Strangers in a Traincar

Friday night, dear Hannahbeth and I tripped again to Chicago. We had full intention of sleeping on the train ride there to make up for lost sleep the week before. When we got on the train, however, I was much more keen on sleeping than she was, as she had ingested caffeine earlier in the day (naughty, naughty Hannahbeth).
As we sat down in one of those quad seats facing eachother, the man across the aisle had a small radio with a long antennae and explained in an accent I didn't recognize that he was going to try to listen to the debate. As the train rolled on and the car filled up, we had to sacrifice one of the sides of our quad for a man named David that smelled like he'd just had a cigarette. Hannahbeth and I had a discussion recalling her resemblance to Drew Barrymore, which she then deferred to David for his opinion. He said, 'Not really.' Then I said, 'What about me?' And he said, 'Oh yeah, definitely,' then laughed.
He assumed we were from the North Side and asked us about the Sox. We explained we were from South Bend, and he told us he had a sister in Bremen, where I used to work at a church. He then told us about his work fixing roofs of mobile homes, especially in hurricane-torn areas, and of his sick brother, and of his friends that bet he wouldn't make it to twenty five, which is a sobering thought considering he's a month away from fifty. He also told us of his father, who was abusive and negligent when he was younger, who has since become a born again Christian, surprising David very much.
He got off in East Chicago, and I spied on the arm of a young man across the aisle a tattoo of the character Alice from the disturbing video game of the same name. I asked him about it, and he said it was his favorite game ever. I told the story of a dear friend who went to a college where they weren't allowed to watch movies or listen to music, but she and her roommates played that game. He laughed, and then went back to scribbling in his notebook. I asked the man with the radio if he got the debate. He laughed and said he fell asleep. The young man with the notebook (hereafter, Kyle) told us that he had caught the first half, and described it as mostly Obama on the offensive, and returned to his notebook. The man with the radio (hereafter, Brad) asked Kyle if he was a song writer, and he said yes. I exclaimed that I was also a song writer, and Brad said he was too. We then swapped styles and influences, and Kyle even gave us his demo cd, which proclaimed him as Ill Eagle, the Anti-Rapper. I told them I was a sort of folk singer with urban influences, and Brad explained that he sang traditional songs from his homeland, Belize.

I asked why he left Belize, and he said, 'It's kind of a God thing,' at which point I thought, 'of course it is.'
He told us that he believed in God, and that God speaks to us through His word, and that one day, he felt called to the United States. He asked God for confirmation and turned in his Bible to the call of Abraham: 'leave your father's homeland and go to a land that I will give to you.' He asked for more confirmation and turned to a passage in Isaiah that confirmed it. He then came to Miami, but left because of the culture and ended up in Nappannee, Indiana. I asked if he knew Nappannee Missionary Church. He said his son goes there. I told him that my second cousin is the senior pastor. We all marveled at the smallness of the world.

We parted ways after trading information and embarked into the city to meet dear Chelsea at Moody. There, we watched the improv group Informal (featuring my friend Chris), then sat in the plaza where I met and talked with Chelsea's neighbor and friend Anna, who is from France. After a while, we retreated to our residencies. I was set up to stay in the lounge on my friend Greg's floor. Greg sadly wasn't feeling well, so we were unable to talk like we'd have liked. I borrowed his guitar and played in the lounge, where young men came, introduced themselves, and left. After awhile, a young man named Justin who I'd met two years before on my first vist to Moody stopped in and talked for a while, followed by a young man named Enoch from Traverse City. I asked if he knew where Mancelona was. He did. I started explaining the significance of Mancelona Camp in my life, and said, 'Long story short...' He replied, 'no need to make it short. I've got time, and I'm interested.'
And so, I told the story of my calling and my running from it and then back to it, then the release from my improper view of God's providence that happened at Mancelona. He asked to hear a couple of my songs, then bid goodnight.

This is pretty good for a guy who a week earlier wrote a letter to a friend confessing "i'm terrified of strangers." I think I might just be getting over it.
Praise God.

Wellspring

The other day, I unwrapped a Dove chocolate piece and was greeted by the fortune: "Dare to love completely." Now, I've found in my life that love, with all its beauty, truly is a strange and dangerous thing. Most of the pain in my life have been from love--whether it be a relationship that didn't work out, or being hurt by someone I loved, or the tension between a person I loved and they way their life turned out. But I have never been jaded. Even after falling dangerously in love and give everything I had to someone it wasn't meant for, I still believe that love exists in the way I thought it did my entire life.

The thing is, now that this position of Potential Love of my Life is vacant, my mind doesn't exactly know what to do with its vacancy. Questions play through my mind every time I talk to an eligible young woman looking at the different criteria and then playing through scenarios getting far too ahead of myself. Sometimes, it's just a passing thing. Other times, it races through my mind, keeping me up at night.

The worst thing is, I'm pretty much absolutely sure that God has little to nothing to do with it. Or at least it doesn't seem like His way of doing things (don't even say 'it never does,' homes). I don't necessarily care for it, but I have a hard time keeping this flippant heart and mind of mine under control.

There's an attitude of guarding my heart that I need to develop in myself. Put up walls high enough that only the most providential woman can climb them.
Problem is, I never been to good with walls.

On being an Object of Mercy

Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

I've prayed that prayer several times throughout the day for the past few weeks, but never as earnestly as today. A cycle of selfishness and indulgence come to an apex between yesterday and today, and it plunged me into shame. So I took a walk down to the river.

As I prayed, my words began to sound differently than what I had thought to say.
'In my moments of loneliness, send me to the lonely.
In my moments of hunger, send me to the hungry.
In my moments of thirst, send me to the thirsty.
In my moments of desperation, send me to the to the desperate'

'Have mercy on me, so that I may have mercy on others, and on myself'

'Allow me to embrace Your image in me and in others, and may I honor it in others and myself.'

By the time I'd gotten to the river, there was no shame. Only mercy.

The Line in the Sand

A good friend, whose every word I take with close consideration told me tonight
"You are a musical genius. I mean it. You have a gifting beyond anyone I've ever met, and you need to start taking it seriously."

That scared* me for a number of reasons. First, I don't necessarily feel like I'm writing the kind of music I could be. That is, I don't always feel like I'm applying myself to write the kind of crazy full orchestra concept albums I would be able to if I tried.
But that's not even the real thing.

There's this line between doing music as a sort of giant hobby and doing it as something I'm deeply invested in that I could even make a sort of living off of. And I've straddled that line for the past couple years. In high school, I would have wanted nothing more, but I'm not in high school anymore. I've certainly began playing shows in much greater frequency over the past year, but most of the times, the audience is made up almost entirely of my friends. I've gone from playing solo to playing with different people at different times, to acquiring a full time trumpet player. I've never used the same drummer more than once, and I haven't had any problem with that. If I cross that line, I'll have to find more full time members, and actually have real practices.
Also, to date, playing live has been something that I could pick up and lay down at will. I can book a show here or there, even on a whim, and not worry about having a show after. Crossing that line means having a schedule to fill, and a responsibility to fill that schedule.
Finally...if I cross that line...I'll have to finish my album. It's been a year and a half, and I just now released CDs with five of the eleven songs, and I'm not happy with that. I've been meaning to finish it this whole time, but I've never had a deadline. If I stepped up and got serious about this music thing, I would have to make a deadline, and that scares* me.

Josh (the friend) and his band and my band and his drummer with a solo project are going to start playing a lot more regularly at different venues. Like a mini tour.

I guess that means I'm crossing the line. At least in a small way.


*not necessarily the right word

Thoughts on Humility.

My blog seems to be growing in readership. People I do not know in person are now following my blog. Does it bother me? Nah. That's kind of the idea. But it does kind of change my choice of what to put in here? Probably not. I'll most likely be just as too open about myself as I have been.
Dude in Florida and dude in Ohio, hello.
You, blogstalker Chelsea. Hello.
Everyone else, hello.

I've been noticing lately that American Christians seem to have a mistaken perception of humility. I find myself feeling a strange kind of guilt any time I find myself saying that I love Jesus more than anything, or that I want to do do all I can to please Him. Wait a minute, my humility says. You're scum. You might try to love Jesus, but you're so incredibly selfish. Since your first breath, you haven't had a single selfless thought. Your first and greatest interest is yourself, and Jesus and everyone else gets whatever's left over.

But the truth is, I feel obligated to say those things, because if I claim I'm anything other than that, I've slipped into pride, which is the greatest sin of all, for out of it stems every other sin. Lately, I've been feeling like this American-style humility isn't necessarily a very healthy way of looking at things. In fact...it's not healthy at all. It's defeatist.
And more than that, it's a vote of no-confidence in the Lord's power to change a life.

It is true that I've been known myself to be selfish, manipulative, dishonest, a cheat, a slave to lust, and a champion at justifying myself before men. But the thing is, that's who I was before. Christ got a hold of me and created in me a new nature. Have I wandered back into the same prisons I've been freed from? Yes, but it's a growing process. Habits established over 17 years are going to take a long time to break. So yes, I still sin. But am I still a sinner? Yes, but a sinner saved by grace, and that changes everything.

Also, there's this big emphasis in the American mindset about not deserving salvation. Good job, folks. We don't deserve it. And I'm not saying that we're wrong in that. What is wrong is that our focus is on what we deserve (as if we could do anything ourselves to change the state of our souls) instead of our inestimable worth, which is in us simply because of the Image of God within us.

Look me in the eye and listen to me. You are worth the death of Christ.

I've been reading the book of Acts lately, and I keep seeing the same stupid disciples in the Gospels healing the sick, casting out demons, even raising the dead. They understood that they had power. They understood that Christ gave them righteousness, therefore--they are righteous. And they didn't shy away from it--they embraced it.

And they had power.

Friendship vs. Sanctity

I had a thought today about the hymn 'What a Friend we Have in Jesus,' and that brought my mind to the newer song 'Friend of God,' and then the slew of other things that have come out of that--to be brief, 'Jesus is my homeboy' t shirts, other songs such as the song 'Jesus, You are My Best Friend' that I used to sing in high school, other things.
At times, I'm not sure if this claim of friendship necessarily gives Jesus the respect and honor He deserves. After all, it is His name that has been exalted high above all names; His name at which every knee--Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Satanist, Democrat--will bow at the end of all things. It is this same Jesus that the Restored will fall down and worship at the Renewal of all things. This is that same Jesus who, when He answered, 'I am He,' an entire band of soldiers and Pharisees fell backward from the sheer power of His claim. And people have the nerve to reduce Him to friend?

Then I realized.

He reduced Himself from that. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, 'I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from the Father, I have made known to you.'

Wow.

What a friend we have in Jesus
All our sins and griefs to bear
What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer.

Musicscapes.

Today was the singer/songwriter chapel. The singer/songwriter was Mark Roach. He's a worship leader in his local church and a recording artist on a major label. He led us in worship, playing songs that he wrote.

He kept using the phrase, 'Bringing people into the presence of God.' And it got me thinking about my own songs...
Do I write with the intention of bringing people into the presence of God? I can assure you...I do not. Even with the few songs I've written that I've thought of as worship songs, they've spoken more about human suffering and bringing Jesus into that.

I asked the question...does that mean that my songs are on a lower level? Am I not fulfilling my duties as an artist of God? I really...don't think that's so. Sure, you wouldn't be able to have a chapel of students stand up and worship God to my songs, but do they have to fulfill that purpose? I don't think so. Sure, there's a place for songs that praise God for who He is regardless of our own insufficiencies and apart from the terribly messed up world we live in. But that's not my place to write.

Mine is the gutter, the slum, the dark corner of life. Mine is confession, hopelessness, and longing. And after all that, I cry out for help.

This is my place in music.
And I wouldn't change it.