I.          Jabberwocky

 

 

A Letter To Heidi, Never Sent

 

          For no reason today you crept back into my conscious thought.  The fond remembrance was unexpected, but met with a smile.  I dug through a box of letters to reread your last attempt to contact me, which brought back a little more and made me thankful for the time we had together.

 

 

A Memoir Of Tara

 

          In the square discomfort of Lonni’s borrowed car, Russel kicked his way to the front seat while Tara leaned back to merge with the indistinguishable silhouette beside me.  Had I known prior to this trip that she was a good six years older than me, I might not have looked on her as a potential.  But she was beautiful, young of complexion, and possessed a smile reserved by God for only his most breathtaking creations.  So, of course, I became quite entertained by the idea that I might charm her.

          Struggling for comfort, I threw my feet into any and every position, unable to settle for longer than a few seconds.  Tara lifted her feet to one side and invited me to do the same.  I leaned into the door to relax, as she said, “Actually… do you mind?” and settled against my chest.  Did I mind?  I had been through the whole trip hoping to be so close, never expecting such a wonderful reality.  Too content in the instant to sleep, I slowly dropped my lips to rest on her forehead.

 

 

A Memoir Of Melissa, In Anticipation

 

          Nearly four years have passed since any thought of her has entered my mind.  But at the mention of her name, images suddenly appear of her cluttered room in the upstairs of Grandma’s house, where she quickly came outside to offer me Gummy Bears.  Or images of that screaming little sister, tattling to her mother of any mischief on my behalf, when we briefly shared a home in Virginia.  Four years… now, somehow the memories seem pleasant, and a fond half-smile creeps over the lines on my face.  In a few days I’ll be back in Maine, sleeping once more under the same roof as my cousin.  Perhaps we’ll be civil this year.

 

 

A Letter To Shara, Never Sent

 

          So consistently have I been reminded of you of late.  Be it a gesture, a laugh, a gaze, a smile—you become familiar in so many different people.  I still grieve with a terrible fondness at the realization of how deeply I miss you.  Yet things become so muddled.  I awoke this morning from a series of nightmares, not remembering whether you had died or simply gone away.  As well, it may have been either; the same incurable sadness is appropriate.

 

 

A Letter To Lana, Never Sent, Never Intended

 

          This is wrong.  This is an injustice.  Time proceeds never allowing itself to be captured, not for even a moment.  I lie here once again under stars you set in place, at the same height and in the same draft, yet how aged have I become.  I return to conception, that moment I first smiled to lie with you, now understanding how cruel youth can be.  How many nights have I lost to you, now that even my heart is cold to know the end?  For every good thing truly does meet its end.  A life full of years is a life full of loss.  Yes, the many hopes I once had are diminishing to become one, quite different; I hope desperately for the grave—mine and yours both, when at long last our perseverance through much suffering may end in reward.  Bring me quickly out of this life and into the next!

 

 

A Letter To Mancy, Never Sent, Never Intended

 

          I’m thinking about you right now… have been for quite some number of days.  I haven’t deluded myself any, I know you aren’t thinking about me.  I have to say you’re an enchanter; I have to say that makes me enchanted.  Drove to Franklin to see you yesterday.  You were having a busy day at work, putting on makeup, taking a walk, and not knowing how to make a grilled cheese sandwich as your only customer grinned in disbelief.  I don’t even feel like writing.  I think we’ve already established that I feel things too deeply and think too much.  It’d be nice to let all that go.  I wish I didn’t need to write every little thing.  It’d be nice to just spend a day with someone and then be done with it.  It’d be nice to not still be thinking about that day three years later, but to be enjoying another one—that one.

 

 

A Letter To Sister, My Sarah, Never Sent

 

          Believe not for a moment that you have been neglected, my sister.  If you hear no word it is that I have managed to successfully distract my time and focus my efforts, but think not that I have forgotten a solitary detail of past.

 

 

A Letter To Natalie, To My Memory Never Sent

 

          Interesting letter.  I would read it again but my head might explode.  So I’ll just try and remember what stray thought came to mind while reading it—not that you’ll remember what you wrote. 

          Actually, God sent me two or three perfect girls.  They were boring, and I wasn’t interested.

 

 

A Response To An Invite

 

          “Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today.”  A fine and classic song; I forget by whom.  You’ll excuse my absence this day, though for a week I might be riddled with guilt.  The total honest truth is that I am tired of people.  I claim this without reservation because it is merely an inward and personal struggle, aimed at none other than myself.  I have grown, yes, but I still have problems.  And problems of a most serious nature, as they can easily be justified to an almost nonexistent status.  Today’s excuse is, one, that I am particularly and uncomfortably noticing the removal of certain females from my proximity, and two, that the unrelenting pace of this vacation had to be manually slowed by a lapse of solitude and nothingness.  Although, in reality, I was probably only more aware of my flaws than usual, and in self-consciousness I am incapacitated.

 

 

A Letter To Gloria, To My Memory Never Sent

 

          I thought about you the other week and wondered how you might be.  I sat down to write some poetry just now and found myself writing you instead.  Me and my juvenile and fruitless crushes, but I remember you being absolutely gorgeous, and I recall being sad that night because your spirit seemed deeply alone, and I thought it terribly unjust.  I have wished once or twice that I’d called you up to go for coffee before I left town, but my melancholy doesn’t usually allow me to do that sort of thing.  I tend to just let myself slip into a passive self-defeat.  I could bore you with the details of life, but they are so temporary that it just isn’t necessary.  I’ll save all that in case I ever sit with you again, as those are the sorts of things I imaging people talk about as they sit around searching for conversation.  If nothing else, allow yourself to be flattered that I smiled the other week when I thought of you.  I wish you some measure of happiness.  You deserve that much.

 

 

A Letter To Natalie, To My Memory Never Sent

 

          It is the second night after I left you in Gainesville, I’m guessing about 4:30 or 5:00 AM.  There are always footsteps crossing the floor upstairs—they never quite sleep here.  I’m still in Atlanta at my aunt and uncle’s, sleeping (or not) in Shawn’s old room.  He’s away in some other bizarro college town.  He’s moving with Kelley and her son Henry to New York next month.  I’m writing now because I saw this paper scattered across the playroom, and because I don’t quite know what it will be like when I get to my new home tomorrow.  And frankly, because I can’t get you out of my mind.  Don’t let it unsettle you, though, if you can’t say the same, because I really don’t expect you have that option at this stage in life.

          My overactive (and shamefully sad) mind has been forcing me to relive the very few sincere and personal words we were able to exchange on this last visit.  I admit that I was (and perhaps still am) bitter at Arturo for taking my time from you.  It made me very sad indeed, because he’s far more integrated into your life than I ever was.  I know I’m being ridiculous about it, but it was like—or rather it felt like—watching someone take my place… or rather, the place I wanted.  Can you understand that at all?  I just… I don’t know.  I just miss being allowed to love you as much as I really do.  I hate that I can’t be the most significant person in your life, the way you really still are to me.

          (And I hate being really happy about finding a black pen, and then it runs out of ink, and my only other options are a red crayon, a dull pencil, or pool chalk.)

          I’ve always been honest with you, even if I haven’t been entirely vulnerable.  You know my track record with vulnerability; you know I’ve only ever been hurt that way.  I’d honestly rather be run through with a ten-foot iron stake.  In my brand of screwed up, faulty reasoning, there are only two possibilities.  Either you really still love me and you just can’t open up like that, or you really don’t, and you hope I give you up.  I don’t know… I’m really confused when I try to figure it out.  So I act as open as I can without really being so, because I don’t want to be destroyed over it.  If you honestly have no interest in ever having any kind of romantic relationship again, I want you to tell me straight out so that I don’t keep wondering about it in the back of my mind.  If that’s what you want, so be it.  I love you enough to let you go.  But if you think I can ever see myself truly happy without you, you’re dead wrong.  Without the strength of Christ, there is no way I could survive it.

          You want vulnerability?  Here it is.  Everything Christ has allowed me to do has been shaped by my passion for our friendship.  I moved to Tampa at God’s prompting so that I could know you, and strangely, it worked.  I care and understand far more now than that first summer with you, although it hurt arriving at what we now have.  And here I find myself going back to Nashville, full of new ambition and hopes, because it was clearly God’s hand that I saw opening these particular doors.  But every waking thought, every inspired line, every tremble, ever shiver and waver in my voice, is all due to the vivacity, the longing, the intensity of what I feel for you.  There is a particular, inexplicable bond we share that no earthly love will ever compare to.  I am certain of this, to the point that it is my only source of hope, and my only constant fear.

          So there it is.  You are everything to me.  I can fool others into believing I care for them, but I can’t fool myself.  You are truly the only one I can’t do without.  You’re the only one that matters.  I need you to believe in me, to stand beside me and complete me.  I can’t say that I won’t succeed without you, and I can’t say that I’ll lack any fruits of the spirit.  But I can and will say that as long as I have a heart, it belongs to you; you are very much the fullness of it.  I will never be through with you, and I can only hope that you will never be through with me.  You have more power, more influence, more sway than you ever imagined meager little you could have over a person.  You will not find anyone more sincere.

          Talk to me.  Tell me everything.  Let me share anything at all that touches you.  I’m trying very hard to keep you… or to regain you, I’m not entirely sure.  I only know that when I look at you I see more than anyone else.  I see you as you are, and I love everything I see.  Don’t hold anything back.  It won’t be one-sided anymore… not until you cut me off, if you ever do.  Just always be honest with me, and I will be with you too.  Let’s start giving to each other.  We both deserve it.

 

 

A Letter To A Newborn (Our Sweetest Addition)

 

          So you join us now in the eleventh hour of the conversation begun when God first said, “Let there be light.”  You have missed a great many things, but He’s written them down for you to catch up.  You may want to listen a while before speaking, because there is a sort of redemption in a child’s bright, observing eyes that sets right how ill things have gotten.

          I’m afraid you will see some horrible things mixed in with the good, which we would certainly keep from you if we were able.  But with this new life you are experiencing comes a heavy responsibility that only our God’s wisdom will make clear.  Be sure to search for His voice amid the squalor and nonsense that have already begun filling your ears.

          There is so much we have learned that we would happily relay to you, but you must experience it all firsthand if you are to truly understand.  Never take for granted the blessing of parents who have gone through these things ahead of you, and never hesitate to rest on them when your feet get tired and your soul weary; they are there for you with absolute love and understanding for just such occasions.

          The only advice I can give that I know by trial to be of any use is this; go through life as you are now, marvelously simple, wonderfully naïve, and beautifully questioning.  Never lose that fire in your eyes that tells us you are alive, because you are, after all, the full realization of God’s amazing grace and compassion.  I can only pray you someday know what this means.

 

 

A Memoir Of New Jersey

 

          I loved New Jersey.  I would come home from Mrs. Shaw’s kindergarten after we sang the sad “Goodbye” song—which used to make me cry, as other children pointed and laughed.  I was on Mr. Striker’s buss route, and we would pass his farm on the way.  My head would vibrate against the window as I stared at the passing scenery.  Kelly Green was always singing those childish rhymes.  I was glad when her noisy mouth stepped out into the shadowy woods.

          The next stop was Rebecca Carter’s driveway.  Sometimes I would go with her instead of to the camp where I lived.  Usually, though, I would just wave to her and continue on in the mostly empty bus.

          Mr. Striker was a kind old man; on holidays he gave us candy.  My favorite part of the day was just sitting there, watching the enormous brick buildings come into view, knowing my mom would have a cheese sandwich waiting for me.

 

 

A Memoir Of My High School Lunch Hour

 

          Lunchtime.  In high school, the hours between eleven and one are for socializing.  You find your friends—or pretend to—and sit around in groups to impress each other.  This group with athletic babble, this one trading CDs, another secluded bunch of no ones off to the side doing homework or applying to various institutions, saying how well they get along with teachers.

          And here and there, in the voids of the hallway crouch the misfits.  Not the rebellious heroes of the underground—for they too have a table reserved—but the silent shadow figures who reside virtually unnoticed and uncared for amid the too loud chants of shallow personalities.  These are the watchers, the thinkers.  Their melancholy solitude is rarely permitted to be interrupted, and even less frequently do they momentarily reach out to interact with the cold and oblivious world.

 

 

Introduction To “Skepticism, Pride, & A God Who Loves Us Anyway”, A Discontinued Journal

 

          And so begins my study of the theologies and evidences of the Christian faith.  I begin with reluctance in even accepting the connotations of the term.  My primordial explanation, then, shall be that Christianity is the attitude of total submission, humility, and reverent obedience to Christ.  With that in mind, it becomes my intent—in hopes that I might one day convince my dearest friend that it is possible to know truth—to document every evidence that life is in our Bible and its relevance is all-encompassing.

 

 

An Abandoned Thesis Statement

 

          For the majority of history, the institutionalized Christian church has been the single most massive impediment to a true understanding of the character of God.

 

 

A Word On My Conviction Before God

 

           Christianity itself is not an evil.  When followed wholeheartedly and interpreted correctly, it is the ultimate form of goodness and purity which cannot but help anyone willing to receive it.

          My reservation is with the misinterpretations and misrepresentations that rely so heavily on the stubborn acting out of faith (if it can be called that) that they abandon the underlying theme of unconditional love.

          To avoid confusion in regards to discerning which of my actions and which of my words are grounded in what limited truth I understand, and which are the result of my own imagination, I resolved sometime ago to distance myself from any practices of overt religion which would allow an outsider the opportunity to examine me in order to find fault with my God.

          I do no justice to the God of Christianity, and thus, I choose to serve him personally, without the protection and security of an identification tag.

 

 

An Unfinished Testimony

 

          In hopes that my reader may understand more fully the passion which now compels absolute surrender to a higher supremacy, I likewise accommodate myself to a term widely misinterpreted and offer this deeply personal account.  I should begin, I suppose, with the assertion that there exist two very different Christianities.  The first is quite simply an integration of God’s revelation into every aspect of life.  Its subscribers actively seek to imitate the character of their creator as exemplified by his son.  The second is a perverse distortion of the inspired writings and a foolish estimation of a self-satisfied aristocracy.  Because the two bear the same title, there is often confusion as to which institution is being referred to.  As the latter is much larger, and boasts its intentions in the pure intentions of the former, it is often presumed to be the only association.  Yet this damning misrepresentation of God is self defeating in purpose and many of its members become disillusioned and ashamed.  It was into the one I was introduced, and the insincerity has compelled me to embrace the other.

          I wonder now at what point my salvation was confirmed.  Until very recently I had been confident that it was assured with that naïve invitation my unrested, five-year-old mind gave for a God it could so little comprehend to “come into my life.”  That, however, was a concept with implications I was not at the time nearly capable of understanding.  I can certainly claim no conversion, as I was from the age of accountability willing to faithfully accept supernatural intercession.  It was perhaps this lack of spiritual blindness which led to the long-standing attitude of complacence which dominated my teenage existence.

          Quite honesty, I was a hypocrite.  I demonstrated, for the majority of my years, the more destructive practices of religious fanaticism.  I was the clean cut youth who literally bought into the world of CCM—that is, the culture which evolved from what is now known as Contemporary Christian Music (I capitalize these as a symbol of the institutionalized self-elevation so prominent in the industry today).  It thrives off selling anything that can be stamped with our Lord’s holy name, which is nearly everything material.  It grieves me to illness to see what I was once very much a part of, producing cops of any current trend and offering no substance or quality to a world in such dire need.  The industry spits out Christian shirts, and Christian music, and Christian clocks, and Christian pencils, and the world stares in disgust and disbelief, that we who claim to hold the truth could so trivialize our own God.

          Do not misunderstand.  In no way do I mean to suggest that the things in themselves cannot be used by our astonishingly tolerant Lord.  But in an increasingly decrepit social atmosphere such as we have now, it becomes far more imperative that we are certain our motives for output are in accordance with the will of who we claim to serve.  Society, for the most part, has progressed beyond taking offense at what is produced, it now aptly and understandably points to the motivation of those producing it….

 

 

Notes For “The Two Christianities”, An Abandoned Apologetics Book

 

Part I:  Churchianity—A Viable Religious Option.

 

1.  The Old Testament sets the standard in order to reveal that we are corrupt.

2.  The modern church continues in traditions established under the old covenant.

 

Part II:  Actuality—History Illustrates Salvation

 

1.  In Jesus is the wisdom that provides the means to redemption, by example of one who has not broken the laws of Part I.

2.  As God, he is authorized to substitute.

 

 

A Clarification Of Goals, Circa 1995

 

          I will not be labeled, nor associated more closely with any particular field.  Neither will I allow myself to be involved too closely with the details surrounding implementation of any individual project I may begin.  My purpose is to have the most profound impact humanly possible on the lost souls of youth culture.  My media shall be primarily entertainment, as that seems the only universal communication—certainly effective.  The personal quest I hope to deeply integrate is for absolute truth.  I am at the outset anti-secular, as I have witnessed deeply the destructive nature of self.  I am also anti-religion, as I have witnessed also the incredible hypocrisies done in the name of God.  I am a man of ideas and ideals.  Everything shall be legitimate, produced from an immense burden for the unfortunate and misled.  To ensure that no human pride can taint this intention, I shall answer solely to His Supreme and Awesome Majesty, the Creator, at whose feet my offerings fall.

 

 

A Word On The Purpose Of Gospel Music

 

          Gospel music offers hope.  Its songs encourage and uplift us, and turn our attention toward heaven.  So sacred music serves its purpose.  It speaks to people; it is necessary.

          But there is another purpose for music.  For those who do not want to be spoken to, someone must speak for.  People want kindreds.  We are of a miserable breed; of course we require companionship.  We listen to those who admit their failures as human beings.  It comforts us.

          As it has been said, “There are those who paint the light, and those who paint what they see while the light is on.”  We are the latter, and the horizon is vast.  We paint of sorrow, of love, of wickedness and wretchedness.  We paint pride, we paint jealousy, we paint hope and we paint truth.

          We do not limit the spectrum of observation, because the Holy Spirit is not limited in its encounters.  We are not musicians, we are not artists, we are not preachers, and we are not leaders.  We are a series of photographs from a cross-section of society.  We are imprints of humanity, saved by God’s grace. 

 

 

A Word On My Place In Art

 

          If I am called to produce any sort of art whatsoever, it is simply to reflect life—honestly, unbiased; I mean to capture a fragment of what I see, offering no solution, claiming no involvement, maintaining a safe distance, that He whose work I mirror may intervene in His own manner when appropriate.  It is not for me to be other than a passive observer, relaying to those who inquire only the details they may or may not have missed.  If anything I do should prove of interest, let it be the simple reflection of what truly is; no more, no less.

 

 

A Reevaluation Of My Aspirations

 

          True enough, I could at this point pursue any goal I have, any dream I could aspire to reach.  My predicament, then, is not a lack of direction, but lack of a singular direction.  I have far too many dreams.  I am in that case compelled to wonder which of them my God will allow.

          But once again, I am misled.  Whatever God chooses, I will be, whether I prefer it or not.  The appropriate question is not, “What will he allow me to do?” but, “What would he have me do?”  To be crucified in the flesh is a painful submission.  It requires that everything I ever was or hoped to become is for all practical purposes no more.  I am truly nothing, and with that the Holy Spirit may begin to work.  It has become the only desire of my heart to more readily hear when my master speaks, and to likewise more readily respond.

 

 

A Few Random One-Liners

 

          “There is no one more talented than a jazz musician.  There is also no one more pointless.”

 

          “When you shift over to third person narratives, you may as well quit writing.”

 

          “If your creative juices aren’t flowing, let them ferment.”

 

          “Most conversation springs from the inability to communicate through more effective means.”

 

          “The most heinous mistake a writer may fall prey to is to presume that anything he has to say is significant.”

 

 

A Word On My Connection To Cain

 

          “I confess my iniquity; I am troubled by my sin.”

            —Psalm 38:18

 

          “Then the LORD said to Cain, ‘Why are you angry?  Why is your face downcast?  If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?  But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.”

            —Genesis 4:6,7

 

          Our LORD spoke such warning to Cain before sin had yet consumed him.  It was his heart to first go wrong, action then reinforcing what inclination set careening to destruction.  It is said that your sins will find you out.  Certainly in their shadow the offender must cower and linger in fear and embarrassment.  Certainly he feels no acceptance until light overpowers them.  To leave trespasses unexposed surely is to invoke slavery on oneself.  But in Christ is freedom.  In humility is life and restoration.

 

          “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.”

            —1 John 1:7

 

          “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

            —Galatians 6:2

 

          I desire fellowship as I desire light.  For light, my hidden deeds must surface from the filth and mire of decay in which they were buried.  I confess then to you, brothers and sisters, my fellow believers, how overly guilty I am of every imaginable sin.  This heart harbors bitterness unfathomable, pride enough to will myself supreme divinity, and the growing depravity which invariably accompanies indulgence of the primal lusts of flesh.  Intercede in prayer for my deliverance, as I also shall petition for you.  Ask what you will, and I’ll overlook no detail in my defense.  I beg for your patience and welcome your correction.  May Christ deal with severity and grace.

 

 

A Word On My Humanity, Utterly Nonsensical

 

          In my own company, I am undeniably human.  It fills me to the furthest recesses of mass that I have never seen in my makeup.   Blah, blah, blah… this bores me.  My intended thought is only that I do not see myself as a living, breathing (Why do we say that?  If we’re living, that’s given territory.  Unless we’re plants.  Anyway.) human being.  Hmm… human being?  What is being human?  I distract myself.  The thought is gone until I concentrate on inviting it back.  I see myself as already perished, or disappeared or raptured.  All my days consist of is future volumes for discussion.  I am astounded and greatly perplexed by my humanity.  I am a dichotomy and an enigma, and I mean to make a point of it.  If my purpose is to persuade you of anything, let it be to expect the duality of your own self to intensify with time.  I am a vile creature, drawn pressingly to morbidity and wretchedness.  It is natural for me to lapse.  But even this is nonsense.  Of what use to me is knowledge?  You self-impressed, I remain ill.

 

 

A Vision From A Moment In A Distant Future

 

          In the reflection of the window I watch three separate islands spiral away on antique ceiling fan blades from the room.  The icebox and cardboard vendors stand upright against the wall with fewest panes of glass, looking in at their furniture with metallic faces.  Meteors and satellites spin by in a dash of color and dust and light in exploration.  Monsters clash and clang on the skyway behind without feeling or thought or will, only duty and devotion and single-minded obligation pulsing from microchips and gears soldered together by similar packages quietly in a dimly lit factory.

          The Flesh and Blood Elements hide together underground in caverns, dining and laughing and spontaneously reciting lyrics to each other from upraised stages of rock.  In the city they echo up through cold streets from sewage lines and electrical cased pathways, only to bounce off sealed monuments and streamlined mobiles.

          It is into the eighth decade AD by the ancient calendar and one and twenty-six AM by The Father Clock, but such human things as these are no longer “pertinent”, and the history sites are only visited through scrambles while The Watchers reset their engines during the light hour.  This is only the precursor, The Flesh and Blood Elements blatant and alive five miles beyond the limit….

 

 

A Word On All Music (The Silent Orchestra)

 

          Silence has a soundtrack.  It rings in our ears through the screams of youth.  It drips from the sunken in willow tree.  It echoes through canyons with a rush of spring water, shakes birds from their perches atop sure-footed trees.  Music is the orchestration of that silence.  It is our attempt to communicate the stillness of Christ’s eternal truth.  Creation blows into our mouths, the silence is lodged in our throats, we grip each other in strangleholds from the back to urge out the sound.

          A single thread weaves songs together.  It is the continuation of life.  There is no beginning and no end, there are only moments of wonder and musing and renewing.  We are broken and rebuilt a thousand times over.  Songs are the illustrations of those moments.  We are school children, coloring love letters to our mothers, cutting and pasting images too abstract to not be tied together.  All of life is silent reverence.  These are the purposes under the sun.  Music is that soundtrack.

 

 

A Testimony For The Family Of My Betrothed

 

          From the earliest days I can remember, my patterns were somewhat antisocial.  On the old bus route driving home from kindergarten, I used to rest my head against the vibrating pane and make up songs and movie scenes, tuning out the girls in the back with their perverse jokes and grade school rhymes.  Those were the impressionable days in New Jersey that introduced sexuality to the too young mind of a child.  Then were the memories implanted of mild forms of abuse, on which I do not care to elaborate.  Suffice is to say I was yet another of a staggering statistic people often avoid talking about.  Therein lies the framework; that is what set the tone for my adolescence.

          On the fourth of July after just turning five, I laid awake in the moving shadows of my room, scared and insignificant, and began a long monologue with God which ended in what most people would consider a prayer of salvation.  It was for the first time evident that free will and God’s will are not always the same, and where I asked for the first time that my sins be forgiven, and offered up control of my life to its maker.  And this choice, supported by a father who was a pastor and the wife he met in Bible College, caused me to take on the characteristics of the common churchgoer in the name of Christianity.  So to my makeup I added religion.

          Paralleling the spiritual learning on the one hand and sexual guilt on the other, there was also in my childhood a strong reactionary element to the fact that, by the time I reached high school, I had already moved (as I remember) about eighteen times.  While that was easy on my two older brothers, it was a bit more difficult for me, whom they and their friends routinely cut down, contributing all the more to a rejection complex.  Fearing scorn, while also lamenting the loss of past friends, and at the same time being perpetually uprooted from the dust to again become “the new guy”, I became increasingly and understandably introverted.  Intensifying that tendency, I became a latchkey kid, home alone for hours at a time, not wanting friends because I would only have to leave them, and angry at family for the neglect.  So to my collage of guilt, compassion, ethics, insecurity, rejection, and sadness, I added bitterness and rage.

          Now, God is in the business of knocking down walls.  I had pledged myself to him at five, but the formative years saw growth in a disturbing and very wrong direction.  Had the bricks continued to pile… I can only speculate as to where I may have ended up.  I know that I was entirely antisocial, a young man full of contempt, false pride, and overt paradoxes.  Life was confusing and fruitless, and I retreated into morbid poetry to rival Ecclesiastes in its retelling of the hopeless state of affairs.  But our Lord’s plan for redemption is perfect, and he was faithful to honor my request for intercession by never allowing a depth that could not be taken to a height.  Indeed, it is only due to the darkness my soul once embraced that I am now able to fully appreciate the light.  I would not trade my testimony for anything, and count myself among the most blessed of God’s elect, because it has given me insight and perspective which cannot be matched by tradition or fancy words; I have the benefit of experience, and a fair measure of God’s grace to temper it.

          So, when I reached my junior year of high school God began the rebuilding process on who I had become—I was the grandest of paradoxes, the epitome of contradiction!  Understanding the perversion of the male mind and believing that all females must be victims to it, I developed a hatred for my own gender that caused me to only befriend girls, so that I could be the one exception to the rule that, as they say, “Men are scum.”  The closer I got to my girl friends, the more I was convinced that all males should be castrated.  I was told of childhood abuse, rape, self-centered boyfriends, and overall disrespect that infuriated me.  It was the first compassion I felt, since I had been victim to similar perversions when I was young.  Having had no sisters, I adopted these girls as surrogates, trying to protect them from further dysfunction.  I felt myself in a unique position to do so, since I had no need of people, since I was by now a full introvert, and I took great pride in the act of being so entirely sacrificial as to befriend anyone.

          Of course, it was all bosh.  As it turns out, we are all sinners saved by grace.  We all have been victims and we all have victimized.  Five years after graduating high school, I look back with a far greater understanding of the true issues each human soul deals with.  I have been entirely torn down and entirely rebuilt, and there is no longer that spiritual arrogance, not the lack of understanding, nor anymore than the perspectives left from the jumble of emotions that used to rack my existence with confusion.  There was an arduous stint of tearing down and sewing back together the fabric that was my security blanket, which will be plain if my journals finally see publication.  But the relevant part anyway is the design which emerged, what you all see now as you look at me, no longer the antisocial defiant I was.

          I may still be a perplexing dichotomy to many, but it is a lot I accept with the faith that God uses every unique approach, every symbolic twist to turn people’s attention inward, and just sometimes the sheer stirring of a situation is enough to inspire a fresh and uncharacteristic reverence—the very thing Christ himself often accomplished through his own unconventional means.  The metaphors carried over from my poetry into everyday life are for no other reason than to awaken a questioning spirit within a stagnant generation, with faith that all searching leads to a deeper understanding of the nature of God, which I desire for everyone I come into contact with.  Any offense taken at my actions to this end are unfounded, based upon speculation or assumption; let anyone question my motives for anything my imagery prompts, and I will settle to their satisfaction that my intentions are upright and pure.  This is who I am.  I welcome it.

          The most incredible part of this whole history is that the longing of my heart throughout the process—to in life-altering ways emulate Christ—was answered in kind with the introduction of the truest, purest love any God-fearing man could hope for, and in such a form!  I have been blessed with the most perfect compliment that I am truly overwhelmed by it.  Were my beloved to write an account similar to this one, you could point to the drastic differences early on, as well as the many similarities of circumstance, but above all you would come away with a new understanding of the resolution brought about through her own evolution of spiritual discernment, as our Lord’s reconciliation in her life brought her to a path where she and I can now walk hand in hand toward the same light.  She is amazing, as any of you who knew her before me well know, but she has become such a changed person, as have I, that I charge you to look at her with fresh eyes now as my betrothed; and I vow to you that there are lessons you may still learn from us, just as we will continue to be open to what lessons we together might still find in you.  Marci and I are in totality united now, until duration stretches further than the end of time.  She is the completion I was through my life searching for, and you must now train yourself to accept us as we are, our lives and hearts wholly unto submission under God.  You must believe that he will use us in accordance with his perfect will.  As our new brothers and sisters in Christ, it remains your only task to encourage us to that end.

 

 

An Exposé Of Sorts, Concerning Appliances

 

          Today I am two months wiser.  And I may never trust a reconditioned appliance dealer again.

          Last summer my new bride and I moved up from Florida to start a life here in Tennessee.  One of our main concerns in choosing an apartment was that it had hookups for a washing machine and dryer, intending to purchase a set as quickly as possible.  My wife took a job at a local charitable organization and I began working behind the counter at a small café.  Our budget was tight from the beginning, so we resolved to save up my meager tip money for the months it took to afford a used set, while we watched the papers for a good deal.

          The day we walked into that shop in Antioch is a day we now wish we could undo.  The man behind the counter reminded me of Morgan Freeman, which may have disarmed me because I like him.  We finally had enough money in our account to make a purchase, so we looked excitedly and dreamt of seeing something useful in our home.  We were thrilled at the notion of no longer having to load up the back seat and trunk of our car with dirty clothes and trudge up to the local Laundromat.  The appliances looked next to new and Sonny offered a 30-day warranty, so we bought a set and brought it home.  That was the beginning of my ulcer.

          Upon installing our new toy (which we did ourselves) we found that a rusty spot underneath the tub leaked.  That weekend we traded it out for another one.  The newer one make it halfway through one cycle and stopped dead.  The store’s only repairman made a house call after hours; we thanked him and sent him off with two pounds of gourmet coffee as a gesture of goodwill.  Then we went back to washing clothes and—you guessed it—the machine stopped again.  The next morning we left for vacation… with mostly dirty clothes.

          The following week we were ready to settle our little dilemma.  After three unreturned phone calls, we returned to the store and scheduled another exchange.  Lo and behold, the washer they dropped off leaked—well, more like poured—worse than the first one.  Two days later, they switched machines out a third time.  (Count them, that’s four machines so far.)  That time the delivery guy, who doubles as the repairman, waited through a cycle with me.  Much to our dismay, but not at all to our surprise, the fourth machine began leaking halfway into the first cycle.  Monty (as we were all on a first name basis by now) said we could go to the store and pick out a fifth machine, and test it out there before the final exchange.

          I did just that.  I brought a load of laundry to the store and the two of us removed the outer body and watched through the duration of an entire cycle.  No leaks.  No off-balance stopping.  We were thrilled.  That machine ended up in my laundry room that very evening.

          A few days later my wife and I finally got around to washing another load.  Only this time, now that it was in my apartment, it skipped the rinse cycle.  At that point I was tempted to walk around with soapy clothes… but, no, that wouldn’t be quite fair to my wife, whose clothes require more delicate treatment than mine.  With a defeated spirit and an upset stomach, we returned again to the store to make sure we weren’t paranoid and that the washer was actually skipping a significant part of the cleaning process.  Sonny finally agreed to give our money back.

          So anyway, the moral of this little anecdote is, if any of you young married couples are in the market for a washer and dryer, buy it from either a private citizen of a reputable and nationally recognized dealer.  Avoid fly-by-night local shops that aren’t even listed in the yellow pages.  We finally broke down and bought a new washer from a Sears outlet, with a three-year warranty.  It cost a little more, but believe me, it’s worth it.

 

 

A Word On The Implicit Nature Of Music

 

          There have emerged three major purposes for music—entertainment, edification, and expression.  To entertainment belong the ephemeral trend-setters, the one-hit-wonders, the prattle which ends up on collections sold by television offers, those who enjoy a limited period of success before ending up on “Where Are They Now?”.

          Edification encompasses a wider variety of religious music, sometimes evangelical, sometimes solely for worship, sometimes meant simply to speak healing, hope, and restoration to those in need.  Contemporary Christian Music falls largely into this category, as does New Age.

          Then there are those who create music solely as expression.  They are primarily artists, whose search for truth compels them to dabble with various mediums as they present further questions to God, in hopes that mankind might benefit from the garnering.

          It is the expression that excites me, the conversations with our Creator that demand attention, the endeavors to communicate at the basest levels of humanity in an effort to offer, pure and unadulterated, the simple wisdom that mankind is fallen, God is love, and Jesus is the expression of that love.  It is as simple a skeleton as that, regardless of how the flesh might appear.

 

 

A Prayer For Reawakening

 

          Father, the church is a murderer.  My God, it gets more irrelevant every day, because it sits so comfortably in your warmth and blessing that it forgets your commission.  It forgets even the example your beloved son gave.  Lord, you know more than anyone the extent of the pain in this world.  Music is only a series of cries, of pleas for salvation—for your forgiveness.  How can we be so deaf when they so blatantly scream and anguish for life?  They are so hungry, Father, so dying.  And the church, rather than going out into all the world, plans youth rallies and functions and invite the lost to come to them!  The worlds are so very separate.

          Who will introduce you?  Who have you called to rely solely on you for direction, to reject the religious hypocrisy we’ve become so blind to?  Who will hear you and remember the simple illustration of the sheep and the goats—that many will call on you with claims of righteousness, but you will turn them away?

          I’m willing, Lord.  I want to know you.  I don’t want to claim righteousness on that day, but I want you to recognize me.  I want you to remember my eagerness to be where you led, my willingness to allow you to work through me.  Father, I am only waiting.  I want to be sure that my endeavors are not my own desires, but your spirit moving me, directing my path.  I feel a pressing need to call together your tired and dejected seekers to unity, to a reawakening of spirituality.

          Lord, there is no longer a Keith Green to charge us with being asleep in the light, yet we have been dozing sounder than ever.  Someone must scream loud enough to rouse the church, to either renew or destroy it.  I can’t bear to see such corruption and negligence in your precious and holy name.  My King, if you are willing to use me, send a sign.  I have such little faith, but such a broken heart for you to fill.  Fill it with love, Lord, and wisdom and discernment.  If my time has not yet come, I only ask that you reveal to me more of who you are.  I need you.

 

 

A Prayer For Redemption

 

          Let me be no longer human, Father.  Own me fully, with all its implications.  Demonstrate through me your absolute control as he who created and now directs the winds.  Allow not my attention to be diverted, as it so easily would be, by the corruption of your design.  For marred and imperfect is any surface we etch our made up names into.  Remember in your divinity how insignificant is our nature, and with an according measure of grace manifest yourself in my unworthy frame, that I may at last bear significance.  For you alone are able to redeem your creation.  You make flowers out of earth.  You make rainbows out of air.  You alone shall at the end of time be hailed the King of Kings and LORD of Lords.  You are God.

 

 

A Prayer For Guidance

 

          Am I not seeking wholeheartedly your will?  Was I not only today convicted of idle hands and a body too willing to steep in the luxurious comfort of charity?  I’ve sought your leading as gold, your blessings as the most fragrant oil.  I’ve listened intently for your stirring, that I might know where to look for you.  I want nothing more than to be in your favor.  I call to you constantly to direct my paths.  Whatever door you place in front of me, do I not at least check its handle before moving on?  Wherever there is a sound, Lord, do I not look to see if it might be you?  I call out your name, that I might follow the sound of your voice.

          But you remain silent, my God, my King.  You provide no answer.  You only watch from above to see where I turn.  You send voices of accusation to me, to know my response.  Your light waits beyond a door still unopened, as I stumble blindly through the darkness, hoping for the faintest indications of you.

          And when I do resolve to carry on—even in ignorance—lest you accuse me of resting, you intervene and guide my hand to a single, conspicuous door handle.  Shall I not more hopefully pull on this one, which you seem to have led me to?  Shall I not at least knock, that you have the opportunity to open for me should you wait inside?

 

 

A Word On Structure

 

          On my last visit to a church, the service was a bit unorthodox in that the Holy Spirit compelled the pastor to speak before worship.  The sermon itself eluded me, as my attention was captured by the approach.  Saving music for the end of the service struck me as a wonderful idea; certainly the mind needs less preparation than the heart to heed spiritual matters.  Is it not always knowledge of a thing that precedes comprehension and application?

 

 

A Word On Morality

 

          Among the godless it is generally held that pleasure should be indulged.  This accounts for such liberal activism regarding gay rights, sex education in schools, and the pro-choice agenda.  The assertion is that we hold within ourselves the ultimate morality, and any law imposing upon our freedom to act on that inner sense should be stricken.  This is apparent in the thinking that sex outside of marriage is acceptable if two people are in love (or even simply consenting).  After all, marriage is only a certificate.

          Besides the obvious point that love (or feelings) can change—evident in the frequency of divorce—consideration must be given to the path of human desire.  A couple which begins holding hands (as every Baptist knows) will progress naturally to intercourse in a relatively short period of time.  That which is initially anticipated, once gained, will no longer produce the gratification it promised.  It is a conquest attained, then merely propelling the traveler on toward the next challenge.  Taken into account also should be the scientific observation that matter in its natural state gradually deteriorates.  Cell structures erode and become susceptible to contaminants; mutations form in the very fabric of existence.

          The correlation of these principles is evident when seeing an action through to its completion.  Take any example from any point in its course, and view it from a detached perspective, mindful of eternity.  Two people indulge an impulse—let’s say they have sex, but never wed.  They “fall out of love” and without the commitment of marriage to keep them together, split up.  In a secular view, it simply didn’t work out; now they know better.  People fail to acknowledge the damage that the relationship has caused… and will continue to cause.  Not only have they cheapened the intimacy of any future prospects, they have also established a pattern for founding relationships on qualities that may or may not last.  There is for the secular-minded individual no certainty in any situation. 

          The problem, then, in allowing a societal sense of morality to govern itself, is that human nature leans more and more toward lawlessness and chaos, to the point that it will self-destruct if no higher force intervenes.  If natural inclination were to be indulged, I would likely be a child molester by now.  Immediately prior to this writing I could have gone and raped a young girl.  The decent, then, would like to suggest that we may indulge only if none other is harmed or adversely affected.  I maintain, however, that the essence of human nature is selfish, and selfishness acted out will progress in intensity until the conscience is worn away and morality becomes nonexistent.  And this anarchy culminates in death.

 

 

A Word On Predestination

 

          Predestination was a major doctrinal hardship in our Bible classes at SPS.  No one could quite understand how a just God could choose certain people to be saved.  That, of course, was the root of the problem; the denotations of the word were misinterpreted.  For that matter, I doubt many of those complaining pseudo-intellectuals even read what the Apostle Paul actually wrote.  Essentially, he attested that those God knew in advance would accept Christ, he worked intricately into his plan for the salvation of all who would be willing to accept.  Had he called those who would never listen to his voice, his will would be unfulfilled, and salvation incomplete in its continuity.

          Very simply, all are given the opportunity, the choice, to believe the gospel.  For those he foreknew would choose to follow him, he arranged circumstances as such to aid those “elect” in carrying out his work.  Predestination is the means by which a form of leadership and spiritual guidance emerges in order that every person might have the opportunity to be presented the truth, which is then the individual’s choice to pursue.  Without foreknowledge, the idea is indeed unjust.  To an all-knowing Creator, however, it is the only fair presentation.

 

 

A Word On Philosophy

 

          It is truly amazing to observe how thoroughly the philosophies of today are influenced by German thought of the nineteenth century.  It was then the belief was popularized that nothing short of personal experience should bear testimony.  I needn’t elaborate on how often this shows up today.  The idea in practice, however, causes only dissension and confusion brought about through inconsistencies of perception.

          Each individual experiences entirely different, often contradictory instances, allowing very different perceptions of reality to form.  This is where morals conflict and truth is debated.  The worldview of a starving child in a war-ridden third world dictatorship will very likely not align with that of the secure, middleclass, American teenager, whose biggest fear is not fitting in.  Likewise, different people belong to different religious affiliations, some with extremely contradictory teachings.

          The new age, then—by which I refer, in this case, to this predominant humanist attitude—would reconcile everything by advocating unconditional tolerance and acceptance.  The key terms of this are peace, unity, love, and the like.  The impracticality of this is that absolute truth is then robbed of its significance and power.  In a global ethic, any opposing view is instantly discredited, shrugged off as a personal belief bearing significance only to its originator.  In this light, there need be no hunger for wisdom, as it should already be assumed attained.  Evidence needn’t be sought out because it is “closed-minded” to present an opposing view as fact; truth is again discredited and unaccepted.  Anyone presenting anything as absolute truth is a religious zealot.

          Despite a philosophy virtually nonexistent before the 1800s, however, indisputable facts remain.  They exist to be unearthed in historical accounts, scientific observation, and geological discovery.  Do search, but do so objectively—even skeptically—for the solid foundation upon which to base morality and intellect.  Ignorance will not debase truth, nor will denial invalidate it.

 

 

A Word On The Sinful Nature

 

          All who read this now have wronged the Creator in some way.  We know this as sin.  While the inspired writings teach that man is born into sin, they do not suggest that man is born sinful.  A baby who dies moments after birth is not condemned to hell.  We condemn ourselves, instead, with our first act contrary to God’s will.  Being born into sin means that we are introduced into a world where God is actively opposed.  Adam was not created with sin.  Nor was he introduced to a sinful world.  But he was given the will to maintain or break fellowship with God.  He was created with all human potential, including the reflexes and defense mechanisms that make up the psyche, along with a full scope of emotions.

          The knowledge promised by the deceiver was quite simply a lie; we as humans are also given the capacity to be deceived.  Yet, in Eden man already had access to the truth.  The initial act following deception caused man to reverse the pattern of fellowship with the Father.  His human emotions—shame, embarrassment, pride, and probably anger—became fully realized and confusion sprang from the dual nature, which began with the experience of separation from God.  In humiliation, Adam wanted to hide.  In anger, he wanted to rebel.  Sin for the first time tainted creation, and man was acquainted with both sides of it.  The more sinful man rejected God, the less God imposed himself on sinful man.  The less God volunteered, the less knowledge was imparted.  And man through time has lost fellowship altogether, remembering only emotions, which are a direct result of the primary sin and lead only to confusion.

 

 

A Word On Over-Spirituality

 

          Over-spirituality is a fraud, a hoax, and a cop out.  It is one reality in so excessive a form as to deem itself utter nonsense to all else.  To be never entertained, to be never gracious, to be at all points of vulnerability never subject to correction, but always victim to pride, one must be unalterably biased and critical to a fault.  Self proclaimed prophets award themselves authority and wield a power they mistreat and abuse.  To stand in judgment over any event, any individual, anything outside of self is to misrepresent who we are under, and destroy rather than affirmatively reinforce.  All injustice and vileness is done in the name of a singular reality, disregarding others.  Spiritual distortion, due to its potency and deceptive nature, will, I think, be most harshly judged.

 

 

A Word On Youth

 

          The voice of youth speaks.  It is neither the voice of reason, nor that of experience, but the voice of question.  Why should authority not lie with the individual?  Why should anything be absolute?  How, after all, can anything be proven?  Why should your theology hold relevance to me, who finds no sound reason to believe the foundation upon which it is built?

          Youth is not stupid.  It asks logical and essential questions for which, frequently, no answer is provided.  It is not that it hasn’t heard the Gospel, it is that it wants to know why to believe it.

 

 

A Word On Open-Mindedness

 

          Now at one time I had a friend whose blessed unawareness of truth and whose otherwise keen intellect often caught me unprepared.  Indeed, I owe her a debt of gratitude, for her questions became my own and I was thus propelled into a realm of philosophy quite necessary for my survival as a believer.  I owe also something of an apology to her for the fruitless arrogance with which I responded, though it is my hope that the insufficient answer caused her to ask that many more questions, to which someone more adequate might eventually respond.  I believe our discourse was much more intended for my benefit than hers, though, again, I hope she is a bit closer to finding truth.

          Truth—specifically absolute truth—has always been important to me.  As well I think it should be with anyone concerned with the state of humankind, and she was at least that.  I am convinced that I, for one, have had the benefit of hearing that truth, or those truths, from the beginning.  Its foundations were implanted into my conscious observation from my earliest memories; and earlier still, so that everything I now am and am becoming depends on it.  I should think anyone without such a foundation would be quite alterable, swaying a bit toward each and every theory looking somewhat firm.  But these short lived ideas can never hold up to a good stomping on the way I have found Christianity able to.  Certain things about it may remain unanswerable, but never has a question been offered which is unable to be met with any sound reasoning.  And by sound, I mean not only that it cannot be discredited, but that it is also much more logical than its alternatives.

          Notice this, though; I have always had the truth, but I have not always known why it was the truth.  My eyes are well and good, and I might see before me only one road leading to a favorable destination.  A blindfolded person standing next to me when I say, “We shall go this way,” might reply, “How do you know that is where we would like to go?”  And I should reply, “Well, because there is only one road.”  But it is not until I have gone on a bit further that I will be able to say, “Now I see that this road is certainly where we want to be, for the flowers are much brighter and the wind is much gentler, and there is even a sign which agrees that we are headed right.”

          This particular friend consistently charged that I should be more open-minded.  But she is the blindfolded one, saying, “There might be several roads that I might see if I take off this blindfold.”  And I can only reply, “But dear, I see quite well and I tell you there is only one road.”  It would be counterproductive for me to blindfold myself in order that I might imagine all the non-existing roads; even if I tried I would still have already seen what I was meaning to fancy away, and the attempt would be futile.  If, however, she were to take off her blindfold, she would quickly see that her being open to the possibility of other roads served no purpose but to doubt the one that does indeed exist—and does indeed lead to a favorable place.

 

 

A Word On Ministry

 

          The church’s mission is not outside its walls, but in reinforcing and rebuilding what lies in support within.  Those supports must learn inside how to bear the weight and inner gravities which compel structures downward.  Then, once they have been tested and proven trustworthy, they may be transplanted into buildings built for other functions where they may bear the entire weight.

          Church is intended for those well within the spiritual realm, to encourage and to uplift.  It is more of a reminder to them inside of the way they’ve chosen.  The individuals in attendance are then called to reach beyond the church walls and appeal to logic and reason to answer the philosophical questions innate in humankind.

          Jesus’ was a ministry of love.  Living by compassion and acceptance was his example.  His sermons were given only after crowds gathered to experience his love firsthand.  He did not summon them, but met them where they were.

 

 

A Word On The Christian Life

 

          The simplest illustration I can think is that the Christian life resembles a sort of tree.  The roots buried beneath the subconscious gray matter of dirt are those things which led us to faith.  You might say that the roots are where the initial evidences were observed and absorbed, as in the general revelation of nature.

          These then weave themselves together into a significant mass of faith, which serves to firmly plant us in the earth.  This mass of faith becomes the trunk of the tree, gradually reaching its way up from the ground—and we might say closer to the heavens.

          From the trunk of our faith, then, there grow sturdy branches, upon which some birds might nest.  These birds are ministries, ready to take flight and affect other trees—this bird a church, that one a book on apologetics.

          The branches themselves are relationships, the natural extension of faith, its practical application in a world desperate for oxygen.  The leaves and fruit, then, finally growing off each branch, are the literal fruits of the spirit, the air we breathe, and the sustenance we as a body may then offer.

 

 

A Word On Experience

 

          To accept the learning of a fool is to accept foolish learning.  It profits no one.

 

          Learning devoid of application makes for ineffective pe