All I Want For Christmas

is a slightly better job.

I've talked with some children's homes and the media pastor at the Vineyard, and there are a few options that look better than Barnes and Noble's cafe (any of those options, substitute teaching, etc).

Today, Michelle and I drove to Muskegon, MI to visit her parents' families. They are absolutely crazy. In the best way.
Mostly.

Also. Why is this coat so expensive on every site I find it on, and in every brand that makes it?

No updates in a while. I've been busy, what, with having an alright job, the hours of which I wish were a little more regular, and planning a wedding, for which we found a church.

I'm also playing with the worship band at the Vineyard now. It's helping me get over myself and put personal preferences aside.

Life is good.

On insomnia, planning, and anxiety.

It's becoming obvious that being financially stable is not the be-all end-all of nervousness. And, being engaged has had some interesting effects--notably a more pointed feeling of insufficiency and a lack of self control. I have a hard enough time getting my mind to slow down to sleep as it is, and neither of these really help.
Last night as I struggled against wakefulness, the old promise came into my head -- Be still, and know that I am God. Except that meant a much, much, much different thing to me than it ever did. The statement 'I am God' rattled my whole being and grew and grew and grew, and I was terrified. A great and dreadful hand grabbed my bed in its palm and lifted it. I am God, it said. And as I began to understand the Bigness that held me and my sleepless mattress in its terrifying palm, it grew larger and pulled me out of my house and held me one hundred feet above the ground. I am God. I looked down and then into the Great Face that looked on me with its huge and terrible eyes. I looked back down to the ground and was as high as if I'd been in an airplane. I looked back to the Great Face, and to the hand that held me, and it continued to grow.
The Hand continued to lift me and I watched the ground grow further away--out of its orbit, out of the solar system, out of the galaxy, until all the universe was too small to notice. My bed now sat on a ridge of the Great Hand's fingerprint. From a thousand thousands of miles away, the Great Face still looked as if it were right before me.
You don't understand, it said.
I am God.

Oh, be still, be still, be still.

Fiance Knowles

If you like it, put a ring on it.

Employmentville, USA

I have my orientation for the Barnes & Noble Cafe tomorrow evening.
Hurrah!
Now after I get some paychecks under my belt, I can start doing things with my life.
But until then, I've got some things to do.
Like finish an album.
Or finish the Brothers Karamazov
Or tease my girlfriend.

I am very thankful for new beginnings.

And, for mixtapes.
Multitrack Sneakattack, vol VIII: Otto Octavius' Top Picks

Nyah, See. Nyah

Alright,so here's how the story goes.

I moved to Chicago a few months ago, and it was, without exaggeration, the saddest period of my life. I was constantly worrying about money and finding a job while missing Michelle and my family and everyone else that I left in South Bend. But really, I was fine with living in Chicago, I told myself. I just needed to find a job and make some more friends and I wouldn't be so down about it. I started going to an open mic night at a bar and to a church, and I started making friends. Then I found a job with a tutoring company--a very fulfilling position--and made more friends there.
But, hold the phone: I still wasn't happy living there. All sorts of things about living in the city just grated on me--traffic, noise, the hurriedness--and there were all sorts of things back at home that I missed--most notably, the art community that some of my college friends began to put together that I couldn't be a part of in Chicago. I did some soul searching and admitted to myself (and others around me) that the only reason I felt so sure that God led me to Chicago was because He didn't stop me from coming, and that part of me was afraid that if I were to stop and think and pray about the move in the first place, I might have to admit that it wasn't for me, nullifying months of anticipation and telling people about it, and that most of the reason I was planning on staying in Chicago was because I didn't want to admit defeat to the city. Those aren't really good reasons though, so I made plans to move back in December (or March, depending when and who you ask.)
Last week, after coming back to work after a week off of recruiting, I asked my manager when tutoring would start. He responded that it was up in the air because the Chicago Public School district had made a huge number of budget cuts, reducing our company by 60%. At the end of the day, he couldn't tell me whether or not I would have a job in a week. So I went back and talked it over with my roommates, and we came to an agreement we were all happy with. The next day (Thursday) I started packing. Friday, I loaded up my van and took half of my stuff back home and cleared out a space in the bedroom/storageclosetIuseasabedroom. Michelle came after work with two frozen pizzas, cookies, strawberries, and a bottle of wine. The next day, we both went back to Chicago and loaded up the rest of my stuff and talked with Kriss and Mellie (who have borne the burden of my fiscal irresponsibility and flightiness much more than anyone the past few months, and have been patient enough with me that our friendship is still intact. Try asking that of anyone else) a little before we left, leaving 1523 N Campbell as my place of residence. Then on the way back, it was my turn to buy pizza.

Two months ago, it wouldn't have been good for me to move back at all. I would have been coming back defeated with my tail between my legs and a five dollar bill in my pocket. But now, having looked at my circumstances and decisions long and hard, I'm at peace with coming back. Now, I have to find a job and raise money for my own place in the next couple months. And I'm fine with that.
And now, YOU just have to download the zip file for the weekly mix and load it up. No more arranging the songs on your own, folks.

Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol VII: Nathaniel Strikes Back!

So long, Mr. Pua.

Spoiledsport

This past week spoiled me way too much.
I didn't really think about coming back to Chicago until last night, and I was just as content as anyone to just stay there. But, I still have things to do in Chicago until I move back, and I need to focus on living here for now. It will be a good two months.
Yesterday was Michelle and my fivemonthiversary. I couldn't ask for a better woman to have shared the past five months with. A few of those months have been filled with the hardest lessons I've ever learned--especially the lesson of becoming a grown up. She's been so patient with me through all of my incredulity and impatience and immaturity and fiscal irresponsibility and insecurity and feelings of inadequacy and...
everything.
She's going to be on the news tonight. I wish I could see it.

But, at least I have a project to keep me busy until November. I've got to finish that album. I only have two songs to go, and a drum track on another. Then I'll be adding little flourishes and mixing it to perfection. Definitely shouldn't take me more than two weeks, as long as I kick my rear in gear.

Le Retour

I've been in South Bend since Tuesday night. In that time, I have come to be very pleased with my decision to move back at Christmas. A lot of this came about from the first (rpac)* meeting I've attended since deciding to be part of it, and I'm incredibly excited for the direction that group is heading--including the recently acquired official position of a non-profit organization. The people in (rpac) and the ideas and passions they have just astound me.
I'm also realizing that this area has so much more potential than I've tapped into.
Besides that, it will be wonderful to see more of Michelle, and my family, and my friends left at Bethel.
(contented sigh)

Times like these call for a new weekly mixtape!
Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol VI: Goat-Face Killah's Greatest Hits


*River Parks Art Community

My Vow

The Sparrow & The Whale will be finished by November 1st.

How about a mixtape?
More specifically, how about a mixtape chronicling my favorite cover versions? Yeah? Okay.
Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol V: Under the Covers

The idea now is that I'll be moving back to South Bend in March after Brain Hurricane is finished. At that point, I'll be trying to get a job at Bashor's Childrens Home and looking for my own place and never, ever, ever taking that town or the people inside of it for granted again.

The Last Day of September; The First Day of October

Today was a very long day, but at least I found out I don't have tuberculosis. Good news.
Yesterday was also a very long day. Shall I tell you a tale?

I shall.

Two nights ago, I went over to dear Chelsea's apartment because she had been looking for a bike on Craigslist, and had someone that would possibly give it to her that night, so she needed a ride out to the suburbs. And so I went, and we waited, but to no avail. The person who had inquired after the bike first had arrived, claiming what was rightfully Chelsea's. I mean, claiming what was rightfully the person's who asked after it first.
But!
Later that night, the bikeholder (whose email address was BooDawgMama...I'll let your imaginations wander) emailed Chelsea to tell her that she had ANOTHER bike! What good news! So she called me, and I agreed to drive her to claim her bike, and in return, she would cook me dinner (which was a very excellent dinner) and give me apple pie, since she had no cash for gas money.
I arrive at her apartment and we get in my car and input the address into Judy, my trusty GPS, who told me that our destination was one hour and three minutes away. 'Funny,' Chelsea said, 'Google Maps said it was only forty-five minutes away.' I explained that I found a way to get Judy to avoid tolls, which is probably the reason for the difference in estimated times. But, an hour didn't sound that bad, so we set off.
Oh, but wait. It was rush hour.
Oh, and also. There was construction.
Oh! Don't forget! The house was impossible to find.
Not only were there no street lights on the street in question (which had gravel driveways. I felt like I was in northern Michigan again), but the house numbers were impossible to see. We asked someone where 305 was, and they said, 'this is 351, so it should be a few houses down.'
We drove a few hundred feet in the opposite direction, and Chelsea got out to check the address. 301. We drove to the next house. 303. We drove to the next house--our destination.
309? Really? Where was 305?
'Oh look! I see it there, through the trees,' says I. Only problem is--there's no driveway. So Chelsea calls BooDawgMama, who tells her that the driveway is actually off of a different street. We follow her directions and arrive to claim Chelsea's bike--two hours after we left.

So we load the bike into the back of my minivan (now named Concordia, in honor of her place of rebirth), and I tell Judy that it's okay to take us down tolls again. It's not worth adding more than an hour to our trip to save 80 cents. So we drive out of the boonies and back into the suburbs, then onto I-90.
Just then, as we were waiting in the cash lane to pay our meager toll, a funny thing happened.
As all of the cars are negotiating the two lanes become eight, several cars seemed to be obstructed by something. They pulled away an revealed a stopped car with its hazard lights blinking. I've been stranded before (specifically, on the road trip, with Chelsea and Brenden (who we missed and talked of missing very much), and I know how wonderful it is to be rescued by someone who has exactly what you need--like jumper cables maybe, like the pair in my car.
I pulled over next to the stalled fellow and asked if he needed a jump. 'Yeah! Do you have cables?' I answered that I did, and I put on my hazards (taking as much joy in blocking another lane of traffic as I was helping this fellow) and we jumped his car. I got back into the car and looked at Chelsea. 'Hyrum didn't raise no fool,' I said.
And half an hour later, we were back at her apartment. I skyped Michelle as Chelsea made a very satisfying pasta and steak dish with bruschetta cheese (I believe). Then, we ate our dinner as we watched Matchstick Men. I had forgotten how much I like that movie. It's one of Nicholas Cage's very, very few good roles. After the movie, I left, getting back at my apartment at an almost irresponsible 12 30.

Which is foolish considering the day of work I had today. Short version: after our recruiting time at our usual school, we drove to the far far far north side (almost to the suburbs) to go door to door. But! An hour into our two and a half hour process, we had to stop. Someone called and said that we were (quote) too threatening. Hmm.
So we set off to a different school to go door to door there--only to be called halfway there and told that we were just going to take a break and then go to different schools to catch the parents as they were leaving. On our break, Matthew, Alora, Benjamin, and I went to Loyola, which has a beautiful lakeside campus and a breathtaking cathedral, where I sat for a moment and felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks. Then, we went to different schools to recruit. Unlike every other school I've been to where we talk with parents who speak English, Spanish, or every once in a while Ukrainian or Polish, at this school I was answered with English, Spanish, Hindi, French, some African languages, and some Caribbean dialects. I was astonished.
However, leaving there and going back home was no fun. That is to say, it was just very time consuming, and I was already incredibly tired and just wanted my TB test read so I could go home and rest.

But, I need to learn what real rest is. My soul is tired.

Overwhelm Me

I need to be overwhelmed by God again. It's been so long since I've just been dumbstruck at His foolish goodness.
I need to not be overwhelmed by money. That means realizing that it's not my paycheck that provides for my needs, but God who does that--sometimes through a paycheck.
I need to be overwhelmed by my love for Chicago. For the past few months, it's just been equivocal with stress and worry--because I've had a very stressful and worrisome few months here, but things are turning around. I need to trust that.
I need to be overwhelmed by my need and desire to create. I need to paint more. I need to record more. I need to play guitar more. I need to write more.
I am already overwhelmed by my girlfriend. That base is already covered, and she continues to surprise me every single day of the week.

Mixtape, everyone.
Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol IV: Crossroads; the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

Life and Its Happenings

I said to Michelle the other day that whenever I'm anticipating something, I always forget to keep in mind that life happens--that is to say, for example, if I'm expecting to have a nice evening with Michelle and Lyndsey and my mom for her birthday, something like the wedding reception from Hell will come and keep me from getting back until midnight (at which time I was greeted by a candlelit dinner in Michelle's garage, further cementing her position as best girlfriend ever).

This weekend, I got sick, leading me to spend much less time at Bethel as I would have liked, and much more time wrapped in a blanket eating soup (homemade soup, at that). Ah, well. Michelle took care of me, and even though I had to call in to work today, I should be feeling better by tomorrow. The sickness has been progressing, so I know that my body is doing what it's supposed to.

Right now, there isn't really too much I can think to say, except that:
I wish Bekah and I could have seen eachother again under happier circumstances
I'm praying for the Cunninghams & friends

Michelle is a very good person to have taking care of you if you're sick


I missed last week's mixtape.

So here it is.
Multitrack Sneak Attack, Vol. 3: How to Win Friends and Influence People

Ch-ch-ch-changes

My new work schedule is taking some getting used to. I've been used to going to bed around two or three and waking up around noon. Not so, says Brain Hurricane. Now, I have to wake up in time to be at the school by seven forty-five. Eesh. And then, I hang out with my fellow recruiters, give kids pencils and high fives, and talk to parents about the program. Then an hour after school has started, I walk home, wait four hours, and go back to school before it gets out to do it again. Then the rest of my night is mine--until I go to bed around eleven. I don't mind it, though. The kids are great, and I can't wait to start tutoring.

Also great: Michelle Ferris.
Also can't wait: to see her tomorrow.

Bam.

I start work tomorrow. Awesome.

Thank you, Lord, for your provision.

Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol 2: Electric Buggaloo

Alright, everyone. It's that time of week again...
The weekly mixtape.

This one is a bit more eclectic than the last--not too often do you find both the folk of The Tallest Man on Earth and the experimental trip-hop of Portishead on the same playlist, but I was in an eclectic mood.
Like last time, download the zip file and then expand it and open the files in iTunes, create a new playlist, and drag the songs in according to the order in the text document.

For your consideration,
Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol 2: Electric Buggaloo

I love you all.


Tomorrow, we're catering the Pagan Pride Festival here in Chicago. Yeah. Weird.

Also, I got a job. I'm working for a tutoring company called Brain Hurricane. I start recruiting on Tuesday. Tutoring starts in mid October.
Thank you, Jesus.

Doubts and Answers

I've been very worried lately. I took a walk around town last night and just watched listened--someone was playing saxophone inside of their apartment with a window open, an incredibly talented latino band was playing in a yard filling the street with guitar solos, a child hung from a tree branch and told an older girl, 'help! I can't hold on!' and so much more--but I was still crushed by the tension between the present and the future and the crushing fact that I'm living in the city without a steady income, feeling like I'm just taking up an apartment. And I walked through town listening to all of the life going on around me, so crushed by my worries that I had to start singing a simple chorus to myself to keep from being completely discouraged:
'Jesus blood never failed me yet
never failed me yet
Jesus blood never failed me yet.
This one thing I know,
for He loves me so'

I got back to my apartment and checked my email. I got an email from a tutoring company called Brain Hurricane that I had applied for online saying that I seemed like a good fit. Now, I had to schedule an 'audition' (basically an informational meeting and an interview). There happened to be three separate audition times the next day (that's today). I signed up for the one at noon.
Laying down to sleep, I just broke. 'Daddy, I'm scared,' I said (I can't remember the last time I called God that). 'Remember when you guys were looking for an apartment, and the most promising one didn't work, and you told Kriss that you knew I had an apartment waiting?'
Well, yeah...

'Don't you think I'd have a job waiting for you too?'

And then, I just started laughing.
I'm learning to trust, ever so slowly.

p.s. the interview went very well. Now I just have to wait for them to get back to me.

The List

Things I need to work on:

being a servant
not being so selfish
not worrying so much
actually spending time with Jesus and not just reading the Bible
living in the present
hardcore job hunting. Like...ten apps a week or something crazy like that.
not being so lazy
coming to grips with my problems with the words 'surrender' and 'obedience'
finding God in everything--even my roommates' cats.

Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol 1

Alright, y'all. Who likes music? You do? That's right you do. I do too.
That's why now, I'm going to start making mixtapes for you. It's simple, really. All you have to do is follow the link, download the file, unzip it, and then open the text document to put them in the proper order.

Thirteen tracks of musical goodness from Nathaniel's mp3 buffet.
The file is kind of big--I need to figure out how to compress files more--but it should be worth the wait.

Multitrack Sneakattack, Vol. 1: How Nathaniel Defeated the Zombies

Enjoy.

Best. Day. Ever.

Yesterday, Michelle came to visit.
We bought some passionfruit juice and a frozen pizza, baked it up, pulled out the sofa-bed, and watched Ninja Turtles (the first two).
Her idea. I have the best girlfriend ever.

Then as she was about to leave, her parents called to tell her that they didn't like the idea of her driving home late (it wasn't that late, even--it was quarter to ten).
So, at her parents' suggestion, she stayed the night and we watched The Science of Sleep.

(contented sigh)
Lord, thank you for your blessings.

Bachelorpad

My roommates are both gone. Mellie is in New Jersey with her family as her grandfather is sick. Kriss then took a trip to Atlanta for a week. And so, I have my own apartment for a few days. Well...I have to share it with some cats, but I still get to do what I want. What that's meant so far is listening to a bunch of the music that Kriss gripes about and painting in the bathroom (it's the best place for it, really).

A couple of guys from church asked me if I wanted to get together to play music sometime. Of course I did, so they came over on Friday night to jam. Derrick played bass and laid some smooth basslines I never would have thought of. Eric played drums and had some sweet abstract angular beats that I loved. Then, they started talking about how we were a band.
That's sweet.

I'm not dreading being alone this week as I would have been a while ago. Good thing I learned how to not hate myself. This week would be a disaster otherwise.

You think you know, but you have know idea

Today, I hung out with my friend Cody and his dad and cousin. Cody starts at Moody next weekend. We went to the Lincoln Park Zoo.

The past few days, Mellie has been in New Jersey with her family. Her grandfather has been in the hospital, wavering between the brink of death and surprising her doctors. Uncertainty surrounds everything.

Michelle visited this past weekend. Word on the street is, her dad was curious to see how an entire weekend with me would affect our relationship. If you ask me, I'll tell you it strengthened our resolve. If you ask her, she'll tell you it made her love me more.
I miss her. A lot.

I'm visiting South Bend this weekend, so I'll get to see her, as well as many other people, and I'll get to run a bunch of errands I've needed to get done (trading vans, dropping Sonia's painting off, etc.)

I wrote another poem. That's three for three. This is probably the shortest poem I've written in years. Michelle said the other day that it's okay for a poem to be short. I've just never been able to write a short poem.


There Is No Place
The sky bled
like a battle field under neon lights
and I walked
'neath the train to the place I'd rest my head
that still won't feel like home
regardless how much I call it such.

And my bed
which yet feels not like mine
will house my head
as I lay in wait for rest,
but none shall come
as my mind revolves around itself.

Another dang poem.

I don't know who to blame--
The Crossings
T.S. Eliot
or Greg Fox.

...More Than Many Sparrows
Our Father
Who art in Heaven;
Hallowed be Thy name
that hangs on my lip
as I mutter my prayers
with Your Cross between
my finger and thumb
as they rub together
like the friction between
my todays & tomorrows
wearing away the shirt I wear
(Lord, can I afford a new one?)
but I am worth more
than the grass of the field
(or at least that's what You said)

so

give us this day
our daily bread
and more,
for the excess
that will give me
comfort
and I, alive,
as Thou provides,
will praise
but if Thou wills
my scraping by,
then I'm not so sure
that I can promise that

but

Thine is the Kingdom
mine is the worry
Thine is the Power
mine is the worry
Forever and ever,
mine is the worry.

Amen.

Four/Three

I
The yellow light seeps out the lamp
through the space between
my apartment wall and the wall next door
and into my bedroom window
onto your hair
golden, tossed upon the pillow
as you sleep beneath my arm,
and I wish that I could sleep,
but my head is wrapped around
hours before
on the step
in the space between
my apartment wall and the wall next door
as you peered through
Chicago's fog of lamps
“look, there's still four stars here”
but I only could make out three.

II
(A street sign
scribbled out
in an alphabet
I never learned
directs one way
then another
then another
then...
we'll follow them
until we get lost
or at least until
the meter runs out)

III
I walk into the street
the driving cars unwatched by my eye
as it stares to the ground before my feet
and why don't I look where I'm going
or what do I think I'm doing
or I could get myself killed
but my eyes have always been
easily distracted
by the thoughts that plague my mind
either those of joy
(walking arm in arm with one you love)
or those of pain
(what is owed, what is earned,
the difference, and the deficit)

IV
A man staggers in
as I wait to use the sink
a cigarette in his mouth, unlit,
and he spills his excess into the urinal
and staggers out
the cigarette unlit still
hanging loosely from his lip
held by some miracle
and I, passed by, laugh to myself
at the disinterest he held
in his disinterested hands
as he walked out of the door
and into the City of Life
with his eyes half closed
to the miracle that kept
his cigarette in his mouth.

But we,
so open are our eyes that we
can't help but see the Hand
that holds our hands
as we say our goodbyes.

V
Across the table
each nose in a book
you'll laugh
and I'll ask
and you'll read a phrase
and I
on the other side
simply try
to make sense of Eliot.
('Lord, I am not worthy,
Lord, I am not...')
because for all my ears
I'll never hear
all that the Thunder had to say
(but Lord! how I long to quote it)

VI
Wrapped in a sheet
I could not move
e'en to kiss your head
for exhausted as I was
my eyes could not
for more than a minute
look upon your face
which smiled with my prodding
and said, 'nathaniel,
don't ask questions'
implying that
I already know their answers
And you know as well as I
I just need to make sure,
but no one can be sure—that's sure—
and you never really know
until you know
(but you never know)

VII
And I dread to go back to this apartment
so much emptier now from your leaving
knowing that I'll have to face
that all I've said is okay
is not okay.

(But it's okay.)

Working Class

I really have little idea of what I'm going to do about a job. I'd like something flexible, but I'd also like something that pays enough for me to be able to save a good amount up, and those two things aren't usually combined.

I'd really like a job at Willow Creek. Like, a lot. Or at another church whose ministry is following Christ. But I'm not sure how realistic it is to expect something like that to happen any time soon.

But, time will tell.

A Vision and a Mission without a Plan.

A quote from my testimony of what God did at Mancelona Camp.

"I just graduated college, so naturally, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. But this week, God has been calling me to be a missionary to Wicker Park, the artist neighborhood in Chicago, which is convenient because I just moved there two weeks ago. So, I still don't have a plan, but I have a vision, and that's enough for now."

God be praised.

Chicago days and nights

I'm starting to get used to this whole being away from home thing. The sting of being in a large and unfamiliar place is losing its bite, and the worries over rent have been taken care of. Now it's mostly just a matter of getting myself established and getting to know people. There's a church down the street that I want to go to, but I won't be able to until three weeks from yesterday. There's also a bar with open mic nights every Thursday and Sunday. I hear the patrons are pretty eclectic, which is just the way I like them. I miss Fiddler's. I need a new weekly home.

Reminder

It was said, 'We went in search of America, and we found God instead.'

and
'I feel like after years of learning about what God is like, I'm finally learning who He is. And the biggest thing I'm learning is that He will always provide recklessly.'

And now, here I am worrying to death about rent and car repair and finding a job?
I'm almost ashamed of myself.

La Vie Boheme

Yesterday, I woke up at ten and got dressed. I went into the living room, surprised to find Kriss awake on the couch. We talked for a bit about my nervousness and how I should be fine. I sighed and steeled my resolve, grabbing my guitar and walking out the door. I grabbed a day pass and hop on the L train downtown.

I get off and find a plaza outside of a mall. I look around nervously. I see people in conversations, on their cell phones, etc, and I don't want to be intrusive. I set up in corner of the plaza that borders the sidewalk and open up my case. Nervously, I start playing Purple Rain. I haven't experienced anything quite as uncomfortable as I did at that moment. A guy gave me a flier about unemployment. A woman looked at me awkwardly and gave me a quarter. After two more songs, I packed up and left.

I walk up and down Michigan Ave looking for a place to play. I probably wasted a hundred opportunities for my fear of the awkwardness of opening up a guitar case and playing in the middle of a pedestrian crowd. After walking around for an hour or so, I get back on the Subway, even more intimidated. I get off at State and Lake and go to a bench. I open my case and strum the first few chords of Fake Plastic Trees. There are two people on the bench next to me. A few people's eyes glance to me, but quickly look away. Two bars in, the lyrics come in. Inside, I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

I'm not sure how to describe what happened, but as I started singing at full volume, it all changed. No longer did I feel like some intruding nuisance. I became some sort of traveling poet--a true troubadour. When the train came in, a man crossed the station and dropped in a dollar and a pamphlet with the address to his church. The next crowd that came in dropped in a few more dollars, then another crowd and a few more, then I was asked to leave.

And that became my day--playing in a subway, getting some tips, and being asked to leave, getting back on the subway and going to another station and repeating the process. And it's so punk rock. And I love it.

Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road

I am now a Chicago resident. That doesn't mean I have a Chicago drivers license or that I can vote, but I do have a Chicago apartment. The next few days, I'm going to be busking in Subways and parks and such to get a feel for it and see if I can make a living off of it.

I'm going to miss my girlfriend, but it's not that hard to visit. I visited her at work before I left town.

I have a bit of unpacking to do still. But I don't mind it.

I love my life.

Bucket List

See Bob Dylan live: check.

Oops.

So, I meant to update about my trip at some point in the last week. I guess I've been too busy reading One Hundred Years of Solitude and having life happen.

Long story short, I'm moving to Chicago next Monday, instead of early August like I was expecting.
I'm alright with it now.

Well

I'm back.

The Great American Adventure! Pt. 4

Keeping in mind how many things have gone wrong, it's astonishing to think that we've made it everywhere we have.

Today we're in Nashville. We're heading back to Port Huron tomorrow. We might be staying at Michelle's tonight. I miss that girl so much.

So many stories. So many lessons learned.
The biggest being this:
God is recklessly faithful.

The Great American Adventure! Pt. 3

Things done today.

Buy a sweet van: check.
Get to Wichita: check.
Karaoke it up: super check.

God is so good.

The Great American Adventure! Pt. 2

Last evening, we stopped in Concordia, MO to get a pizza and steal some wireless internet from a Day's Inn. As we left the hotel, we hit a very strange intersection which caused us to bottom out.

Ten minutes later on the highway, Brenden said, 'I think something is wrong with your van.' I said, 'something like what?' 'I'm pressing the gas, but it's not accelerating,' and so he pulled over. He tried to start the car again, but to no avail. It didn't turn.

A police officer pulled up behind us and called a tow truck. When the tow truck driver arrived, he went to hook it up to the chain. He said, 'that's not good,' and showed me his finger. 'That's motor oil. Your engine is dead.' He proceeded to tell us that he would take it to his dealership and they would look at it first thing in the morning, but the news would be bad. He then took us back to the Days Inn whose internet we had stolen and whose bathrooms we had used, where we checked into a room and weighed our options--try to repair the van (a costly endeavor) or admit its loss and search for another vehicle.

This morning, we woke early and called the dealership, who immediately informed us that we needed a new engine, which would cost two grand. I stammered and told him I would call him back.

I called Chet, who also stammered at the thought of two grand, and told me to look around for other options. With that, I went to Craigslist, where I found a conversion van nearby for a low price. However, all we had was $800, and that was a little less than their asking price. Not to be discouraged, I called them and explained our plight and made our offer. Not only did they accept, but they offered to drive it to our hotel, and said that it would definitely make the trip.

And so, here we are in our hotel, waiting for them to arrive so we can test drive and see if the Lord really has sent them. I certainly hope so.

The Great American Adventure! Pt. 1

Tomorrow, I wake up early to traverse to Port Huron, MI to attend the tail end of dear Matthew's graduation open house. Then, Brenden, Chelsea, and I leave on the roadtrip of doom--as far west as we can get and back in ten days. Stoked.

I may blog from the road. I may not. We'll see.

My life is so incredibly blessed.

Sands through the hourglass

I have an absolutely beautiful girlfriend who loves me. Unfortunately, I am incredibly good at disbelieving that. It's not surprising--I'm not used to reciprocated attraction and I have a hard time keeping myself from thinking that God won't take everything I want away. Because of this, Michelle has felt like a ghost or a phantom or a memory of some future event because my mind has been entirely unable to accept that this is really happening.

The past few nights, we've been trying to figure out what exactly it might be that is keeping me from accepting this. We walked down to the river and talked for a long time. We both cried. It was good.

Tonight, she was no longer a ghost. She was real to me.

I'm not expecting the problem to just go away, but it's a start. And it's a good start.

I'm thinking about changing my band name. 'Nathaniel FitzGerald vs. the Industrial Revolution' is a bit cumbersome. And I've always had a hard time saying 'FitzGerald,' believe it or not. It's just hard to say for me. I'm thinking either The Automatic Pilot or The Human Autopilot.

Desperado

I'm coming to my senses.

Please, please, please be patient with me

I'm sick of trying to invent reasons why this won't work.

I've been living with my feet in two places lately. One foot placed in Chicago since December (and now more firmly set) was carrying most of my wait through this last semester, until everything with Michelle came around and taught me to accept life in the present moment. But now that school is over, I really don't feel like there's too much for me here--honestly (as silly as it might sound to say) just Michelle, who is really the only thing keeping me from looking too far forward.

We're going to Chicago this weekend to hang out with Kriss & Mellie (and...go to a comic book convention. My flatmate is a nerd). I think it will be good for me to see how Michelle and my life in Chicago might mix.
That, and it will just be tonsa fun, as all three of those people are, in themselves, a ton of fun.

Lord, thank you for everything that you have brought about. I'm sorry for ever doubting the goodness you had for me. I am sorry I still doubt it.

An Epic Yesterday and the Incessant Gnaw

Yesterday was one of the most eventful days of my life.

I went over to the Ferrises for lunch with Michelle, her mom (her dad was called away by something), dear Megan, Michelle's brother Steve, his wife Karin (who was having contractions every thirty minutes or so), and Little Manny, the beardless toddler, who I had finally met the day before in a mostly nude state (him, not me). After lunch, Michelle, Megan, and I took Manny to the park across the street, where we swung, played imaginary basketball, hung upside down, and were disappointed by a merry go round that only went around for a spin and a half before coming to a joy crushing halt, no matter how fast it was going when it was released.

After this, we dropped Megan off at the train station and then walked along the East Race (yes, we nearly always walk along the river, but this was in a different park) and people watched as we talked about many things.

Then, we went over to the home of the Grants, where we rendezvoused with Analiese and Grants Jonathan and Tyler to go to a private property reservoir where we had a lovely bonfire accompanied by my ghetto rigged boombox. Alysha came too. We had hotdogs in white bread buns. I pretended to throw Michelle in the water, then made her give me a piggy back ride.
That girl is amazing for handling me and all my weirdness.

After the bonfire dissipated, Michelle and I, still unexhausted from our adventures, drove down the Bremen Highway and pulled into a dark field and sat on the roof of my van and watched the stars and talked of many more things. While we were on the roof, her phone rings. Lo! It is her mother, calling to tell her that Karin is in the hospital! I jumped off my car and anticipated a drive to the hospital. She said we didn't need to go, so we just continued to talk inside my car. Then, her brother Ryan called, saying that he wanted to go to the hospital to see Steve & Karin and drop them off some snacks and magazines. We went to the grocery store quickly and then to the hospital, where Karin was feelin' fine on an epidural. She was wearing an oxygen mask because the baby's heartrate, shown on a monitor next to her bed, had been low. Beneath the monitor of the baby's heartrate was a monitor showing her contractions. We watched the line as it spiked higher and higher at more frequent intervals.
'Woah! That one's all the way to 100!' Steve said.
Karin turned to the screen, 'Really? Let me see!'
Epidurals are fine things, I'm told.

After about twenty minutes, Karin said, 'I think something is dripping on my leg. I think my water just broke.' How could she tell? She couldn't feel anything from the waist down. But, we got the nurse and went back to the Ferrises' house. We sat in Michelle's room for a few hours. Ryan found a story called 'Trimazon' that he had written (and never finished) in sixth grade and read Michelle and I select portions of it. Despite not being able to feel anything, Karin must have been right about her water breaking,because at three thirty in the morning, Dad Ferris walked upstairs to announce that she had the baby. We rejoiced, and I left.



This strange unhappiness started creeping over me on Friday. At first, I thought it was because I was out of town and missed Michelle--but when I saw her the next day, it wasn't satiated. Could I be unhappy with the way things have been going? Absolutely not. I couldn't be happier. Maybe I was just getting used to the idea that pretty soon, I will be away in Chicago, and that I hadn't really thought about that. Still, that wasn't it. I was talking with Michelle about it yesterday at the East Race, throwing these ideas out. She suggested that maybe I was just getting used to the relationship. Then, I think I got it.

I feel guilty.

Two years ago, I realized that I had been harboring this feeling that no matter what I wanted, God would never let me have it by virtue of teaching me contentment or something vague like that. Right after realizing that, the earthquake of whatever it was that I felt for Chelsea came, and I thought that God was then revealing to me what I wanted. Fifteen months of pursuit later, that feeling was only reinforced. How could I believe that God wants to give me what I wanted if He just spent fifteen months keeping it from me? I couldn't. I couldn't believe that. I still have a hard time believing that.

And so here I am with THE most amazing girlfriend in the world (don't argue, you'll just embarrass yourself) thinking, 'There's absolutely no way that God could have brought this about. He doesn't give me what I want. I must have done this myself.'
Funny, considering that my most natural reaction throughout the course of letting things happen was to run away and just give up on the whole thing.

I was driving today, and I started praying. 'God, thank you for bringing this about.'
'Do you finally believe that I brought this about?'
I teared up a little bit.
'I think I'm starting to.'

I still have so far to go.

"God, You are so good to me. I don't even understand it."
"What did you expect? I love you."
"(breathe.) Say that again."
"I love you."


"I think I believe that now."

Waiting to Wake Up, pt. II

There's this feeling in the darkest part of me that I'm doing something terribly outside of God's plan. And that feeling comes out of the feeling I've been coming out of the past couple years that God will never let me have what I want, and I've been very pleased with the way things are going lately--so pleased that the nagging part of me that still doubts the goodness of God tells me, 'there's no way in Hell you're doing the right thing. He would never allow this.'

I love knowing that that voice is wrong.

After being hung up on someone for over a year with absolutely no reciprocation of feeling, I can't tell you how strange it is to be met with returned affection. Or how strange it was initially to realize that I was free from feelings, and free from them coming back. Funny, over spring break, I told myself that I probably shouldn't pursue a dating relationship anytime soon, because I wasn't sure that I could stay committed if Hung-Up girl suddenly realized that she had feelings for me after all. And so, I drifted with several half-crushes and attractions, trying to learn how to not hate myself while wallowing in a sort of passive cowardice.

Then, something strange happened.

I was in the art building with Sonia helping her move her submissions for the art show onto the table. Inside of the art building was my friend Michelle, who I had a huge crush on freshman year and now was glad to have caught up with thanks to our senior experience class. I talked to her for a few minutes, and then had a startling thought.
'I wouldn't mind dating Michelle. At all.'
Then a chill ran down my spine, because I knew that meant I had to tell her, and that terrified me.

I can't tell you how easy it would have been to have ignored that and kept living the same way I was. But I resolved to tell her. And she shook my hand, then told me that she liked me too. But, we both didn't want to rush into anything, so we agreed to just let things happen and see where they go.

The past couple weeks have surprised me in finding out where exactly things have gone. Turns out that not even the complex I've developed of refusing to accept that someone I'm attracted to could return my feelings could stop me from realizing that this feeling is very mutual. But, as I told her before, I didn't want to make a decision based on feelings alone (if I did that, I would have made up my mind a long time ago). So the past few nights, we've been talking about ways that the other has affected us (such as the numerous lessons of grace and compassion) and non-emotional aspects of our friendship (such as the way she gives me permission to be all of myself, flaws and all), and we decided that we were going to make this official and call ourselves a couple.

But, a few things were stopping us. I wanted to ask her parents first, and she wasn't sure that she was ready. Obviously, I wasn't going to go into a relationship as the only one ready for it, so we decided to wait until she felt ready.

Her feeling ready ended up being Sunday night. But, I still hadn't talked to her parents. So last night at nine thirty, I drove to her house (sans Michelle) and was greeted by her parents in the family room. "What was it you wanted to talk to us about, Nat?" her dad asked.
"Well, I have a story. Do you want the long version or the short version?"
"Short version. We're old and we're about to go to bed here pretty soon."

So I explained quickly that Michelle and I had been seeing where things go, and they knew where that has been, and asked if they would be okay with that.

"Well," her dad said, "Michelle's a smart kid, and I trust her, and I trust the decisions she makes" (he must have said this about five times) "and I trust you with her, so yeah."
"You have our blessing," her mom said, smiling.

We talked for a while--they asked what I majored in and where I was going in life. For whatever reason, my moving to Chicago always comes up, but I always remind those that ask that Chicago is not far. At some point, her mom looked at me with a puzzled look on her face and said, "I thought you were two were already dating." I laughed.

Michelle and I went to the diner, and then to the park afterward and just sat in my car talking and listening to music. And every once in a while, this whirlwind will rush through me
'This is really happening'

And I can hardly believe it.

This is really happening.

Waiting to Wake Up

I can hardly believe my life these days. Everything is coming together in such incredible ways that make me suddenly stop in the middle of the street or in conversation and say, 'this is really happening' because I need to remind myself that I'm not hallucinating.

Saturday morning, I took a train out to Chicago with two grand in cash and met up with Kriss & Mellie (roommates extraordinaire). We took a bus out to Ukrainian Village to sign the lease and give the security deposit (the two grand in cash). Our landlords are a middle-aged Ukrainian couple who are incredibly friendly and incredibly laid back with thick, thick, thick accents. Olga (the wife) had given the key to the handyman to show it to some potential clients in case we didn't sign the lease, and the tenants were both out of the state, so we had to wait until eight o' clock.

So, we walked out of Ukrainian village until we got to Wicker Park. We went to a vegan burger joint, a pastry shop called Sweetcakes, a couple awesome record stores, Ragstock (a sweet thrift store that also sells new clothes), a three level bookstore named Myopics that has a claustrophobic maze for a fiction section, and a bunch of comic shops to indulge Kriss.
Around seven o' clock, we started walking toward the apartment. Kriss checked his clock to time the walk. After a short time, Kriss said, 'see that street up there?' referring to the street a block away. 'That's our street. It's been nine minutes.'

So, with a lot of time to spare, we stopped at Walgreens for snacks and then went looking for the grocery store. Kriss asked a girl in a nail salon by the Walgreens (which is across North Ave from our apartment) and she told him it was four blocks up the street. Passing Three Stooges' Meats and Fruits and Habibi's Fast Food and Grocery (they sell falafel. Two blocks from our apartment. Sweet.) we see the grocery store--an obnoxiously yellow building with red and green stripes running along the top. Kriss decried it as tacky. We walked in, seeing some of the signs advertising deals ("Well, that's a pretty good deal," Kriss said skeptically). Kriss led the expidition and we followed him to the far wall, where twenty pound bags of rice were being sold for $14.50. Kriss swore. We walked into the next aisle and were met with more outrageously low prices. And the next aisle. And the next. And then we walked into the dry bean aisle. I have never heard swear so much out of joy in my life. Kriss is content.

(I forgot to mention. Next to the Walgreens across from our apartment is a utility box where someone had graffitied the name 'Nat')

Five till eight, we walked back to the apartment and showed up right as the handyman got there. He let us into the apartment.
It's a sweet apartment. Incredibly so. I love it. Three bedrooms, one of which will be turned into a music room. There's laundry just outside our kitchen. There's a sweet little tile storage room that I will use as a chillout spot. The living room is about twice the size of my living room at Logan Village.
I love it. It's a good thing we already signed the lease, because if I needed to put on my poker face for a landlord, I would have failed.

Wednesday, Kriss called me to tell me that the place we were looking at wanted six months of rent up front, so we didn't know what we were going to do about it or where else we might move to. He mentioned a duplex with three vegan girls, which I was a little iffy on. He sighed, exasperated saying that he was doing everything he could, but he didn't know what other options we had. I told him not to worry, because there was a place out there. "God has had His hand in this from the very beginning. He's not going to lead us this far and then NOT have the perfect place for us."
"Do you really think God is in this?"
"Absolutely. The way things just fell together, there's no way He isn't."
"Wow. That's comforting. I don't know, I'm still worried."
"Don't be. There's a place."

I got to tell Kriss that I told him so several times.

Welcome to Wicker Park, baby.

GAH

LIFE IS SO GOOD RIGHT NOW.

Oh, Goodness

That was a close call.

A Drive Home For Which No Soundtrack is Suitable but Sigur Ros

I pulled away simply repeating to myself, 'oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.'

The End and the Beginning

It's so strange to think that I'm done at Bethel and on to be 'an adult,' so most of the times, I avoid it.

In a lot of ways, this final year was the best and worst year I've ever had. It saw me at my brightest and darkest. But it's bar none the best, because this was the year I finally put together that how naturally music came to me might just mean that I'm supposed to actually do something with it, and so I am. It's also the year where I learned what Grace is, and how to accept myself, and when I started to figure out who I am.

I also started understanding what true happiness is, and learned how to be wise in that.
Or at least, I'm learning.
With help.
(means you.)

Um.

Tonight? Really?

I'm not so sure if I'm ready for what I agreed to.
But, why not.

My job with maintenance didn't work out. So now i either have to find another job in the area or move to chicago in june.
Dang it.

It is Finished

The buck is passed. Tossed, even.

I can sleep now. After being awake for twenty seven hours.



I've noticed that a lot of times, the more I have to say, the less I write in here.

I've also noticed that I have eleven followers. That number keeps getting bigger, and it surprises me. I don't know three of them. I've talked to two of them, though.

You know who you are.
How you find me.
Stalka.



Seriously.
It's time for bed.

Barefoot and Pregnant* in the Kitchen

It is now nine thirty in the evening on Sunday April twenty-sixth, in the year of our Lord 2009. Tomorrow, Monday April twenty-seventh, at twelve o'clock in the afternoon, everything** is due so I can graduate. I'm really not too worried about graduating. Cs get degrees, I'm told.

No matter. I am bunkered down in my kitchen armed with a twelve pack of Ramen noodles and a four pack of Rockstar energy drink (bigger, faster stronger, apparently). It is my intention to stay up all night and write these fiends. Then, I will, on no sleep, take my Apologetics final. And then, I will sleep for weeks.

Thank God.




*emotionally pregnant.
**four large papers, one small paper, one outline

(no title, just the quiet)

Even though I rarely ever get to enjoy it, the sunrise will always, always, always beat the sunset for me.

Queen, feat. David Bowie

The end of my college career will be upon me in four days. With it, it brings four papers, one final, and one outline. I wanted to get all of these things done by tomorrow night, but I'm not sure how reasonable that is. The real issue is wanting to go to the Rescue in Chicago on Saturday, but I wasn't sure how long I would be there, and I wanted to go without needing to worry about lingering school work. Now, I'm second guessing going at all. I just really need to graduate. But, as the saying goes, "C'est la vie, Cs get degrees." By that standard, the only one I'm worried about is Apologetics. I have no idea what my final paper is going to look like yet.

I am just holding on to the thought of next week, when I will be free of school forever (unless I decide later in life to go to grad school, which is not really a thought right now). Next week will be filled with adventures and hanging out and trying to fit in those last moments with people that I wish I had more time with (three specifics: Matt Metzger, Anthony Parrott, Amy Malmkar).

I hate all-nighters, but I'll probably pull one tonight.
I still have most of this bag of coffee, after all...

I don't hate myself anymore. And I mean that.

Hush

I am so glad to be alive these days, and to be where I am in life. It's not that things are perfect--life is very stressful, actually. But God is good, and I'm learning to see the subtleties He works in, to hear the whispers in life that I'd previously let go unnoticed.

I've never been one for subtlety. I never payed too much attention to detail. I always just looked at the big picture, not paying attention to what was going on right before me. And I'm realizing now what I was missing out on. I'm learning that not everything has to be loud or huge or specific. Subtlety works just fine too.

A Great Good Friday

Last night was a very enjoyable night. Dear Xackary threw a party/basement show at which everyone was told to dress like the pictures Dear J. Grant had posted on Facebook of shamans and sheiks and children in tuxedos and gypsies and Devendra Banhart. I wore a giant headdress. Kath Forrester and Lyndsey were gypsies. J. Grant was a sort of shaman? Analiese was an awkward nymph. Ferris looked like a 1980s flapper. I wore a giant headdress that made it difficult to put on my harmonica harness. Xack's friend Owen Nicolas (who I guess is really named Tyler?) played last. His girlfriend played this awesome old keyboard and the glockenspiel and sometimes sang along while he played the acoustic guitar and sang while stomping on a tambourine, all without microphones. It was super enjoyable. He sounded like the lead singer of Okkervill River playing vaguely punk inspired folk songs.

After the party dissipated, most of us went to Steak n Shake where we were greeted by no shortage of great reactions. But what do you expect when you walk in wearing this?




















Homework is coming along about as I expected, which is not nearly as well as I'd hoped. There are still two days.

I've been the only person in my house the past three days. And it's been a lot better than I was expecting. I usually hate being by myself because 1) I don't like who I am when no one's watching and 2) when I'm by myself I have to face how much I don't like myself. But both of those issues are significantly lifting. I've actually kind of liked being by myself this weekend. I'm supposed to go to my parents' house tonight, but I'm second guessing that, honestly. I like staying here just fine. I get to listen to my records loudly and paint into all hours of the night.

I'm realizing that a lot of my insecurities don't have any basis to them but are merely a product of unfortunate experiences and my own tendency to overthink everything. But that doesn't mean they have any less of an effect on me. Yet.

Easter break came an hour and a half early today. I skipped Biblical Theology.

I have so much due in that class, I can hardly stand thinking about it. The next few days, I HAVE to get caught up. I can't be as far behind on assignments as I am right now. Not in two weeks, anyway.

My friend Ben took his life yesterday. I didn't know him too well--just well enough to be really weirded out. When I first went into the dining commons by myself and knew no one, I sat with him. Then he was in my zoology class, and on the way back from the Shedd, we played this name where you list band names, but each band name has to start with the last letter of the previous band name. We started on Lake Shore Drive and finally finished when we got off of the toll road two hours later. The other three people in the car got out and the two of us went back and forth on our own for at least half an hour before I made up a band name that wasn't challenged.
I really wish I would have gotten to know him better.

Under Pressure/Ice, Ice Baby

I long ago learned that one's capacity for joy is also their capacity for sorrow. Recently, I've learned that one's capacity for joy is also one's capacity for neurosis.

quit your worrying, boy.

Much easier said than done. And beyond my nervousness and flakiness in life in general lately, I am really feeling the pressure of the next three weeks of classes (the last three ever. As an undergrad, at least) and the biggest desire I have is to just curl up with my head between my knees and my hands on my neck to protect my vulnerable head from the falling debris that is a mountain of assignments still yet to do. I really dislike school right now, and I'm really struggling to truly see the long term benefits, even though I know that if I drop off the academic globe right now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life--or at least until I finish my degree.

I often pray for discipline, or motivation, or what have you. Deep down, I know that praying for those things is an attempt to remove as much blame from myself as possible.

A Hall of Open Doors, a Street of Green Lights

Tonight, I am going to Chicago to go apartment hunting with Kriss & Mellie. I am so incredibly excited to finally get into the city and live and play my music and meet everyone. It's all I've ever wanted.

It's strange, though, the validation I've been getting for this. Every time I've played at Fiddler's Hearth lately, Al always says, 'Sounds like they like you, Nathaniel,' in this sly voice like he knows something big is going to happen. And others, two of the most talented performers in particular, just tell me how much they enjoy it. And with every voice that says that, I get this feeling that says, 'this is what you were made for.' (I have to admit, I kind of hate getting flooded with compliments like that. I want to get to know the people at Fiddler's, not just get to know how much they enjoy my music)

Last night was the missionary church banquet with the district superintendents and other pastors from the denomination. As a missionary church brat, I am incredibly jaded towards its political agendas and departure from its egalitarian, pacifist roots. Also, I've been feeling like the denomination will look at what I'll be doing in Chicago and say, 'That's not ministry. You're not going there to be a missionary. You are going there to have fun being a rock star, and we all know it.' I went to the banquet not wanting to, even though it wasn't required, because I knew it would probably do no harm. It did the opposite of harm, actually. They talked about how the denomination is restructuring to be more organic with less emphasis on church buildings and pastors and more emphasis on individuals doing ministry in their own contexts. I talked with Steve Jones, DS of the Central district about my plans, and he was completely supportive. When asked, he even said that if I felt called to ask for support from members in the denomination, I should do that.

Afterward, I drove to my parents' house feeling this strange mix of guilt and depression, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I had a thought. 'What if the reason you feel bad is because you can't handle validation, because you can't handle the idea that maybe you're right about something.'

Yeah. About that. I'm so used to just walking through whatever door I see until it shuts in my face. And I'm so used to them shutting on me that don't know what to do when the door is opened even wider and I'm ushered in.

'You're just going to have to get used to it,' the voice in my head says.
Lord, thank You.

March Twenty nine

I have never been more proud of my sister Lyndsey as I was last night. She completely rocked the role of Muzzy in Thoroughly Modern Millie. To be frank, the entire cast rocked Thoroughly Modern Millie last night--but not as much as Lyndsey (in my humble opinion).

Brenden was here this weekend. I missed him dearly, and this visit was very appreciated. Sometimes when I see him after being apart for a long time, it's like I'm seeing his ghost or something. There's just something unfamiliar about him that takes about ten seconds to get used to. It's kind of like when he's gone, I forget that he's real. It's like that with other people sometimes, too--people that I love very much and miss often.

I tried my hand at painting tonight. I've painted often, but only pieces of cardboard that I then glued and stacked to make something. There was no blending involved, and the strokes of the paintbrush were nearly completely neglected. So I've decided to correct this. I painted an owl.




















I am pleased with it.


I keep learning more and more and more and more about Grace. It's amazing. I don't understand it, but I love it.

Tonight,

I saw what love looks like.

A large amount of news in a small amount of time.

The past few days have been filled with a lot.

My emotional capacity seems like it has tripled. When I'm happy, I'm always blisteringly happy. When someone comes to me with a problem, I'm much more easily moved to tears. Just the other day in Biblical Theology, before we prayed at the beginning of class, Dr. Carpenter said, 'Let's take these requests to the Lord. And let's not forget Who it is that we're praying to.' Instantly, tears streamed down my face. Because honestly, I have been forgetting a lot who He is, and the past week or so, I've been reminded in the most peculiar, most ordinary ways.

Last year, a friend told me that she has struggled with homosexuality for most of her life. Then, a couple nights ago, she told me she was having feelings for a friend of hers, and she didn't care that it was wrong, she just wanted a relationship. I was livid, and said a lot of things that I can't believe. I have said before that with tough issues like this, it is best to err on the side of compassion. I wish I would have listened to myself, because now I know what happens when you don't. We reconciled later that night, though. But the most nerve racking part is that she plans on telling her brother tomorrow, and I'm going with for support. If I'm this nervous, I can't even imagine how she must be feeling.

I was walking across campus today, and was just overwhelmed with happiness. I just wanted to run around and sing loudly and dance and weep for joy. And the strange thing is, this superhappiness keeps showing up at the strangest times.

There might be some reasons, or life might just be going very well right now.
Probably some mixture of both.

The Emptiness

There's a strange emptiness in my body every time I get away by myself lately. I'm never sure what it is. It's not exactly a discontent, and it's not exactly a longing. There's just something missing that was there before. I think that it might be that the darkness that has been occupying my life for so long is finally lifting, and this is what freedom feels like. It's not a bad emptiness--it's just strange.

There's a lot of strangeness in my life lately. And not all of it is bad. Not at all. And I'm getting used to it.

I went through some old posts a couple days ago. It was so strange to look back on the things I was thinking and feeling during the days I look back upon as the days of my goodness and strength and see how much I've grown since then--because I have grown. I have come to see God in the ordinary and plain things. I have come to find His thumbprint in my own autonomy. I have found His image in those around me, and I'm learning the grace of judging others exclusively by the best parts of them.

I also used to write much longer blogs. They're a little shorter now.

Music As A Weapon*

Last night I watched a screening of the Invisible Children update. It turns out that just as the peace talks seemed to be working, Joseph Kony (leader of the Lord's Resistance Army) disappeared and attacked the Congo. I watched in pain asking God, 'How can we stop this man without using the same violence that he uses?'

Today in chapel, the speaker spoke against the apathy we have for the poor and lonely and homeless, whose number is growing every day. She challenged us to do something about it. She also quoted Mother Teresa: 'You can do no great thing. Only small things with great love.'
'What will you do?' she asked.
'What can I do about this war?' I asked.

Last night I first began to see the true value of music in activism. Not saying I'm going to write anthems or songs about the terrible things going on in Africa (every time I've tried, it's come out incredibly cheesy). But I can tell others what is going on. I can play benefit shows. I can organize shows at which the film will be screened.
And in regards to the poor and lonely and homeless...what can I do for those in prison or on the street or who have no one? I want to start going out into the streets with a guitar to sit with people and play songs for them. I want to play shows in jails. I just want to use my music to connect with them the same way I use it to connect to others.

I'm so glad I can do this.


*nothing to do with Disturbed or the music festival they host.

...Like I'm something worth holding onto

I'm realizing now that two years of blindly chasing after something I could never have took a drastic toll on my confidence.

I asked for a wound to put my finger into, and all I found was my own.
It's going to take some time to heal this.

Handshakes

Who reacts like that?
Honestly.
;)

Goggles to Protect My Eyes*

My life has been moving pretty quickly this past week. Nothing necessarily of too much note...yet...

I just really like the way my life is going. I've hung out with my friends Megan and Michelle a lot lately, which is always nice. I've missed them a lot.

I'm closing the open stage at Fiddler's Hearth tonight, which means I play last and have an hour long set instead of fifteen minutes. This is literally the highest honor I could receive at Fiddler's Hearth.

I'm recording three albums currently. I love recording...I really do. I really don't like taking multiple takes, though. Especially when I'm already restless (as I am now).

Five weeks until graduation. Thank God.



*see the Office episode Dwight's speech for context

President's Day: A Film.

It's raining. Lightning strikes to reveal the words 'Presidential Cemetery' on the arch the camera then passes through, zooming in on a headstone labeled, 'George Washington.'

A half decomposed hand punches through the wet grass and dirt, followed by the rest of Zombie George Washington. The camera swings around to see the rest of the dead presidents also rising from their graves. Those assassinated still wear their wounds. The zombie presidents stagger out into the street towards Washington D.C.

New scene. Disney's Magic Kingdom. In a large room with cameras monitoring the park's activities, a red telephone rings and is answered by a man in a suit. 'Hello?' he says. The voice on the other line says something that disturbs him. 'Yes, I understand. Right away.' He hangs up the phone.
'Who was that, sir?'
'That was the Pentagon. We have a situation.'
All eyes fasten on him.
'Activate the Hall of Presidents.'

Out of a level area on the floor, a pillar rises about five feet. At chest level is a small glass door with a red button. It is pressed.

Camera on the Hall of Presidents. The animitronic presidents stare blankly in the dark. Suddenly, Robot Washington comes to life. One eye glows red. His right hand is retracted into his arm and is replaced by a laser cannon. Robot Lincoln's left hand retracts and is replaced by a beam sword. Robot Teddy Roosevelt spouts flames out of his mouth. All the robot presidents activate similarly and their shoes turn into rocket shoes, blasting them off towards the nation's capital.

From inside the monitor station, someone asks the man in the suit, 'Sir, do you think it will work?'
'It's our only hope.'

(CUE ZOMBIE PRESIDENTS VS. ROBOT PRESIDENTS FOR THE SWEETEST MOVIE/GRAPHIC NOVEL/TELEVISION SERIES EVER. Also, Dick Cheney is a Cyborg)

Spring Broke

This was a big break, my first taste of touring...and I like it.

I'm recording again...three albums at a time, and one three song EP. I hope to have them done around the time I move to Chicago, but we all know ow good I am with deadlines...

This week, I learned:
I sometimes crap out on God stuff when I'm on break. I read my Bible maybe twice over break (as opposed to the two times a day I try to fit in usually)
If someone yells at me, no matter how upset they are, I will raise my voice back, and I hate it.
Ryan, Ruth, Rebecca, and Rachel at Moody (kind of) are four of the most spontaneous and awesome people you'll ever meet.
My parents' puppy Jethro (Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs FitzGerald) is awesome, and I love him.
When I'm upset with myself, I eat a lot.
Chelsea Henion is a great friend.
I missed Brenden Bell a lot.
I miss Hannahbeth always.
I really like Okkervil River.
The Griffon in South Bend is an incredible book shop.
Sin City is a great movie. It has awakened my love for the noir genre.
If I want to see a movie on opening night and can't find anyone to go with, if I'm in town, I can just go to Movies 14, because everyone I'd go to see the movie with would be there anyway.
The trumpet makes a little bit of sense to me. A little bit.
I just want to graduate and be done with school. I guess the only way to do that is to work hard. But I don't really want to work hard. Meh.

I just want to be done.
I want to be done.
I want to be done.

Please, please, please

Find me out.

Jesus' blood never failed me yet
Never failed me yet
Jesus' blood never failed me yet
This one thing I know
For He loves me so

Post or Paper? Post.

I'm so terrible at schoolwork. I have a five page paper that was due Monday...and I'm only on the third page. It's due in fifty minutes. It probably won't be finished, but I'll probably still turn it in.

I sometimes want to just drop out and move to Chicago now, but I know I shouldn't.
Curse my vague sense of responsibility.

Macbook Macbook Macbook

I got a Macbook on Friday. It's changing my life already.
It's so nice to be able to record whenever I dang well feel like it, and not have to mess around with downloading a new driver every time I want to record.

I don't want to do school this week. I just want to do music. I want to write and record and get ready for tour.
Meh.

I need to be more vigilant toward holiness. It seems lately that I'm just as content being profane* than I am being sacred. I really need to work on that.

While appeasing Hannahbeth by blogging, I think it'd be a good time to tell you that I miss you. We need to hang out sometime. For realsies.
And for anyone else reading this, same goes for you.


*2. not devoted to holy or religious purposes; unconsecrated; secular

(sigh)

Nick, I miss you.

On Pain

Be not afraid of love
or of pain
or even of yourself

For what is pain but the breaking of the
shell around your heart that makes it leak out?
And what is love but
the leaking out of your heart into another?

And how can your heart leak into another
if it leaks not into itself?

From 'The Prophet' by Kahlil Gibron

Then a priestess said, "Speak to us of Prayer."

And he answered, saying:

You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.

For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether?

And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart.

And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing.

When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet.

Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion.

For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive.

And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted:

Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard.

It is enough that you enter the temple invisible.

I cannot teach you how to pray in words.

God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.

And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains.

But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart,

And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence,

"Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth.

It is thy desire in us that desireth.

It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also.

We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us:

Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all."

Hannahbeth says I should blog more.

Hannahbeth is not my mother.

Fifty Degrees in February

I'm slowly learning to love myself. I haven't, however, been very gentle towards friends of mine that are having a hard time loving themselves. It's not that I think that they're stupid for that, I just get so angry at the lies they believe. I wish there was a way to get angry at the lies while not seeming angry at them.

A Tithe

I said to the Lord,
'Why do you even bother with me? Nine times out of ten, I choose my sin over You.'

And He said, 'then give me that one time out of ten, and I will do with it more than you could ever imagine.'

Don't let me forget that.
Don't let me forget that.
Don't let me forget...

(no subject)

"But what if I should discover that the least amongst them all, the poorest of all the beggars, the most impudent of all the offenders, the very enemy himself--that these are within me, and that I myself stand in need of the alms of my own kindness--that I myself am the enemy who must be loved--what then?"
- Carl Jung

On My Darkness

Last night was a very late night--five thirty late, in fact. It isn't at all that I wanted to be up that late, or that I didn't try to sleep. I did. I just couldn't avoid myself, and how much I've been falling back into those same patterns I was saved from in the first place.

When I finally went back into my bedroom, I said, "God, why do you even bother with me? I choose darkness over you nine times out of ten"
And He said, "then give Me that one time out of ten, and with it, I will change you into who I want you to be."



Oh my Lord.

Stages of Love

I don't remember where this is from. It's been in my head lately.

Stage one: you love yourself for your own sake.
Stage two: you love God for your own sake.
Stage three: you love God for God's sake.
Stage four: you love yourself for God's sake.

On Worry and Frustration

I lost my wallet during the course of my ski class, or the bus ride back, or the changing of clothes upon my return to the house. I've torn the house apart over and over again, always searching in the same places, just hoping that maybe if I look a litttttle bit closer, it will be there this time.

I understand that it's sort of a big deal, because my debit card (which no one has used, I've checked) and driver's license and student ID and ski class punch card are all in there, but I just feel like a stupid, stubborn child for being as upset about this as I am.

meh.

Part II

Yesterday's short little post and a conversation with my friend Kath led to the creation of the National Vinyl Society (Bethel Chapter) Facebook group, which then tonight led to a sweet, sweet record listening party that stretched on for over four hours. Super hip freshman Brent, as well as dear friends Karen and Jess. We listened to choice records and bits of records, with the new Bon Iver EP "Blood Bank" receiving much well deserved care. We drank tea (well...they did. I had two cups of extra strength coffee. Smart idea, nathaniel.) and watched the bad kung fu movies that were playing on mute to accompany the music. By the way, Demon Days by the Gorillaz is a great record to play kung fu to.

After they all left, I made good on my decision to switch my music consumption into creation and sit down and force myself to write a song. So with two cups of coffee in my veins and doubts and fear in my heart, I sat down with a guitar and a typewriter and wrote what is now "Oh My Lord," a challenging, difficult-to-sing song that I secretly hope is more exaggerated than I know it really is.

I'm a nerd. I really am. I may be nerdy about so called 'cool' things, but I'm a nerd nonetheless. The writing process of "Oh My Lord" was my best attempt at being Bob Dylan, who while living in a friend's New York apartment writing the album that became "Bringing It All Back Home" spent most of his time in the back room drinking a glass of red wine and pecking away at a typewriter. I didn't have any red wine, but if I did, that probably would have happened as well.

I really want to be able to live off of my songs. I want to be able to throw myself into this completely, and meet everyone in the world while doing it.

(sigh)

All I really want sometimes is for someone to sit and listen to records with me.

Thanks, Chester

Congratulations on being the creator of a new

Evil Plan (tm)!

Your objective is simple: Criminal Activities.

Your motive is a little bit more complex: To show them all

Stage One

To begin your plan, you must first incapacitate a pope. This will cause the world to sign up for life insurance policies, overwhelmed by your arrival. Who is this spammer? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in a robotic exoskeleton?

Stage Two

Next, you must obliterate the internet. This will all be done from a underground secret headquarters of doom, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will weep uncontrollably, as countless hordes of the religious right hasten to do your every bidding.

Stage Three

Finally, you must unleash your corporate takeover, bringing about something that's really metal. Your name shall become synonymous with dear god no, and no man will ever again dare sabotage your music career again. Everyone will bow before your dashing good looks, and the world will have no choice but to fall madly in love with you.

Confession.

I don't trust You to not take absolutely everything away from me. Even after realizing that my feeling that You wanted to keep me from getting anything I wanted was completely false, I just feel like you went and proved it true.

I need to trust You.
And I need you to be patient with me.

Neun und Neunzig Luftballoons

It's strange how it comes back to my mind, even six years later.

Yesterday in Apologetics, the Chadmeister asked for experiences, good or bad, that we've had in evangelizing to others. I shared a story about an atheist I witnessed to with Travis and another guy from our youth group in eighth grade, but then right after, I thought of Nick. Nick, one of my closest friends in 10th grade, who was raised Catholic and then revolted against it, adhering to philosophies of Neitzche and others. He was the one guy that year that I wanted to bring to church so he might hear the Gospel and be saved.
And six years ago today, he committed suicide.

I still don't know what to do with that.

(sigh)

Thank you for making me feel like I might be wrong about myself.

Actual Confessions of a Less Achy Skeleton

Once in a while, I will come to a day where I feel like I cannot escape thinking that it might be the most truthful to say that I hate myself. Today was one of those days. In senior experience, the syllabus had a list of issues that we will be covering in the class. The topics ranged from 'Marrying the Person You Love' to 'Embracing Pain' to 'Dealing with Doubt.' The last topic was 'Learning How To Forgive Yourself.' I really need to learn how to do that.

I have a friend hoping that a certain situation with a hopeful significant other works out. Part of me wishes it doesn't work out, partly because I'm not sure if it would be the best, but most truthfully, probably because I feel like nothing like that has worked out for me, and why should I be the only one?
I hate myself for thinking that.

I worked for a sick friend tonight. As I walked out the door, my roommate Justin told me he loved me. I smiled, then took off out of the door as fast as I could, because if I would have let it sunk in, I probably would have started weeping right there. I really needed that to be said.

I feel like I pretend like I'm alright far too often. Granted, I'm a pretty optimistic person. I have seen in the past how God turns things to goodness and it has given me great peace. But there are days where I just feel so incredibly filthy. Today was absolutely one of those days.


To any one of you that I love: the reason I love you is because you make me think that maybe I'm wrong about myself.

Confessions of an Achy Skeleton

When I was a young teenager, I saw a commercial for mascara that started off by showing a woman's eye with clumpy mascara. A voice declared, "Hey, Tarantula eyes!" When my mom came home, I greeted her with the same catchphrase.

Years later, she would tell me that she immediately changed mascaras because of that.