The Palace Flophouse

Making Lists

2011-12-20T15:40:00.002-05:00

For the women of Nepal who have never met a man.

I have sold every instinct
for a chance to be closer
where your pulse beats
my shoulders like a crumpled fist.

I have shaved my beard
put chains on my wrists.
I have sold every instinct.
I have burned every list.

Now there are flowers drying
in my palm like dead spiders.
There are bones whirling
inside my skull writing
a new list.

Your pulse beats closer.
I can feel it above the rattling
of bones, of shackles
of Pashupatinath’s fires
my shaven face scratching
out lists on your body.

1. I am not a man.
2. You are not a woman.
3. God is not.

Each time I burn a list
I pull back the curtain.

Each time I pull the curtain
a new list is written.

The Wall

2011-12-12T14:35:00.004-05:00

I am on the wall

dividing a night of rest

from the appearance of it all.

The wall begins to fall

in violent silence.

I watch it lean slowly.

Here is sleep.

I watch it gain speed.

Here is sleep like a curtain

in front of me.

I am Moses in the Red Sea

eyes wide on the inside

reaching a hand towards the veil

of water rushing in stillness.

I have rushed in stillness too.

I have been like water

churning without flowing

like sleep

vibrating without going.

Now I stand before

one thousand photocopies

of my face, each generation cloudier

and less pleased

as if perfection is to just be,

unchanging, exactly the same.

The devil is a good marksman.

I have been paralyzed by the fear

that all men are created equal.

I have seen too many people

unencumbered by the numbering

of failures

Let every tear be flowing

for in that movement

I can feel the trembling

of continents.

May my dreams be remembered

like the scent of moist earth

drying in a cemetery.

Let me hold you close.

On the day I asked you to be mine

I tied you to a bench.

I return every day to find

my best friend in the clench

of a gilded cage

as if allowing us to change

might pinch me to awaken.

I am covering myself in sleep

like a thin, white sheet.

I have fallen asleep just to greet

your face with a kiss.

In sleep we are thirteen months old

born on the day we met

and I am comforted by my face

now an infant's

my voice gooey as I stroke

your face with the back of my hand.

Maybe in twenty years we'll marry

maybe we'll stop fussing about problems

we're too young to solve.

Maybe I'll just love you

just love you

until I awake

to just

love you

again.

No More Leaving

2011-05-06T00:45:00.001-05:00

by Hafiz

Some point

Your relationship

With God

Will

Become like this:

Next time you meet Him in the forest

Or on a crowded city street

There won't be anymore

"Leaving."

That is,

God will climb into

Your pocket.

You will simply just take

Yourself

Along!

Step it Up, Adventism

2011-05-03T11:47:00.003-05:00

"It is clearly taught in the Scriptures that the wearing of jewelry is contrary to the will of God." (SDA Church Manual p. 176)

I found this quote today during a search in the SDA church manual on the church's stance on jewelry. I wasn't planning on agreeing with the church on this issue, but I guess I never thought it would be this bad. Frankly, I'm disappointed and ashamed of the SDA church right now.

I'm not disappointed because I want the freedom to wear jewelry or because I was hoping to find allowance for body piercings and a new pair of diamond studs. I'm disappointed because the Seventh-day Adventist church is claiming to know the will of God is every situation regarding a certain issue. Oh please.

I would love to write about how unclear scripture is regarding jewelry. I would love to cite the examples where the prodigal son was given a ring by the Father, or where in Ezekiel 16 God adorns the bride with jewels. I would love to write about how 1 Timothy 2:9, the verse used as evidence against jewelry, includes braided hair in the same admonishment, so it would be foolish to reject jewelry without also rejecting French braids.

But let's be real. These things don't matter. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, hair, and clothes are going to neither condemn nor save you. The way to salvation is Christ. Even if we called every form of adornment a sin, cutting them out would not give us salvation.

Instead, we need make sure we are running from the things that separate us from Christ's salvation. Things like playing God, prideful condescension, closed-minded study of scriptures, self-interest, and how about claiming to know the will of God in every instance?

I'm not saying the Adventist church has separated itself from God. I'm not going to avoid setting foot in an SDA sanctuary for fear of being judged. But I am disappointed and hurt by the church that I grew up in--that I learned truth from.

Step it up, Adventism. You're better than this.

Psalms

2011-05-02T14:34:00.003-05:00

I wander through dark alleys at night.

I pick fights with shadows in moonlight.

Where is the sun?

Every god I see

is made of glass or circuit-boards

mass graves or power cords.

Where are you, God?

When I eat, I hunger for you

because I know your feet are not shod

with the red sewers of genocide

and the golden stars of human pride.

If you still care

please speak the words

I’m still there.

ii.

I woke up falling

first through streaming clouds.

I screamed out loud.

My mouth was dry.

I looked back at the sky.

Forgive me, Lord

but there was no reply.

I looked down while cities became larger

waiting for your voice to say

no more.

You gave me no choice.

I woke up on the floor.

iii.

I watched the sunrise

from the summit’s eyes.

The frost on my jacket

clarified into droplets

when the glare hit it.

The night was cold

but its grip grew old.

My bones were rattled with chills

and my eyes spoke vigils—

praying to see.

Now the day is an infant

and though it cries to me

it brings the joyful siren

of new life.

iv.

I am the creator

of a great tragedy.

See how the words are greater

than I can bear

how the air is dense

with the awareness

of my errors.

I am the conductor

of a choir without accord.

I construct discord.

Hear how my lyrics destruct us

how the best pages are lost

from my capstone opus.

You are the healer

of a world without connection.

Feel how you sew vessels

together across seas

how you wrestle to appease

our thirst for your affection.

This plane is climbing

in a thunderstorm.

I feel like the wings are torn.

Every sky-flicker is finding

myself in greater light.

My face feels like the accumulation

of electricity and adrenaline.

It looks peaceful.

When the doors open

I can see my breath billow in the cold.

I can hear nothing but the thrashing

of high speeds.

It sounds peaceful.

When I jump out

I am sliding across a great membrane

tilting forever away from the door.

It feels peaceful.

Today you are a nylon God

who upholds me.

vi.

I am held by a rhythm.

Like with the sigh of a forest

I am immobilized within

a movement of sound

out

in and out

in then out

I breathe like the ocean tides.

Your rhythm is my moon

drawing air from my side.

I have joined a festival of drumming.

It beats a blessed discussion.

I am quickly becoming

an instrument of your percussion.

Vignettes

2011-04-15T16:21:00.002-05:00

I met you in a cornfield.

You were looking for your God.

I was thinking of how things sprout

standing in a mound of seedpods.

ii.

You said, Look at all these colors.

Have you seen a month like this?

I looked at the dogwood flowers

and thought of things I'd miss.

iii.

You said, Everything is changing

but I've never wanted more.

I heard you say, I'm leaving.

Then it began to pour.

iv.

I said, It's just like autumn

to be showing up like this,

filled with oreos and jugs of tea.

Then we began to kiss.

We were wrapped in coats of feathers

making angels in the snow.

You licked frost from off my eyelids.

Then I began to know.

vi.

I said, Look at the sunrise.

See the boldness in its arms.

The people that it touches

it disarms.

vii.

My words were like an airborne stone.

They left your windows shattered.

I called myself a twelve-year-old.

You said, That's never mattered.

viii.

I woke up in a hammock.

You were breathing at my side.

I felt you hold me firmly.

My hands were open wide.

The Greatness of Our God

2011-04-15T14:59:00.001-05:00

Give me eyes to see
More of who You are
May what I behold,
still my anxious heart.
Take what I have known
And break it all apart
For You my God, are greater still.

No sky contains,
No doubt restrains,
All You are,
The greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
To all You are,
The greatness of our God.

Give me grace to see
Beyond this moment here.
To believe that there
Is nothing left to fear.

That You alone are high above it all.
For You my God, are greater still.

No sky contains,
No doubt restrains,
All You are,
The greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
To all You are,
The greatness of our God.

And there is nothing
That can ever separate us.
There is nothing that can ever
separate us from Your love.
No life, no death, of this I am convinced.
You my God, are greater still.

And no words can say, or song convey,
all You are the greatness of our God.
I spend my life to know,
And I'm far from close
to all You are,
the greatness of our God.

I Am Like You

2011-02-22T17:46:00.001-05:00

I am like you.
Sometimes I spin the world
with an eye-closed whirl.

I point and touch the ripples of a pink continent.
I fill my carry-ons with fear
and return with the seasons as a souvenir.

I taste the Florida in oranges.
I smell green waves of the South China Sea
with every mug of tea.

Fall from the sky with me.
Where we land the earth is new.
I am like you.

Sometimes you say, let’s hide beneath this forest.
It is dark and the wind blows
through the fields where no one goes.

Tonight, let’s take shelter in moon shadows.
Let our eyes be either closed or locked
let our company be dead wood and living rock.

Tomorrow we will walk to a new village
enter like a circus in a small box
leave shoes at the door, make friends in our socks.

Our photo albums will get filled with mirrors.
We will use coat pegs for hanging our full hearts
each fresh dessert will be a failed new start.

You are like me.
Sometimes you see our coasts as razor wire
and try to put out waterbuckets with fire.

You chase gravediggers at night
and fill their holes with poems
about soldiers coming home.

We will come home someday too.
There will be much eye contact with you
and dancing when we do.

I will carry you through the door.
The space inside will seem like too much
on the day we will first touch.

You will be sleepy from the sound of rain.
When the morning fog is new
I’ll whisper again, I am like you.

Free at Last

2011-01-24T16:07:00.000-05:00

Oh, Lord I want this so badly.

Hills & Valleys from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

Here By Sol

2011-01-19T11:32:00.001-05:00

Here by Sol we're unaware

of every other system staring.

I understood this fact upon

smelling the carnage of homemade bombs.

If we were aware (I remain)

we'd be marked with shame.

Merry Sabbath

2010-12-24T20:30:00.003-05:00

Every seven years, Christmas and Sabbath happen at the same time.

Christmas is my favorite day of the year. Sabbath is my favorite day of the week. Both celebrate gifts--Christmas looks at the gift of a savior, while Sabbath reminds us that God gave us a coffee break.

You'd think that when the two fall on the same day of the year, something in the cosmos would build up pressure from all the happy synergy and blow up, showering the streets with candy canes and little scrolls that say "shabbat shalom."

Apparently not. See, traditional Christmas celebrations and traditional Sabbath-keeping are mutually restrictive. Which naturally leads me to the belief that one, if not both, of our holiday traditions is pretty screwed up.

Let's start with Christmas. Christmas is a holiday that started a long time ago. I was going to put a lot of facts in this paragraph about the origins of Christmas and when and where it started and why we do what we do on December 25. But as I started researching it, I found it to be really dull. As with any study of history, it really doesn't matter why people did what they did, it only matters why we do what we do.

So let's look at what we do on Christmas. By "we" I'm talking about the majority of Americans. We fly to the homes of our relatives. We cut down trees and put them in our houses. We drain our electric bills to power lights and lights and lights and lights. But, mostly, we buy things. We buy many things, and most of the things we buy we buy out of a feeling of obligation or necessity, or because we expect something in return.

If Christmas is a recipe for cookies, we're throwing in all the right ingredients--flour, sugar, chocolate--without rolling, mixing, or even turning on the oven.

Sabbath is a holiday that started many years ago, circa Day Seven. And Sabbath is a day I love so much that it makes me feel sorry for the world during those first six days. Let's be real, how are you expected to get through a week without the promise of Sabbath at the end?

Sabbath started something like this, "By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done."

Got it. It's a blessing. It's resting. It's definitely holy, and as other parts of scripture claim, it was designed for the pleasure of man. Having observed Sabbath all my life, I'm very familiar with this blessing.

Recently I've gotten the feeling that Sabbath has become a list of things you shouldn't do instead of a list of things you should do. I see people, good people, who think they are observing the Sabbath by quitting certain things. And I guess they're halfway there. But the other half of Sabbath is DOING things. Things like resting, being still, knowing God, knowing each other, putting your heart and mind in the right place. God wants us to be active, curious people who spend the Sabbath hours cutting out distractions and formulas and replacing them with the real, meaningful things of life: poetry, music, each other, ourselves, art, good conversation, delicious food, friends who you can be yourself around--all with a thankful understanding of the God who loved us enough to give us all these things.

Add "salvation in the form of an infant God" to that list, and you're looking at my idea of Christmas.

See, if Sabbath is a recipe for cookies, we're leaving out the basil and hummus but forgetting the need for flour.

I can't wait for heaven, where I plan on celebrating Christmas and Sabbath for eternity. I can't wait for the day when we can all see, with thankful hearts, the gifts that God has given us, starting at Day Seven, and ending... oh, that's right. His blessings will never end.

Born of a Broken Man

2010-12-16T21:37:00.005-05:00

I sat down to study for my organic chemistry final today. It all looked like nonsense. Structures and values and reactions and definitions were swimming in front of my face in a two dimensional slurry.

I thought, This stuff is hard...

Then I remembered how smart I am. How capable I am of doing almost anything I set my mind to. I enjoyed a short ego trip, thinking about my scholarships and academic achievements and my aspirations to become a doctor. And not just any doctor, a good doctor. One who saves lives no one else can save. Like a really, really smart superhero.

And, of course, I thought of how hard medical school is. I looked back at my chemistry book, still looking like it was written in the script of an ancient civilization. If my first semester of organic chemistry is this hard, how hard is medical school going to be? I broke down, and it sounded something like repetitive mumbling:

I am broken. I am broken. I am broken. I am broken. I am not good enough. I am broken. I am a shipwreck. I am broken.

I've been hard on myself this semester. When I'm lazy and watch movies instead of studying, when I spend too much time with my girlfriend, when I try to have a social life, when I get distracted by stupid things like doing nothing and procrastination, I get this feeling like I'm not living up to my own standard. Which is a little funny, really, because I never once took into consideration the fact that I am broken!

You don't expect a broken tool to create much of anything. Why do I try to squeeze so much perfection out of myself? Why can't I understand that I am broken? I will have lazy days. I will make mistakes (BIG MISTAKES!). I will fail tests. I will choose my girlfriend over my biology textbook (not sure if I'm even able to call that one a mistake yet...). I will try and try and try and try, and I will still not be good enough to meet the standard I set for myself.

Today I accepted the fact that I am broken. I accepted the fact that I really can't change my laziness, my distractions, my poor study habits. And acceptance, I found, is peace.

I'm not trying to excuse my imperfect behavior. I'm not trying to give up and walk away. If that was the end of the story, I would not have peace right now. But, thankfully, the story does not end there. In fact, the story hasn't even begun.

Accepting our failure is the first page of our new story with God. He works through our lives to make our actions perfect in a world where our intentions are not. If you don't believe me, watch my last post. He's more convincing than me. We are all shipwrecked people.

Before walking into my last final of the semester, I was talking to God. And an analogy arose in my mind. I looked at my guitar sitting across the room, and I realized that even if it had four strings instead of six, I could still make beautiful music on it. I could still make music so beautiful that listeners might not be able to tell that two of the strings were broken.

God can pick us up and make very convincing things out of us. All we need to do is surrender our brokenness to him and admit that we are broken, we are broken, we are broken.

Paul writes in his letter to the Romans possibly the most encouraging lines in all of scripture:

"For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.

It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.

I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?

The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different."

Praise God there will be no B's on my transcript this semester! I serve a God that loves me more than I can even imagine.

Stop and Listen

2010-12-15T15:59:00.006-05:00

If this man preached at my church, I would be in tears every week.

My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember

I'll Take the Artichoke Penne with a Side of Christ

2010-11-25T23:40:00.004-05:00

I've been catching myself having more and more conversations about faith recently. And I'm not talking about witnessing-to-the-woman-in-the-checkout-line conversations. Actually, I'm not even talking about conversations about MY faith. Just faith in general.

And when I have these conversations, I find myself using some new catch phrases. Phrases like "emerging church," "everyday radical," "interdenominational Christianity," "faith in the context of postmodernism," and maybe my favorite, "faith lived in an authentic and real way." See, I've been reading. I've read Shane Claiborne and Anne Lamott and Donald Miller. I've read articles on Wikipedia and I've read Ellen G. White. I've even read the gospels.

But reading is frightening. Knowing what to believe is frightening. Knowing how to live is even more frightening. Actually getting around to living it can scare the shit out of you. Two things scared me today. The first was something my mom said during one of our frequent meaningful dialogues on faith. It was a gentle reminder. "Ben, remember that if you become proud of the way you approach your faith, that makes you no different than the Christians you criticize." The second was a phrase in Anne Lamott's book Traveling Mercies. "The main reason [I bring my son to church] is that I want to give him what I found in the world, which is to say a path and a little light to see by." All my fears were articulated in that quotation.

If we call our Christian faith "a little light to see by," we have marginalized Christ. We have taken the focus away from the cross and instead put it on our humanity. I don't want my Christianity to be a coping mechanism for my humanity. I want it to be fucking SALVATION.

Why do I use catch phrases recently? Because I'm proud of the Christianity I've discovered. I'm proud that it's unique--it's my own. It fits with my ideal lifestyle. I'm proud that I could take something as uncomfortable as a Jesus-centric lifestyle and make talking about living it sound so damn easy. I have marginalized Christ.

See, we don't need a Christian faith that fits into our humanity. We need to sanctify our humanity to fit our Christ. Anything else is heresy.

Today at Polaris

2010-11-05T17:13:00.003-05:00

Today a wisp of fog

blew across jackknife mountain

like the memory of your hair.

Today a loon mourned

the length of the summer sun

at Lake Aleknagik,

and I wanted to put

that call in a box

and mail it to you

with the label,

"I and Alaska

are finally one."

Today a grizzly bear reared

on the far shore.

I admired its mass,

its maw, its claw,

its eyes flat as skipping stones.

It was beautiful

and I wished it was closer.

I'm Sorry

2010-11-05T14:56:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry I held your hand

for the first time while you were sleeping.

I was aware of your beauty,

unaware that it is a prize

only given, not received.

Only held if believed.

I'm sorry I walked past you too quickly,

as if I cared more about catching

the eastern time zone than catching you.

It wasn't true.

I'm sorry I told you I liked you

without first telling you I also like

swinging in a hammock when the crocuses are opening

the feeling of glaciers between my fingers

the rush of pine and the musk of deer.

These likes are not alike.

I'm sorry I wasn't clear.

I'm sorry I put you away in a shoebox

while your handwriting still hung on my wall.

I'm sorry you made the call and took the fall

while I drank tea without honey

watching you from the fifth floor.

I thought it meant I could see.

It wasn't me.

I'm sorry sometimes I don't listen

because my eyes are more focused on your lips

than are my ears.

My hands are too focused on your hips

my fingertips too far from your tears

my mouth too closed to draw you near.

I'm sorry for the humanity

you see in me.

But I don't mind apologizing

for eternity.

In His Time

2010-11-01T00:33:00.003-05:00

I remember singing this little chorus in Sabbath school:

In his time, in his time,

He makes all things beautiful in his time

Lord please show me every day

As you're teaching me your way

That you do just what you say

In your time.

If everything in my life could be laid out on a table and sifted through carefully, it would say one thing above all else, God is love.

God is extreme love. He is nothing but love, and oh, how he loves us. He loves to love us. He loves it when we love each other.

Every once in a while I am forced to understand God's love in a new way. Like when I had a cabin full of kids in the middle of nowhere Alaska who puked and fought and cussed and cried and made each other cry. They were ugly kids. They smelled bad. I thought only God and their mothers could love them. I was pretty sure about God and less sure about their mothers, who obviously didn't mind a week of separation.

Five days later, I loved them, and I don't even know why. They still fought and stank and threw up (why did they always throw up?), but now I knew them. I knew Kulang kept a dictionary in his bag and was reading it cover to cover. He was in "m." I knew Lam really wanted to know his Bible. I knew David wanted to control his temper but lacked something--someone--that could tell him how. I knew that Jacob's family smoked so much weed that he couldn't get on a varsity sports team because the secondhand smoke would make him fail a drug test. I knew Christian wanted more than anything to love God as much as God loves him. And somewhere in the brokenness of these kids' lives I found that love is stronger than imperfection. In fact, love gravitates toward imperfection.

Suddenly I knew God loves me. I knew it. Maybe I even felt it.

I know how broken I am. If I could love these kids, maybe, maybe, all the songs I sang in Cradle Roll are true. Maybe God really does love us so much that he died for me.

I am so glad that God shares his love with us. Even when we don't see his love, it's there, working in us and around us. Sometimes it makes us wait...

And wait...

And freaking wait.

But in the end, I'm compelled to realize that God's love does not take a vacation in the time when we doubt it exists. I'm very thankful that God's love brought me closer to a girl who loves God as much as I do and has the spiritual integrity to listen to a proposition that went right over my head. A proposition that said,

Wait. I love you two, but I have something better in mind. Wait. I love you, I love you, I love you. If you only knew how much I love you.

I'm starting to pick up on that love, and it's making my head spin.

That's All

2010-10-26T00:00:00.000-05:00

2010-10-23T09:51:00.001-05:00

When I consider myself, it seems impossible to be saved. When I consider Christ, it seems impossible to be lost.

2010-10-04T21:54:00.000-05:00

Ezekiel 16

2010-10-02T22:50:00.003-05:00

When you were born they threw you out in the field while you were still covered with blood. Your umbilical cord was not properly cut and tied. You were not washed, rubbed with salt or wrapped in a blanket. No one had pity on you or had compassion enough to save you and clean you up. You were thrown in the open field because no one wanted you, and there you lay.

Then I passed by and saw you covered with blood. I stopped and said to you, "Don't cry, little one. I'll take care of you and you will live." I made sure you were taken care of, and you grew up like a healthy plant set in the most fertile soil. You grew to be tall and strong. Your breasts were well-formed and your hair was beautiful, but I saw that you were naked and bare.

Later when I came by, I saw that you were old enough to marry, so I put my coat over your body to cover you. I promised to marry you, and you accepted. I took an oath to be yours, and together we we entered the marriage covenant, and you became mine. I remembered how I had found you in the field, washed off the blood, and anointed you with oil.

Years later when you pledged to be mine, I gave you richly embroidered dresses, fine leather sandals and a costly silk cloak for your shoulders. I gave you expensive ornaments--bracelets for your wrists and a chain of pure gold for your neck. I gave you small jewels for the side of your nose, earrings for your ears and a beautiful crown for your head. You were adorned with gold and silver. You had clothes made of the finest linen, expensive fabrics and embroidered cloth. You ate nothing but the best--bread made of the finest flour, the choicest honey and the purest olive oil. You became very beautiful and soon rose to become queen. The nations heard how perfect and beautiful you were. They saw that I had surrounded you with riches, and you became the most desired among them.

But you put your trust in your beauty and used your international fame to entice many lovers. You became a prostitute and lavished your favors on anyone who wanted them. You took the beautiful clothing I had given you and used them to decorate the places you had built for your gods. You worshiped them and prostituted your body to honor them. Such things should never have happened. You took the expensive ornaments and the gold and silver which I had made especially for you, and made male idols which you worshiped, and you committed prostitution with them. You took the costly fabrics and embroidered dresses I had given you and made clothes to decorate your idols. You took the oil and incense I had suppled for you and offered them to your gods. You took the good food I had provided for you--bread from fine flour, the choicest honey and the purest olive oil--and offered it to your idols as a sacrifice. I, the Lord, your husband, saw all this.

To make things worse, you took your infant sons and daughters whom you bore to me and sacrificed them to your idols, as if your prostitution were not enough for your gods. You placed my babies in the arms of these idols and then burned them to death as a sacrifice. While giving yourself to idols and prostitution your body for them, you forgot about your birth, when you lay naked in the field covered with your own blood.

I will renew the marriage covenant I made with you and you will know that I am still your husband. I will make an atonement for you and for all the sins you committed.

Then you will remember what I did for you, and you'll feel ashamed of what you have done and will never repeat it.

I, your Sovereign Lord, have spoken.

And Tomorrow I'll Miss You More

2010-05-07T23:14:00.002-05:00

You’re at the wrong end

of a telephone line that begins at my mouth.

You’re at the wrong end of a phone line

that dives under the streets of Lincoln

runs beside farmer’s rows quilted into the country,

each square a different textile

each road sign a textual reminder of distance

above houses painted thirty years ago

and not since

antennas dangling off the roofs

like misfired lighting bolts from a god

who hates the Midwest more than I.

You’re at the wrong end of a phone line

that intersects the Continental Divide somewhere.

Because it must.

And where it does I wonder

if there are wildflowers growing where no one sees

if roads avoid it because it’s just too holy

if the air smells more like honey

or more like you.

I wonder if, standing there, I could

see California but not quite your front door.

I wonder if when God has the hiccups

he goes to that spot and sees the view

and listens to our phone conversation

buzzing beneath his feet

and every muscle in his body relaxes.

You’re at the wrong end of a phone line

that joins other phone lines, separates,

then joins again.

Our conversation meets other voices

and passes them unmarred.

Our words are that hard.

You’re at the wrong end of a phone line

that sleeps in the ground with dead men

winding up their spines and past their ears

and broadcasting on channels they can hear

This is life. This is life.

We’re too young to fall asleep.

This is life.

You’re at the wrong end of a phone line

that knows to stop at your ear.

And I know that ear is connected

to a face that is the outward expression

of a soul I’ve grown used to holding.

I’ve held it in springtime in my hammock.

I’ve held it praising God.

I’ve held it in a crowded apartment

full of people who know everything about love.

I’ve held it in the playground and

I’ve held it in the best room

of the worst motel in the Midwest.

Know that when I say “I miss you”

my words have seen the world

in order to get there.

Beelzebub, Esquire

2010-04-25T23:38:00.001-05:00

I met the devil by happenstance

at night in a local convenience store.

I asked him why he was browsing brownies

and cigarette selections.

(I knew he prized his health,

and never puffed on tobacco stuff.)

"My friend,"—he recalled us meeting before—

"haven't you read the news today?"

He pulled a paper from his pocket

and pointed out the headlines.

"There's genocide in Africa,

millions of them have died.

AIDS is spreading like melted butter,

and there's some new strain of flu alive.

In Palestine there’s always war,

and even I’ve forgotten why.

Christians hate and kids have sex—

even our preachers lie!

If smokes and ding-dongs kill, my boy,

then I deserve to die.”

If My People Pray

2010-04-12T20:55:00.002-05:00

"One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God. When morning came, he called his disciples to him and chose twelve of them, whom he also designated apostles..."

Luke 6:12-13

I found this verse the other morning during my devotions. I'm sure I've read it before, but I've always missed its depth of meaning.

When we Christians look at the life Jesus lived, we're often tempted to disregard the impossible miracles he performed as a "God thing"--part of Jesus' divinity that allowed him to have extra-sensory perception and super-human powers. That's a dangerous line of thinking, because in the same moment that we see Jesus as something other than fully human, we suddenly lose the hope that we can ever be like Christ.

How did Jesus know everything? How did he know what people were thinking, who was going to betray him, who his disciples should be? How did he prophesy with perfect accuracy the events of his own death and resurrection? Was it because he was God? No. It's because he kept a direct line of communication open with his Father.

The ability to choose the twelve apostles doesn't seem like the most mind-blowing of Jesus' miracles. But even in preparation for something as simple as choosing his followers, Jesus spent an entire night praying in solitude. We don't need to wonder how Jesus was able to do the things he could do.

And the best part is, the same power that was available to Jesus is available to us. We are called to be perfect--to be just like the Father. Is perfection impossible? I've heard people say that perfection is impossible in a sinful world. But I don't think anyone can make that claim until they've spent as much time with God as Jesus did. Try it.

Heaven On the Mind

2010-03-04T14:23:00.004-05:00

Today I was sitting in College Writing II, daydreaming as usual. I can't remember what sparked my imagination on this particular day, but I suddenly had a very tangible image of heaven in my mind.

I was thinking about that day--what it would finally feel like to see God face to face--and I began to wonder about something I have never thought about before. Imagine that day, standing in our white robes in the glory of God's physical presence. We feel completely different--everything seems real, as if sin was masking dimensions of reality that we never even dreamed of. We realize how fake our short lives in sin really were. In anticipation, we watch the events of universal judgment play out . . .

And what if while we watch God separate the saved from the lost, we suddenly realize that the ratios don't seem right. A great multitude of the saved stand apart from maybe a dozen of the lost. And while we wonder, How can this be? How can there be so few who are lost? Christ answers, My grace abounds beyond your wildest dreams.

That thought meant so much to me--even writing about it makes me emotional. I understand it may not be realistic. God's grace doesn't have power over people who reject him. But that image--so few being lost--defines the mission of my life. If every Christian steps up to the full life of love that God has called us to, I have no doubt that we can literally change the outcome of judgment day.

I want that so badly. I want heaven to be a place for all people. I want to be surprised when I see relatives and friends I never thought I would see there. In tears, they would tell me about that person who introduced them to Christ's saving grace. Let's be that person. I don't want to have to make new friends in heaven.

Within Our Reach

2010-03-02T18:35:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wonder why I'm in Lincoln, Nebraska. You might think that I become most restless when the crappy winter storms come or midterms seem to never end. But it's really on days like today, when the sun is warm and the first scents of spring drift on the breeze, that I become uncomfortable.

There is so much. So much I want to do. So many beautiful places I want to see. I've known for a while that I could never work a regular 9-5 job. And thankfully, God has led me to my passion--helping people--and this school that never stops inspiring me. But even with all that reassurance, I still can't help screaming the question, What is my place in this world?!

Maybe it was because of the weather, or maybe it was because I'm about to set out on another adventure, but I couldn't get the Chicago Basin out of my mind today. It's just one of those beautiful places in this world that I've only seen in pictures. My heart has ached to go there for two years, and the irony of it is that I could drive there in a day. Then I began to wonder, If I'm so desperate to experience something, and it is within my reach, what's holding me back?

The answer, of course, is nothing. So I set a date, and now I have something to look forward to.

Why can't I live more of my life in passionate pursuit of something? It seems like I'm so quick to forget the big picture of what I'm doing here, why I'm taking the classes I'm taking, and what God has called me to accomplish. We as Christians are called to be big picture people. We have one focus--Christ--and one mission--to know him more. I am desperate to experience Christ, and he is within me reach. What can possibly hold me back?

The answer, again, is nothing.

Moral Excellence

2010-02-20T00:23:00.002-05:00

Sometimes it's difficult to tell if something is right or wrong. Often, it is much easier to decide if something is better or worse than something else. And if it's not difficult to tell which is better or worse, then it shouldn't be too hard to determine which choice is the best. Making the best choice consistently--that's called moral excellence.

I hate moral arguments. Why do we try to figure out if something is "right" or "wrong"? Why would you want to mess with it? No need to worry about if something might be wrong. If it might be wrong, it's probably not the best choice. Just choose something better and get on with your life.

In A Quandary

2010-02-19T12:41:00.001-05:00

I couldn’t find my headlamp anywhere. I had used it during the night, scrounging around my tent in ten degree temperatures for a face mask to warm my nose. I remember the power was starting to fade, and the low battery indicator was strobing red against the wall of my tent. And I remember turning it on in the morning to find the clothes I would be wearing for the summit bid on Quandary Peak. I remember putting my boots on and stepping out of my tent into the morning cold. “Ben, your headlamp,” Ehren reminded me as he gestured toward the light, still powered on but drowned out in the sunrise reflecting off the snow. But as I carefully arranged all of my equipment in my pack, double-checking my map, compass, extra clothing, eyewear, and first aid, the headlamp was nowhere to be found.

There were five of us preparing for the climb. My tent mate, Joe, was struggling with altitude sickness after a fitful night sleeping at 11,000 feet. Ehren and Travis shared the tent next door, where apparently altitude didn’t have any effect. They both rose rested and energetic for the climb. Our fifth member, an English Labrador retriever named Horton, was a friend we had met at the trailhead. A local celebrity, Horton climbs the mountain every day, sometimes several times a day, and is notoriously picky about his climbing companions. Since we were the only team setting out that day, Horton had to settle for our modest pace and heavy breathing. I had just as much trust in Horton’s mountaineering skills as any of my teammates’, knowing that he was responsible for saving several lives on the mountain during whiteout conditions. Besides, I enjoyed his friendly company.

After a few failed attempts, Travis fired up his stove and heated some water for oatmeal. I forced down a few bites, then spent at least ten minutes gnawing on a frozen energy bar. I had no appetite, but I knew I would be using at least 6,000 calories during the day and had to eat breakfast. I drank a half liter of water out of a Nalgene I had cuddled with all night to keep from freezing.

Joe sat motionless, breathing deeply, trying to fend off the hypoxic state he had fallen into during the night. When we had eaten and packed he announced that he was feeling much better and was ready for the climb. We hoisted our packs and strapped on our snowshoes, immediately beginning the slow trudge up the lower slopes of Quandary Peak. I felt the absence of my headlamp and prayed that I wouldn’t end up needing it.

The weather report was not good. It called for precipitation—two or three inches of accumulation—coupled with 35 mph wind gusts and temperatures in the low teens on the upper ridge. The cold I could handle, but the thought of low visibility and possible whiteouts made me uneasy. But as we started the climb, we were thankful for blue skies and bright sunlight.

The climb to the treeline went by too fast. As we stepped out of the protection of evergreens, I could feel the weight of the wind and the slap of the drifting snow on my face. I zipped up my shell jacket and donned a pair of goggles. Although the sky above us was still blue, we could see that the peak was shrouded in a swirling, gray cloud that stretched down over the summit ridge.

The higher we climbed, the stronger the wind blew. Soon is started snowing. Travis tapped my shoulder. “Is my nose turning white?” I saw a small white blotch on the left side, a definite indication of the beginnings of frostbite. I nodded and he pulled his bandana higher up his face. Visibility was four or five hundred feet, just far enough that we could see the edges of the ridge to guide us to the top.

Horton climbed contentedly, even when his yellow fur iced over and frost covered his nose. Travis, Horton, and I took a short break while we waited for Ehren and Joe, and I unwrapped a bar I had stashed in my pack. I tried to break off a piece for Horton, but it was frozen solid. I put the entire bar halfway in my mouth until it had thawed slightly, then I chewed a hunk off, took it out of my mouth, and tossed it to Horton. He devoured it happily, while I thoughtfully gnawed on the rest and tried to figure out how he could be so happy about something so unappetizing.

At 13,000 feet, my thermometer read nine degrees, which meant the windchill must have been around -25. We were exhausted and cold. Joe was struggling with the altitude, but he tenaciously refused to give up until he absolutely had to. The ridge had narrowed considerably, with abrupt, corniced slopes on each side. I saw the ridge raise up steeply in front of us, and I knew the remaining 1,000 feet would be miserable.

I was worried about the altitude. I knew from experience that without a few days to acclimatize, I can’t stay more than a few hours above 13,000 feet. At the speed we were climbing, I would likely be at high altitude for at least four hours. Already I could feel a pounding headache and the rumble of an upset stomach. Besides, it was already 1:00, which meant we only had four hours to summit and descend safely before dark. I couldn’t keep my mind off of the horrible things that could happen to us if we were caught above treeline after sunset, especially during the storm that was predicted to sweep the mountain for the next two days.

We took a short rest in the shelter of some boulders, and Ehren produced a pocket Bible from his pack. Fumbling to find the text he was looking for with heavy gloves on, he began reading from Psalms 42 and 43. Although he was nearly shouting to be heard above the wind, several lines hit me loud and clear. Why are you downcast, O my soul? Put your hope in God! I shared my summit prayer with Joe and we were both encouraged. We began up the summit ridge.

Our steps were sometimes five inches at a time, but we were gaining elevation quickly. 13,100… 13,200… 13,300… By the time my altimeter read 14,000 feet, it was after 2:00. I was worried. Even though the summit was only 200 vertical feet away, we couldn’t see it, and everyone was feeling the effects of spending too much time too high. I couldn’t stop belching, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before those energy bars would be back to say hello. “I think we should turn around.” I don’t remember who said it, but Joe agreed. I nodded my head, “Yeah, I’ve seen enough of this mountain.” I thought that was the group consensus.

“I’d like to make a summit attempt.” Ehren looked strong to me, and he had the most experience.

Travis joined in, “I guess I’ll give it a try too.”

I looked at Joe. There was no way he was going anywhere but down.

I said, “Well if you guys are going, I’d like to go too.” I remember saying this, but it must have gotten lost in my mask or carried away in the wind. There was no further discussion. Ehren said they might be as much as an hour behind us, so we shouldn’t wait. I gave him a thumbs up, and Joe just nodded.

Joe and I started the careful return trip as conditions worsened. I led the descent, but was careful to stay close to Joe. At one point, I was maybe fifty feet in front of him. I looked back and saw the outline of his jacket, but as soon as I saw it, it was gone. A gust lowered the visibility to just a few feet in every direction. Joe reappeared in a few seconds and I made a mental note to stay closer.

When we were safely on the lower slopes, I sat on a rock pile to take a rest and wait for Joe. I had so many thoughts going through my altitude-confused mind. Why didn’t I summit? I could have made it. Why did Joe have to get sick? Couldn’t he have descended on his own while I summited with the group? I was bitter and depressed at the way things turned out—things beyond my control. Two hundred feet! That’s close enough to touch. When I opened my eyes I realized that the wind had drifted snow against my legs, half-burying me in the few short minutes I rested there. I stood up quickly and realized Joe was right behind me. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Thanks man. I really appreciate what you did up there. Remind me to buy you dinner tonight.”

Then he pointed up the mountain, and I saw Ehren and Travis gaining on us quickly. I nodded and we kept walking. They caught up to us just below 13,000 feet, where we had stopped to read from the Psalms on the way up. We were off the summit ridge and started the long, gradual descent down the east slopes. When we arrived at the first point above treeline, we stopped to look for the route. We had a general idea of where the route was, but we couldn’t spot where the trail entered the treeline. After doubling back a few times, Ehren spied a trail marker at the edge of the trees. Travis and I bounded down the slope, post-holing up to our waist in some drifts, and lay panting at the signpost.

We all rested there for a few minutes, finally sheltered from the wind and snow. I looked at the sky, which was beginning to get dark. Where is my headlamp? I need it! We decided that Travis and I would take the car keys and set out at our own pace. We could warm the car and strike my tent before Joe and Ehren arrived.

But the route was not as easy to follow as we expected. In the few hours we had spent above treeline, the wind had drifted the snow and completely obliterated our tracks. The trail itself was packed from so many climbers—you didn’t need snowshoes on the trail. But if you stepped off, you instantly found yourself up to your knees, or even waist, in snow. We used a technique of trial and error to find the route—if we sunk, we tried a new direction until the snow was hard enough to walk on. This worked for a while, until we also realized that certain wind-blown sections are also hard enough to walk on. After sinking and doubling back many times, we finally managed to navigate down to the thicker forest, where the trail was well-marked and easy to follow. Relieved, we almost jogged the remaining mile to the car.

It took me a while to warm up. My head still pounded from the altitude, and I was entirely spent. Just striking my tent took all the energy and willpower I could muster. By the time Ehren and Joe arrived, we were almost completely packed and ready to go. It was dark, and I couldn’t find all the pieces to my tent without my headlamp. We threw everything, without any attempt at organization, into the back of Joe’s Toyota Highlander and drove to the nearest town for dinner. After filling our stomachs, we started driving the hour and a half to Denver, where we were going to sleep at Ehren’s apartment.

I watched the snow fall from inside the car. I loved how silent it was in the valley. Travis and Joe were asleep in the backseat, and I was replaying certain parts of the day in my head. My first thought was, Worthless! I endured the worst weather I’ve ever seen, and there wasn’t even a payoff. I was angry and disappointed.

But even though I was disappointed, I couldn’t escape the fact that I loved it. I loved that climb. I loved yelling above the wind and pulling my mask higher on my face and worrying about finding the route and being weak with altitude and gasping for air. I was talking to God, asking for him to show me his purpose for me in climbing Quandary Peak. And as I remembered more about the day—how I felt—I began to understand.

If you climb mountains only to get to the summit, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. No matter how amazing those five minutes on top of the world feel, they aren’t worth the misery and pain of getting there. Mountaineering is only worth it if you love the climb. You have to love the experience—every part of it—in order to get the payoff.

God gave me an object lesson. Mountain climbing is like your relationship with God. If you’re only in it for the achievements—for feeling better, having hope, reaching a certain status with God—then it’s not worth it. You have to love every part of it, every part of God, in order get the payoff. God is not calling us reach the summits. He is calling us to experience him and to experience him fully. He wants us to love every minute of it, even when there are high winds and arctic cold. Paul writes, “This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike ‘What's next, Papa?’” (Rom. 8:15). God asks nothing from us except that we experience him.

The drive back to Lincoln, Nebraska was filled with sleep, quiet music, and lots of fast food. When we finally pulled in front of Prescott Hall, the guy’s dorm at Union College, I had mixed emotions. Mostly I just wanted to be back in Colorado, climbing another peak and searching out God’s will for my life. We unloaded gear and sorted through duffels, throwing away trash and stashing accessories. When the last bag was unloaded from the back of the SUV, I saw a familiar headlamp laying on the carpet. Minutes later, I fell asleep in my own bed with a smile on my face.

This is What it Looks Like

2010-01-17T01:13:00.003-05:00

When you first meet someone, you have no idea where that relationship will go. You start with saying hi when you pass them on your way to class, then you move up to sitting with them in the caf. If there is a connection, you might start hanging out with them on the weekends. Soon you might be inseparable, unable to make a full experience without sharing it with the other person. And you never even saw it coming when you shook their hand for the first time.

That's how it is with Christ. A relationship with Christ doesn't start with a spiritual high and empty commitments. That's the spiritual equivalent of drunken sex after a wild night of partying. Knowing God is a surprising journey that starts with a simple hello. It's not about looking ahead and saying, "I want my relationship with God to be at such and such a point in one month." You wouldn't do that with a friend--that's not the point of friendship. The point of friendship is living in the moment and enjoying every moment with that person. The focus is not getting closer, it's being close. Everything else naturally falls into place.

I've been entering into a relationship with God ever since I climbed Mount Massive last August. That was the turning point of my life. He called me, and I answered. I began a relationship with Christ, but that beginning is over. I'm not entering into anything with him. Now I am in that relationship, and I'm falling more in love with Jesus every day.

This is what it looks like. It looks like the perfect peace of knowing God has your life in your hands and you don't need to worry. You don't need to worry about a thing. It looks like the love of sacrificing yourself for your friends. It looks like the patience to deal with people you don't like. It looks like the ability for sin to lose its appeal. It looks like a full, joyful, FREE life.

What Does It Look Like?

2009-09-27T19:18:00.003-05:00

It was another Saturday night in Lincoln, Nebraska. My friends and I are usually successful at finding fun in a place where fun can't find you. Rope jumping was on the agenda. The idea is simple: you hike about a mile into the local nature park in the middle of night and stop at the old bridge that crosses Wilderness Creek, a long swatch of mud with several inches of water flowing on top. At the bridge, you tie one end of a climbing rope to yourself and the other end to the bridge. Then you jump thirty feet into the blackness until the rope suddenly decides you are done falling.

We had done this once before, and it was a blast. The rush, the experience, the laughing, the puking-because-of-the-laughing. They are what memories are made of. This Saturday night was a little different. We had different company, of a more annoying sort, and I had a lot on my mind. Girls have this undeniable propensity to put you in a melancholy mood, and melancholy moods are not very well suited to hype you up for a rope jump.

So there I was, watching my friends take alternating leaps, rechecking the rope after each jump, protecting the rope in abrasive areas, trying to figure out how I would ever untie a figure-8 after that big of a load. And, I was listening, because that's what happens when you're in melancholy moods. I listened to a lot of words said by a lot of people, and I realized something: we are full of bullshit. We are so full of bullshit.

I lost it there. I had to walk away to think about it. I thought about my priorities and what my priorities should be. I thought about the purpose of life, and whether or not I was living that purpose. And here's what I decided.

Only one thing really matters in life, and that is a life directed towards God. It is so above and beyond anything else we do. Then I thought about how to live a life directed towards God when you are surrounded by so much bullshit. Yes, I have grown closer to God. And I've grown farther apart. And closer again. It's such an endless cycle that I came to the conclusion several days ago that trying to cut sin out of your life is like getting off a drug--except the withdrawal symptoms never go away. That's how hard it is.

So, I wondered, what does a life directed towards God look like in my current situation? I was frightened when I realized that I didn't even know. I've seen true relationships with God in older people, and I accept that. They don't live in the same environment that I do. And I've seen it in other countries, for the same reasons. And I've seen a lot of people who claim to have strong relationships with God and then don't act like they do. But the truth is, I don't know what a student at Union College, while still remaining in mainstream society, would look like with a true relationship with God.

I don't know where that leaves me. I want to get away. Don't get me wrong--I've never felt so alive as I do in this place. But I'm still not where I want to be with God, and I don't know what it takes to get to that place.

Understanding Conquers Fear

2009-08-18T16:51:00.002-05:00

Two and a half weeks has never felt so long. I feel like I’ve already experienced a lifetime of learning, adventure, and exploration. If I died today, I would die happy.

I’ve been thinking about what the best part was. There was the summit of South Massive, which I had completely to myself—no trail, no people, not a cloud in the sky. There were the night skies, exploding with stars in every direction. There was Echo Lake, a piney paradise. There were the new friends—Doug on Mount Sneffels, Patrick, Marty, and Bez (the understated Dutch Rhodesian) on the Wetterhorn, the British mountaineer on Elbert who was happy to mentor me. There was my first summit—Huron—with barely enough room to stand on and bad weather coming in. There was camping in Grizzly Gulch, surrounded by beautiful alpine basins and cool mountain springs. And then there was the mighty Wetterhorn, with all its steep ledges and heart-pounding exposure. There was the morning I was awoken by a stellar jay jumping on my feet and complaining in my face. And of course, there were more marmots and pikas than I care to remember.

But it’s not the experiences that I’ll treasure the most. It’s what I learned from them. And here is the greatest lesson of all, which is more poignant in the words of Rich Mullins:

“And on this road to righteousness,
Sometimes the climb can be so steep.
I may falter in my steps,
But never beyond your reach.”

Mountaineering takes you to the limit. It challenges your body, your mind, and your will. And sometimes it’s only when your abilities fail that God’s abilities become so clear. God is a very, very real power who is accessible to us, even loves us. Maybe it’s not hard for you to see God in everyday things, but it is for me. And that’s why these two weeks have been so important. They have given me an understanding of God that I can take into my life outside the mountains.

I have a t-shirt with the words “Understanding Conquers Fear” scribed over an artistic grizzly bear. When I got it, I was thinking that understanding the natural world conquers fear. But that’s a lie. In fact, the more I understand about the rugged San Juans, aggressive wildlife, unpredictable hailstorms, and nature in general, the more fearful I become. There is only one thing you can understand that will conquer fear, and that is—God is always with you.

Yesterday I was faced with a decision. I was taking a day off to rest my blisters, and I had one more day to climb. There were two mountains nearby that I hadn’t climbed—Uncompahgre, a famous Class 2 San Juan with an impressive amount of bulk, and Wetterhorn Peak, and intimidating Class 3/3+ spire named for its close resemblance to the Swiss Wetterhorn (a peak often seen in lists with the Eiger, the Matterhorn, and Le Petit Drus). I had already discounted Wetterhorn as being too difficult. The problem? Uncompahgre is a 16 mile day with something like 5,000 feet of gain if you don’t have a four wheel drive. We have a conversion van.

Well I sure as heck wasn’t going back to the boring Sawatches for my last day. So I said, I might as well get up the Wetterhorn as far as I can. Just to be on a mountain that famous and get some good photos would be a great day. But, just in case the summit seemed accessible, I did my research the night before, finding numerous trip reports describing the summit pitch, a 150 foot class 3/4 gulley with over 600 feet of nearly vertical exposure. And that’s where the fear came in.

I’ve climbed before. I know what my limitations are. I know that if a well-anchored rope is tied to my body, fear is not even considered. But I also know that if I free solo a ten foot boulder, I freeze.

The approach to Wetterhorn was breathtaking. As soon as I crossed the first ridge and the treeline dumped me into the basin, I was faced with an inspiring view of Wetterhorn to the south, connected to the northern Matterhorn by a pinnacled ridge. The ridge looked like a cross between a saw blade and the backbone of a t-rex. Thankfully, the route carefully avoided the ridge and approached the mountain from the south, winding through rock gardens filled with marmots and fat pikas.

Approaching the Class 3 section, I noticed two other climbers ahead of me. I hurriedly stowed my poles and buckled my helmet. Climbing with others gives a sense of security. I soon scrambled up to them, and together we examined the sketchy route up the first gully, then the steeper second gully. I remember knocking a dinner plate-sized rock with my foot, and watching as it tumbled down the slopes, gaining momentum until it finally vaulted off the gully and over the vertical south face. I couldn’t help thinking that’s what would happen to a person who made a misstep. Three points of contact…

My fears came to a culmination as I approached the famous Ship’s Prow, which hides a tiny notch. After climbing the notch, you find yourself standing on a friction slab that literally slides you into the summit couloir. This is where I expected to turn around. But as I saw my two companions taking non-essentials out of their packs to lighten the load for the climb, I found myself doing the same. And as I saw them scoot on their butts into the couloir, I found myself doing the same. And the best part was the fears were gone.

I had prayed about this climb for the last 24 hours, but even after seeing God’s power on Massive and other mountains, I still didn’t really expect anything to happen. I didn’t believe that “understanding conquers fear,” but it does.

I have pictures of that pitch, and I start to sweat just looking at them. But while I was there, God was in control. Who am I kidding? God is always in control. But like I said before, it sometimes takes situations like Wetterhorn to make it obvious. All I remember is singing my two favorite mountaineering songs over and over again in my head—“Sometimes by Step” by Rich Mullins and “Your Love, Oh Lord” by Third Day.

“Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your spirit?
To be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on the morning’s wings
To the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute.
You’re already there waiting for me.”

Mountaintop Experience

2009-08-18T16:51:00.001-05:00

What a day. Now with the sun setting over the Collegiate Peaks on the Buena Vista horizon, it’s hard to recall just how much emotion was packed into this day.

It started at 4:30 a.m., when my phone alarm sounded at the head of my bivy sack. The hardest part of the day. Getting out of a wet bivy sack without getting soaked to the bone is truly a learned art. It was about 35 degrees out, which is typical for August in Leadville, located two miles high in elevation.

I wasn’t getting up at 4:30 because I particularly liked romping in near-freezing dew. I had a mission for the day—Mount Massive, a 14,421 foot mountain located about ten miles out of Leadville. The mountain is the second tallest in Colorado and the third in the continental United States. However, its eight summits and sprawling ridges dwarf Mount Elbert, its slightly higher neighbor.

Almost every Colorado 14er has a standard route for climbers. The route is usually a well maintained path below the tree line, turning into a rocky slope that switches back and forth across alpine meadows and eventually leads to the rocky summit ridge, finally ending at the pinnacle of Colorado mountaineering—the 14,000+ foot summit.

That was great for them. My experience meeting 55 high schoolers on the summit of Mount Elbert made me want a little peace and quiet. That’s what mountaineering is all about, right? So there was another option, the Southeast Ridge. The Southeast Ridge begins at the standard route and climbs to about 10,600 feet, where my maps shows it abruptly turning west into the hillside. The abrupt turn marks the last time the route sees a trail. After that, it climbs for 1,000 feet in open, piney forest, before opening up into three miles of pristine, unblazed ridgeline. It conquers four of Massive’s eight summits—more than any other route. It gains nearly 6,000 feet in Class 2 and 3 terrain, winding 12.5 miles past hidden alcoves and mountain goat homes. This, I thought, was my route.

I had my doubts. There was no trail. I was relying on my map and compass to find the way, although that’s not too difficult when a 13,000 foot summit is towering before you. Also, I was still sore and tired from climbing Mount Elbert two days before. Finally, the solitude, although rewarding, increases an overall feeling of insecurity. But I had to climb it.

The climb to the tree line was breathtaking, and the first point, over 12,000 feet high, provided the best view of Mount Elbert to be found anywhere. I descended the saddle between the first and second summits and began up the mountain known as South South Massive. Although mostly grassy, the lack of trail busted my calves as I climbed one of the steepest slopes I have ever been on. Several hours later, I summited South South Massive and had an unobstructed view of South Massive, a 14er, and the saddles in between.

My first thought was, okay, time to turn around. The saddle between the two southern summits narrowed into an exposed knife edge, which turned into near vertical rock outcrop. With crushed spirits, I continued as far as I could, stepping carefully on the knife edge until I stood at the base of the outcrop. I stopped, looking left and right for a route to appear. I rechecked my route guide, which said plainly “Class 2,” and then the map that had the route going squarely over the outcrop.

Traversing easterly, I started up the adjoining talus slope. Bad idea. The loose rock beneath my feet began to give way, and I slid painfully over sharp stones to the lower slopes, where I rolled quickly to avoid the rockfall I had caused. Brushing myself off, I had a thought. I needed to pray.

I know my parents pray for me all the time when I’m in the mountains. But I didn’t really need that. Climbing mountains happens all the time by people who don’t pray, and they don’t seem to have any trouble. But at that moment, it seemed like the best plan. So I said, “God. Hey man. If there’s a way up to the summit from here, that would be awesome. Could you show it to me? I’m gonna walk up to that outcrop one more time. And if I don’t see the route, I’m going down the mountain."

So I walked up to the outcrop again. And just around the corner of one of the boulders, I saw a steep, passable slope. And best of all, there were footprints. I had been on this route for hours, and I hadn’t seen a single footprint. There were about three of them, distinctly leading up the route, then they stopped.

So I followed them. It was a bit sketchy, Class 3 scrambling up an exposed slope. But I could do this.

And I started thinking. Maybe mountaineering is not about us at all. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with proving our manliness, conquering our fears, or defeating the mountain in a one on one battle. Maybe it’s just another thing that proves how small we are and how big God is. It’s just an object lesson in a very, very , real way. Maybe there is no way to do it on your own. Maybe there never is.

After another grueling climb, I got to the summit of South Massive, where the air is thinner than string theory. But this time, instead of praising my own physical abilities, I was praising God’s strength. But there was another side to this story. There’s no way to make a commitment to rely on God without making someone else very angry. After getting to the top of South Massive, it seemed like everything that could go wrong went wrong. The air grew cold as the first clouds of the day covered the sun. Wind gusts like I’ve never felt before threw me off balance several times. I took missteps and twisted my ankle while traversing boulder fields.

It was then that I realized the battle was not between myself and the mountain. The battle was between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. There was nothing I could do in my power to conquer the mountain. There was only a matter of choosing sides. Maybe it was the altitude, maybe the solitude, but I couldn’t keep in the emotion. I knelt down on the summit of South Massive, without another soul in sight, and rededicated my life to Christ at 14,000 feet.

I descended South Massive into the saddle between the mountain’s two highest summits, meeting up once more with the standard route for the summit bid. For the first time that day, I talked with other climbers and exchanged adventure stories. The impact of what just happened almost escaped me. But as I summited Mount Massive at 14,421 feet, I remembered what this was all about. I recited my summit prayer, which is a collection of lines from the Psalms I have always found inspiring.

“Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your spirit,
To be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on the morning’s wings to the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute.
You’re already there waiting for me.
Your love, oh Lord, reaches to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the skies,
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountain,
Your justice like the great deep.
Therefore the children of men put their trust
Under the shadow of your wings.”

We are in a spiritual battle. The conflict I felt on the mountain doesn’t just occur above the timberline. The battle is not between me and school, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and work, it’s between Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. The battle is not between me and life, it’s between the Prince of Peace and the King of Chaos. All we need to do is choose the right side.

Oh, The Places You Will Go

2009-05-21T20:54:00.002-05:00

I promised myself I would get through the end of the year--finals, pranks, graduation, goodbyes, parties, and all--without getting emotional. Yeah, right. That would make me somethings I never want to be: unfeeling and indifferent.

I guess today a lot of things were running through my head. The thought of going to college has never scared me. I've wanted it since I was a freshman in high school. The campus life, the classes, the people are all part of the adventure that I live for. But today I realized that to get there means I have to leave here.

I was driving home tonight, taking the exit for Broken Land Parkway, the same exit I've taken literally thousands of times. And I wondered how many more times I would see the word "Columbia" on a road sign and think of it as home. I was thinking of the Dr. Seuss story we heard today and how exciting and terrifying the trip I'm about to take is going to be.

I live for experiences. I love adventure, exploration, challenges. I love to test myself and either come out on top or give it another go. That's why my sadness about leaving was curious to me for a short time. I wondered, This is everything I've ever wanted. I can be on my own, independent, making decisions for myself. I can reinvent myself. I have the opportunity be closer to the things I love--mountains--and to learn from those who know the mountains better than I know my bedroom. I can dive into the wild and not look back.

Then I remembered the most important thing I've ever learned. I learned it from my mom before I ever entered a formal classroom. Then I discovered it for myself at Spencerville. I finally knew it was absolute truth when I took a five-day solo backpacking trip for no other reason than to face my own fears. Here is the truth, and if you haven't discovered it for yourself already, I hope you'll take it to heart: Relationships are the most important thing in life.

There's not even a close second. Relationships are the only important things in life--your relationship with God first, your family second, and your friends third. I remember on day five of my wilderness adventure, when I was standing on the summit of Hightop Mountain, perhaps without a person within ten miles of me. I got up before the sun rose so I could catch the sunrise from the summit, and it was worth it. The sun had just risen over the Shenandoah Mountains, and it cast the largest shadows I had ever seen. On one side it was day, on the other, night. It was as if I was looking at a topographic model hidden beneath a glass case. It was so beautiful. So beautiful that I laughed out loud. Maybe it was because I was going crazy from solitude. I found its beauty to be bitter. It was bitter because I was all alone, and there was no one to share it with. There was no point.

That's why I feel sadness in the midst of new opportunity, new adventure. Why would I ever want to experience the most exciting things in the world if my friends are elsewhere? It just doesn't make sense.

I realized today that I'm going to miss everyone, even the people I never got "close" to. Just going to the same school as them for two years formed a relationship that will be missed. The good news is that new relationships are waiting for me just around the corner. Yes, they come and go, but no, that doesn't make it any easier.

I'm beginning understand that I've been focusing on the wrong things for a while. I've been focusing on the qualities of SAA, and I always get caught up in something to complain about. I've been focusing on being this quiet, detached guy who doesn't care enough to get excited about the little things. I've been focusing on mountains--climbing them, knowing their weather patterns, their topography, their plant and animal life, their tricks and secrets. I've dreamed, but I've also let my dreams become my master. And the reason I'm having trouble finding satisfaction in ANY of it is that my focus is not right. It's not what you do, it's who you do it with.

Relationships are the ONLY things that matter.

Lyrics 'N Stuff

2009-02-26T20:06:00.000-05:00

Caedmon's Call

We are called out; we are ransomed
We are not of the world were in
we are chosen; we are blessed
to bring light to the lives of men
so father sow your seed
give us life in community
wake us from our sleep
this is your time; this is your place

We are vessels for breaking
under your grace we are led by your spirit
you have redeemed us by the
blood of your son
send down your word we are eager to hear it
ready our hearts to carry your love

you are sunlight you are morning
you're the hope of a brand new day
you are comfort; you are blessing
and you wipe all our tears away
so change us from within
render miracles from our sin
remind us once again
this is your time; this is your place

The Glory of It All

2009-02-15T21:02:00.004-05:00

A relationship with God doesn't make sense.

1. Even before you believe there is a God, logic says that if a God existed, then he probably would be in favor of everything that happens in the world. Otherwise, he'd stop it, obviously.

2. If you ever get around to believing in a God, it doesn't make sense that he would want to be in a relationship with you. He's probably got better things to do.

3. If you ever actually believe that God loves you, then you're probably going to get caught up with the difficulty of needing a relationship with a God that you can't see or touch, especially if you're an introvert like me who has trouble needing a relationship with anyone.

I like what C.S. Lewis says on the topic of God, and the whole concept of Christianity, making sense. He says that that everything in the world around us seems like it should be simple, but nothing is. When we examine anything, we see complexities and intricacies that all work and rely on each other--but no one could have guessed them. You can't argue that a relationship with God is too complex to be true--that Christians try too hard to explain it into existence. The truth is, if a God like the God of the Bible was simple, I couldn't help disbelieving in Him. Nothing true is simple.

I think I understand how to have a relationship with God. I don't understand God. All I think I know is the next step. Here is what I know about God.

1. God is everywhere. Rob Bell states very convincingly that "everything is spiritual" and that to label parts of your life spiritual are to label other parts not spiritual. That's powerful. In Psalm 139 David exclaims about the omnipresence of God. God is everywhere.

2. Prayer is not talking. Prayer is action directed toward God. Eugene Peterson writes, "Prayer is elemental, not advanced language. It is the means by which our language become honest, true, and personal in response to God. Is is the means by which we get everything in our lives out in the open before God." Prayer is more a lifestyle and less a moment. It's all part of that everything is spiritual thing. For example, imagine I've been backpacking for 30 miles and I sit on the top of a mountain enjoying a well-deserved vista. I think to myself, "Breathtaking! This view brings something in me to life. It makes me what to be a better person." The looking is the prayer, and the thought is God's response. That's not to say that talking to God on your knees in not praying. But thankfully prayer is much more than that. It's a lifestyle directed towards God. It's keeping a direct line of communication open with God. Simply, it's recognizing that everything is spiritual and treating them that way.

Yes, God and Christianity are both complex to understand. But I don't think they're complex to practice, after you have a basic understanding of how they work. I'd like to end with the lyrics with one of my favorite songs, David Crowder Band's song, "The Glory of It All." Every time I hear the line "for the rescue of us all" I imagine Jesus rappelling from a top anchor and gathering a little child from a ledge into his arms. We all have our pictures of Christ. We all need our pictures of Christ.

"The Glory of It All"

At the start
he was there, he was there
In the end,
he’ll be there, he’ll be there

And After all our hands have wrought
He forgives

Oh the Glory of it all is:
he came here
For the rescue of us all
that we may live
for the glory of it all
for the glory of it all

All is lost
find him there, find him there
After night
Dawn is there, Dawn is there

After all falls apart
he repairs he repairs

Oh the Glory of it all is:
he came here
for the rescue of us all
that we may live
for the glory of it all

oh he is here
for redemption from the fall
that we may live
for the glory of it all
oh the glory of it all
the glory of it all
oh the glory of it all

After night
comes the light
dawn is here
dawn is here
it’s a new day
it’s a new day
everything will change
things will never be the same
we will never be the same
we will never be the same
we will never be the same
we will never be the same

Oh, The glory of it all is
you came here
for the rescue of us all
that we may live
for the glory of it all

Oh you are here
with redemption for us all
that we may live
for the glory of it all
for the glory of it all
oh the glory of it all

Dropping the Solo

2009-01-20T09:50:00.001-05:00

Baby, we’re in this together.

I run a microfiber cloth over my instrument for the third time. It’s funny, the cloth never seems to really lift smudges. It only smudges them, sort of smears them around my guitar’s finish like paint on an artist’s palette. I finally give up and begin fiddling with amp knobs, trying to figure out the whereabouts of that perfect mix, the one that’s been eluding me all these years. I settle with something only acceptable, then raise my eyebrows and sigh when I notice my wife sitting on the end of the fifth row. It’s all ruined.

Turning my attention back to the stage, I motion for Smiley to give us a sound check on the drums. He pounds out the same test beat he’s been using for thirty-seven years, this time mixing it up by using one hand to devour a ham sandwich at least as old as the beat.

One more time, baby, one more time.

I forgot the string oil, but my sweaty palms probably won’t need anything else. Besides, it’s not a paying gig. Charitable concerts don’t need to be perfect, right? A string squeak here or there won’t make a difference as long as the man gets a fat wallet out of the deal.

Bruno steps off the stage for a second and gets a good luck kiss from his wife. I suddenly find something very interesting about my mike stand, so I stare at the floor and make my phantom adjustment. Things should get more comfortable as more of the alumni filter in. Although nearly ten years younger than me, my wife would look right at home in East Sacramento High’s Class of 1971.

The principal comes up on stage and asks us if we’re about ready to begin. The whole benefit concert for the new school expansion was that slimy prick’s idea. As if I would sacrifice for a school that screwed me over forty years ago. “Yeah,” I say. “We’re ready.” Just like I said at my engagement.

Things are rough from the beginning. The crowd is small and dead. And old. Our opening act is three songs: an old original we played at 1970 homecoming and two classic covers which Jerry’s voice simply slaughters. Scattered applause leaves me a little cynical as we enter the next set.

My Strat growls on “Layla,” then weeps a little for “Cold Shot.” We’re just getting started, and I can see the crowd beginning to warm up to us. At the end of the second set, I’m pouring sweat, Jerry’s voice is starting to crack more than usual, and I wonder if Smiley’s ham sandwich might cause him to pull a John Bonham in the middle of our show. And I’m sure dead drummers can’t keep tempo.

About thirty minutes into the show, I glance at my wife. She isn’t looking at me, and she seems to be enjoying herself. I wonder why she came?

A glaringly off-key note brings my senses back to the song, but I can’t get her face out of my head.

A second note slips from my fingers that makes Jerry frown at me. I just shrug and keep playing. Then a third. When a whole string of rusty notes blare from my amp, I stop, stunned. What’s wrong?

I start up again at the chorus, but my guitar doesn’t respond until a full two measures after I strum it. I frown at my delay pedal and kick it sharply. It’s not even on, but I knock the looping chord out of its jack anyway and route my sound straight from guitar to amp. It’s doesn’t make a difference.

The music is simply a mess. The drums, bass, and vocals are all playing perfectly four seconds ahead of my guitar. People in the crowd start fidgeting as the air turns muddy. I stop for the verse again. When I know I need to hit a harmonic in about two measures, I anticipate the move. Close, but no cigar. But now I have a goal, something to work toward. If I can see the music before it hits me, just know it before I hear it, then maybe we can still save this thing.

I know this song. I’ve known it for decades. In my head I begin making wild calculations, speeding and varying the tempo to try to anticipate the rhythm. I get a couple of chords nearly on beat. Now Smiley’s a little confused, but he makes an unconscious adjustment and falls into beat with my guitar.

Come on, baby, let’s take this show home.

Jerry and Bruno catch on, and after a few bars we’re back in business. My eyes are closed, my fingers flying silently, whispering into the future. I don’t even hear what the guys are playing. I hear only what’s in my head, and it pours into the fretboard of my Strat.

I begin ripping out the wildest solo of the night while everyone else is still outroing the second verse. It falls right into the music, but I ignore how beautiful it is and focus on how beautiful it will be. The improv slides by seamlessly, except for a few odd looks from the audience, probably other guitarists who are sure that what I’m playing isn’t what they’re hearing. I’ll have to convince them later that it wasn’t a canned solo.

You just need to know what you’re playing.

You need to know the song so well that when it leaves you, your fingers still hash out the movements in your sleep. And it takes work.

My eyes fly open and meet my wife’s. I think I finally know what I’m playing.

Creedo

2008-12-31T11:57:00.002-05:00

In eighth grade I knew everything about everything, but the first thing I learned was that I knew nothing.

In ninth grade I learned enough to make me wonder at the rest.

In tenth grade I was confident that I knew who I was.

In eleventh grade I knew everything about myself, but the first thing I learned was that I knew nothing about myself.

In twelfth grade, God told me who I am, and for the first time, I listened. Now I'm back to knowing nothing. But, finally, I'm enjoying the process.

I wonder why my search for identity was so much more passionate than other people's. Is is because going to "real school" and adolescence came at roughly the same time? Is it because eight years of homeschooling led me to believe I was someone I wasn't? Or was it simply a process I would have gone through no matter what my place in life?

Life is such a process. I'm the kind of person who likes to accomplish things. I like to take a task, see it through to completion, and look back on it. That's why I have a tendency to say, "this part of my life is done" and "I've figured out that part of my life," when, really, there's no definite end to any part of your life. It just floats on, changing imperceptible, as it is only in retrospect that you can see where you came from.

For example, who I am now snuck up on me. I had it all figured out. I was one of those emotional guys--poetry, philosophy, psychology, books, music, academics. The mental but not the physical. I still remember in tenth grade when Mr. Mulkern asked us write down where we would be in fifteen years. It was an easy assignment for me, because I knew exactly where I would be. I would be holding at least two degrees in my hand, possible three. I would have a loving family and live in upper class suburbia. I would love my job because of the pioneering research I was involved in. I would be a success.

Haha. Those are the people I laugh at now.

When did it all change? When did I realize how ridiculous I was being stuck in my little shell of protection? Last summer the phrase "Ben-first" kept popping up on family vacation. For the first time, I was the one going in first. And the feeling was amazing.

It's like someone flipped a switch inside, and I could finally do what I wanted. Inhibitions are cruel beasts. And, best of all, it the switch got flipped at a time when I was imploring God to show me what I should be doing. That's why my new interests are more than a passing obsessions; they're deeply rooted in my concept of what God wants me to do.

I'll end all this with a quote by Tecumseh which I love. I guess all the poetry isn't gone from me yet.

"So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and bow to none. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and nothing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home."

Things I Don't Understand

2008-11-03T21:27:00.002-05:00

Here is a list of things I don't understand:

1. Attraction

2. Love

3. God's voice

4. Emotions and logic

5. Attachment

I know there's more, but those are the ones that seem the most important right now.

What's wrong with me? It's like all the romance has been sucked out of me. I don't write love poetry, I'm not emotionally moved by sappy movies, I can't even remember my four images of love anymore. I'm numb.

I felt something today, just for a moment. I felt it between dropping into the mile hill at Patapsco and learning how to light a white gas stove. It was a feeling that told me that all I really want to do in life is return to that familiar feeling of romance, that cozy, squirming crush. Then I would marry and have kids and live in the suburbs. Maybe be a stay-at-home dad.

Then, once again, that compelling urge to make a radical difference said that a lifestyle like that wouldn't be conducive to changing the world. I don't know which to believe, but I am definitely feeling the opposition.

I made a mistake recently. Not the first I've made, but one of the biggest. I made it two months and two days ago. At the time, my choice seemed harmless, but that's only because I was ignoring the bigger picture--the future and the past. I was living in the moment.

I never thought living in the moment could have its consequences, but obviously it can.

21st Annual Tidewater Challenge

2008-10-27T10:41:00.002-05:00

On October 26, Matt and I decided to take our first shot at mountain bike racing--the 21st annual Tidewater Challenge in Williamsburg, Virginia. I've been biking obsessively for about six months, and he has been biking for three. Needless to say, our combined experience amounts to nothing compared to the experience of most competitive racers.

We chose to enter the duo-endurance class, a six-hour relay along a four mile loop of technical singletrack. Our goals were simple: to not sustain any serious injuries (death, for example) and to place in something other than last position. We also decided that twelve laps would be a great number, so that distance was always in the back of our minds.

We drove down Saturday afternoon, arriving at a local KOA after dark and in a heavy rain. We pitched camp and then left for some food. When we returned, a group of drunk teens were blasting the music and shouting recklessly (this was a little after 11:00). They continued to shout and blast music, with occasional trips to vandalize people's lawns with their enormous, compensating-for-the-manhood-I-don't-possess truck, until around 4:00 a.m., when the police came for the second time to tell them to quiet down. We got somewhere between two and three hours of sleep.

Race day was beautiful--cool in the morning, high sixties at midday, clear and dry. We arrived at around 7:15, registered, lubed our bikes, made final adjustments, and staked out our spot in the enduro pit. The race was delayed an hour, so we had plenty of time to carb-load, warm-up and think of anything we were forgetting in the pit or our packs.

Matt went first. He was in first position due to our early registration, but he stepped back a few places to give the pros the positions they would soon be taking anyway. I waited anxiously in the pit. After about eighteen or nineteen minutes, the first rider entered the pit and quickly exchanged batons with his teammate. My first thought was "Holy crap, that was fast." Matt entered the pit in just under 30 minutes, which by our estimations was a good time. He had a look of surprise on his face, and his only comment was, "Let's just finish this thing."

The course was incredible. The four miles of singletrack were very technical and rooty, with more elevation change than I've ever seen on an MTB course. Several whoop-de-doos led to short bridges with equally steep banks on the other side. Surprising compressions dotted the last mile of the course. The track between the scoring table and the pit was fast and wide, with spectators lining the sides to see the pros get big air off the moto-style jumps.

I was immediately intimidated by the course, but I soon got the hang of the sudden elevation changes and quick turns. I passed about four racers near the beginning, thinking, "This isn't bad. I'm not the slowest one out here." What I didn't realize is that those were the only four people I would pass all day and they were likely single-enduro racers who were already tired from their first four miles.

I pulled into the pit around 31 minutes. No problems so far. We were racing like clockwork, with changes happening every half an hour almost to the second. In the pit, racers downed Gatorade, ate bananas and power bars, and tuned their bikes. I noticed several serious mechanical problems (broken frame, bent cassette) and was thankful our bikes, however inexpensive, were holding up to the course.

On my second lap I had a wipeout at the top of a hill when my front wheel didn't have enough weight and came down sideways. My right foot didn't unclip from my pedal immediately, and I came down hard on my right knee. A photographer nearby asked if I was okay, secretly smiling that he got the first "wipeout photo" of the day. I got brushed myself off and kept going, with a little more respect for the steep inclines.

My chain broke on the third lap. Fortunately, it was only feet from the pit, so I was able to complete the lap running. Matt had a spare master link with him, so I was able to fix it in only a few minutes. I was a little bummed because I bought the chain three days ago because my last chain broke the Wednesday before the race.

On my fourth lap, I started cramping. Then I started cramping bad. Then the cramps became a serious danger to my stability. My right quad would tense in a straight position, so that I could not bend it without triggering another painful explosion. I walked off the first few cramps, but by the time I got to the pit, I couldn't get my right hand to release the grips, and I couldn't get off my bike! I felt like a retard hobbling into the pit and just kinda chillin' for a few minutes on my bike, trying to look like I wanted to be in that position. I found out that another rider had similar cramps in his quads, which caused him to wipe out and drop out of the race. While I felt sorry for him, it did make me feel a little better that I wasn't alone.

When Matt got back, I wasn't sure if I could make another lap. He offered to run another one for me, but he looked tired in spite of running a very good race so far. I started off on my fifth, but only got as far as the first hill before I cramped so badly I couldn't ride. I walked painfully back to the pit and Matt was off, taking the lap in my place. In my next half hour in the pit, I came to the conclusion that I was not in shape for a race like this, and we would probably lose, and I was probably finished with the race, and life basically sucked. I drank nearly a half gallon of Gatorade in that time, and kept my muscles warm by riding my bike around the parking lot.

When Matt came around again (finishing our tenth lap), I said I'd give it a shot. I got to the same hill I had before and cramped the same way. But this time I rode/walked through it. I raised my seat about an inch (a move I was hesitant to do because of how frequently I was dabbing) to straighten my legs more. Also, the Gatorade I drank kicked in, and my muscles became much more responsive. I took the lap slowly, but not too slowly because I knew I needed to pass the scoring table within forty minutes, the end of the race, in order for our eleventh lap to count.

I passed the scoring table with five minutes to spare, which gave us the chance to do one more lap to the finish. Matt took the last lap, in no hurry I'm quite sure, and got us the score of twelve that we were shooting for. Our final placement was fifteen our of twenty in the duo-enduro class. I completed five laps and Matt completed freaking seven, putting our total mileage at about 48 for the day. We weren't great by any means, but I'll take that for a first race.

I'm definitely going back next year, probably for the duo-enduro again. I'm feeling a top ten.

Now

2008-09-14T21:18:00.002-05:00

I'm tired, but very, very content.

I should go mountain biking tomorrow.

I can do whatever I want. There is nothing holding me back. I can live my life however I choose. Right now I'm free and independent.

Happy birthday Joylyn! You mean so much to me.

The Song Is You

2008-09-04T20:51:00.002-05:00

I promise I'll never sing this in front of anyone. But I had a little spurt of musical inspiration today, and this song is what I came up with. I still need to work out a second verse and maybe a bridge, but I'm happy with what I have so far.

The Song Is You

If I sang you a love song
would you be the melody?
And if I wrote you a sonnet
would be my rhythm, be my rhyme?
And if I danced under the moonlight
to the voices of a thousand hills,
would you be the steps,
as I dance around
the mystery of you?

I heard a song,
the most beautiful arrangement of
the sounds we hear when we fall in love.
And I heard a song,
and sounded like the sigh you give
when your hand touches mine.

And the song is you.
The song is you.
The song is you.

Savior

2008-08-23T09:59:00.002-05:00

Steven Curtis Chapman

Well, who is this angry man I see
In the mirror looking back at me?
It's a man who's tired, a man who's weak
And it's a man who needs a Savior

And who is this fearful little child
Crying out for home, lost in the wild?
With a lonely heart that's fading fast
It's a child who needs a Savior
A child who needs a Savior

And what is this longing in my soul
That I get so scared and angry?
I need more than just a little help
I need someone who will save me
Come and save me
I need someone to save me
Who will save me?
Come and save me

And who is this one nailed to a cross
Who would rather die than leave us lost?
He's come to rescue us, come to set us free
Hallelujah, hallelujah
It is Christ the Lord our Savior

Ben-First!

2008-08-09T20:08:00.005-05:00

That's the new saying in our family. We're going in Ben-first.

I guess this week I've realized that clothes dry, wounds heal, sickness goes away, and dreams cannot be reached unless they stop being dreams.

I can't spend the rest of my life doing what everyone else does. I've known that for a long time. For a while, I sort of tricked myself into thinking that I could do something intellectual and respected. Haha, I remember sophomore year, not even that long ago, when I said my dream was to be an expert in some niche field of psychology or social science. Yeah, shoot me in the face. That was before I became familiar with the thrill of becoming airborne on a mountain bike by lake Fontana, rafting the Nantahala, or simply whizzing down the water slide at Cohutta Springs camp.

I've been so blessed. God has given me the BEST life. There is literally nothing else I could ask for. I challenge anyone to say that they are more blessed than me. That can only mean one thing--I've been called for a work that requires me to give back just as much as I have received. I would feel guilty if I lived the rest of my life any other way than extreme.

It's incredible and perfect and mind-blowing and awesome how God enacts his plan. It was only a month and a half ago when I reached a certain point in my life. I was restless. So I very plainly asked God to do two things for my life, if it wouldn't be too much trouble--show me my place in this world and place his hand in a certain relationship I wanted very much to develop into something more. Within a week I was fired up on a totally new direction for my life, and, well, the relationship was going pretty well. :-)

So no stuffy psychology for me. When people used to ask me what I wanted to be, I always said, "I'm not sure, but I know I definitely do not want to do anything medical." Now EMT training is looking likely. I want to rescue people. I don't know how or where, or really what, but I know that God is calling me to something crazy and wild, and I know that he will work out the details just like he always does. He's so much fun.

If You Were A Synapse

2008-08-05T21:41:00.002-05:00

Maybe if I let you in my head,
you'd lift the lid and climb inside
to cozy up with things
like work today, and things to write,
and songs to learn and choices
to discern,

or maybe you'd go deeper,
groping for unlikely hopes
amid a menagerie of unquiet
thoughts, squawking and flying
as if to turn your gaze
away from what is real.

But maybe if you spread apart
the tendrils of my thoughts,
you'd find a lonely mirror,
outlining the gracious curves
of your face, your nose and ears,
all soft in the corners of my head.
And maybe you would believe
you're all that's on my mind.

Reality

2008-07-30T12:44:00.007-05:00

For a second I saw matter
as what it really is.
Maybe a cosmic failsafe hiccuped.
Maybe when you traced the creases
on my palms, lingering at my fingers,
and your face turned soft with moonlight,
a universal law made exception for your beauty.
I saw you in the timid paleness
trimmed with gray-green
and white
and yellow all around
and you were real.

All Sides

2008-07-24T08:21:00.006-05:00

I think the lyricist for O.A.R. must be basically the same person as me (except for the whole singing and jamming bit). All Sides is one of the greatest albums I've ever heard. The music is outstanding, but the lyrics are powerful. For some reason they affect me like lyrics rarely do. Anyway, here are some of my favorite lines from O.A.R.

From Whatever Happened

Spent the night out on a hill

And watched the world sleep sound and still

And over mountains darkness spilled

Washed me over, yeah

Whatever happened?

It's been a long way back from the edge of that

Saw the world from the hill, I'm right back where it started

And it still feels like, like the very first time, saw the world like a kid

Yesterday is over, let's write another story tonight!

From This Town

In the morning wake me up

And tell me everything

So I can understand your world

And you can understand my dream

Yeah I could be anywhere

And you could be there with me

But I just want to be a ghost

And see everything

I don't want it to be the way they want it

This town, this night, this crowd

Come on put them up, let me hear it loud

This town, this city, this crowd

Stand up on your feet put your worry down

And everyone of you all around

Come on ya'll let's take this town

Let's take this town

It's better that we keep this close

Keep you close to me

Walking under every sky

Over every sea

You can be my modern girl

And I can be the one you found

If we're taking on the world today

I know we got to leave this town

I don't want it to be the way they want it

This town, this night, this crowd

Come on put them up, let me hear it loud

This town, this city, this crowd

Stand up on your feet put your worry down

And everyone of you all around

Come on ya'll let's take this town

Let's take this town

From Risen

I'm not quite sure how I got here.

A minute passed and I'm on my feet.

I never knew life could taste so good.

I need a little minute, just a moment to breathe.

No matter where I go, no matter who I see

Well I'm remind of my earlier days.

No matter where I roll, no matter what I know

Well I'm reminded of my earlier ways.

But now I keep asking myself.

Wouldn't it be the best damn day if we all took time to breathe?

Just one stolen paragraph in the book's written history.

Don't you sometimes wonder why people are afraid to smile?

Don't look down we're gonna come around and it always come to back, crack time, eventually.

Just ascend with me.

Freedom

2008-07-08T10:57:00.001-05:00

I haven't gained confidence, I've just realized the pleasure in having no clue how it will turn out.

Sonnet To Induce Love III

2008-07-05T23:24:00.001-05:00

We trembled, love, at its defying flanks,
covered in weathered iron. Tritian dawn
descending lazily upon the ranks
of men with faces angled and withdrawn.
Ascending then, we looked ahead to see
the curls and tendrils shooting through the sky.
Your hair, a honey-stained, benign marquee,
trailed slowly, mimicking the reasons why
I love you. Creaking now with painful want
like fingers blighted with arthritic rack.
Upon the crest we sighed at the detente
That weightlessness had offered our attack.
A rollercoaster, love, is just a ride,
But still, I wonder if we might collide.

Wild At Heart

2008-06-30T19:16:00.003-05:00

I don't know what there is to say.

I guess I could say last week was the most fun I've ever had. I love traveling, and Puerto Rico was beautiful. The rainforest was everything I wanted and more. The new friends were amazing. Hanging out with some of the best people in the world and making memories was never better than last week.

I guess I could say last week was the most spiritual time I've ever experienced. Making yourself vulnerable and taking risks for God allows him to speak to you in unimaginably new ways. Service opens up opportunities that would otherwise be closed. Fellowship with believers strengthens faith and verifies values.

But I think last week was a more than just an experience for me--it was a realization. I've been pleading with God to show me my calling ever since our trip to Beaufort last summer. I didn't hear him until last week. All of those things I just mentioned--taking risks, living out loud, having adventures, meeting new people, helping others--are what make me come alive. They are things I am incredibly passionate about. God has not given me a destination for my life, but I know he has given me a direction. For the first time, I feel responsible to follow a call.

I can't even speculate. Missionary? Aid worker? Maybe my sights are too lofty. Maybe my calling is to be a school guidance counselor in an urban neighborhood. Like I said, I don't know the destination, just the direction. It's my turn to take some initiative. I'm confident that the rest will fall into place easily enough when the right time comes.

Disturb Us, Lord

2008-06-30T13:19:00.002-05:00

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

When the World Fell Asleep

2008-06-18T07:50:00.008-05:00

Up, he said, touching my wrist.

We go where fog throbs in the morning,
moss is a wedding veil.
We won't stop except to write songs
and poems by the summer fire.

Where, I asked.

Where does tree sap still foam
like sea cave spittle?
Afton erodes ferny glens;
Innisfree drowned Bacchus' sons.
The man in the moon stepped down
from every Kabul rooftop.
Where does poetry write itself
with ash and sweat and birch?

Here, he said.

Where concrete gardens grow
and iron rings like a dark gong,
you will find life, dripping slowly, slowly,
rousing the leaves from slumber.

The boredom of work finally helped me write a poem. I don't know why I haven't written in so long. I really miss it.

So I went into a clinic last night because of a funky rash, and it turns out I have Lyme disease. It's really not as bad as I thought. Since I caught it early I'll probably not even feel the symptoms. Damn ticks.

Hey, that poem's pretty good. I'll just read it again, if you don't mind.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

2008-06-17T08:02:00.002-05:00

William Butler Yeats

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

If you love me, won't you let me know?

2008-06-11T17:06:00.002-05:00

Jars of Clay - Redemption

We made it to a strange town
Going down the wrong road
Like any story retold
Couldn't find a common ending
We're way gone, be gone, looking for our own way

We needed a distraction
You said you were redemption

We knew it as a wrong turn
We couldn't know the things we'd gain
When we reach the other border
We look out way down past the road we came from

We're looking for redemption
It was hidden in the landscape
Of loss and love and fire and rain
Never would have come this way
Looking for redemption

We were looking out past the road we came from

Looking at redemption
Hidden in the landscape
Of loss and love and fire and rain
Never would have come this way
Looking for redemption
In the eyes of sorrow, eyes of rage
What a sordid histories they played
The drama of redemption
Redemption

Coldplay - Violet Hill

Was a long and dark December
From the rooftops i remember
There was snow
White snow

Clearly I remember
From the windows they were watching
While we froze down below

When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low

If you love me
Won't you let me know?

Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God

Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft

Bury me in armor
When I'm dead and hit the ground
A love back home unfolds

If you love me
Won't you let me know?

(Guitar Solo)

I don't want to be a soldier
That a captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below

So if you love me
Why'd you let me go?

I took my love down to violet hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still

So if you love me
Won't you let me know?

If you love me,
Won't you let me know?

Redemption is one of my all time favorites. I love the imagery--walking on a road, getting hopelessly lost, then looking behind and realizing we were led there. "We needed a distraction. You said you were redemption." Then, " Hidden in the landscape of loss and love and fire and rain. Never would have come this way looking for redemption." Every time I listen to it I feel my faith being reassured.

Violet Hill is a new favorite. "Was a long and dark December." Life is too short to let love be unspoken. Like at war, there are no assurances.

If you love me, won't you let me know?

Summer

2008-06-03T18:16:00.002-05:00

I hate summer for a few reasons. First, the weather sucks. Heat, humidity, and sun. It takes all my energy. Second, there's no school. And yes, I do like school for maybe the first time in my life. Third, I have to work, and working reminds me of how much I dislike adult life and don't want to ever grow up.

So now it's summer. I'm done with graduation, done with prom, done with all my finals. I have one more day of vacation before I start working full time. I already miss my friends and classmates, and it hasn't even been a day.

I can't believe I'm a senior. However cliche it maybe be, my high school years went by really fast. My only regret is that I don't have more regrets, but I guess I have one year to change that. I've learned maybe as much this year as I have in all my years since going to Atholton, and even more than I ever did homeschooling.

Now I think I might eat a few pints of ice cream and watch a movie.

Not Yet

2008-05-25T20:46:00.002-05:00

What is it about the last days of a school year that create so much emotion? Obviously it's saying goodbye to something that has been familiar and hello to something new. It's a milestone of change. Right, I know all that, and that's not my question. My question is why. Why do we have such an attachment to the past? I don't know about everyone else, but I see time and my life as a line. When I think of things like change and new beginnings, I conjure up this picture in my head of the past, present, and future on a line, with my sitting right on that little "present" blip. But that's a little faulty, because our lives are not composed of the past or the future. Our cognizance tries to familiarize itself with the past through memories and the future through aspirations. But no matter how hard we try, our existence is an infinitely small point.

So why do we care so much about change? Why don't we only live in the present, without thoughts of how great this year was, horrible our decisions were, and regrets we've made? I guess it's relativity applied on just one more level. Without the memory of how we were, we have no scale with which to judge ourselves in the present. And everyone assesses themselves.

So this weekend I'll cherish the thoughts that make me emotional. I'll bring to mind every image that creates that pang in my stomach--over and over again until I almost puke with a strange mix of sadness and anticipation. I'll play the "Everything" by Lifehouse over and over again until I can see Acrofest, experience chapel, and relive youth Sabbath. I'll put the Rasmus on repeat until the smells of New York come back to mind. I'll devour pages of my journal until I feel like everything is starting over again. I'll go to school for my first day, evaluate the people who are now my friends like I'm just meeting them, feel the burn in my muscles as I try to reach a new level in gymnastics, shiver with nervousness while I receive my first academic evaluation, sigh with contentment as the bus puts moves one mile closer to Andrews, and even analyze my feelings as if they're the only things that matter. Maybe they are.

I'll be honest, this summer scares the hell out of me. I'm afraid that everything I've accomplished this year will revert back to zero come August. It's a baseless fear, but one I have to live with. On the other hand, I'm excited about myself. I'm excited about the ways I'm changing--the ways I'm becoming closer to God, closer to my dreams, closer to excellent health, closer to independence, and closer to becoming a man.

I'm almost done with my training. I feel ready for war, but my Master keeps telling me Not yet.

2008-05-08T14:23:00.001-05:00

The Stairway

By the look of the mold patterns and cracked corners, he guessed the building was built sometime in the fifties. He scrutinized one of the splodges; it was dark and symmetrical, much like the Rorschach blotches he knew so well. One from the day before stuck in his memory, the one he thought was an angel of death. This one might have been a flower or a sickle, but probably nothing any more morbid than the sickle.

In a few seconds it was gone, because he was walking rather quickly and refusing to be distracted by anything that caught his eye. Two doors farther, he counted. He stopped at the end door and glimpsed the sign: Office 266, Jasper C. Malcolm, Attorney at Law.

He sighed and gathered the papers he would soon be authorizing. Death is bureaucracy, he thought, but not for very long. Lingering on memories is always worse when they are fresh and pungent, like wet paint. That’s it: wet paint. Soon it will dry and leave a glistening white veneer, but until then he must be careful not to scar the tacky finish.

He knocked on the metal door. I wonder if they ever bring bodies in here, he thought, as his knock echoed down the hall and back again. The usual return greeting was not forthcoming. He knocked again.

“Mr. Malcolm?”

He opened the door a small space and peered inside. One incandescent bulb glared at the ceiling, and the light it threw down revealed a long, winding stairwell – not the leathern office he had seen before.

With confusion, the man stepped back out and looked at the door again. He read the same words, signifying that this was indeed the correct door.

The stairwell was eerie. I entered on the ground floor, so it must lead to the basement, he pondered. Maybe Jasper’s office moved down there, and the numbers were placed here to direct people to the new one. But he was almost positive this door was the same door that led to Jasper’s office before, regardless of markings. Still, he tucked his wife’s documents under his arm and started down the stairs.

They were made of cheap metal, the kind that shivers when you step on it and makes that awful noise, like a gong. He thought the rusted steel was an odd sight in a Pittsburgh building.

The man counted six steps, then a landing. Six more, then a landing. After three flights, he reached the next floor. He was baffled firstly by the notion that each floor opened in a different direction, because of the odd number of flights; and secondly by the absence of any visible door to access the floors. The stairs continued downward, and the only evidence that he had reached a lower level was the marking on the wall: Level - 1. Level one? He questioned. I was just on level one.

He started down the next flight of stairs. After two more turns – eighteen steps – he saw the same markings again: Level - 2. And then he realized, That’s not a dash, it’s a negative. I’m on floor negative two. He ran his hand along the wall, but no portal revealed itself. The wall was metal, seamless, and it didn’t sound hollow when he hit it with his fist. He continued.

Eighteen, he counted. Then Level - 3. He looked over the railing to see how many more floors there were, but the light barely reached the level he was at, much less a floor or two beneath him. He jogged down the next steps and saw Level - 4. It was no different.

This is ridiculous, he thought, and debated returning to ground level. He remembered what the receptionist had said, the strange one with the different colored eyes. She said, “Almost everyone is gone today, but I believe Mr. Malcolm is in his office. Let me call him.” She did, and he answered. “Mr. Malcolm says to come right down. He’ll be waiting.” Come right down? The man could not reconcile why Jasper would need him to come down anywhere if it were not the staircase he was treading.

The bulb’s illumination had long turned to dusk, then sunset, and now he was left to carry on through the night. He pulled a penlight out of his shirt pocket and descended once more. The bright LED cast an uncanny blue glow on the cement landings, and he suddenly didn’t feel safe. One sheet fell from his hand, and he reached to pick it up. On the front, shaded black and white, was a picture of Mary, under which was written, Mary Cunningham, 32 – Deceased December 26, 2010.

The man picked it up with fury, crumpled it, and replaced it in his folder. He ran down the next stairs, taking the last three in one jump. Level - 7. He slammed his fist on the empty wall and kept on running in spite of his warm, burst knuckles. At this speed, his penlight did no good. He cast it down the stairwell and watched the blue light descend rapidly, never stopping. Never stopping. Like a memory. Like paint that doesn’t dry. Like an endless staircase.

He ran after the pen, knowing there was no use stopping until he heard its metallic clatter on the cement floor. He heard nothing, but maybe that was caused by the blood pounding in his ear, his sharp wheezing, or his numb brain fueled by adrenaline. Level - 21.

Down here the air was cold. January hadn’t been kind to Pennsylvania, and the twelfth seemed an unusually bitter day. The comfort of climate control must have left at about negative fourteen.

By now he was flying. He could still see a faintness where the pen was falling. He knew there would be no end. Unless something changed he would never stop. Now he was determined, and when the man was determined he wouldn’t back down, even in the bowels of the earth in which he ran. The darkness was finally too severe to tell what floor he was at, and he really didn’t care.

The folder he carried seemed to become heavier with every floor. At first he thought it was his imagination, but now his arms burned from carrying a twenty-five pound weight of paper. Twenty-six. He readjusted the weight and didn’t stop for a breath. At this point he was jumping down each flight: six, twelve, eighteen, six, twelve, eighteen. His thumps were loud and staccato, causing his mind to lapse into a rhythm.

NO! He couldn’t let things become routine. No, no, no! With effort, he stopped and clenched his jaw. The rhythm stopped. Life slowed. He wasn’t sure what level he was on now, but he had a hunch it didn’t really matter. Only one thing mattered; only one thing would be able to end his downward journey. With determination and no little amount of remorse, he resolved to stop. Just stop.

So he took one last look at Mary, his love, and cast the folder over the cold, hard railing. It writhed through the air before it passed beyond his vision, and he noticed how much brighter it glowed than the penlight had, this one yellow and warm. Several seconds later he heard the expected brattle of something hitting the floor, and he was certain of what it was.

Slowly he walked down eighteen more steps and picked up the penlight, which rested there at the bottom. The folder was gone, and he felt like a man again, like a freshly-peeled scab: tingling but ready to heal. One incandescent bulb shone on the ceiling, so he pocketed the light and entered the door marked Level 1.

Heart of My Heart

2008-04-20T18:09:00.002-05:00

I'm going crazy. Like actually insane. I'm losing grip with reality and the ability to function like a normal person.

I just finished reading John Eldredge's Wild at Heart. Throughout most of the book I was cynical about listening to what it had to say. I thought it was just another feel good Christian fluffy book, but I finally gave in during the final chapters and admitted to myself that it offers a life-changing perspective. This quote especially: "Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive." -Gil Bailie.

I'm sick of this! I'm sick of living a life dictated by society, by planning, by details that have nothing to do with the bigger picture of God, salvation, and the human crisis! I'm sick of going to church and sitting in a freaking pew and listening to the goodness of God and then never drinking the fullness of life! I'm sick of pretending. I'm sick of being lied to--being told that sitting down, respecting morals, knowing doctrine, and achieving success is all there is to live for. It's not--and when we first begin to go crazy about God we realize that he's calling us out of the world and into a wild, dangerous, even painfully sweet plan that takes all we are as children of God. We're called to be ferocious as lions, unpredictable, spontaneous, courageous, and untame. C.S. Lewis writes an incredible line in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. "Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good." Jesus' example of God was anything but subdued. Jesus was fearless, kind, yet wild and not altogether comfortable. He's not the sort of person you would sit down for an afternoon tea with. He's the kind you would find at raves experiencing the best and worst of humanity and making a difference for the better.

I don't know what I'm doing. It seems like the closer I get to God, the more I drive away my friends. Much further and I won't be able to go back to the comfortable life I've experienced all I've my life. I feel like I'm right on the edge of something huge, about to fall off. I'm praying harder than I've ever prayed that God is the once calling me.

It's a interesting that the closer I get to God, the less peace I feel in my life. For the first time I can ever remember, I can feel the presence of evil working against me in everything I do. And it makes me happy, because I know I'm scaring the hell out of the Devil (Was that an ironic word choice?). But even though that surface peace so hard to achieve, I feel a deeper peace, because I am assured that there is more to life that what I've always thought.

I don't even know what I've done all my life. I've been quiet, relatively content, a good student, a friend only because I'm there and not because I have anything special to offer. I haven't done anything lasting. I've been reading Ecclesiastes (Have you guessed yet?). I like how that book ends. Basically, everything is meaningless except for God, who gives more meaning than our frail minds can even begin to see.

My interest in theoretical physics goes beyond a penchant for science. It's more connected to an interest in religion. Everything is spiritual, like Rob Bell says. More and more I'm beginning to see (maybe sense is a better word) how God is present in everything. God is at the core of the universe, existence at is simplest, yet most complex, reality. God is everything, very literally.

I believe in God. I believe he loves me. I believe I have a innate desire to have an adventure, to rescue a beauty, to fight a battle against the evil one. And even though each of those aspects of God have been corrupted by sin, I still believe they exist in their purest form. Maybe not easily accessible--instead, maybe they're deeper within us. It's unnatural for us to be like God, but we can be.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?

"Whoever loses his life for me will find it." I need to do something dangerous! Eldredge uses the analogy of a soldier in battle. When the enemy approaches his foxhole, he is forced to run if he wants to live. He needs to expose himself, to stand inches away from death, in order to live. Our enemy is also approaching--he's here! And the only way to keep from losing our souls is to plunge ahead into the wild, the dangerous.

Wearing Nothing But Green

2008-04-15T06:43:00.004-05:00

She lives in the garments
of a flower, the deceiver.

Every time the world ends
she dances by moon
for me, the deceived.

She dances naked, the deceiver,
and I return
every time the world ends
to her flower.
And I watch her dance
slow fleshy circles
curling around flowers
until I realize the world
ended, and I with it.

Here Comes the Sun

2008-04-10T13:37:00.002-05:00

Contentment is a strange thing. What causes happiness? I've been thinking a lot of that this year. Is it friendships, relationships, material, God, or simply your attitude? More and more, I'm beginning to see how meaningless life is without God. If I didn't have a relationship with him, I would have no purpose. I'd be drifting and insecure. I know that because I've been there, more recently than I even want to think about.

I had a conversation once about having a relationship with God, and a question was presented. "Why have a relationship with God if it doesn't make you have a better life?" Let's face it, people are perfectly capable of having a good time without any inclination towards God. But when I was far away from God, I needed things--friends, possessions, activities--just to keep me distracted from myself. When I finally put some quietness in my life and spent some alone time, I realized that I couldn't live with myself without God. I had nothing.

So, yes, distractions make you happy, but it's only a fake happiness. I know that's overused, but maybe it's something you can't understand until you've been there. I'm really rambling...

Today's weather is amazing.

Gymnastics is wearing me out. One more week...

Santana was amazing. It was worth every cent.

I almost flashed seven balls. So close!

Yeah, forget blogging. I'm gonna go do something outside.

That's What I Get

2008-03-30T11:17:00.000-05:00

No sir, well I don't want to be the blame
Not anymore
It's your turn to take a seat
We're settling the final score
And why do we like to hurt so much?

I can't decide, you have made it harder just to go on
Why all the possibilities where I was wrong

That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
I drowned out all my senses with the sound of it's beating
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa

I wonder how am I supposed to feel when you're not here
'Cause I burned every bridge I ever built when you were here
I still try holding on to silly things
I never learned why when all the possibilities I'm sure you heard

That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
I drowned out all my senses with the sound of it's beating
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa

They make you wait to me, to me
And I'll always be just so inviting
If I ever start to think straight
This heart started right in me
Let's start, hey

Why do we like to hurt so much?
Oh why do we like to hurt so much?

That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
That's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa
That's what you get when you let your heart win
I can't trust myself with anything but this
And that's what you get when you let your heart win
Whoa

-Paramore

It's Best to Let it Roll

2008-03-23T15:41:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I really just have to laugh at myself. I'm always looking for something. I'm looking for meaning in life, for metaphors to explain things to myself, for comparisons between events, for a common thread between everything that happens. I'm looking for God and understanding. I'm looking for purpose. I know I'm different than a lot of people. It's taken a while for me to realize that I am different. After I realized that, I had to realize I was no better than anyone else. Oddly enough, next came realizing I was no worse than anyone else. But now I'm faced with a new challenge: realizing that life is too short to take things very seriously.

I understand that there are serious matters. God. Eternal life. Relationships. But I also realize that some things are simply meant to be. It's funny how all the philosophies I've identified with now shape who I am. I'm tired of trying to put everything into terms of me. There's so much out there that I shouldn't try to explain. I just need to let it happen.

Yesterday I learned something that I've always known but never thought of. I need to stop putting God into a Ben-Box. Just this year I've struggled a lot with my faith, mostly because of events where I think God should have acted a certain way. I felt betrayed by God. But now I'm realizing that it's impossible to know if God betrayed us. If he were human, I should have felt betrayed. But he's not. Who am I to say what the outcome will be?

So I just need to let God happen too. Lately I've been borrowing a lot of agnosticism into my theology. It's a strange mix. Of course, I don't think everything is impossible to know, but I do think some are. God is impossible to understand. The sooner we realize that, the sooner we allow him to work in his mysterious ways.

It's freeing. Instead of always worrying about seeing God in each situations, I can finally accept that I don't need to see God. Just because he isn't visible doesn't mean he isn't present. All I'm asked to do is live my life in a relationship with God. If I do that, I don't need to worry about anything else. It will all just simply fall into place.

So I'm going to stop analyzing my attraction. I'm going to stop analyzing the meaning of life every waking (and sleeping) moment. I'm just going to enjoy my life, my closeness to God, and everything that comes my way.

It's spring break, and I have so much relaxing to do. I actually made a to do list of things I don't have to do, just because it's so much more fun. The list has things like "watch a movie," "write a poem," and "read a book" on it. That's why I love spring break.

Happy Happy Birthday

2008-03-14T21:50:00.003-05:00

17 today. Seems like my teenage years are slipping away.

I remember birthdays when I homeschooled. We would spend the day on a "field trip" to D.C. or a park. The metro was my favorite. I also loved climbing on all the memorials and buying special treats for the lunch we packed. My birthday has always been right when the first taste of spring is in the air, and there's nothing like that feeling. It's nostalgic.

This year my birthday was different. No presents--my parents mentioned something about that when they bought my camera for Christmas. No party (yet). Nothing really particularly special about the day. School, gymnastics, practice for tomorrow. Long day, late night, busy schedule. Just like the rest of my life.

That's what made me realize what is so special about your birthday--it's your friends. When I walked into school the first thing I heard was a group of people wishing me a happy birthday--people I wouldn't have even guessed remembered my birthday. Then some other friends brought a cake. And they sang happy birthday in chapel. And I got dogpiled in gymnastics, which is probably the greatest sign of affection I could ask for. This afternoon I got another cake at practice and a couple more rounds of happy birthday. I'm not desperate for attention or anything. Actually, it usually makes me feel uncomfortable. But for someone who often wonders if he's making any sort of impact on the people around him, it was good to know people are thinking of me.

So, a good birthday. But more than that, another year of growth. I can see the change of the past year in my attitude, my efficiency, my priorities, my wisdom, and even my muscles. I can only anticipate what the next year will bring.

I feel like I could sleep for a couple days straight. This past week was possibly the busiest week of the year for me. Week of Prayer, juggling competition, youth Sabbath, and a ton of school projects, along with juggling the schedule of one more family member for the week. It was a lot to deal with. But things are slowing down, it's my birthday, some of my favorite people in the world are home for spring break, and I have a fun weekend to look forward to. The Lifehouse skit is tomorrow (it looks great!) and the spring banquet is on Sunday. Both are gonna be great, but for different reasons. Maybe the same... there's a question I'll need to ponder.

Oh, I'll fight you Tyler! Haha, good times on the basketball court tonight. I almost forgot what a backboard was.

Check out the Gazette for some pictures from the juggling competition. You might see me if we're lucky. I got second place--fifty bucks. That doesn't sound bad, but I feel like a failure. Not because I got second, but because I should have done better, and it wasn't even my fault. Oh, well. Such is life.

I was listening to the Jars of Clay song "World's Apart" yesterday before my competition. It always calms me down and puts me in a relaxed mood. That song never ceases to change my perspective. There's always something new in the lyrics for me to ponder. I'll post a few of my favorite lines here, which struck me the other day.

"It takes all I am to believe in the mercy that covers me." I like lines that point out Christianity for what it really is--almost entirely faith-based. We can say there's proof here and evidence there, but we're kidding ourselves. If we want to believe in God, it takes all we are to believe in him. There's so much telling us that it's a lie, but it's that little part of us that tells us it's the most important truth there is that keeps us holding on to our beliefs. That's faith, and I like how the song puts it. So desperate.

"Watch a world I used to love fall to dust and blow away." That fits with chapel today. We need to put away our love for this world and come out of the crowd, finding the freedom in Christ. I love the whole premise of this song. "Take my world apart. I am on my knees. Take my world apart." It asks God to help us make a complete 180 degree turn. We hold on to so much in this life that doesn't matter. We need to ask God to take our worlds apart and leave us only with him.

Suddenly, all of this seems very, very important to me.

Exhausted

2008-03-11T17:34:00.002-05:00

My life is full of so much right now. School, gymnastics, juggling, church, working out, writing, and trying to maintain a social life. Oh, and religion. That's sort of a new one...

I want a relationship with God so badly. I felt desperate for it today. But I've had enough tearful conversations after powerful speakers that I'm getting cynical. I've learned that just because I shed a few tears doesn't mean I'm closer to God--it just means I want to be. The next step comes later, and it's the one I almost always fail.

Here's what I know is fact: 1. A God of creation exists. 2. God's nature is love and not sin. 3. God speak quietly and in his own terms, not in ours. 4. A relationship with God is unlike any relationship we have with humans.

I talked with the speaker after chapel today, and I asked him the questions that have been weighing on my heart recently. As I suspected, he couldn't answer them. But I think I can accept that they can't be answered in any other way than, "have faith." Like Mr. Hess says, you'll just know when the time comes. I think that's a principle that can be applied to our Christian lives.

In any case, I'm feeling both relieved that I've finally recognized my need for God and discouraged because that choice is so difficult.

2008-03-03T18:29:00.002-05:00

I haven't blogged in a while. I guess I haven't felt the need.

That means a couple things. First, I'm content right now, which is amazing. Second, I'm apathetic. When things aren't going right, they are. Because when things aren't going right, I grow, I adapt, and I learn more about myself. When everything is okay, I start to get worried, because I have a fear of wasting my life.

My relationship with God is pretty static right now. I have re-accepted him, but I don't feel like I'm getting any closer to him. It's like I believe in him, but that's all. Faith is something that I'll always struggle with. It doesn't seem like there's ever any resolution.

I haven't written any poetry in a while, which also means things are uneventful. I guess my life right now is at a plateau--between change, not really moving.

The only thing I'm really doing right now to improve myself is working out, and that's enough to make me feel accomplished nearly constantly. I'm finally seeing major improvements, so that's encouraging. It doesn't seem to make a difference in gymnastics though--I'm still going to be placed in the useless positions. Oh, right, no position's useless. I forgot.

For some reason the lifehouse skit is consuming a lot of my thoughts recently. We're good. That skit has always been meaningful to me, and now that I'm a part of a fairly large-scale production of it, I feel like I can finally become intimate with it.

Recently I've tried a few creative experiments--plays and stories. Most either flop, or I give up before they have the chance to flop. Oh, well.

I'm really tired. I love this weather--it's my all time favorite. I could sleep outside tonight.

My attraction is all mixed up again. It will probably always be. But right now I'm placing it on the back burner, and that's all that matters.

cheers

Ben

Tonight

2008-02-23T22:42:00.004-05:00

Yep, that's where we were.

The First Pillar Is...

2008-02-20T21:43:00.002-05:00

Would you die for a stranger? That question has been nagging at my mind recently. Should you? If somebody you didn't even know was being forced to die an undeserved death, and you could take the punishment instead, would you? I actually didn't think about this one very long, because I think the answer is yes, I would. The fact is, death doesn't scare me. Living an unfulfilled life scares the hell out of me. By dying in place of someone else, I would be assuring myself satisfaction and fulfillment. I would feel like my life had purpose.

If pain was involved, I doubt I would have the courage to make the same choice. I honestly have no fear of death. I do have a fear of pain, however--one which constantly reminds me of its complete power over my will.

This question brings to mind the topic of excellence. Lately, the study of ethics in school has put into words what I've known for a long time but never have been able to verbalize. I've decided that the debate over morality is really a fruitless debate. If it's so hard to decide whether something is right or wrong that we really can't agree on its morality, we might as well stay clear of it. That's where excellence comes in. If we live our lives always giving, giving more, then the question of morality becomes obsolete. If we are willing to go through any amount of pain to save our enemies the slightest amount of discomfort (a willingness I am unimaginably far away from achieving), then everything else seems to fade in comparison. There's really no reason to be average as long as we have the choice not to be.

On a completely unrelated topic, I've been thinking recently about a major life change. Specifically, I've been wondering what would happen if I was led away from Columbia to another part of the country. For some people, relocating is almost an annual affair, without much thought given to the stresses it puts on relationships, community, and successes. For me, relocating would be both the greatest thrill of my life and the most painful blow. I can't possibly imagine leaving a home I've always known. I would lose my security, my identity, my memories. I can't imagine leaving friends who are just as close as siblings, and a wide circle of adults who are basically secondary parents. I can't imagine leaving Atholton, which has been at the center of my life since day one. I have such a strong affection for my current state.

On the other hand, I love adventure. I love starting things from scratch. Moving away would be a renaissance, a chance for me to leave behind all the strained relationships, misconceptions, and regrets (however relatively few they might be). It would give me a chance to experience life independently and find things out on my own. I'm sure if I moved away I would grow more than I ever have before. It would make my aspirations seem unbelievably attainable.

But, no doubt, I'll live in this house until I leave for college, when all that growing will take place. I'll be forced into it that way, and I won't mind. It really doesn't matter when it will happen. What matters is that it will, and I need to be ready, whether it be next week or in a year and a half (is it really that soon?). I'll have to pursue excellence in whatever situation I find myself.

Beelzebub, Esquire

2008-02-20T19:41:00.000-05:00

I met the devil
by happenstance
at night in a local
convenience store.

I asked him
why he browsed
brownies
and cigarette selections.
(I knew he favored
wholesome health,
and never puffed
on tobacco stuff.)

"My friend,"–he recalled
us meeting before–
"haven't you read
the news today?"
He pulled a paper
from his pocket
and pointed
out the headlines.

"There's genocide in Africa,
thousands of them have died.
AIDS is spreading like melted
butter, and the flu is ending lives.
Christians kill and kids have sex–
even our preachers lie!
If smokes and ding-dongs kill, my boy,
then I deserve to die.”

"Oh," I said, and left.

Once More, Unto the Youth Retreat, Dear Friends

2008-02-18T18:42:00.002-05:00

I live a life of change, where I always think the change is complete and it never is. I keep thinking I will stop getting random realizations about life, but I don't think I ever will. I'll just keep learning and learning until one day I'll wake up and suddenly understand that I know nothing.

The youth retreat was familiar, yet completely new. It seems like I'm an old guy now--casting the shadow on the youth group. Every year our youth group gets younger and younger it seems. But I have been going to that same retreat since the very first one, and six years is enough time for a mountain of change.

The topic of the retreat was relationships, especially dating relationships. I still can't decide if that's exactly what I needed to hear or entirely what I shouldn't have been hearing. The truth is I know how I should handle relationships. I've been taught principles for healthy relationships all my life. I know the signs and consequences of bad relationships. And I can keep on hearing them, but hearing them doesn't seem to change how I relate to them. I'll still make the same mistakes and I'll still work just as hard.

I love my friends. I feel independent, finally. I feel like a free-thinker, open-minded, adult, mature. I feel self-confident, like I know who I am and what my purpose is. I still struggle with so much, but I'm confident in myself in ways I haven't been before.

I'm hungry.

Unexpected Valentine

2008-02-14T20:40:00.002-05:00

I found love today in ways I didn't expect. And it's not just because I was searching so hard to find it, because I wasn't at all. It caught me off guard, so I guess it was just divine coincidence that it happened to fall on this day.

I found love again through reading the story of Renee, the inspiration for the "To Write Love on Her Arms" movement. I don't know why that story moves me so much. I've read other inspirational stories before, and they don't usually make me cry. I don't know what it is about this one, or why I have such an attraction to this cause. But I do.

Today I was reading the story again, and I read the part that says, We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. And I finally understood what is meant when people say, "God is love." I've heard that all my life, but it carried no meaning until today. Today I realize that God isn't just a loving being, he actually is love. Love is God. When I truly love someone, the feeling I am experiencing is God. It isn't given by God, it is God. So I can't question God's existence. I know he exists because I know love exists, and they are one in the same.

I was also moved today with another reading--the book "The Outsiders," by S.E. Hinton, which I'm reading for an honors English project. I almost all of the book today in one sitting. I couldn't put it down. With new ideas of the love of God fresh in my mind, that book made me want to make a difference with love. It is a book that shows what life is without love, and it shows what life offers if we just reach "inside" social boundaries and give love. Love is my new movement.

TWLOHA

2008-02-14T16:07:00.002-05:00

I feel new. I have new purpose, new understanding, new direction, and hopefully at least some degree of new faith. But I've learned faith isn't just something you can get instantly after crying for twenty minutes about what a horrible person you've been and how great God's forgiveness is. Faith is something I think I will always struggle with. I keep going back and forth--it's so hard for me. I think part of it is just who I am. I need to see things and experience them to believe it.

Z was saying today that we don't need to experience sin to believe in its harmful effects. Some of us don't, but I think I do. I guess I'm a doubting Thomas. I can't truly believe something until I've tasted it myself. To paraphrase a piece of advice a wise person once gave me, "It's like you taste its food, and no one could taste it on your behalf."

Part of my newness is coming from having a new cause to support. It's called "To Write Love on Her Arms." You've likely seen some some of its advertising--on Facebook or through bands like Switchfoot and Anberlin. I'm not just supporting it to support something; reading about the cause is what (once again) made me realize the depth of God's love for each one of us, and also made me realize what a fool I've been to doubt his love. In response to that, I want to promote love in every way I can. TWLOHA was simply what touched me, and I want to pass along that feeling of absolute acceptance.

Sutras and Protein Supplements

2008-02-11T19:02:00.000-05:00

I can't get my mind to focus recently. I think I have senioritis, just a year early. I think it might be getting better--I saw my grades recently and got scared into action. But even if I decide to step things up, it's going to be hard because my heart isn't there anymore. It's still a fight between what I want to do and what I have to do.

I got out a stack of books from the library, since reading ridiculously verbose texts usually helps me focus. This time it's the Dhammapada and Kant's monologues. Buddhism and ethics are near the top of my interests lately.

I'm so tired. Gymnastics has lost whatever it used to have. I'm pretty confident I won't be joining again next year. I don't have the passion for it that I need to really be good. Silie says I need to work out more--but I have been, and I've gotten so much stronger since the beginning of the year, even since acrofest. But I'm failing now. Not because of strength, but because of lack of motivation. I'm still motivated to keep myself in shape; that's why I've been running and lifting nonstop. But gymnastics is just not my thing. My niches lie with other activities.

(Pen?)Ultimatum

2008-02-08T18:55:00.000-05:00

I'm done.

I've made a lot of mistakes this year.

Tyler keeps telling me that even a bad relationship can be a good thing as long as you learn something from it. I've found out that it's still a bad relationship.

I kind of feel like if I had kept my distance a little here and tried a little harder there, maybe the ending wouldn't be what it is. But that wouldn't have been right, and I'm kidding with myself to think that any of my romantic dreams will ever happen. Love seems to always be laughably close to me, but never in my hand.

I don't know what God's will is. I haven't asked him in a while, but even if I did I'm not sure his answer would be loud enough to hear.

I'm tired of so much, and I haven't even started.

The Answer (But Not the Solution)

2008-02-05T18:39:00.000-05:00

I've been ridiculous.

I've been restless, I've been oppressed, I've been so far away from peace that I can't even remember what it feels like, and I've claimed to not know why.

Of course I know why.

It's because I've been rejecting God. I've known it for a while too, I just didn't want to think about it. I still don't want to think about it. Do you know why? Because I haven't stopped.

I know God exists. I know Christ is my Savior. I believe in every word of the Bible. But that's just faith of intellect, not real faith. I know I'll give my life completely over to God again, but to be honest, I just don't feel like it now. I'm not in a mood to talk to him--I guess I'm throwing a little spiritual tantrum. Lately I've been wanting to screw something up--to experience the other side. That idea scares me a little, but it appeals to me even more. I've discovered that maybe the only way I can truly learn is through trial and error.

I'm being selfish, stupid, reckless, and dangerous. But for some reason, I don't mind.

It has crossed my mind that I want to get through this stage quickly. But somehow I know that this feeling is unavoidable. If I ignore it now, it will only haunt me later, maybe when I won't have such firm guidance from spiritual friends and family.

So that's it. The answer to all these abstract questions that have been floating around in my head. But, frankly, it's not the solution. It only could be, if I let it.

Claustrophobia

2008-02-04T14:32:00.000-05:00

I'm so restless.

I feel like I'm meant for some great purpose, but I'm failing miserably. Lately I've been feeling claustrophobic in my room, like the walls are the walls of a prison cell. I fantasize about dropping everything and running... running...

...Running down the street and across the road, even though it's the dead of winter. But that's not far enough, because everything is still familiar. I still feel claustrophobic. I keep on running

...running until I get out of Columbia, but it's still too familiar. I still don't feel like I'm making a difference. In the end, I can't imagine a place that's really far enough.

It's not location, it's activity. If I were making a difference here, I wouldn't feel so restless. I just can't tell what that difference is. What can I do that isn't meaningless?

I wouldn't mind being here at all if I were here with you. Maybe I'm restless to fall in love, but I'm beginning to think that's not it either. Maybe if I fell in love, I would still feel the same things. It's something even deeper than love, and even saying that contradicts everything I've ever believed in.

Sometimes I get the feeling that something is wrong--that millions of people are being misled by something, and I'm following right along with blindfolds over my eyes.

And So It Goes

2008-02-02T18:14:00.000-05:00

Thank you Tyler for introducing this amazing song to me. Gotta live Billy Joel, although the King's Singers' version might be unbeatable. So emotional. I'm trying to learn the piano part on the guitar right now (not the easiest task), and hopefully I'll get it good enough to be able to sing it too. Here are the lyrics--some of the best.

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along.

I spoke to you in cautious tones,
You answered me with no pretense.
And still I feel I said too much--
My silence is my self-defense.

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns.
And so it goes, and so it goes,
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave,
Then that would be my worst mistake.
So I will share this room with you,
And you can have this heart to break.

And this is why my eyes are closed--
It's just as well for all I've seen.
And so it goes, and so it goes,
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you--
That's if the choice were mine to make.
But you can make decisions too,
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes,
And you're the only one who knows

Hey Girl

2008-01-29T15:55:00.000-05:00

Today sucked. I'm still jetlagged, and that didn't help the fact that I have a week of work to make up. It also didn't help that I got setback in some other ways. I'm just sick of Spencerville. I'm sick of trying to make it work for me.

The only class I'm really enjoying right now is Religion, and that's just because we're studying ethics.

O.A.R. - Hey Girl

Hush little baby
Don't say a word
I'd like to give you everything that you deserve
I'll give you my heart, give you all my soul
You can have all my money,
if you'd like you can have control
In my mind, I miss you
Every night that you're not here
Oh, I just want to sit around your life and breathe your air
And if I cannot have you, I just don't wanna live
Oh, I've got so much I'd like to give!

I say now hey girl, come with me and let yourself go,
Hey girl come with me and let yourself go, go, go-oh,
just let yourself go, go, go-oh,
just let yourself go, go, go-oh...
Let yourself go

Ethics

2008-01-29T06:13:00.000-05:00

We're starting a new unit on ethics on Bible class. Having a particular subject taught to me in school is not important because it teaches me anything--it's important because it forces me to teach myself. I've always been very interested in the area of ethics and morality, because I've always simply felt the need to know what's right and wrong. But that's not an easy task.

Of course I'm an absolutist. Relativism when talking about morality is just a little absurd when you take into account my belief in a perfect God. Relative morals makes perfect sense for those who belief there is no higher being, but in my situation it is absurd. Secondly, I'm a biblical absolutist, because I believe the bible to be the source of our knowledge of absolute morals. That's as far as I know for sure--if I try to place myself in a more specific category, my personal believes start conflicting with the accepted norms.

For example, I'm not a conflicted absolutist. I don't believe there's such a thing as a moral dilemma, where you can't help sinning. I believe that conflicts with both the life of Jesus and the command "Be ye perfect." Secondly, I'm not truly an unqualified absolutist, because I feel the natural tendency to place certain moral standards above others. When I feel a natural tendency like that, I usually take heed, because I believe our instincts reflect a moral law that is written on our hearts.

So, you ask, what is wrong with graded absolutism? Graded absolutism requires you to break a moral standard in the place of another at certain times. I can't reconcile that grading morals like that is at all ethical. Jesus taught that sin is sin--all will keep you from reaching the kingdom. So whether I kill someone or lie shouldn't matter--sin isn't weighted on some magical scale. Both are wrong. If I say one is worse than the other, I'm getting dangerously close to accepting karma or some other form of salvation by works.

I don't fit into a category. Here is what I believe: First, I don't believe that it matters very much. God wants us to try to follow him. We sin all the time when we aren't faced with a moral dilemma. If we mess up a couple times when his way isn't completely clear, he'll forgive us just like he always does. Secondly, I believe God works in different ways--for some, such as the Egyptian nurses, he rewards them for acting in a graded absolutist manner. God recognized that the ends justified the means, or at least that the heart was in the right place and the means could be forgiven. But, above all, I believe that if I act in an unqualified manner and refuse to commit even the smallest sin, God will see that and intervene.

Okay, I guess I'm unqualified. I don't fully understand it, but it seems like the safest route. I might be wrong, but I'm playing it safe. For example, I believe if I'm faced with a moral dilemma and I choose not to sin, God will take action. He might think, "Oh Ben! Just commit the sin that causes the greater good! In this case it's okay!" But by not sinning, I will be safe--there's no way I can do wrong. But if I do choose the lesser evil, a graded point of view, I run the risk of doing something immoral. And that risk is too great.

Of course, this is all theory. I'm confident that I wouldn't practice most of it.

Next I'd like to take a look at what biblical absolutes consist of. Obviously the ten commandments--but I also need to look at other laws as well. In the end, I always trust my inspiration above all, because I believe it's from God. Please pray for me as I search out yet another manifestation of truth.

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

2008-01-28T19:03:00.000-05:00

Thank you Jack Johnson for summing up my thoughts.

I don't know how long I'll be waiting, but I do know it will be worth it.

I won't worry my life away.

Bangkok and Ayutthaya

2008-01-27T19:32:00.001-05:00

I hate Bangkok. It's just like any other big city, except with more pollution and poverty. There are only a few attractions that were worth seeing, and even those were barely attractive. My lungs burned as I walked through the downtown area, and by the end of the day my eyes were watering and the inside of my nose was crusted with pollutants.

After one day of seeing the tourist attractions in the city (reclining Buddha, temple of the dawn, palace), we had had enough. The next day we took a train about an hour and a half out of the city to the ancient capital of Ayutthaya. Ayutthaya used to be beautiful--covered in gold and economically the richest city in southern Asia. But after the Burmese conquered it several hundred years ago, all that's left is the brick and stone ruins. Without the gold coverings, many of the buildings look similar to South American structures, such as the temples built by the Aztec, Maya, or Olmec.

Before we left for the city, we talked to the hotel concierge about the best ways to get there.

Mom: We're planning a trip to Ayutthaya tomorrow. Do you think you could give us some information about the city?

Him: Of course! Ayutthaya is beautiful. That is where I come from. I grew up in Ayutthaya and that is where my family is now.

Mom: Oh, then you're the perfect person to ask! I hear there are some ancient ruins there that we shouldn't miss.

Him: Yes, they are what is left after the Burmese invaded Ayutthaya and melted our gold off the buildings, leaving nothing but ruins.

Mom: Oh... I'm sorry to hear that...

Him: It is okay. That was many years ago.

Haha, he sounded like they were still at war with the Burmese, and my mom sounded like it happened yesterday. It was a little awkward, but hilarious nevertheless.

Now we're home. I've been awake longer than I care to calculate. My butt is sore from planes, and I feel like I'm about to puke. I hate airplane food--I can spend ten days in Asia without immunizations and not even get a trace of sickness, and then the airplane food on the way home attacks me with vengeance.

I'm exited to look through pictures. I might even do that some tonight if I can stay awake.

Goodbye Chiang Mai

2008-01-25T12:04:00.000-05:00

Our last day in Chiang Mai was a little sad. I wanted to make the most of the day, but I didn't want to have to leave. I developed a strange fondness for that city in the short time that I was there.

On our last day, we rented bicycles to tour the outskirts of the city that we never got a chance to see. The price was approximately two dollars per bike for the entire day. The day was mostly uneventful, except that our seats got sore far sooner than our legs did. Also, we had to manage Asian traffic, which was new for me. I was nervous at first, but soon enough I got the hang of close passing and tight space.

One thing from the day interested me. The person renting our bikes, a kid probably in his late teens, was asking us where we were from. He asked us how we liked Thailand. When we noted how friendly that people are, he made a comment about Americans.

"In Thailand, the people are relaxed. They have time to be friendly." Americans," he said, shaking his head, "have no time. They are too busy with their jobs and their lives. They are not as friendly." Then I think he said some disclaimer about it not being all Americans.

I agree.

Highway Robbery and Huckleberry Finn

2008-01-22T07:29:00.000-05:00

Most of my days here will be spent in the markets or surveying the town of Chiang Mai itself. Today, however, I ventured further than the city. I wanted to see the beauty of Doi Inthanon national park, the highest peak in Thailand, but I was dubious of the quality I would receive from a guided tour. By quality, I mean adventure.

My mom and I took a bus from Chiang Mai about sixty kilometers south to Chom Thong. Our tuk-tuk driver barely made it to the bus stop, as the bus to Chom Thong was pulling out onto the road as he was pulling in. After boarding the bus, which was mostly filled with locals, we settled down and payed our fee of 30 baht each (about one dollar). I don't think the bus ever reached speeds of over 35 miles an hour, and the trip took us nearly two and a half hours.

When we got off in Chom Thong, we were immediately approached by a songtaew driver. He offered to take us on a round trip to Doi Inthanon for one thousand baht. Way too much. Our guidebook said the trip should cost about 30 baht per person each way. That's about 120 baht. We finally agreed to travel with him to the first waterfall we wanted to visit for a price of 300 baht. We figured we could find a cheaper ride to take us the rest of the way at the waterfall.

When we got there, we realized that it wasn't a tourist area, and there weren't any other rides. He was the only way off the mountain. We finally relented to pay 700 baht for him to take us to the top, with one other stop along the way. We knew we were being practically robbed, but there was no other option. At the next waterfall, we realized the round trip would cost us a total of 1400 baht. After paying entrance to the park, we had only a little over 1400, and we needed over a hundred to get us back to Chiang Mai from Chom Thong. We were about a hundred short.

After intense gesticulations and bargaining, with the help of a translator who happened to be walking along, we agreed that he would receive his payment in Chom Thong after we accessed an ATM. Also, we realized that his rate was average. In fact, it was slightly cheaper than the price some other locals were paying. He wasn't cheating us--the prices had simply seriously inflated since the 2005 guidebook. That made us feel slightly better.

With that information, we relaxed at our second waterfall, taking pictures and snacking on our provisions. The scenery was beautiful--the higher up we went, the greener the plants become, and the cooler and wetter the air turned. The fact that we didn't have enough money to pay him still weighed on our minds, but we were optimistic that we could find funds in the city.

After a short wait there, we began the 45 minute trip to the top. About halfway to the top, we passed a hitchhiker--a Caucasian woman who had been on the same bus as us--and the driver stopped to pick her up. After negotiating the fare, she joined us in the back and introduced herself. She was obviously a traveler, a wanderer by the look of her. She was Australian by citizenship, but she also called London, England home. I couldn't reckon she had a very strong concept of home anymore, however, when I learned that she had been traveling the world for a year and half and would be continuing for probably several more years. She goes from city to city and country to country, staying at hostels and tent camping, picking up work when she can.

Her life was very fascinating and not just a little attractive. It reminded me of Huckleberry Finn, where he says something like, "It's just free and easy when you're out on a raft." That lifestyle has always had appeal for me, but I know I could never do it alone. Instead, I would need a soulmate to make it enjoyable. And I might consider a trip like that too. I just need to find the right kind of soulmate.

She quickly won our thankfulness when she offered to exchange 300 baht for ten U.S. dollars (what she will do with U.S. dollars I can't begin to guess). We shared stories and observations as we bumped along the rest of the way to the top of the mountain.

The top was gorgeous. We hiked around to several observations, shrines, monuments, and overlooks. Then we hiked a short boardwalk that took us through the rainforest--it truly was a rainforest at that elevation, although still too dry to be as extravagant as the pictures depicted it. After lunch, my mom and I began the trip back down the mountain, sans our Australian hobo. But soon enough we came across her again, hitchhiking to the bottom of the mountain. We made two more stops on the way to the bottom--one to a beautiful chedi (temple monument), and the other to a Mung hilltribe village. The chedi was the most beautiful piece of architecture I've seen so far in Thailand, and that distinction is significant.

Our return trip was uneventful, except for the fact that our second bus was much faster, and the return ride was nearly an hour shorter. We returned to the hotel in time for supper. Now I'm deciding what to do with the rest of my evening. I have some laundry to do, I'm organizing questions to ask a monk tomorrow, I need to offload my camera, and I also might spend some time in the weight room if I still can find the energy.

Tomorrow we're renting jukayan (bicycles). Yes, I'm picking up a few words here and there.

I'm taking a lot of pictures, but not nearly as many as I was expecting. So far I've only taken about 450. There are some gems in there, but the more I take the more I'll be happy with. I'm learning how to use my camera very quickly, and I'm also rapidly becoming more adept at composition. I think I might have a knack for it. (Runs in the family, eh?)

Until next blog, goodbye.

Wat Composed My Day

2008-01-21T07:29:00.000-05:00

I apologize again for the titles. I get in little wannabe creative moods and can't seem to get out of them without a large amount of television.

This afternoon was my first real taste of Chiang Mai. We went by songtaew, a pickup truck with benches in the back and a covering, to the old Chiang Mai, which is a small walled region about three miles square. We went wat jumping all day by foot. I've never seen such extravagant gold artistry in all my life. I've seen enough versions of Shiva, Vishnu, Buddha, and their king to last me a lifetime.

The monks intrigue me. Everywhere we went, they could be seen, working, talking, or simply living their lives. Their orange, yellow, and rusty brown robes, along with shaved heads and almost perpetual smiles, set them apart from the drab population that composes the rest of the demography. At one of the wats today, there was a sign set up reading "Monk Chat." Tourists were invited to sit a while in the shade of an umbrella and discuss Buddhism, Thai culture and language, the monastic vow, and philosophy with the gathered monks. It gives them a chance to greet you and to practice their English (most were armed with an Oxford English-Thai dictionary).

I plan on going back another day when I can really spend the time in conversation with one of the monks, so I only passed them by today. But as we passed them, one of the more gregarious ones called out to my mom playfully.

Monk: What is my name?

Mom: What is your name?

Monk: Yes. What is my name?

Mom: I don't know.

Monk: 'Wat'. *points to himself* 'Wat' is my name.

Mom: Oh. 'Wat' is your name?

Monk: *nods happily* Yes!

Mom: Are you joking with me?

Monk: No! I am the only one here called 'Wat'.

Mom: That's a good joke! You had me going for a while.

Monk: No! My name really is 'Wat'! It is my Buddhist name. My Thai name is ____.

Mom: Oh. *pause* Nice to meet you, 'Wat'.

Haha, good times.

Chiang Mai - January 21

2008-01-20T20:34:00.000-05:00

On Saturday we visited the night bazaar in downtown Chiang Mai. I've never seen so many knock-offs in my life. Everything has a namebrand--things you wouldn't even except. I saw Mercedes and Ferrari on belts and hairclips, Armani and Gucci belts that were't even leather, and fake Lowepro, Puma, Playboy, Nike, and Kelty merchandise. Not to mention a plethora of movies that are not out of theaters yet. Probably pirated theater rips.

The crafts, however, are worth the money. They make them right in front of you--what you see is what you get--and they're reasonably priced and usually very beautiful. I'm going to do all my Christmas shopping here if I can find enough room to carry things back with me on the plane. Most trinkets or figurines range from about 100-500 baht, which translates to about 3-17 dollars.

Yesterday was a full day tour with the auditing group I'm here with. In the morning we toured some of the factories and shops in the area: gemstones, lacquer-ware, silver, and others. They were touristy and boring. In the afternoon we met up at an elephant camp about an hour north of Chiang Mai. We took a bamboo raft ride down the river, an ox cart ride around the camp, then an elephant ride across the river and back. We ended the day with an elephant show. The place was beautiful and the activities were interesting. The elephant camp redeemed the day from the level that it had slumped to.

Today is mostly going to be spent indoors planning the rest of the week and relaxing. I might go out the markets if I get the chance.

Yesterday we learned the five universal words from our boatman: yum, boom, crocodile, supermarket, and Heineken. Only the important stuff. Every time we got close to a rock, he would point at it with his bamboo pole and yell, "crocodile!" then laugh hysterically with us.

This is me bargaining for a pair of sunglasses at the night bazaar:

Me: How much are those?

Him: For you, two hundred baht. (About six dollars) Maybe you want for one-eighty?

Me: Maybe. Can I try them on?

Him: Yes, yes! Look in mirror! Look good, yeah? I have new ones too. Like this, but in brown. You like brown? I get you special one in brown.

Me: Do you have these in gray?

Him: Yes, of course! Also very special. *pulls out gray sunglasses--they look pretty good* You want to buy?

Me: Yes, but I don't have any baht.

*pause*

Him: No baht?

Me: No.

*pause*

Him: You have American dollar?

Me: Yes.

*pause*

Him: You have... MUCH American dollar?

Me: No.

*really long pause*...

Him: Go get money. I close at eleven.

Ben by Day and Tap-Some-Bong by Night

2008-01-19T08:31:00.000-05:00

Gosh, I don't know where that title came from. I couldn't think of anything that had to do with my day today, so I had to put in something unexpected. Russell Peters is my hero.

Our tour today brought us to a Mung mountain village and the temple at Doi Suthep. Both were too commercial, but still good experiences. As I travel, I try to come away from the stereotype of American tourists. That's hard, especially when you're as white as I am and toting a monster of a camera. I wanted to take pictures of all the awesome people I saw, but I didn't want to look like I was viewing them as a novelty. In truth, I probably was.

I'm very cynical. This trip has brought that side of me out like never before. I'm cynical about Americans, religion, and aspects of humanity in general. This trip has deepened my cynicism regarding Amercans and religion, yet my hope for humanity has mushroomed. I now see that there is common sense and genuine respect left in the world, maybe just not in my community. Maybe not in my country--at least not in prevalence.

The sermon today was on liberalism and conservatism. It was thought-provoking for me, althought perhaps not spiritual. It made me think for several reasons--first, because I was probably the most liberal individual in a group of several hundred, and second, because I'm not very liberal by the world's standards. But it made me questions things--many things--and in my mind questioning is always a reward in itself. I made a picture in my mind, as I've been doing a lot lately, that probably only I can understand. It's about liberalism and conservatism. It might be a graph, maybe too abstract to be called anything. But it's a technique I've been using to answer deeply abstract concepts recently, and it's been helping me. I might try writing some out sometime, even just to see if it's possible. It's a strange thing my mind does--I guess just because I'm such a visual individual. Haha, if you're reading this and don't know me, or even if you do, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. I can't explain it. I can only say I think it's a part of synesthesia, but that probably doesn't help either. I'll just stop trying.

We're going to the night bazaare this evening. I'll try to find some cheaply made trinkets to bring back to you all. I don't have much cash, alright? I'll try to steal an elephant from the zoo tomorrow, but I doubt if it will compress into my suitcase.

The Where and the Wai

2008-01-18T07:47:00.000-05:00

I think I've slept about six or seven hours in the last 45. Somehow I haven't really crashed yet. There's too much to experience, and I don't want to miss a moment.

Traveling has always been close to my heart. I feel alive when I'm experiencing new things. It's my muse and my inspiration. It gives my life and my writing the perspective that it need to barrel past the box that has enclosed too many American writers. I really have very little hope or interest in America anymore, and I don't really feel bad about it. There's so much more out there that feels so much more human.

I'm in Chiang Mai, Thailand, after a very long journey. We started off in Washington, flew two hours to Chicago, thirteen to Tokyo, then seven to Bangkok. After a night there and the best hotel I've ever stayed in, we completed the journey with a one hour hop north to Chiang Mai.

This city is attractive. The people, buildings, and culture all draw me in. I'm going to enjoy the time I have here with a high amount of excitement. And I'll definitely be taking pictures. I wish I had more experience as a photographer, because I don't want to waste an opportunity like this because of my inexperience, but I'll do what I can. Now my prime directive is not getting sick--really sick I mean, not just the cold I'm battling right now.

I'll probably post more later. I have limited internet here, and limited time I want to spend on it.

Precocity

2008-01-15T07:18:00.001-05:00

"True terror is to wake up one morning
and discover that your high school class
is running the country." -Kurt Vonnegut

It will be satisfying
they said, like the fullness
of a bosom.

It's the first step
to inoculation, the pleasure
regurgitating over and over
and spurting out in tiny
teardrops, trying to swallow
the afterpain, the associated
sickness, the locking of doors
and trimming of nails

as if a shard or two
of keratin in the garbage
will stimulate regrowth.

Go sell yourself, go
a-whoring before the bell
rings.

Love in high school, love,
cuts like a rude shank, lusty,
scented with the sexy
breath of your hair.

Peace and Good Will

2008-01-14T18:43:00.000-05:00

A scene from the movie Good Will Hunting. I identify with Will very much in this part:

Will: So what's this? A Taster's Choice moment between guys? This is really nice. You got a thing for swans? Is this like a fetish? It's something, like, maybe we need to devote some time to?
Sean: I thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting. Stayed up half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me and I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep and haven't thought about you since. You know what occurred to me?
Will: No.
Sean: You're just a kid. You don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about.
Will: Why, thank you.
Sean: It's all right. You've never been out of Boston.
Will: Nope.
Sean: So if I asked you about art you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written...Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that... If I asked you about women you'd probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. I ask you about war, and you'd probably--uh--throw Shakespeare at me, right? "Once more into the breach, dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you... who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it’s like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sittin’ up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you; I don't see an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fuckin' life apart. You're an orphan right? Do you think I'd know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what? I can't learn anything from you I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't wanna do that, do you, sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief. (Sean stands and walks away.)

T Minus One Day

2008-01-14T15:50:00.000-05:00

And then, baby, we're blowing this town like a rocket ship headed straight through to the moon. What sucks is that when I say baby I'm not talking to anyone but myself... but I'm still looking forward to my trip. I'll have to travel the world again after I get married, but I'll take whatever taste of it I can get now.

I'm such a loser. I watched Good Will Hunting again last night -- one of my favorites. I identify with Will, just not nearly as smart and not quite as lazy. But I know I'm not living up to my full potential. I need to blow this town for good, I think. I need something different. I need someone to come to my door and be thrilled that I'm gone, just because they know I'm off to something better.

Lord, I don't know where all this is going, or how it all works out.

"I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." -Jeremiah 29:11

"And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love." Romans 5:5

Beneath a Magnifying Glass

2008-01-11T17:05:00.000-05:00

Can you see me?

Sometimes I wonder why being a part of the group is hard.

Spencerville has some of the most exclusive, high-energy friendships I've ever seen. That's just the way it is, I guess. I want to be swept right into that lifestyle, but it's far from easy, especially for someone like me. Even for outgoing people I know it's difficult, so I wonder why I even think I have a chance. Even if I could feel like a part of the group, I don't know if I'm prepared. I'm a freaking INFJ for goodness' sake--we don't do high stress social lives. I love being around people, but I need to be by myself to recharge.

Today was bittersweet, as most days have been lately. I'm living on hope, as usual.

Today brought with it the prospect of a tutoring job, which is what I really want to do. If I can get that job I think I'll find a new level of fulfillment. I need to start reaching out or I'm going to collapse.

Rapid Eye Movement

2008-01-10T09:20:00.000-05:00

Last night I dreamed I was driving our van. I was on a two-lane, two-way road in a country area. As I approached a stone tunnel beneath an overpass, I suddenly saw a girl bound hand and foot laying across my lane in the shadow of the overpass. I don't remember the features, except that I recognized her and she was very important to me. I jolted to a stop maybe fifteen or twenty feet before hitting her.

As I was beginning to unbuckle my seat belt and help her out, I see a semi-truck in my mirrors. I brace for impact. The semi begins to slow as soon as is sees me, but it can't stop fast enough. It rear-ends me and knocks my van about five feet forward. My heart lurches as with my body as I see how close I am now to the girl.

Only second later, I see a second car, a sedan, in my mirrors. It, too, rear-ends the semi, and once more my van is sent about five feet forward from the transfer of energy. Now I'm only feet away from killing this girl. This girl I love.

My heart sinks when I see a pickup truck in my mirrors. It makes every attempt to avoid collision, but it fails. As it hits the end of the line and sends me forward, I can see the girl's face, mirroring my horrified one, as I run over her. I have an image of her broken body beneath the van's tires.

So vivid. I woke up nauseous and sweaty. Every detail was meaningful. I don't know exactly what it tells about me right now, but I'm sure I'll understand it later. All I know is that I want to save her so badly, but I'm helpless.

That's the one thing I got from the dream. Helplessness. There was nothing I could do, yet it was my fault.

It's been a while since I've had a dream that real. I have, just not recently. There was something in the quality of the dream that made it different that average dreams, and that alone makes it almost revered.

I need to get to school...

Hope is an Aggressive Beast

2008-01-09T18:49:00.000-05:00

I love finals. The rest of this week is going to be a breeze. I get to sleep in tomorrow, and I have nothing on Friday. I'm tired, yet feeling optimistic today because of things that probably shouldn't make me feel optimistic.

I might watch Hotel Rwanda tonight if I get my studying done. It's one of my favorites.

I have a job interview tomorrow at Sylvan. I'm cynical about it, but I figured I should still go through with the interview. I doubt it will turn out to be something I'm seriously interested in.

Sorry, today has left me without any deep thoughts. I guess it's just my mood. Maybe it's because I wrote half a million pages of essay during the American Lit final and all my critical writing has escaped me momentarily.

I need to start working out again before I turn to hardcore mush. Ha, hardcore mush.

Bye.

Oh, Heart

2008-01-08T09:49:00.001-05:00

I loved you once.

Did I mention it?

Once my thoughts of you
spoke in foamy poetry,
growing with each day

gaining impetus
from gazing at photos of you.

I might not have mentioned it.

then, as if hell's oceans
dried, evaporating in whorls
of steam,
I loved you no longer.

Frayed, Cupid's arrow
flew astray.

Now it's all laughs and smiles
and remember-whens, your face
still an artist's argument
against anything ugly in the world.

Your eyes still leave imprints
of desire beneath the arches of my flesh.
Tonight, tonight, oh heart!
tonight I want you with me
as friends, love, as old
lovers reunited with the ends
time brings to fastened ties.

Tonight there is a photo
decaying on my nightstand.

After an Afternoon - Jason Mraz

2008-01-06T00:13:00.000-05:00

I bare my windowed self untamed and untrained
Dreams that hardly touch our complexions truest faults
If room enough for both my drowsy spirits fall
Bold waves tumble to the season of my heart
You have offended my faith and my trust
Until all is lost into the beauty of the day
Until all is lost
And I think it's lost

And there's something in the way you laugh
That makes me feel like a child
Aspects of life they confuse me
You and your thesis amuse me
After an afternoon with you
And your rich brown eyes
Your lips and dark hair
Elbows and exposed knees tossing toward your ceiling
After an afternoon

Face to palm
Tear to tear
And
Mouth to tongue
Heart to ground
Heart to ground
Say, "I am in love"
Say, "Heart to ground"
Say, everything
Oh, Heart
Oh, Heart
Oh, Heart to ground
I am in love

2008 Bottles of Time on the Wall

2008-01-03T15:20:00.001-05:00

If only I could keep time in a bottle.

As my odometer climbs to higher digits, it begins looking more and more like a slot machine. Now the wheels have spun to 2008, and I don't know if that's a win or a tremendous loss.

I don't understand.

I don't understand God. I don't understand relationships. It seems like everyone else is more enlightened than me. It seems like people are saying, "Ben, what's the big deal? Attraction isn't that difficult to understand. You just need to go with the flow." And I do. And the flow is never directed in any logical pattern.

The more I analyze the situation I'm in, the more I feel peace that God has directed me here. I feel assured that my attraction is guided by him--that he has a reason. What is confusing me is that, by all my experiences, God would have something else in mind for me. This is a situation where I would normally involve myself selfishly and God would have other plans for me. But instead, it seems like he wants me to be in a place where I shouldn't be. That doesn't seem right.

Either I am being selfish and misreading God's will, or God's will just seems awfully strange. Both of those scenarios seem fearfully likely. I know I've been motivated by myself and not God before. I know God asked Hosea to marry a prostitute. Like I said, both are likely.

I guess I just need to think and pray.

2008 holds so much promise. I just hope the promise will deliver. But if it doesn't, I won't cry, or at least not much. I still believe God has something amazing for my life, and if he doesn't reveal it in 2008, then it will simply be some other time. Today I looked in the mirror and was struck my how old I look. Change is strange, but the fact that I'm teetering on the edge of adulthood is indisputable.

Today I learned that I only have eyes for you. I wish so hard that I didn't. I'm a damn slave to attraction, to the promise of romance with you. I don't think you quite understand.

Paint Me Lightly

2007-12-30T22:13:00.000-05:00

I'm all about the light painting. For me, it's photographic poetry. I know I don't have much experience with photography, but I can already tell that light painting is an area that I'm going to spend a lot of time perfecting. There's something about the ethereal quality that ghosted images and varied exposures provide that fascinates me.

What I call light painting might be called something else. But I'm learning from my brother, and for all practical purposes I assume he knows what he's talking about. It's basically the process using a light to expose certain portions of the subject during a super-long exposure. There's so much variability in the results. That's part of what makes it seem like an art form to me.

Anyway, here is one of the better results from my first light painting experiment. I call it "The Ghost of Christmas Past." (Clever, eh?) The subject is Matt. Shot with 30 second exposure on f/22.

New Exposure

2007-12-30T11:54:00.000-05:00

Now that I'm armed with my new camera, I figure I'll start posting pics up on this blogger occasionally. I'm not going to flood my posts with all sorts of photos, rather I'll probably just post one or two every few days--once that I was especially proud of or had special meaning to me.

I guess it starts today with this one. I don't think it's very good, but it's the first one I've taken that's not crap. I hope I get better at this picture taking thing...

The Sylvan Lining

2007-12-28T17:18:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I had this pounding urge to make a difference. I wanted to find my place in society as a fulfilling, contributing member. I also wanted to make some mad money, so the obvious solution to both of those issues was to get a job. But I didn't want a job like everyone else has--no restaurants, stores, contract jobs, maintenance positions, or lawn mowing. I didn't want to wield a cash register, hammer, paint brush, or logo'd polo.

I searched monster for a while before realizing that the kind of job I was looking for requires a four year degree. Actually, most of the jobs I wanted required a post-grad degree. What pissed me off is that I found several positions I knew I could hold just as well as a college graduate. But, hey, that's life.

I found something related to tutoring, and that brought me down a whole new line of thinking. I get good grades. I like kids. All my previous work experience would look good to an educator. I contacted my local Sylvan Learning Center, and surprisingly, they have a position open for high school students.

I don't get to teach. Teachers, of course, need a four year degree. Ah, shit.

No, we high school students get to answer phones, schedule lessons, organize materials, meet parents, and do basic customer service and administrative tasks. That's where I have my experience, but that's also a line of work I was trying to get away from. It's too unfulfilling. Basically, instead of wielding a jigsaw or inventory scanner, I'll be armed with a stapler and date stamp.

But it does seem like a job that holds opportunity. Maybe not right away, but possibly in the future. My biggest problem with it isn't the actual tasks, it's the pay: starting at $7 an hour. It's a pretty significant cut from my $10 and hour rate last summer, but I guess I have to take what I can get. Seven dollars an hour is more than I make now, and that's all I'm really concerned with at the moment.

I guess I'm just cynical about the whole system. I hate the way that capabilities are determined by the label of your education rather than the quality of your work. Suppose I could teach a seventh grader how to multiply fractions just as well as a young professional armed with a bachelor's degree in education and child psychology. Nobody cares...

I'm impatient with life.

Swing On Down

2007-12-28T11:37:00.000-05:00

I suck at dancing.

But that's just because I've never done it before. The more I practice, the better I get. But even though I was the clumsiest fool on the floor last night, it was still the most fun I've had all break. I know like three west coast swing moves, over and over and over again.

I don't really have anything to say. I guess I got it all out of my system last night.

Today I might go out and take some pictures with my new camera. I still really haven't put it through its paces yet.

Since I'm listening to this song now and it has a weak connection to my life right now, I might as well post the lyrics:

Swing On Down - Donavon Frankenreiter

(swing on down, swing on down to me) - 2x
in the morning when the sun still shines
the last star lingers in the pale blue sky
that's when i know you're around
said that's when i know you're around
and in the evenin' when the light comes through the trees
the birds sing a song as if they're singin' to me
that's when i know you're around
said that's when i know you're around
i'm dreamin' if you could, swing on down, swing on down to me
i wanna know if you would swing on down, swing on down to me
every time i see somethin' like that... (swing on down, swing on down to me)
i want you to ... (swing on down, swing on down to me)
baby, won't you just ... (swing on down to me)
every time the rain comes out but the sun still wants to shout
that's when i know you're around
i said that's when i know you're around
ya know all the colors, they just speak to me
tell me stories of how it used to be when you were still around
i wish you were still around
cause i want you to swing on down
swing on down to me
from the clouds won't you just, swing on down to me
baby won't you just swing on down to me
i wanna see you today
i want you to swing on down to me
it's gonna feel so good
and all the colors they tell me things
the birds in the trees
and the stars in the sky

My Drawing Number One and My Drawing Number Two (Ben From the Inside and Outside)

2007-12-25T21:38:00.000-05:00

I wish every Christmas we jumped back in time to the Victorian era. And then, wearing a red cape and top hat, I would walk arm in arm with my lover over a bridge, while the snow fell slowly in cottony flakes. We would stop beneath a lamp, whose glow would create a halo above our forms, and I would kiss her softly, whispering promises of eternal happiness. Probably romantic bullshit, but I wouldn't care, because whatever words I would say would have the power to create that smile (bashful), (innocent), (magnetic)--the one I've seen only once before.

I live for that dream. My aspirations, goals, and decisions are based on a handful of images. The one I just described for you is one. That's the one I've been thinking about recently of course, being the season of Christmas. When spring begins peek through the earth's skin, I'll probably begin dreaming about the one on a northern mountain, dancing through meadows of wildflowers while grizzlies watch from a safe distance. In summer it's urban--downtown city lights and modern art sculptures, sitting on a bench by the harbor. Fall, the season of life (?), usually brings an image of a river, girded with yellow and red trees. I would sit on a rock in the middle of the river with my lover as we roll up our jeans and let our feet hang lazily in the leaf-encrusted water.

This attribute of living for images makes me a few things: poetic, romantic, artistic, discontent, unrealistic, visual, cynical, and nostalgic. It's the way my mind works. It's why I have a visual memory, why I need to see something to believe it, why I love photography, why I love art, why I love dreaming, and why I love to hope.

Some people might have dreams of becoming rich or famous. For me, my dream is to experience one of those images. If I did, I could die a happy person. There's nothing more I want out of life. I understand that can be a problem, but I don't know if there's anything I can do to change it.

The next question is "What's stopping me right now from living out those images?" I've got the spots all picked out for the most part. One or two of them are within three miles of my house. But it's not just the place. It's a combination of the place and the person. I honestly don't care about experiencing the beauty of life by myself. Beauty can only be appreciated in partnership, and that's why each of my images included a lover.

I like this post because it was a tool to help me learn something about myself. I didn't have any of that thought out when I started typing. I was planning on writing a few paragraphs on how nostalgic Christmas was this year. How everything changes. How I have a dream that I can't ever seem to reach. But as I explored those thoughts, I think I finally put my finger on what that dream is. I feel a little better in some ways for knowing it, yet empty in other ways for knowing how hard it is to achieve.

Christmas wasn't bad this year. I got like... four gifts. Not shabby gifts at all, it just didn't have the same excitement as it used to. Actually, I have an amazing new camera. It's just that I remember toys on Christmas, and all the fun that would come later in the day as we assembled them and put them to work entertaining us. Today was a little quieter, but it was in the quietness that I realized how little I need. Even if I got nothing for Christmas, I would still be happy, and that's the honest truth. I guess I'm just maturing (Yes, Megan, maturing. I think what you're experiencing might be better termed "aging" :-).

Anyway, if I do start feeling depressed, I can always wallow in my new Canon 20D. The thing takes some damn fine photos. It's nice to be materialistic or not as you choose.

Okay, here's the transition between topic number one and topic number two.

Topic number two is attraction. I think my thoughts on attraction can be summed up in one abbreviated vulgarity: wtf? To expound on that, why am I such an asshole? Here's the deal: after just a few days with the family and my own introspective thoughts, I'm starting to lost my attraction for someone. That is strong evidence that my attraction was nothing more than infatuation--passing infatuation that wouldn't have evolved into real love. Even if it's not a passing attraction, it needs to stop. That's right, I just said it needs to stop. I SAID IT! Now if I could only get it to happen.

I know there are people I could fall in love with who don't feel the need to confuse me. Maybe mess with me. Whatever's happening to me.

I'm tired of typing.

Merry Christmas!

Lawl

2007-12-24T16:46:00.000-05:00

I need to be less serious. I need to remember how much I love living. I won't worry my life away.

The Remedy - Jason Mraz

I saw fireworks from the freeway
And behind closed eyes I cannot make them go away
'Cause you were born on the fourth of july, freedom ring
Now something on the surface it stings
I said something on the surface
Well it kind of makes me nervous
Who says that you deserve this
And what kind of god would serve this?
We will cure this dirty old disease
If you've got the poison I've got the remedy

The remedy is the experience.
This is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that it's serious.
This is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend
The rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends
When it all amounts to nothing in the end.

I won't worry my life away.

I won't worry my life away.

I heard two men talking on the radio
In a cross fire kind of reality show
Uncovering the ways to plan the next big attack
They were counting down the ways to stab
The brother in the be right back after this
The unavoidable kiss, where the minty fresh
Death breath is sure to outlast this catastrophy
Dance with me, because if you've got the poison,
I've got the remedy

The remedy is the experience.
This is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that it's serious.
This is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend
The rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends
When it all amounts to nothing in the end.

I won't worry my life away.

I won't worry my life away.

When I fall in love I take my time
There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind
You can turn off the sun but I'm still gonna shine and I'll tell you why

Because

The remedy is the experience.
This is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that it's serious.
This is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how you're gonna spend
The rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends
When it all amounts to nothing in the end.

I won't worry my life away.

I won't worry my life away.

I won't and I won't and I won't