Traveling Thoughts

Fire is a visual representation of an intangible thing. It is the only thing that we can see but not touch. Fire seems so pleasant to sit near, to watch, and to play with. However, the fire in this fireplace is but a poor recreation of the real thing. This fireplace fire is like our view of God. We can turn it on and off when we like. Its nice to sit around some evenings if it feels good. We tend it so long as we can go to bed when we like. The raw power of fire is found in Rome or the forest. This is the power of a force that is uncontainable, unforgettable, and irreversible. It is a force that will eat what it may. God is not a fireplace fire. He is a demanding, powerful, and untamed God. He is consuming. We cannot touch fire, but fire can touch us. Just like a forest, after God has had his way with us, we will never be the same, and we can never forget it.

On my late flight into San Francisco, I anxiously awaited my first glimpse of the city from my airplane window. Out of the black world finally came my first gratifying sighting of the city. That California bay seemed to stretch out into the sea with embracing arms in a way that I felt expected. My heart was unable to process exactly the feeling. A juxtaposition of forgotten memories and renewed hopes, perhaps.

On the nighttime streets of San Francisco between the cramped apartments, one feels. The flare of a cigarette in a silhouetted face. The flash of a television in a high bay window. The sheen of a silent biker’s keys. The mournings of a leftover street musician. Perhaps for the first time in a routine world, I feel alive. Like an infant’s lungs who inhale life for the first time or a butterfly’s wing uncrumpling with sounds of which we are bereft.

And now I sit safely away from the madness inside an apartment with a glaring computer monitor searching my pathetic vocabulary for the ability to speak. I am staying up late to write at the risk that you will find the ramblings of an idealistic 23 year old who has become inebriated with his first false taste of freedom in the morning; yet would be risking more if I let sleep come to erase thoughts in a morning’s muddle of coffee and email.

Celebrated philosopher and my great friend, Tyler Durden, once said,

“You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.”

Fight Club and the Chronicles of Narnia are currently in contention for the most influential pieces of media in my life. The character of Aslan taught me more about who Jesus was than any Sunday School teacher. Tyler Durden taught me more about what I want than any rehashing of my list of life goals. (Here I must point out that I realize I may begin to sound like a cliché political propagandist bent on revealing conspiracy theories to an ignorant American public. Very “stick-it-to-the-man”. However, this is not my intention as I hope to clarify.)

My generation, our generation, means something. Many leaders in the church believe that it is this generation that will begin a revolution of the church. Already we have signs of change with movements like the “Emergent” or “emergent” and “postmodern” churches. Despite what disagreements may be had with these ideas, the point is that people are thinking. Christians are evaluating. We are rethinking the thoughts of our fathers and beginning to rebuild what has in many ways become an outdated and outsourced faith in the face of modern life. I have seen many friends change from southern Baptist churchgoers into people who are no longer bound by the implications of the title ‘Christian’ into people who are desperately hungry for Truth. And they are not frightened about what that may mean for them.

There is something about San Francisco that makes me feel a little bit crazy. Not crazy like I need a sedative, but crazy enough to wonder. I begin to wonder about how crazy and over the top this generation of people could get about the Truth. About finding Truth and finding what exactly our identity is inside of that Truth away from all fears and expectations. About what it would look like to live like a poem, redefining our happy endings. There are several points in the Chronicles where a comment is wisely made about Aslan.

“He is dangerous, but he is good.”

Aslan is big and unpredictable. He told people to do irrational things and believe where no belief should be expected. Obviously, this is no epiphany for many of you. However, for me, this statement has real implications in my life. Despite knowing this, a year ago I was ignoring the tugs on my spirit in order that I might experience a financially stable life, have a family, drive my Jeep, etc. Luckily, Aslan wouldn’t have any of it. The proverbial rug that I had begun to weave under my feet was swept out from under me in a way that I had no choice but to follow the part of my spirit that I felt was crazy. Now, I can clearly see the hand of God in that. I have been free to follow God with no expectations or hopes. I have been able to follow what I felt “called” to do. Travel. Learn. Observe. Reflect. Listen. Speak. It has been uncomfortable and exhausting at times, but wildly fulfilling. It has made me wonder about what my life would look like if I continue to experience this itch that I have accepted as a part of my psyche. How deep does the rabbit-hole go?

I am afraid to share these thoughts. I am afraid that when I do return to everyday life and experience a routine again that my romanticism will fade and meld into a simple memory of good times. But it could be so much more, right? I am afraid that I will become enamored with a paycheck. I am afraid that my own need to be needed will cause me to fall for the first pretty girl that shares my ideals distracting me from what I deem to be a bigger picture. Because there is a joy in being exactly where you are supposed to be and looking out of the backseat window.

The other day I walked into a music store with a friend.  While he was looking around, I picked up a vintage Martin off the wall.  Some of these instruments were from the late 50’s and early 60’s.  There are some amazing things about an instrument like this.  For example, a guitar of this age will actually sound better if it has been played more.  It doesn’t get worn out, but broken in.  Made more perfect if you will.  When you hold one, it’s as if you can feel the soul of the instrument.  The neck has been worn down to a perfect finish due to the hours of gripping hands.  All of the songs that were full of love and of passion and of anger seem to have made dwelling in the pores.  The tears from broken hearts that have fallen on the sides have seeped in to condition not with guitar polish, but with humanity.  When you hold the instrument tightly against your chest and strum a chord all the wood seems to pulse in time with your heart and it resonates your whole body.  When you sit down with it, you never have to wonder about what you are going to play because, after the first luscious taste, the instrument will sing the songs that it has already sung.

It is often easy to forget the beauty that comes with age.  One of my most memorable and meaningful experiences was made on an ordinary day walking out of Chic-Fil-A.  I had finished my meal with a companion, and walked outside.  Walking slowly with shuffling feet was an elderly couple probably both in mid to late 80’s.  The husband was bent over and his wife clutched his arm just above the elbow supporting him with strength that she clearly did not possess.  Like any boy raised in the south, I paused and patiently held the door while they made their way in.  When they moved by me, the lady’s blue watery eyes met mine, and she said shakily, “You don’t know what this means.”  Given, I am a slightly emotional guy, but I was overwhelmed at the moment.  It seemed like the weight of their years rested on me.  I realized that it had probably taken them a day’s worth of energy to do something as simple as going out for lunch.  If I would have been behind them on the road, I probably would have huffed and puffed and grunted expletives under my breath until I found a gap just big enough for me to power through, passing them in a way that would have been sure to express my frustration.  Simply out of ignorance of the love and depth of experience that sat just under the headrests of their Buick.  This couple had probably known famine and national financial failure.  They had seen the growth of technology that sped life up in a way that passing generations would never grasp.  And through it all they had stuck it out together.  One footstep at a time.  Knotted, gnarled hands sharing strength.  

Life is like a fine wine.  It only gets better with age.  It is sorrow that brings wisdom.  It is through that sorrow that we are able to know happiness.  It is through these combined experiences that our flavors and nuances become stronger and more pronounced and more valuable.  Our structure becomes stronger and younger people appreciate the years of growing that we have done.  We become the guitar that is able to sing the living of years.  We become the love that is made through struggle and victory.

So I gave in. I finally decided to see what everybody has been talking about. I started watching Lost. I had always said that I didn’t have time or didn’t want to get addicted. Well, now I guess its too late. I’ve been sucked in. In the last 4 days, I have watched two seasons of the show. It truly is a fantastic thing. But apart from the cinematic value, there are so many underlying themes that are intriguing. Redemption, courage, forgiveness, faith, hate, revenge, justice. I have found myself evaluating myself in terms of the trials that the characters are undergoing, and it has proved to be enlightening. Despite the merit and relevance of all these ideas, the one that has stood out to me the most is loyalty. Throughout the show, the characters betray each other for their own purposes or form factions in which they can operate. Needless to say, it is frustrating to watch these people destroy themselves and undermine the people with whom they are trying to survive. But it causes me to wonder about loyalty in myself and the purpose that it serves mankind in general. It causes me to look into myself and judge my own actions and their merit.

Everybody is going to be loyal to something or believe in something whether it is a bigger cause or just themselves. I think that loyalty is one of my virtues among many vices. Looking at my own past, I have found that I have operated best and been the most happy in the times where I have been loyal to something. Church, a relationship, friends, a band, a faith. Loyalty brings a purpose and a sense of belonging which, despite the cliché, is completely necessary. In the last era of my life, for the first time, I have had nothing to be loyal to. All of the things that I had that I was a part of and that I poured myself into have been erased, and all I have had to be loyal to is myself. I moved away from everything that I knew and loved and believed in both physically and emotionally in an effort to pursue something that I have always wanted: full time music. Ironically, now that I’m in the position to follow this illustrious dream, it seems trite and disillusioning. People have told me that they are proud of me for moving away because not many people have the stones to do it. But perhaps the people who recognize the good in their immediate surroundings have it figured out a little better than the people who feel they have to start over in a new place. Given, there is nothing wrong with pursuing a dream or moving someplace new, alone. However, there is also nothing wrong with appreciating the things that one has and enjoying them to their fullest while remaining loyal to something.

The music industry is a dirty thing. It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with how good you are or whether or not you love the art. It has to do with who you know. That’s it. I’m a music snob. Not particularly illuminating for those who know me. I graduated with a music degree from a university that was much more classically oriented than popular. I didn’t take any great classes in song writing or music production or tour management, but I did learn about the art of music. What makes it tick. I learned to appreciate the foundations of it and the elements which added a depth of appreciation and love for the art. Nashville doesn’t give a second thought to all of that. It’s about the money. The business. It is corporate and commercial and ruthless. It’s something that I don’t know that I want to be a part of. It’s something that I don’t know if I want to be loyal to. The dream is something I don’t know if I want to be loyal to.

I have had a hurt in me. A hurt that cigarettes can’t burn, beer can’t drown, a girl can’t kiss away, money can’t buy out, friends can’t laugh off. It is a hurt that comes from not being a part of anything that is bigger than my own little world. It is a hurt that comes from seeking happiness and not peace. I see now that devoting the next ten years of my life to something that I don’t necessary believe in will be fruitless and unrewarding if not maddening. I have to heal the hurt in me. I have to be devoted to something that I believe in. Commitment is not what I need. It is specifically devotion and it is drastically different from committment. I need to be devoted and be loyal to something that is bigger than me and bigger than my dreams. Perhaps it is just part of how I am made, but I think that it may be a part of how we are made.

I cried today. I have been hoping and praying and striving to find the tears that just wouldn’t come. And for those 10 seconds during my shower, I was free. Feeling the water cascade over my head and mingle with my tears before washing down the drain was as close to happy as I have been in a long time. Maybe it was because I finally realized how my life has become a snow globe, and that all of my thoughts revolved around me like tiny, synthetic, predictable snowflakes. Maybe because I knew where to start looking to fix the hurt. And maybe it is because I perceived a new meaning of the word Lost.

I have been visiting and revisiting thoughts about a dynamic of our lives that we all wish for and enjoy. It is a crucial part of our lives called friendship. I call it a dynamic because it varies in so many different ways. It varies through time, over distances, because of events and circumstances, amid circles, and through adversity; all of which are climates of life that we all pass through. I think that this institution, if I may call it such, is one where gratitude tends to fall less frequently and less opulently, yet we all depend on it for emotion and social well-being. I don’t know if I have ever experienced such an appreciation for the relationships that I have as well as distain for myself at the lack of energy that I put into them. It seems much easier to allow ourselves to wear our blinders and graze languidly through our vast fields of selfishness and self-absorption. This is a condition that I have found myself so ready to point out in others, but have not confronted in myself.

I recently was doing some work with an organization. I worked with a guy that, in all frankness, tested my patience and endurance like no other human has ever done before. It seemed that no matter what I said, if he ever let me finish a sentence, was promptly contradicted or questioned by some fabricated and ludicrous story or reason why what I had just finished speaking was ridiculous and incomprehensible. Basically, I was repeatedly informed of how big of a dumbass I was and how he, in every way imaginable, outscored me. It was completely maddening. Despite my deep rooted desires not to fraternize with humans of this species, I really wanted to get along with this cat and cultivate some semblance of a pleasant work environment. Perhaps it is the curse of imminent maturity, but I kept hitting the reset button trying to give another chance. But it seemed outside of my ability to have any chemistry in the way of friendship.

Finally, finally, when the job was over, I took a deep breath and tried to reflect on the character test that I had just endured. After I had let the comments about how Radiohead was a terrible band and PCs were better than Macs (just kidding, but seriously), and the rest of the innumerable and more serious monstrosities that had been proclaimed to me, pass I was disturbed about why exactly I had been unable to get along. I finally realized that I felt no companionship or camaraderie because the relationship was completely one sided. I never was able to put anything in. The simple fact that I could not make myself heard and that he seemed unable to listen made the relationship worthless and detestable. It was at this point that I realized the importance of this facet in relationships: Listening. I know this sounds cliché, and completely obvious yet there is a majority of people, including myself that are miserable at this. Friendships simply cannot be fruitful or enjoyable without this.

As a person who is in a strange and trying time in life, I have come to notice the people who are good listeners and bad listeners. I have become increasingly aware of my own disinterest about the lives, problems, and concerns about the people that I say I care for the most. It’s not that I don’t want to care, but my blinders have been firmly attached. The selfishness that has infiltrated my deepest character seems like a lasso that steers my tongue in the direction of “I”. Listening is a hint of the deepest love that friends can have for one another. To have a friend that can listen and not talk and genuinely care is refreshing. But it seems like everyone is hurting and everyone wants to talk about how they are hurting.

Abstractly, the reality of love seems to have come into question. The imperfection of our ability to love has been harshly thrown into the light. Can friends really care about one another even when both parties are hurting? With the dismal statistics in marriage, one wonders if these inabilities have not extended past friendship. As Juno entreats, “I just need to know that two people can stay happy together forever.”

I recently mentioned to a close friend that I had been thinking about the possibility of becoming a counselor of some sort in the future. The friend chuckled a little and, upon questioning, replied that she just couldn’t see me doing that. Although I may have taken it differently than intended it scored deeply, making me feel as if I lacked the compassion or ability to care about people in that way. Friends have often joked with me that I am harsh and hardhearted. I have been called a Grinch and other such. All this is funny sometimes, but when it is all said and done, I don’t want people to remember me because of my attributes that come across as blunt. I want people to remember me as a compassionate and loving person willing to give of himself to people in need of love. Gracious whether deserving of grace or not. I want my friends to believe that they can shell off their problems and vent steam without risk that I will further weigh them with my own burdens. It probably sounds sappy, but we all want this. In a world with not too much worth living for, I believe in love as one of those things.

I don’t know if you ever have moments in your life when time just seems to stand still. When it seems as though all wisdom and beauty and good has collected into one shining seraph and is staring deeply into your humanity. I experience these from time to time, and I had one today. In these moments I am struck with my finiteness and lack of capacity; My ability to intake and to absorb is so far limited from what I wish it were. These precious minutes that we see glimpses into the skirts of heaven that are only too fleeting.

I’m in New Mexico for the first time. I was flying into the Alberquerque airport on a cramped, loud, rickety plane.
I was immersed in a great book, and I happened to look out the window. The seraph was looking back in.

I was seeing Earth without her makeup. She was stripped bare and vulnerable, exposed. There was no pretense as to what She knew of herself. I felt beckoned and intrigued and inspired. The word that struck me: Vast. Vast earth and sky. Overflowing with the deep brown and golden hues spattered with the pockmarks of scrubby trees.

The translator of Dante’s Inferno, John Ciardi, distinguishes between translation and transposition in the sense that there are some mediums such as language that cannot be reproduced exactly. There are simply not exact translations of some words between different languages. He gives the example of a violin and a piano. A violin may transpose and create a music that is recognizably the same as that of a piano but is simply not able to voice it the same. When looking over a radically different earth than I have ever experienced through a small airplane window, I saw a transposition. When this earth was built, there were simple truths of beauty that humans have learned to recognize and are instilled in us. One of these elements is recognized as space. There are surprising similarities between the arts. One of these similarities is that visual art and music both share the appreciation of space. Whether it is called negative space or silence, great art utilizes the contrast between color and white, notes and rest. It helps us to see and hear. When I looked at New Mexico, I saw the negative space of creation. God was no fool when he created the beauty of earth. He recognized the need for the contrast between vast mountains and glorious sunsets and barren landscapes, neither being truly greater or more fantastic than the other. I feel like I have experienced a piece of great art. Like a painting that changes you or a song that moves you, this earth serves as a model of what great art should be. Artists are able to transpose but not translate. Our works are a glimpse of the foundation of what art is, but it seems like something is always lost in translation.

Despite this deficit in art, I am only overjoyed that I have a great teacher and a model all around me every day for me to enjoy even when my own craft seems to suffer. Even for those who are not artists themselves, the world is ingeniously crafted in such a way that everyone may partake.

Change can be extremely uncomfortable.  When you find comfort in a routine or a place in life or a state of mind, and that suddenly changes, life can become extremely disoriented and disillusioned, which I have also found not to be a completely bad thing.  In my own fears of being brainwashed and stagnant, I have found myself in a place of emotional and spiritual ambiguity.  I have begun to question many of the things that I have always found to be fundamental and central to life. Consequently, my paradigm has threatened to change drastically which is both terrifying and exhilarating.  
    For many people who have grown up in church, the teaching seems dualistically a blessing and a hindrance, whether the teaching was sound or ludicrous.  There are things about my own faith that I have never really understood or owned that I now find myself questioning.  Unfortunately when a Christian begins to question the foundations of his tradition there is the realization that new convictions may remove him from participation in mainstream Christian faith or being a part of the communities that seem to be so important.  
    Last fall, I took a trip across Europe with a friend.  We started in Ireland and made our way through Scotland, Britain, Amsterdam, and ended in Italy.  It was an amazing experience that left me with a sense that the world is so much bigger than I had ever thought.  This world is full of people with different histories, cultures, lifestyles, and faiths that are vastly different than our own.  After seeing this, I had this nagging feeling that there was something greater than I had ever been able to grasp.  The American church is so convinced that they have it all right, and that we are the chosen and blessed nation.  Except that the vast majority of the world does not believe like we do.  We study our theology and doctrines and have the Bible interpreted so fully that we have not left room for God to be big.  We love to attend church and small groups and conferences and worship services.  We will sit through music that moves our spirit and a presentation of The Passion of the Christ that moves our emotions.  We feel so victorious and justified with all of our efforts with making church “relevant” and “engaging” and “seeker-friendly” when we are able to say that 300 people raised their hand during the invitation.  But after sitting through hundreds, possibly thousands of these worship services I have become bored despite my greatest efforts.  Church has become a job and a place of income.  And I’m just not so sure that I buy it all anymore.  
    Biblically we are told that we must “accept” Christ and that we will be justified through the sacrifice that Christ made for us on the cross.  We are told that grace is all encompassing and that we will, through our life with Christ, become more and more like him.  Well, all of that sounds really nice, but what about reality?  When I think about the history of my own faith, I cannot pinpoint a point when I was “saved”.  As a matter of fact, I’m not so sure that I’m really any better than I ever was, that I have seen sanctification in my own life.  I’m just not a very good Christian by church standards.  I like to drink whiskey and beer (even in public), I swear, I like cigarettes, I smoked pot in Europe and don’t feel guilty or embarrassed, I hate Christian music because it sucks.  And I doubt.  I thought that all of that was supposed to go away when we become endowed with the power of the Holy Spirit.  I thought that the desire and ability to resist sin was ingrained in us.  
    Instead, I feel like I am just not who I am because I am trying to fit the mold.  Trying to be a good boy so I don’t get rebuked.  I don’t want to be a “stumbling block”.  Because I want to wear my righteous piety like a plumed marching band hat.
    Now, I find myself at this point of change when I want to know what I believe and really believe it even if I am judged and ostracized.  
    I have been wondering if everyone might be saved.  Meaning that no human soul will suffer eternally in hell.  The idea of universalism is ridiculed and discounted as heresy by the majority of Christians, but we will say things that flirt with the boundaries.  We will say that it is by grace that we have been saved, not by works.  We will say that God loves the world; the whole world.  We will say that God is sovereign.  We will say that God wants all men to come to a knowledge and love of him.  We find hope in the prophecies of a worldwide kingdom of Christians that will be established.  We do our best to expound on the vastness of the grace and mercy of Christ yet we limit both of these things to what we have explained by theology.  With my heart, I sense that there is something more than our salvation formulas.
    For the first time, I am trying to approach the Bible objectively without all of my preconceived notions and indoctrinations.  It is hard.  It is scary.  It is painful.  What if every word of the Bible is not God-breathed and infallible?  Paul, a man, wrote a vast part of the New Testament 30 years after Christ.  Christianity had just been invented in a radically different world and culture, yet we take all of these words verbatim and direct our lives based on a literal interpretation of Scripture.  What if we actually have to think about Scripture and not read off passages as mindless regurgitations of the rules?  What if we are supposed to view Paul’s letters as a conversation instead of a dictation? What if we actually took time to understand overarching themes of the Bible without feeling pinned down by specific scriptures, allowing them to choke our intellectual and emotional questions?  Is it possible to appreciate scripture and the traditions while still feeling free to pursue God with a different mindset?  

I don’t know.  

    But these are my questions, and I intend to pursue the answers if there are any.  I know that God is not offended by my questions like you may be.  I feel that it is my responsibility and privilege to pursue and seek knowing who God is my whole life without feeling confined to certain regulations.  I feel that I have been invited to drink deeply of knowing God.  Maybe I’m not a Christian.  Whatever.  You can keep your titles and labels.  I don’t need to be witnessed to or saved.  I’m not backsliding.  I know that I am afraid and uncomfortable.  But I am trying to be brave enough to follow my heart and ask the questions.  I invite you to join me on this quest.  What if you dropped all the mystic answers that you have about how God interacts and communicates with us and forgot about all of the church answers that you have for all the questions?  Let’s let God be God and be big and be incomprehensible in all of his ways.  We can search for God together.  I think that this search will be much more rewarding and fulfilling.  The search for who God is instead of how to be a better Christian.  

I grew up in a very traditional, conservative Southern Baptist church. My family and all of my friends attended this church. Simple bible stories, matters of faith, a set of behaviors, and the expectations for Christians were ingrained in me. I attended this church from birth and into high school having these lessons and ideas pumped into my brain. The problem was that I never actually thought for myself. I never actually had the chance to decide what I believed and why. Perhaps I had the opportunity right under my nose but was always too much of a coward to explore these thoughts. Therefore, when the time came when I felt the need to leave this church and do something new, my ideas about God and faith were so stunted and handicapped that it was excruciating to think outside of all of the things that I had been taught. Homosexuals, non-married couples who lived together, consumers of alcohol, smokers, and people who generally didn’t fit in to my little world of suits, ties, and Sunday school were to be afraid of and separated from. I was taught that good Christians didn’t go to the parties where there was drinking because someone might think that I was “one of them” and that the possibility of doing any good in this world would be forever erased from my destiny. Catholicism was painted as a cultish, vampirish, non-Christian, and misdirected group of people in need of salvation. Yikes. Basically, I had been taught a number of false ideas, and I bought every bit of it because I was told it was true and good. The point of saying all of this isn’t to bash that church because I have heard that there has been some good progression in the past couple of years. I am just trying to paint a picture of the type of environment that I grew up in. As you can see, my view of God was manipulated and distorted into something untrue.
All of that said, when I began to try and think for myself, I couldn’t, and I continually battle and pray for repair of the damage that was done. Lately, I have realized how truly weak and emaciated my own faith is. Not just because of my church, but because I have been lazy in pursuing the ways of God myself. However, I have been experiencing a breakthough lately. I have seen my faith morph into something new that I have never experienced, and it has come through a journey that has lasted several years that I would like to share with you.

When I was in seventh grade, I received my first bass guitar from my parents for Christmas. I asked for this so that I would be able to complete the orchestration for my first band that was affectionately called “Eggs and Bacon”. We began rehearsals in the drummer’s basement and proceeded to attempt “Jimi Thing”, “Machine Head”, and “Jesus Freak” for hours at a time. Despite the apparent lack of quality of the rehearsals, the dream was born to be a professional musician or as we put it at the time “making it big!”. This idea carried past the devastating end of “Eggs and Bacon” and saw the birth of church praise bands and local battle of the bands, one of which I won with a band called Neveah. (that’s “heaven” spelled backwards, if you missed it.) I invested a lot of time in this. However, I always had a vision of musicians inevitably “living in a van down by the river” eating cold beans out of a can. I mean, I like beans, but not cold out of cans…

So, my dad has done the whole engineering thing, and he’s the posterchild for the American dream. He did the musician thing, kinda went to school, and worked his way from blue-collar electrician to be The Boss at a Michelin plant. So I begin thinking, “Hey, my old man’s alright, I like cars and motors, and I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ll be an engineer!” This lasted through my acceptance into Clemson’s engineering program until the time when I looked at the suggested course for freshmen which included Calculus for Rocket Scientists, No Life for You 101, and a bunch of other classes where the course titles contained words that I had to look up. Then I realized, I hate math like the plague, I’m not so hot at science, and most of all, I’m lazy. Therefore, I quickly withdrew my name from the Nerd List, and set about rethinking my future. And nothing came…except music. For the next several months of life and through my first semester of college, I ignored the calling and insistence for my heart, trust, and obedience by the One who had engineered me. At the encouragement of my best friend and the support of my family, I finally succumbed, and decided to move back to Anderson where I would continue to be involved with the church that I had become a part of and loved. I also enrolled in the music program at Anderson College two weeks before classes started. Doing this gave me the peace that comes only from the surety that I had done the right thing and that I was indeed taking the first step in pursuing my dreams not to mention doing what I knew God told me to do.

Fast forward 3 years.

Life was great! I was learning music, playing and making money, part of a cool new church in Columbia, SC, had great friends, and a girlfriend on whom I doted. Then God stuck his big hand on my chessboard, and with a mischievous grin began to dismember my strategy. First, I had this unpeace about this church that I was with. Not that there was anything wrong with the church, but that I began to hear in my heart that I was not meant for Columbia. Knight. A few months later, the band that I was playing with and counting on as something to do after graduation went down. The members were just going in different directions. Rook. Then I began to see. God is moving in my life. “Ok, God. Here I am, send me!” After months of endless, maddening debate, and talks with my family, friends, girlfriend, I began to see that God may indeed be calling me to pursue full time music in Nashville. I was almost to the point where I am ready to say, “yes” and leave all of my friends behind. But I was hesitating. So, the girlfriend to whom I had given all my chips gave them back.

Now, I feel like Harry Potter just put the Body-Bind curse on me. Hello Ground, meet my face. I feel like one of those logs that you always see on the backs of big trucks on the interstate. I have been uprooted, my branches sheered off cleanly, and am being transported elsewhere. The time for decision has come.

Now, with nothing else really to do, I have decided to move to Nashville. Looking at the situation, I cannot help but laugh because of the obviousness of God moving the pieces in my life. Honestly, I’m scared out of my mind. I know some people will talk about me as if I am just chasing a fool’s dream. Some people will think that I just need to grow up and get a real job. What it all boils down to is that I have to do what I feel God has called me to, and, at this point, I’m scared about what would happen if I didn’t! I was in Nashville a few weeks ago, just checking things out. I don’t know if there was ever a more scary and lonely time for me. I have a total of 1 friend in Nashville, no real job leads, no place to live, and I just wish it could be easier. However, after my time there, I see that through all of this God has strengthened and prepared me for what he has for me. I can only trust that he has success for me where he takes me.

I feel the urge to tell my story because there are so many of us who are searching for the next step in life. Especially my own peers who are recent graduates or soon to be and are making these same considerations. I have felt the burden and the blessing of God’s will on my life. It is not actually a myth that God takes real and practical steps in our lives although sometimes it may not seem so. Sometimes God has to break us to make us listen or to at least be able to, but amidst that brokenness is the joy and the realization that God has a bigger something for us. It is at this place where we are able to see our weak, pathetic, and emaciated faith turn into something good. It is at this point where for the first time in my life I have enjoyed the peace that God is in control and that I can rest in his shadow. I cannot attribute this growth to anything that I have done, but that God has pursued me and drug me here. All I can say is “thank you”.

            Perhaps you can identify with the need to share.  Perhaps it is the musician in me coming out that is that little extroverted, dramatic guy that needs to express events and new wisdom to anyone who will listen.  Maybe I just want to explore a new medium besides music that may be accessible in a different way.  Whatever the reason, I have been feeling the urge to write and to put on paper the things that I have been learning.  Perhaps hearing my thoughts doesn’t make you feel like experimenting with gymnastic exercises.  If you don’t like it, I guess you can get the hell off this page, and go read something really intellectually stimulating like somebody’s blog about how many times their baby has vomited in the last week and how it’s sleeping so much better. 

             It is so interesting to think about pain.  We are so afraid of being hurt, and when we are hurt we are so anxious about being out of pain that we completely miss what God may be trying to teach us.  I have had an interesting last couple of weeks.  I have been torn about what to do with myself and my time.  What career do I choose?  Where do I need to live?  Very practical things that many recent post-graduates find themselves occupied with.  This decision had become, despite my greatest efforts, the center of my spiritual thoughts, and a constant nagging issue in a relationship that I was in.  Suddenly, I have found myself in a place where I am not tied down by anything as I don’t currently have a job and the friend with whom I was involved has thought otherwise about being involved with me.  So, with these things in mind, I felt it would be better for me to be out of town for a while, and for me to explore some options for myself while alleviating any temptation for me to attack my friend with emotional pleas in one of those post-breakup moments of insanity.  All of that said, it has been a rather emotionally devastating and confusing time.  But it has also been incredibly affirming.

            A few years back, I had a very similar time when I was in a relationship mess, and I was in the dark about what God was calling me to do.  I was a freshman at Clemson University having been accepted as a student to the engineering program.  However, I never even took any classes toward this degree because I felt strongly that I just wasn’t being called to that profession.  However, I decided to stay at Clemson as one of those undeclared-novision-tooscaredtochasetheirrealdreams-Godmaycompromiseandfindsomethingformetodohere type people. So this relationship that I was in was in the shit, I didn’t know what to do with school, and I became addicted to pornography. To those who tend to dabble in these little anatomical explorations, (purely from an artistic perspective, of course) I will say that nothing ever, ever will shred your emotions and spirituality like pornography.  If you want to be that guy who can’t help but to whine to their friends constantly, listen to Dashboard Confessional while keening away in their room alone, and watch their time with God turn into a desperate search for some answer to get them out of the rut, fruitless in every way, go ahead and take a look.  Why not go ahead and make yourself miserable? Maybe you’ll even be one of those who are really lucky and it will tear your family apart one day. 

            If you’re not really catching the sarcasm I was in some serious pain.  But you know what the saddest part of it was?  Not the fact that I had pushed my family and friends away.  It wasn’t that I was so selfishly consumed with myself that I couldn’t enjoy life.  The worst part of it was that I failed to see God in the weeds.  I couldn’t see the joy in brokenness.  I became so scared to feel anything, and so desperate to be healed that I missed out.  I love to read in Psalms and listen to David cry out to God.  Not from some sadistic pleasure, but because David has simple faith that God hears his cries and  he finds comfort in it.  He is a man in pure anguish, but he is drinking deeply of God, his love, and his promises.  It is this idea of drinking deeply that has me so captivated.  That it is in our worst and most troublesome moments that we see Christ abandon his white robe with his arms crossed and his hands tucked into opposite sleeves.  The face of pious pity fades, and he weeps with us.  In our loss of words and a plan of action and annihilation, he is able to fill all the cracks and make us whole.  It is in these times of brokenness that He draws us tightly to him and that we are able to drink deeply of who he is.  It is like the moments right after a car crash when adrenaline is still pumping and up still isn’t quite up.  But stepping out of the wreckage is one of the most alive feelings one can feel.  In the calm after the storm, the birds sing louder, the air is more refreshing, colors more brilliant.  It is for this reason why we must be broken; why we must let ourselves hurt and feel pain.  I have to bare my chest to the dagger, and know that God fills holes to overflowing.