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.