Steve Shumaker big time.)
Hope is a funny thing. The word hope brings pictures of light bursting through clouds and stuff like that. We like hope. But hope in the wrong thing is a prescription for despair. I've had unrealistic, distracting ambitions for all kinds of things. Usually it just takes me further away from reality than a sane mind belongs. It happened with music. It didn't make me a better musician. Only when I figured out the reality of my relationship with music and my place (so far) has all the distraction and anxiety lifted. I could tell you the story, but it's long, and I have a headache. And this room is hot. I'm starting to sweat..
Sorry. [Yeah, speaking of distractions...] The world does not foster healthy ambitions. The hopes planted in me by my culture have to do with recognition, fame, ego, "proving" myself. To have a healthy stance in pursuing my gifts, like musicianship, I had to go through some real emotional confusion. A new understanding entered my mind as I was reading the score for Beethoven's Sixth [rather, trying to follow along with the music playing]; I realized that recognition and respect are less important than just loving the music. With my ego out of the way, I can clearly see what the music thing all amounts to. For a few years, I won't do anything "cool" - I'll just be laying the founation, enjoying the growth. It will take awhile to be able to read and perform Bach or Metallica. And hey, I might not be great. But the beauty of the thing is it's just a journey of exploration; I escape the burdens of meaningless ambitions. I call this sanity.
McGrew taught me about the freedom that comes from escaping unrealistic ambitions. Beethoven wrote his symphony. Taylor Camerer gave me the score. And Steve Shumaker taught me about sane thinking and living. Thanks yo.
unpublished vents
Sometimes there are things that need to be said, but really shouldn't be published for the whole world to see. So none of you will ever read my "cops are pigs" blog, which I typed in this space, felt better, and deleted. The beauty of the unpublished emotional ventilation blog.
words
It's time to shut up.
I've been reading some blogs (myspace, xanga, blogger) of old college friends and acquaintances. Many indicate growth, talk up their faith as if they've finally made it. And in a sense, they have. They are starting to have faith and joy, kinda like me. And I think it's totally real, and it's cool. But here is the thing: the world doesn't take our words seriously. (Incidentally I probably won't either.)
We are in an age of quick fixes. Quick-fix diets and microwaves and feel-good spiritual fads. I've seen people say almost the same thing my Christian brothers say on their blogs in non-Christian terms: "I've grown, experienced great change for the better, come closer to achieving that positive spiritual aura I've always wanted! After _____ happened my life was better!" Do you think that someone reading your blog or hearing your words is really going to believe you've discovered something exceptional? They hear this all the time!
And the thing is, we're telling the truth. We really have seen God's faithfulness. But in this age of blogs and email and talk-shows and more words flowing through this worldwide mass of cables than we can process, words aren't going to be taken that seriously. At least not my words. Not your words. Because we're young. We haven't had to prove our words with our lives.
Maybe you have changed, grown, are experiencing spiritual renewal. I've experienced some of that too. But the world doesn't care. Anyone can have a spiritual experience. Anyone can achieve a quick fix. Anyone can love unlovables - for a few days. Anyone can love their spouse while they're young and beautiful. Does anyone have anything to brag about?
Paul bragged about scars on his body, the result of years of serving and suffering for Christ. Paul had something to talk about. My grandparents spent their lives passionately serving the church. I listen to what they have to say. But I haven't suffered. There are only a few people my age (I think of two) who I am willing to say have had to suffer for their faith.
Christians who have learned what it means to serve and suffer through a lifetime of following Christ are exempt from my advice: temper your blogs and speech with a few years of servanthood. After you've been under the beating hot sun of life for a few years, when you have discovered that following God means seasons of tedium, dryness, loneliness, raising an ungrateful family, loving an annoying and flawed spouse, and that your suffering won't be glorious but obscure and unnoticed, when you come out on the other side of all that and say, "I've been through it and I've tasted living water!":
When you do that, and then say that, you can say anything you want to, and I'll listen. In a blog, on the phone, behind a pulpit, whatever, I'll pay attention.
But for now, it's better not to take ourselves too seriously. Let's be listeners. Let's "preach Christ always, and only use words when absolutely necessary" (Francis of Assissi). My friend Ric Eimers worked for a year in sales before mentioning Christ; after that first year, he couldn't get through a week, and then couldn't get through a day, without people wanting to talk to him because he was so different. He never had to bring it up. Do I like to talk so much because I don't think my life has much of a testimony, without a cloud of words to back it up?
Doggy Habits
Dogs are like people. I don't mean your looks (mostly). I mean they have quirks. Strange little habits they develop. Take Shadow, the very big English Labrador of the Upham family. He doesn't chew stuff. But he picks up shoes, socks and hats. He picks them up and just holds them in his mouth for hours. He once swallowed a sock whole on accident. It's sort of quirky. I've never seen him pick up a t-shirt or pillow or anything else out of the room we share. But while saying hello this morning, the first thing he did is pick up my baseball cap off the sofa. By the way, that's yucky.
My dog Lucy in Michigan has her own quirk. I have green shag carpet. She thinks it looks grassy. Grassy as in, hey look an in-house lavatory. If I ever forget to block the entrance to my room, she wastes little time marking her territory. I do believe that Lucy is short for Lucifer. She's still a good dog I suppose.
I wonder if I'm quirky? Off the top of my head I can't think of anything.
Make your own title up, punk.
I read Eugene Peterson's interpretation of Psalm 42 this evening after a really trying day. At one point I was a ticking time bomb towards my Dad; God's grace intervened and my Dad defused it. That has almost never happened that way before. There is a lot in this Psalm, and the one before (that is 41 by the way) is awesome too, but 42 was so beautiful and helpful that I'm going to present some of it here.
"A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek'
I want to drink God,
deep draughts of God.
I'm thirsty for God-alive.
I wonder, "Will I ever make it--
arrive and drink in God's presence?....
"These are the things I go over and over,
emptying out the pockets of my life.
I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd,
right out in front,
Leading them all,
eager to arrive and worship,
Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving--
celebrating all of us, God's feast!
"Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God--
I'll soon be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He's my God.
"When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
everything I know of you.
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night.
My life is God's prayer..."
You know what? After reading that, I don't feel blue, I feel STOKED! STOKED! But don't go thinking I'm getting all spiritual, I'm still cranky about this bloody headache. Geez.
Roll on
birthday presents open-house visitors mewithoutyou guitar discouragement jubilee people hope movies ideas cameras music and words and music and words.
Home in Michigan. Tested Dad's Canon S2 - awesome. Play hours on guitar daily. Birthday balloons floating behind me. Sufjan Steven's "Avalanche" outtakes - great. Liz and Luke (sister and her husband) staying till Monday.
I have a friend named Mark Bolser. Or, had. I'd like to go looking for him. Today we watched "The Labyrinth," a David Bowie movie which Mark brought over and we watched at my house several years ago. He gave me the book "No Compromise", the biography of Keith Green. It had a huge effect on me. He then introduced me to Keith's music. On my myspace profile, I wrote this concerning who I'd like to meet:
"Mark Bolser. He was three years older than me, and was my number one friend and mentor in high school. One day, two weeks after he graduated, his grandma died. She was the only Christian in his family. He had grown up in foster homes, and she had been the only person who had loved him throughout his lifetime. He left all of a sudden, gave up on Christianity and disappeared somewhere in Detroit. Someday I'm going to find him."
Today a reliable source said he had overdosed and was dead, but the source can't completely confirm it.
One time at Cedar Point, after getting out of the car, my sister banged his head in the van door (double dutch-door style). He was out of it for a couple minutes, and was just following off and when Liz turned off to go into the ladies bathroom he wasn't paying attention and followed her in. It was the funniest moment of the trip.
I was with Mark when he became a follower of Christ. Whether he is dead or alive, I know that what happened to him was real. In earlier years, he went through things most of us can't imagine. I guess something broke him. No one is really to blame, but some environments just aren't able to help some people in the ways they need it. Mark may be a broken man, may even be a dead man, but I am going to see him again some day.
mewithoutYou
I'm copying this from my mySpace blog.
mewithoutYou. It's a band. I've been hearing about them for awhile. Emily saw them at Cornerstone, Ricky Turner talked about them, lots of people talkin', and then I finally heard them and saw some live videos. Holy crap. Check these guys out, now, because they shot straight to the top of bands I'm interested in. They are a Christian band but they're not like anyone else. I'm so pumped right now. Plus I'm having an awesome time at the Camerer's house half-way between Utica and home in Michigan. Oh, Dragonforce is pretty amazing too. (Don't knock it till you try it.) (Great approach to life isn't it?)
Hey Elizabeth, check out my new girlfriend
Hahaha. I'm referring to my new guitar. Beautiful isn't she? Goodbye life, hello guitar. It is a Stratocaster with 3 single-coil pickups. And I like it. The amp is nice too - it is a vacuum tube powered amp. You probably want to know how much it costs...
yeah... I'll bet you do....
XYZ
Big News
Hey there friends and family. I have big news. (Thus the clever title.) I am going to go home to Michigan as planned, and then return to New York. Crazy isn't it? Why the change? Maybe it's the landscape. Maybe it's the incredible friends. Maybe it's Joel pointing a shotgun at my head and telling me he would shoot me if I didn't promise to stay. (Just kidding.) Honestly, between Iowa and New York, it was a tough choice. I agonized over the decision for awhile, first leaning one way and then the other. They are both wonderful. New York is not permanent; I still really want to hang out with my sister in Iowa when the time is right.
I'm not staying because life in New York is all daisies and daffodils. Honestly, it's tough. For a long time, everything has been simple enough. Fulfill the responsibilities, complete educational requirements, work. Things aren't so black and white anymore. Especially when my role in this world hasn't been clearly established yet; apparently I have some kind of ministry, but I don't know if it has a name. (Maybe, Christ-Follower?)
You'll notice that I wrote News, PLURAL. Otherwise, the title would have been, "Big New." But I'm not going to tell you the other announcement. I don't have the photo that will explain it. This is the one you thought you'd be reading tonight Emily. Don't worry I'll get it tomorrow.
Since I have zero coherency tonight, I might as well say that my time with the youth group tonight was great. Me and five kids praying for awhile. Talking, joking, not much else. Speaking of prayer, I have no idea where I will be staying or what I will be eating or what I will buy food with when I return to New York. Minor details, but if you're the praying sort, it's something to keep in mind. Shalom
I'm embarassed.
That little blurb about Cheetah Girls and all that... Let's just keep it a secret shall we? I mean, so what if I like to sing, "Amigas, Cheetahs, Friends for Life!"... Er...
Cheetah Girls 2
I usually am rather critical of my dad's enjoyment of really cheesy movies. I admit, I am a movie snob. But today I'm going to have to shut up. Today only I have watched Hannah Montana, Cheetah Girls 2, and am currently indulging in one of the funniest Family Guy episodes I have ever seen. I know what you are all thinking, "My how decadent." Gee willickers. Ahhh.... Ewww... Stewie is beating up the dog. But I mean the dog had it coming. He wouldn't give Stewie his money. Hmmm.....
A Long Obedience In The Same Direction
Yesterday and today, I sorta have had this recurring thought concerning life: "Geez this is hard." And hey maybe I'm being dramatic, but whenever I deal with tough questions, it sort of feels like I'm being worked in a crucible. My questions always relate to the gospel.
But we keep moving. Following Christ isn't about emotional whims. I don't mean that sometimes I feel as if it God isn't real. I just mean that sometimes I feel tired, or bummed, or lonely, or upset by all the troubles around me. Last night I was talking to my Mom, and she asked me if I was upset, and I got defensive saying, "Of course I'm upset! The whole world is upset, and I'm not in a bubble, so the fact that I'm surrounded by hurting troubled people [and am in fact one of them] definitely upsets me!"
I guess what I was saying is that, faith isn't like a bubble that shields you from pain. It is more like taking someone's hand and letting him lead you places you would never have gone on your own, away from stability and comfort and down into the rocky, treacherous valley. I am touched by the hurt around me. I don't buy this "higher ground" stuff. "I want to live above the world, Though Satan’s darts at me are hurled." ??? That is a line from the hymn by Johnson Oatman. You may have heard it in church. But Jesus didn't tell us to come up to him; he came down to us. And it seems to me we're all about following in his footsteps. While we live, we live in the world; we can live "above the world" when we're good and dead, how is that for a compromise Mr. Oatman?
Right now, believing and following Christ means learning what it means to be in it for the long-haul. I have begun reading Eugene Peterson's "A Long Obedience In The Same Direction: Discipleship In An Instant Society" with Joel Upham, and thought I might quote from the first chapter. I'll probably be putting a lot of quotes from this book up here as it is really excellent.
"[One aspect of the world's effects that is] harmful to Christians is the assumption that anything worthwhile can be acquired at once. We assume that if something can be done at all, it can be done quickly and efficiently. Our attention spans have been conditioned by thirty-second commercials. Our sense of reality has been flattened by thirty-page abridgements.
"It is not difficult in such a world to get a person interested in the message of the gospel; it is terrifically difficult to sustain the interest... There is a great market for religious experience in our world; there is little enthusiasm for the patient acquisition of virtue, little inclination to sign up for a long apprenticeship in what earlier generations of Christians called holiness."
It's hard, I know that, but I guess going the distance means patience and probably toil. Monotony even. But even though the nature of this world means I will experience all that, I kind of have this feeling that there are going to be some adventures, some moments of wonder and joy right in this middle of this crazy life. (Now I should say something cool.) Bring it on.
A Wii Bit of Anticipation
I'm looking forward to a couple games for the Nintendo Wii. I think they are both launch titles. The first is the new Zelda. A couple entries ago I mentioned that I used to dream about Zelda: The Ocarina of Time before falling asleep. I was obsessed. Well, that was three Zelda games ago (not including a bunch for the gameboy). They're making a sequel to Ocarina of Time (at least stylistically), and it's starting to look like it has potential. I can't wait to bite my teeth into it. (Hopefully I won't have to buy a wii - I'll just have to find friends who will buy it.)
As for the new Rayman game, "Rayman: Raving Rabbits", what can I say? It has rabid, raving rabbits with space saucers and dance offs and shooting each other with plunger-guns. Who could possibly resist?
For those of you buried under a rock (or simply too caught up in the world of adult responsibilities), the Nintendo Wii uses a different way to control games. Instead of a normal controller, imagine that your TV Remote was a 3D wand that could detect all your movements, and that you had to use it to control games. Sounds fun. Maybe it will be (if it isn't too hard or for that matter too easy.)
xyz.
Drift-Off
Drift-off dreams can be really annoying. I can't call them strange, because most dreams are strange. But drift-off dreams are strangest because they are closest to reality.
Yesterday I went canoing for several hours. After that, I watched (and occassionally played) Resident Evil 4 for several hours. I was too tired to do anything productive. I went to bed early (10), and started falling asleep. Then the drift-dreams began. It happens like this: you lie there with your eyes mostly closed. Sometimes they are open and look around a little, but half the time you don't even know they are open. Your thoughts become incoherent and end up in odd combinations. Suddenly my thoughts about tomorrows lessons disappear, and I'm canoing down a river. Suddenly a car revs its engine outside the window, and my mind returns to reality. I just thought I was canoing. How weird is that? One second I'm lying in bed, the next my mind tells me I'm in a canoe.
It gets better. You know what's coming. Zombie hunting on a canoe. That's right, canoeing down the Moose River, paddle in one hand, shotgun in the other, blowing the heads off of less-than-courteous zombie fiends. (They had it coming.) And occassionally an idea from a book will insert itself onto the drift-dream. Die, die, evil zombie hey I should talk about heaven in Sunday School tomorrow!
Other interesting drift-dreams: skateboarding, feeding frozen burger patties into the burger king broiler, grinding brick walls, playing soccer, playing Zelda: Ocarina of Time. If something really intense (or monotonous) happened during the day, chances are that I will see it again as I drift to sleep.
Lessons from Dave
I'm still reading through Eugene Peterson's "Working The Angles," a book about prayer, study, and spiritual direction. I'm on the third angle of spiritual direction, and was thinking back to Dave Frick's influence on my life. What does it take to have a significant spiritual role in someone's life?
Looking at Dave, I think I have an answer. Dave was not a highly educated guy. But that did not prevent him from ministering to me (among many). Neither did he have great resources. He was just a trucker. But here is the thing about Dave: he was spiritually minded.
Okay that sounds really obvious. "Wow, what a brilliant bloke this guy is." But there is something about Dave's approach to life that seemed to make up for a lot of flaws (although I personally couldn't think of any). Something about his mindset allowed him to really dwell on his hope, and God's rewards, and the reality of spiritual warfare. Christ's sacrifice was not just a password to get into the church club; it was the central truth of his life. That's why it transformed him from an insignificant trucker to someone whom God used to spiritually direct other Christians.
It may be that everyone has a different set of obstacles to developing a spiritual mindset. I would like to think that people like me have some more difficulty than most in developing this mindset - I can't say that for sure. But it is easy enough to say I need to be spiritually minded, or Spirit-minded, and not actually take the steps of talking to God, asking for his help, dwelling on universe-shaking truths, rejoicing, hunting for the meat of scripture. It is much easier to just think about things. Stepping into the spiritual walk is hard, physically demanding even.
I think Dave did every one of those things. Aside from those things, what is my Bible college education worth next to his lifetime of Spirit-filled walking? I believe I'm right to admire Dave's example. Maybe the fact is, Dave just believed all that stuff was true, and decided it was worth working at it. It really isn't complicated, it's just work.
Blast. I hate work. See, I'm already at a major disadvantage!
Dave once told me that when the Millenial Kingdom rolled on in, he wanted to have a chance to be a preacher and teach the Bible at a large church (or whatever the heck it will be called). I've got this feeling that when the time comes to assign tasks during the Millenium, a lot of men who were more qualified in this life will be passed over and guys like Dave will get first picks. Of course by now, Dave is far more qualified than any man on earth. For more on that, check Matthew 25:14-20.
Flying Dreams
Do you ever have flying dreams?
I love flying dreams. It doesn't happen very often. Those were always my favorite dreams. Sometimes you were just flying for no reason. I mean, it's my dream, I'll do whatever the heck I like! When I was little, I can recall having a nightmare where I seemed to be stuck. It would happen all the time. The nightmare creature is coming, but you can't move, because your legs are heavy like lead. But every once in awhile, I would start running, and suddenly take off, just like a bird. The nightmare would turn into a dream.
Those are dreams. Even airplanes hold some of that magic. Steering those heavy machines may not be the same as being a bird, but it ain't too bad. Heck, give me a Corsair and a tank of fuel, and I'll be happy. But we all know we haven't really conquered flight yet. The birds still whoop our butts. For the past century, that's been okay. Man can't fly like birds; hang gliders are as close as we'll ever come.
Two years ago I was lying in bed listening to the final song on Eric Whitacre's choral album. I had not read the song title, and was not paying close attention to the lyrics. All I knew was that the music seemed to lift my imagination and bring back those childish dreams of flying. I began wondering what it would take to really fly like a bird. Sure, at one time it seemed impossible to mimic the complexities of nature and flight, but then at one time they said man would never fly at all. And what would it take to make artificial wings? We all know man isn't strong enough to "flap" or control anything that flew anything like a bird. But then technology is discovering extremely complex programming methods through LISP, artificial muscles, new materials incomparably light and strong - who is to say man can't make a pair of wings that can hold his body and fly just like a bird? It isn't like the bird-man could just hold a joystick. That isn't how a bird flies. The wings would have to read the man's body, to know exactly whether he was just craning his neck, or leaning forward to dive, or catching a thermal to soar up. It would require two miracles: the physical, artificial structure of wings that could hold a man and maintain stable flight, and an impossibly complex computer brain to control all the millions of computations and adjustments required to mimic bird-flight. Sure, it would be hard, taking years of research and millions of dollars (billions?), but who is to say it is impossible?
So, while lying in bed listening to "Leonardo dreams of his flying machine" [I had not read the song title], I dreamed of my own flying machine. Which means two things: Eric Whitacre is brilliant, and Icarus never learned his lesson. I considered leaving Bible college and studying physics, aerodynamics, ornithology, and artificial intelligence, but nothing really came of it. It was just a flying dream.
Part 2: Smoke
Smoke.
Smoke, nothing but smoke. [That's what the Quester says.]
There's nothing to anything-it's all smoke.
What's there to show for a lifetime of work,
a lifetime of working your fingers to the bone? (A)
Everything's boring, utterly boring-
no one can find any meaning in it.
Boring to the eye,
boring to the ear.
What was will be again,
what happened will happen again.
There's nothing new on this earth.
Year after year it's the same old thing. (B)
Then I observed all the work and ambition motivated by envy. What a waste! Smoke. And spitting into the wind. (C)
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
The very credentials these people are waving around as something special, I'm tearing up and throwing out with the trash-along with everything else I used to take credit for. And why? Because of Christ. Yes, all the things I once thought were so important are gone from my life. Compared to the high privilege of knowing Christ Jesus as my Master, firsthand, everything I once thought I had going for me is insignificant-dog dung. I've dumped it all in the trash so that I could embrace Christ. (D)
What does all this stuff tell me? It tells me I have nothing to boast about. Not a thing. How could I boast in something I possess? What manner of possession which will soon be possessed by someone else? I cannot even possess my body! In a little while, I'll lose that too. Nothing to boast in, except this:
For my part, I am going to boast about nothing but the Cross of our Master, Jesus Christ. Because of that Cross, I have been crucified in relation to the world, set free from the stifling atmosphere of pleasing others and fitting into the little patterns that they dictate. (E). I have no interest in giving you a chatty account of my adventures, only the wondrously powerful and transformingly present words and deeds of Christ in me that triggered a believing response among the outsiders. (F).
And everything else is a waste of breath: smoke.
a. Ecclesiastes 1:2-3
b. Ecclesiastes 1:8-9
c. Ecclesiastes 4:4
d. Philippians 3:7-8
e. Galatians 6:14
f. R0mans 15:18
All scripture passages taken from The Message.
Ozymandias - by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Part 1: Me
This is strictly a news update. There will be no spiritual insights, clever profundities, or words of wisdom. At the end, you will know where I am, what I am doing, and not much else. Chances are, if you read this, you already know all that, but what the hey.
I am in Upper New York serving as a youth-pastoral intern at Immanuel Baptist Church. I am here until the end of August. I am not sure exactly what my last day is, but I will most certainly be back in Michigan by September 2nd. Because that is my sister's open house. And of course since my birthday is September 1st I expect everyone to bring presents for me as well. (And if I get a buck, I can be a Buckaneer!)
I spend a lot of time studying, a lot of time with kids from the youth group, and a lot of time with the church in general. I still sleep too much, eat too little (by midwest standards), and spend way too little time on my guitar. I am on the final tape of the Iliad, CD 1 of Alexander Hamilton's life, and tape 4 of John Adam's life. While driving and napping I have also listened to several Shakespearean plays. He's cool. (He lacks my talent for description, however.)
Next fall, I will be going either to Iowa or Michigan. You probably want to know exactly what I will be doing. Never fear, I'm just as eager to find out. It seems impossible to do everything I need to do, so brothers and sisters keep me in prayer.
slow down mister
It's 10:30. I'm supposed to be in bed in 30 minutes haha. Tomorrow I'm going to Chautauqua (the ch sounds like a "sh") for 3 days to.. well I don't know what I'll be doing, Eric keeps me clueless to keep it interesting. Then a day and a half at home, and then WHOOSH up to New York for 2 months. Life goes too fast for this kid sometimes. But when it comes down to it, that's okay I guess, because you just gotta take things as they come. My brain has been processing some intense experiences, and they just keep coming. Sometimes I sort of disengage; my brain just soaks in details and stores it for long-term processing.
What does all this mean? I think it means my life is still in the seed stage. Given a little time and soil, all this stuff will grow into something meaningful, and my blog won't be quite as narcissistic. So if my life doesn't look as together as some of yours, well just go to the mustard seed you short-sighted pea-brained guano-munching self-satisfied pack of lemmings. (No hard feelings.)
Some News. Or Olds to be precise.
Well hey there fellers. And gellers. Life moves rapidly forward as usual. Summer goes so fast, I swear I saw a snowflake yesterday. Next Wednesday I'll be driving up to New Hartford, New York to meet Vin Upham, the senior pastor at Immanuel Baptist Church, and Clarks Summit will be history for a couple months. I'll be interning doing youth pastoral type stuff (actually just Christian stuff more or less, kinda what we're supposed to be doing, I'll just be doing it full time). Meanwhile, I am happy to just read and do all these chores I'm doing. And stay on top of my online class. (Fell behind for awhile.) Golly...
I'm getting smarter. Maybe.
Yesterday I wrote some big papers. I'm a slower writer than many, so I was pretty impressed that I managed to turn out 16 pages. That's lots for me. (It's for the John class I'm taking.) My brain feels like it has been shoved through a PVC tube. I actually recover from these events faster than usual. I guess practice makes perfect, and now I can get back into Augustine's "Confessions." Well, soon that is.
But when I'm tired out, gosh I just want to go and splurge on a freebord (think snowboarding on concrete) or hitchhike to Hawaii (not an easy thing to do... the whole Pacific thing...), play ukuleles and surf or something. Theoretically this intense studying is supposed to make me smarter, so someone is going to have to explain why I'm so-not-eager to do anything particularly worthwhile right now. (Besides listen to A Day In The Life for the fifth or sixth time today.)
Born Again
When Nicodemus first heard the words, "born again," they were new and profound. But when we hear those words today, we don't hear what he heard. In fact, we can't hear what he heard. The words "born again" mean more than just something symbolic. When I hear those words, the tune for "old time religion" starts running through my head. I can't help but think about small-town, ignorant old religious folk hopping on the right-wing bandwagon; "that there guvners born-again, yessir." I sometimes use the words, but I'm occasionally a little uncomfortable. (The words are overly associated with Christianists, and under-associated with Christ.) (Oh kind of like the church.)
So when I read the passage, I realize I've got my work cut out to get past all the stuff that skews my Scripto-Vision (?). I'm taking an online Moody class on John's gospel. It's challenging enough by itself, but these in-built misperceptions don't make it any easier to really get what Jesus is trying to say sometimes. It may have been obvious to the original readers, but generation after generation of fuzzy thinkers has done a lot to confuse things. The meanings are there, but sometimes it's just going to take some work and patience. Here's to life-long learning.
Waiting
Today I am wondering if I'll ever really get past where I am. I mean, I know I can serve and help people a little bit. But sometimes life just seems like a really long period of waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for my internship in July. Waiting to meet someone. Waiting to get out of debt. Not that life isn't moving. Heck I'm busy, I'm always busy. There's always way too much to do. You finish one thing but there's always a million more things. And I always feel guilty because I haven't really succeeded at anything. I do art, photography, music, writing, all in a "sure you could do something with this" sort of way, but really end up being pretty bad. And life continues to pile in on itself.
And I'm trying to be happy with where I am, with where I am in my spiritual walk and in church and all these things, but I can't help but always feel like I'm waiting for something to change. Sometimes I think I'm just waiting for heaven (which a lot of people would accuse as the ultimate cop out.) And hey, maybe so. Maybe life will never get any clearer or simpler. Well in the words of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young,
"Rejoice, Rejoice,
We have no choice
but to carry on."
(Woodstock recording, "Deja Vu.")(Favorite rock song ever?)
How to rate your day (optimists and pessimists both welcome)
It's so hard to rate how well my day went. Let's say you work with a scale going from 1 to 10, 1 being really bad, 10 being really good. The problem is, you can never really know just how bad a day can go. You may think you'll never hit a 1, or you may think you've hit it, but you might be proven wrong. And maybe one day you have a great day, and it scores a perfect 10. Well, what if it gets better? (Fortunately I'm a pessimist and don't worry too much about the high end of the scale.)
No, I think a better way to do this is to copy Mercalli's Damage scale for earthquakes. In the mercalli scale, you rate earthquakes not according to energy released, but according to damage and impact. So if your china falls off the wall, that's maybe a two, if you're uncle's house falls into a big crack, that's at least a 3 or 4 (okay actually like an 8), and then if absolutely everything falls apart, burns up, and then is covered in lava from multiple eruptions that's a ten. (And you never know, it could happen.)
But here is where we will have to make our big decisions: will we rate our day scale for how good it was or how bad it was? Some of you people are walking on sunshine and wearing rose-tinted glasses and all that, and I know you'll want to rate your day on just how good it was and how wonderfully you impacted the world or were impacted by it. So a 0 means you're in a coma and did nothing positive or negative, 1 means you brushed your teeth, 2 means you sent out a nice email, 3 means you had something great happen in your life (say a free new carpet), and let's skip to 7 in which the world is flooded with light and optimism from your incredible sunshiney life. Good for you, have a cookie.
But for the hardened cynic, you can rate your day on how much damage was inflicted or received. And it all depends on how you want to think about things. If you want to get depressed and forlorn just focus on damage you inflicted on the world. 10 is reserved for the antichrist (just any day of his I guess), 7 is murdering someone (and maybe murdering a LOT of people in one day puts that at like an 8), 4 is cutting someone off in traffic, and 1 is if you sent one of those stupid forwards into my email inbox. Oh, and if you cut someone off 10 times in one day, that's probably a 7 - you're a very bad person.
If you prefer feeling anger and spite, rate your day on how much damage you received. Ie, just how much did your day really suck? And probably we can turn this into some sort of competition to see who really had the worst day. (I'd love to see some emotional ventilational in the comments!) And you can really pick any scale just depending on how your feeling about your day. If your day was great, how great? If it sucked, how much?
This was anything but the serious entry I thought I was going to write (I never know what's going to come out), but hey we can't all be serious all the time.
PS - If you tell me about your day, I'll pick a scale and rate it! (So include good and bad.)
Post-College Vertigo + Photo Blog
My ideas for writing and the photos I post rarely have anything to do with each other, so I have started a separate photo blogs for the sole purpose of posting a new picture every day. To visit click HERE. FYI the address is joshuapowers.shutterchance.com.
I am out of the BBC environment, and suddenly a lot of things are becoming clear. The unique circumstances surrounding this particular college's environment tend to have a crucible effect on students. On graduation day, there are three types of seniors. First, the sort who have been faithfully eating whatever was spoon-fed into their vacuous minds their whole lives. These will be both the faithful followers and many of the spiritually significant leaders on the campus. They aren't all bad (some of them are but let's not stereotype too much), but they are characterized by blind acceptance of status quo. Some of them are honest people who just never had to struggle with hard questions. And they scare me just a little.
The other two types of seniors come out of the same background. They are probably from fundamental churches, but they've seen enough crap in church, enough insincerity, manipulation, politics, bigotry, and unkindness that they're asking some serious questions at different points in their college years. And trust me, if there are buttons to be pushed, BBC will push them. And come graduation day, a few students will be pushed right over the edge. I don't mean, "Let's not be fundamentalists" so much as "let's not have anything to do with Christianity, it's a hoax." (This usually isn't the result of great thinking as much as personal reaction to someone else's poor thinking. Ie, "I'm right because all of you are wrong.")
Fortunately, this isn't always the case. Just as often, students experience just enough love from faculty to overlook the mild insanity inherent in such an institution. Nothing muddies clear thinking so much as a grudge. If you want to think clear and face the real issues, you have to forgive the shortcomings of the institutions. (And I've had a lot of fuzzy thinking because of anger.) In my time here, I've had to do some personal crash courses on the canon, the trinity, epistemology, worldviews, and a good deal of soul-searching just to make it through. And I'm not going to lie, it's been tough. But I got through and what do you know, like some others, I'm still a Christian. And while I probably don't see myself as a strict fundamentalist, I'm not scared away from conservatives - they need forgiveness and grace as much as anybody. And they have their strengths.
Well I have only one goal today, which is to not take a nap. Not eazzzzzzzz(!)y. Chow out dogs ~
Wheeeeee I'm back! ("And there was much rejoicing.")
And you MIGHT have been reading this a day earlier (for all those folks who check this site every day), but hey guess what I got: "Down for Maintenance: Blogger is temporarily unavailable due to an unexpected technical problem. Our engineers are working hard to fix Blogger. We will be back up as soon as possible." Stymied again! For once I was FORCED to procrastinate... (Not that it's ever really my fault.)
It's summer, and things are still crazy, but not quite as crazy. I'm taking an online class with Moody (on John's gospel), doing piano stuff with Eric the Piano Guy, wrapping up loose ends at BBC (yes, still), and all the other things I normally do. I may do an internship later this summer, and that's the main thing I'm thinking about these days. More on that later.
On My Absence
Hello faithful readers. (Hah!)
I am without free time, so I cannot write on this blog for a little while. But do not fret, I will be back in no time, and when I return I will blog a blog the likes of which the world has never seen! No seriously, it's going to be better. I will not be blogging for at least three weeks, so do not sit on your arses like a bunch of 1843 adventists, because nothing is coming down the pike for awhile yet. Hi Beth, good luck finishing the year Will (I will never catch up on all your blog entries), beware Keyser Soze.
The straight dope on being deaf.
The other day, after a long hike with Nate Weaver resulting in a lot of extra photos, I was about to go into my dorm when I stopped to take one more picture. We have a student on campus who used to be completely deaf. He got some sort of implant which allows him to hear a little bit, and he can talk, but I always feel awkward because I have a hard time understanding (partly because I'm hard of hearing in one ear). But when he saw me taking a picture of this, he thought it was cool and said it looked like a feather. Right before I went to post this photo, my newsreader gave me this article on what language a deaf person thinks in; so I guess it's God's way of saying that everyone needs to read it and expand their understanding of deaf persons.
It's possible this will be my last post before spending a week hiking on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia. (It's supposed to rain all week. Yeehaw.)
The semi-hemi-sphere (just because I can)
Library. West side. Cool. I like it.
(For the curious, photomatix allows me to combine differently exposed shots.) (And I don't want to buy it. Thus, "photomatix.")
How I waste a lot of time
Sure enough. It's me. Doing my thing.
Kudos to Emily for the photo (taken with my old Olympus)
Mike's Virus (kinda funny)
Well, went to Aroma Cafe last night with Emily, Mike, Dave (new friend), Gina, and Angela. Had a great and entertaining night. We all crammed into Emerly's KIA "Sportage" (wow), watched others play for a couple hours, Dave and I both played and sang, and then we went to Denny's. Here is a fun video documenting some random nonsense.
Videoplayer instructions: if you're on BBC this will play and stop maybe (because of our poor network speed), so press the big play button, then press pause at the bottom left. When it has loaded, press the bottom left play button.
That's Mike talking at the beginning, and then I'm the one complaining about the foggy window. It's very dark, sorry. (Umm it's abstract art.) No more explanation needed I really.
Just another brick in the wall
Here is an extremely important article by John Taylor Gatto, New York Teacher Of The Year 1991. It is a reproduction of the acceptance speech of the award, in which he explains why schools do not and cannot educate (!!). After all, we're just another brick in the wall. I don't have to feel guilty for the sense of violation I've felt so many times over the past 16 years of my schooling. Read the article - if you disagree with it or feel it is too general, what are your points of disagreement? Respond to the problems listed - are they true? What are your solutions?
And if you're wondering whether to read it, just remember: few things are more important topic to tackle than the education of children. (Wow here I am getting all serious, imagine that.)
More on the implications to my own life (and the implications bring some almost immediate applications) will come later. Chow. Long Live Families.
Pelican Case vs....
My new camera case is TIGHT! (Well, watertight anyway.) I've wanted a Pelican case for 6 years, and I finally had an excuse to get one. (I got the tiniest one.) My camera is officially ready for World War III. So... what are we waiting for? Come on I want to see some serious apocalyptic ACTION out there! (I'm sure we'll find a way to piss off any nations we haven't managed to so far, we just need to use our resources and initiative.)
Projected Scenarios:
Pelican Case v. Hulk Hogan
... Pelican Case by TKO
Pelican Case v. Sputnik
... Sputnik is not waterproof THEREFORE Camera Case
Pelican Case v. Liberal Theology
Don't even TRY to think outside of THIS box - it's gonna it you for LUNCH! (That's right GET back in there!)
Pelican Case v. My Homework
...mehh....
Pelican Case v. Bad Hair Day
Who is going to notice my hair? I have a freakin' PELICAN CASE!!!
Pelican Case v. Lex Luther
Lex Luther is sealed into Pelican Case and thrown into the sun. Unfortunately the Pelican Case kept him intact and he is currently working on diabolical revenge schemes. Who will save us?
Pelican Case vs. [Insert Your Own]
900 Miles Later
Well I drove about 900 miles between Saturday 7 AM and Sunday 10 PM. Experiences: Boston, Vermont, Massachusets, hot tubs, non-Baptist baptismal services, abusive cops, friendly dogs, strange sick-amore (love sick?) trees, clock towers and disassembling a piano to remove a paperclip.
Vermont Pizza is GREAT! (Who woulda thunk?)
Oh I made a new word. Ya know those trucks that go by really fast and make yer car sorta swerve for a split second? Those are called "whooshers."
Snow and Mashey
Here is a picture from outside my window last night during a snowstorm
I participated in several long conversations today, resulting in the clarification of some words and the mashing of others (had mashey for lunch).
Words that have become more meaningful: art, consensus, leadership.
Words that got Mashied (mash-eed): respect, leadership, authority, spiritual. These conversations were somewhat similar to the spaghetti test; grab a noodle and throw it and see if it sticks. Slightly more productive than juggling jelly.
Tonight or bust
This pile represents a large chunk of time which will disappear today. And it's all gotta get done, because I go to Boston early Saturday through Sunday and I will NOT be studying.
-------------
8 Ball Question Of The Day:
Q: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
[Yup.]
Alley #1
8-Ball Question Of The Day:
Q: Do I have enough sugar on this cereal?
[3 hours later..] [read this really really fast] Whoa dude I'm so glad I listened to that lucky eight ball i'm sugar buzzin wow this is so great anybody wanna play pingpong ya know it's okay to put sugar on your frosted flakes I mean my eight-ball said so...
Pipe dreams ===
From a live recording of NPR's "Pipedreams" program with Michael Barone as host and Dr. Frederich Hohman playing on the Houlihan-McLean pipe organ. (It was actually made by a Baptist Church in 1910 - who woulda thunk, their grape juice must have fermented right before the leaders met to decide what sort of music to use.)
XYZ
Caption Contest for Baby Boyken
8-Ball Question Of The Day:
Q: Do I have a chance with Uma Thurman?
A: My sources say no.
Well.. ..I.. ..she.. I didn't like her anyway >:(
Poker Partners
Emily
Bryce Hewlett
Gina and Angela
Don't let the girls' smiles fool you, they've consistently kicked our butts.Eight Ball Question Of The Day:
Question: Do I have to grow up?
8-Ball: Signs point to yes.
(Arghh!)
Standard recon
Eight ball question of the day:
Am I cool?
Eight Ball: Without a doubt.
(I mean it goes without asking, but for those of you who need objective proof...)
Night Owl
Myself: Screw you
Dangerous weekend naps
Gee, I always manage to fall for the good old super-bad really long weekend nap. This is the sort of nap where I sleep way too long, and wake up feeling like I might have been abducted by aliens for a week (of course they keep you anaesthetized and unconscious and so far I haven't found any signs of surgery); usually the only result is losing a few hours and feeling really groggy. The worst punishment comes at night when trying to fall asleep.
Last night, for example. For once, Eric Whitacre's choral track on sleep did not immediately lull me to sleep. Not even on REPEAT! So I grabbed my guitar and began playing it right there in bed for at least an hour. I contemplated sleeping with the guitar, just sort of playing scales up and down the fret until I fell asleep, but that could have led to me shoving it off the bed during the night. So I put it to sleep on its stand and visualized scales and notes up and down the frets. That seemed to do the trick.
Sweet rest...
...of the good old spring conference. It means three days of listening to old folks from China and Tanzibasomething telling random stories and it means NO HOMEWORK OR CLASSES (excepting an online class). It also means white glove, but that's not too troublesome. I am especially happy for the break happening when it did; I need it.
Morning: it looks pretty but waking up is still hard sometimes.Here's what my days will be looking like for the rest of the semester (leaving a little room for life's left hooks): On weekdays I get up between six and seven, drink some gatorade mix, and go running (alternating between distance jogs and hill sprints). Then I have some devotions, followed by studying (usually Greek) until Greek class at 9. Classes are done by 2:30.
At this point I play a little music and pretend like I can dance for three or four minutes to fight off lethargy (currently using breakdance videos to learn to toprock). At some point in the middle of the day I do the beginner balance drills from
Other things that I do in evenings are general boxing workouts (differ a little every day), occasional sparring, and lots of small general tasks that I manage to accumulate (where the heck do they come from?). Half the difficulty in a training regimen is planning it out so that it is progressive and specific. Tracking and adjusting that plan is as much work as doing the exercises. Sometimes, if I have taken any photographs, I load them onto my computer in the evening. Haven't taken the time to sort through them yet =P.
On Wednesdays I have church from about 7 - 9 (I'm going to "Grace Baptist"); on Fridays I am involved with an outreach called "Coal Mine." Sometimes it is a time to make connections in coffee shops and such. Other times, I am more proactive and do politically incorrect things like suggesting that Jesus is the only salvation for men. After a busy week, I like poker on Saturdays, but this weekend my poker partners are gone.
I suppose it isn't especially romantic. But that's okay. "A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work." (Ecclesiastes 2:24, NIV). Tonight, I just have some rounds of shadowboxing, core workout, and then finishing some cleaning for white glove, and then sweet sweet rest. Recommended new old music that I've been listening to: Cat Stevens, Tea For The Tillerman.
UPDATE
2/22 - Extra-curricular activities during the week are now beginning to disappear entirely. Not much time for anything beyond superbasic workouts (abs, pushup variations). I've also learned when to take a nap so that I have the energy to just keep working throughout the day. I do music on some days but it's getting pretty inconsistent; I downloaded some sheet music for Final Fantasy VII songs, WHOO now I just have to find time to learn it.
Currently Listening to... Bob Marley and the Wailers
Bob Marley And The Wailers: Rasta Revolution (1974). I'm not going to pretend to know a thing about reggae. (Because I don't :). But I can tell that this is a great album! The songs mellow me out (which might not be good considering I've been pretty mellow lately), and the rhythms and bright, colorful instrumentation make my bop and sway every now and then. In other news, there is no other news. I've done badly with an online class for two weeks, but the third time is the charm. Of course the little Instant Messenger Devils occassionally whisper "Resistance is futile" but I exorcise them with a little "Souls Almighty", courtesy of Bob Marley.
Meet Thrash: Robot In Disguise
Well, I was going to let people suggest a name for this transformer, but I wanted to call him Thrash (after "Thrasymachus" from Plato's Republic), and I just realized there could be no other name. Without further ado, meet Thrash:
It's not just his name: he can and will thrash you.
herclassicgrace
Ants are slowly eating away my walls and floor. I vacuum several hundred up rather regularly (it's kind of fun), and suggested that they are getting a bit testy and will probably kill me in my sleep one night. One person wrote me a poem as a pre-mortem funeral dedication (thanks Alydia!) :
Read more at herclassicgrace.blogspo...
Your belated christmas gift is that you get to invent your own title
Most of my creative energy is being sapped by a Creative Writing class (which is excellent). Most of my analytical energy is being sapped by Greek (inductive method = figure it out yourself, wimp). Sometimes life gets busier and more difficult than we like; the whiney dude inside me (blameshifting) pipes up and says "It's not fun anymore." Strangely enough, I'm struggling to write anything else, but that's probably due to over-exposure to Greek.
Here are my classes: Proverbs [2] (online), Greek II [4], Creative Writing [3], Theology VI [3] (Systems and Separations), Senior Theology Seminar (ie ORAL EXAMINATIONS ARGH) [1], Geology [2], Wilderness Ministry Leadership [3]. Really no clue what that last one is going to be about or how tough it will be - all I knew was that it was an easy way to fill 3 needed credits and get a trip on the Appalachian Trail over spring break.
Besides that, I have some minor unofficial extracurricular stuff. A little boxing / exercise in the early morning, sparring once or twice a week, and some piano and guitar in the evenings before I go to sleep. I'm looking forward to loading photos off of my Christmas camera but am squeezed for time - my slow computer makes the whole thing a bit of a process.
I am listening to Contabile for Violoncello and Orchestra OP. 11 by Tchaikovsky, and off to bed; it feels great to have finally gotten a minor update on the blog.