blinding the eyes

Love is like a sharp blast of light, bearable only to the brave and kind of heart.

It feels so much like when you are under a blanket as a kid and you lift up the teeniest of corners and light floods in for a brief moment before you let the blanket fall. Lift a corner for a second and be blinked by beams of light too strong for eyes grown accustomed to the darkness. It feels like that. Like a glimpse of a beautiful future bathed in trust and admiration. But painful to the eyes. The first love, glimpse, is always hardest. But as relationships wane and wax the eyes grow elastic. Easily overcoming the changing of the light. The first love is innocent, and beautiful, but shallow. Only when you are aware of the possibility of pain, of disregard, of rejection—that you can walk into the arms of love with bravery. For bravery is not brave without an idea of the consequences. Love is unyielding to the darkness challenging it. It is forceful but not a bully. It is honest with itself in the face of pain. Nothing worth the price of love will be forgotten or cast aside. For love is the crown jewel, the lost pearl of existence. And when it is found by the brave they pursue the light. As life turns i feel the strangest desire to hold on to it. As a child I was willing to listen and obey those who seemed to know more than me. As an adolescent I fought the constrains of my own mind. I became crazy for a time. Always afraid to speak my mind, search my soul, and find the honest self within. Holding on to life is not easy because it keeps trying to break free of the grasp. Hold tight then, be brave. No one choses the life they get. The raffle wheel spins and stops and lets you off wherever it choses. A nice home, a sad home, a challenging home, no home. Factors outside your control chose where you end up and then leave you with the pieces and choices of your own. Bingo! You get to live here—have fun with the results, I hope you make it. Life doesn’t even come with an instruction book. No directions to tell you to hold on to the friend who is there for you most of the time. Instead you remember the some of the time they forget what you like, who you like, what you hate. And you let them go. Life teaches you along the way but one wishes that it had taught you before you had so many choices to mess up. Life is wasted trying to find oneself in youth. The best years of your life are spent running around aimlessly testing the chemicals and finding patterns in the reactions. One mol of this under so much heat blows up in the face. It would make much more sense if life was backwards. If you were born when you are old and know everything and spent getting younger. Retirement would be in the adolescent years and when one has the most energy and life to spend. No one tells you these things when you're young. But maybe they tried once, and realized children don’t listen—people have to experience things to learn for themselves. Then why, O Parents, do you shelter your children? You are only postponing their knowledge. Experience is a deadly vice, without it life is really not lived, but with it comes pain and mistakes and dreadful consequences. For if one spends her entire life listening to the instructions of another, she never really lives for herself. It is more brave to step out onto the waters and make a few mistakes than to listen to the captain and stay in the boat. The taste of the sea, the salt on the face, and yes, the feeling of drowning. That is life. The boat is comfortable, maybe you will encounter some slivers. But the captain is there to take them out. “But sharks live in the water! One must act rationally.” I will tell you—a life lived rationally is no life at all. Mistakes are evidence of bravery, and poor judgment too, but no one is born with stellar judgment. No one has all the answers. The only judgment is when someone has a lot of experiences and fails to learn from them. But also everyone learns at their own pace. So I have just removed all possibility of judgment, haven’t I.

The Fall

Reflection on The Fall. The BBC series depicting the actions of serial killer Paul Spektor. Paul’s reaction to pain: People want to cause you pain. The antidote to this pain is to cause them pain and train oneself to receive joy at the expense of another’s pain. Turning their pain around to your joy relieves your pain. Sounds nice, doesn't it? The following is a series of thoughts Iv'e had after watching The Fall. People want to cause pain. Sin nature’s desire is to cause pain and prevent pain from reaching the core of the soul. Jesus want’s to relieve pain. If people want to cause me pain and Jesus wants to relieve me of pain. Then all my allegiance is owed unto Christ.

If people want to cause me pain, am I capable of preventing it? Does Jesus provide the tools to prevent me from feeling the pain and allow me to stop the pain from reaching my core? Sometime’s people’s aim is to cause pain to other human beings. Those without Christ are relentlessly, and instinctively causing pain. If I remember that, I am relieved from the pain caused by unsaved individuals.

Ive come to the conclusion through thought and life experiences that the most pain in my life has and will be caused by those following Christ. After that thought I realize that Christ asks us to meet as believers in a community he called the church. Why should I step into community with those people who can, solely, cause me pain? They can hurt me, but Christ can eliminate that pain. He has taken it upon himself to the cross where it is buried with Christ in a deep grave. He rose, but left all our suffering behind him. Because he suffered, he alone knows what it is like to feel each stab of hurt, betrayal, insignificance, and loneliness.

"Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved." Psalm 55:22 Jesus will sustain my heart through pain. He will keep me from moving to the place of no hope. Life without hope is the definition of pain.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." -Jesus Matthew 11:28-29 Jesus provides the calm within the pain. The rest when there humanely seams to be none.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7 Peace is the antidote and shield for pain. Peace will not allow pain to reach your core. Because pain is a thing of the soul allowed in by the mind, we must allow Christ to be the guardian of our mind.

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, 7 casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:6-7 Jesus is the only person who can painlessly care for us. The only one we can safely let in. He is the only one who will not let me down. And because he is such, I will do as he asks and associate with believers. I will rely on them, although they do not always follow the ways of peace. I will do so remembering that I too am capable and culpable for pain caused within the church. This is something I have personally been struggling with. I find it easy to be friends with and love non-Christians. It is Christians whom I fear and hold at a distance. Those who openly welcome me into their arms turn around and desert me. This hurts. But because Jesus says it is the way to live then I humble myself and submit.

The only problem with life goals is that once you achieve them they aren't enough. Only Christ satisfies every longing-He is enough.

Think about the many times that you have tried and failed.. and tried and tried to fail again. We like to think of our lives as a balance, or weights upon a scale.

We want to believe that our placating penances are enough.

Alas, our lives look a little more ragged that we want to admit. Linearly, our life minutes are filled with holes. Every mistake, every action with a hidden motive, every deception— our lives, when placed next to our expectations, don’t hold water. We all know that. But we keep on distracting. We move on to the next goal. Where is the solution to be found? This leaves us with no other choice than to pretend. Excuse me while I change the subject...

Have you ever heard a player piano? My friends have one. I know I am delving into the annals of history—dusting off a machine that could be found in your Grandmother’s attic.

But bear with me.

In order for there to be music, a Player Piano needs a special type of punched out sheet music. It plays itself. If you look at the music, it does not make sense whatsoever. Yet, for all their beauty and potential they are not worth anything without the machine to play them. Otherwise they are mere

rolls on rolls of dots, lines, and notches.

Sometimes I feel like I am a roll of Player Piano music. I am sitting on the piano bench trying to push on the keys with my ragged, papery fingers. It just doesn’t work. But it try and try and try. I feel like I cannot comprehend the bigger purpose for which I am made. I am only sheet music. I truly believe God is our Player Piano. Listen: We cannot be used by other instruments or we are useless.

We all have experienced this feeling of uselessness during one minute or another.

When we strive in a wrong direction, we can feel the resistance.

The most beautiful part of this story is that God could have chosen to create a magnificent Solo piece. But for His love and mercy He chose a Duet --He asks you and I to join him to make a beautiful record. Christ picks us up off the piano bench and inserts us into God's sweet melody.

Let God take your record and play it. When you do, you will make the music you were designed for. You will have purpose, you will feel beautiful, and you will be SATISFIED.

Growing Seeds

It is tempting to be discouraged by the amount of people in this world that need help. Sometimes I feel like giving up before I even start. Somehow the more you learn, the more you realize how desperate your cause. However, I try to think of it this way.

When you are planting a garden from seed, do you count your seeds or the plants that grow from them?

When you see a beautiful Poppy plant do you think: I wish the other tiny seeds I planted grew as well? No, you are too absorbed by the living plant and the joy it brings overcomes the loss of seed. In the same way, we think of the souls and bodies saved as each their own beautiful plant.

And no amount of regret can diminish the beauty of their worshipping hearts.

You Can't, But God Can

I am disgusted by people’s passion without action. I feel like all our “putting on airs” and worrying about painted nails and cute skirts and curled hair is pointless. I am disgusted with my friends who talk about what “God is speaking to their hearts” when they turn around and spend two hours picking out an outfit for the next day. I am so sick of people who are like “oh I just can’t wait to worship tonight” when they are going to sit in their comfortable pews singing words about their feelings. I am disgusted with piles of clothes in my room and the boots that I spent money on when I could just wear sneakers all day and be content.

I am having a hard time being okay with this culture anymore.

I am having trouble figuring out what is right and what is wrong anymore. It just doesn’t seem fair that people have to live like that out there and we just fill up our coffee cups and are irritated when it burns our tongues.

I know that just because we are blessed does not mean that other people are cursed.

I know that just because we are born into a comfortable situation doesn’t mean we are guilty. But I definitely think we are responsible for a whole lot more conviction that we are feeling. And not even just the conviction, but inaction upon in-conviction. Like a double-whammy.

I am sick of being convicted and not doing anything about it. I am sick of these mountaintop experiences that just lead to valleys once more. I am sick of myself. I am saddened by how much hurt needs to be changed in this world. Like right now, my friend who was just crying about injustice in Cambodia is whining because she has nothing to wear. I am doing all I can not to scream out “people in the world have nothing else to wear but one single t-shirt” and there are little lost boys right now sitting in the dirt emaciated and dehumanized.

I cannot see the proper dividing line between being overly content and being just enough content. Thankfully we worship and are created by a God who can redeem any circumstance. He is powerful enough to bring people to his salvation without our help.

But he has offered us as living sacrifices upon the altar of his will. He is holding the pitcher, and we are the ones who need to step up and pour ourselves out.

I think we forget when we say that “only God can change a sinners heart” that our hearts are the most sinful. That only God can change our hearts. The most difficult thing is that we lie to ourselves a whole lot.

We concentrate on the bad that others are doing only to realize that we are capable and guilty of doing the very same.

I am just as materialistic as my friends and the real issue is that I am guiltier because I know it. They may not realize their materialism, but when I realize mine I point directly at them and divide my own blame.

I am convinced that the whole Christian life is the realization that you can't, but GOD CAN.

Generations

Have you ever been to a place that’s different. The air is heavy or the light is dry. I do not know how to explain it. That is how today is. I hate days like this that leave the imagination to nothing but memories. And somehow the only memories that tickle my brain during times like these are old ones. Old and brassy full of stories that are hard to tell. Hard to place into the current world. Sometimes I think of memories and the way things played out. I think of how things would have been if my family had stayed in Poland instead of coming here. How my world would be different. And then I think of how the world, my current world, is different because of what happened. Of why things happened like they did, and how the people are different because of it. I don’t know how to start, but it must be told. And there are so many stories. I am not sure how to tell them or which ones, but I will try. I promised myself and the memories that I would retell them. and one does not promise something without the memories haunting them until each and every word is placed next to another until it is all out. What is there to tell if not the past? To where can we look but there? All that is now was built from what happened then. And today so many are forgetting it. Forgetting the history that could make them better. Things are the way they are. It is written. There is no changing them. My family descended from the Polish and Norwegian immigrants of the very early 1900s. I am told what my Grandma June’s house was like back then, and I have an idea of how my Grandpa Ed’s house looked until his father was taken by appendicitis. Just a few short years ago there was no cure for the sudden pain and infection. It would take a father from his child and pregnant wife. Now, it is cured over night with some expense, but hardly any pain. I wish that what we know now could have been done then too, but then things wouldn’t be the same now. I do not know what my life would be like if my Grandpa had had a dad. I do not know what life was like for my Grandma Virgie, or her family or her generation. I know that her life was hard. Her mom’s husband also died, I am at a loss for what. What does it matter? It only matters that someone knows. That someone else can know and that someone’s someone can someday know. Such is life. My Grandmother Virgie grew up with a horrible step-dad who beat her mom and her brothers and her. His legacy must live on with theirs because his memory is entwined with theirs— in every sense. Those in this book who are remembered for their horrible actions are only remembered because of those they hurt. The lives of those who were hurt still live on and only because of them do we remember anyone else. The story I tell is for my mother, grandmothers, and aunt. No one else. I write it as if I am talking to them, not you. You, my friend, are only a witness. And you will hear.

A Plastic Chair

The carpet below is dirty, scummy. I imagine my feet sticking to it as I pass, the molecules of mixed grime grasping at my toes.

Many have travelled here, many have sat in this plastic chair. Clean people, dirty people, wealthy, poor. Their dust and dirt was left behind to testify to their existence. That is all they left. This is a sorry place to want to be remembered in, but I remember you. I do not know you, but I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking that you are not good enough, and then you think that you are too good. A battle between your consciences tears you apart until you decide not to think at all.

Then you try to satisfy your brokenness with your appearance. Many leather brief cases have lain on this seat, many scarf-clad wives with diamond rings have graced this chair. Many mothers have thought about their pregnancy weight that has refused to be shed since 1995. For some, their style says they do not care.

There was a rebel sitting in this seat, a man with a cause to not have one.

A man who decided he didn’t want to conform, so he conformed to not conform. He is fighting himself as the crumbs from his reuben sandwich falls down into the cracks between this seat and the next. He gets up and and old man sits down in my seat. He pulls out a hankerchief to stay the moist that is always present above his lip. A life he breathed, but he never lived. He tried for success and achieved his goal. Families have sat in this seat and filled the surrounding area with their laughter and then tension as the mother scolded the wrestling boys. The baby spilled milk down the side of the chair next to mine and it splashed up onto the back that is now supporting mine. A couple sits after, their flight is late and they celebrate their last night of vacation by splurging on a bottle of wine. The fiber of my chair soaks up the fumes of their attempt at joy.

They forget being here, but I remember.

I also remember their appearance as they shuffled off traipsing down to the gate together but alone. She wants romance, he wants respect, neither gives the opposite. She doesn’t understand why she takes off her ring at her desk when the young man sitting in the cubicle across from her smiles but I do. Her husband pleases himself when she is not there, but when she comes home he feels guilt not knowing she is doing the same.

What in the world is this life?

The thing behind you the thing you that you look to to look forward to recognize as something that you probably will never achieve. This chair, its rigid plasticity, what is it? It is molecules they are moving, this world is moving just like them. It is all molecules, but why do I feel like I want something more something to grasp that is not moving? My voice, it’s silent, but I am screaming, I am quietly protesting to all that I know; all I feel is anti-establishment, but not the typical—it is anti-everything. Because everything I once felt, I remember; but I know I will never be in this place in this chair, again and this enlightened thought will vaporize, into nothing.

Or will it?