All is Calm

Not really - at least, it shouldn't be :) There's enough going on on this end of the screen that should lead to stress. But, c'mon. It's Christmas. I don't mean that in a gushy feel all good inside kind of way. Rather, it's a Jesus has come and entered into this madness and brings shalom with him . . . yeah, that kind of way.

When I say to people that I have this sense of inner peace in outwordly crazy situations, I don't mean that there is never conflict. I don't mean that I never experience frustration, that I am somehow removed from the chaos around me. I'm going to rely on the words of my good friend Mike (another blog you should all check out ), because he says what I'm trying to say, and there is no sense re-inventing the wheel . . .

Shalom, peace, is more than lack of conflict, armed or otherwise. It is the reconciliation of all things, the "making right" of things. This shalom, this peace on earth to men, takes so much more in scope than a simple (ha) elimination of war. This peace is the peace of Christ, the prince of peace, whose reign is that about which we read. Peace on earth does not speak of kind feelings only, but about obedience to the highest power, about glory to God, and about submission to the reign that brings peace.

(Taken from Mike's recent post on "Peace on Earth . . . check it out at http://theo-blogy.blogspot.com/)


You see, with this peace, this calm, there is purpose. I am not calm in this place in the world solely for myself, but because shalom is so desperately needed. I just finished watching Pay It Forward, which SHOULD have cracked that recent top ten list (taking V for Vendetta's place, probably . . . ). And every time I watch it, which isn't too often, I think about how much one person can do. I think about how Jesus' revolution got started, and how it is at its core a very grassroots thing . . . how it's not about lofty ideals and sweeping proclamations that are somehow so set in stone.

Life is messy, and we do ourselves no favours by ignoring this or pretending it to be otherwise. I talked to my dad today, seconds after opening a package from him for Christmas . . . and it hasn't been an easy ride, reconnecting with my dad, and there have been bumps along the way, but it's worth it . . it's messy at times, it's hard, and it took every ounce of strength and courage I had to enter into it, but I'm so very glad I did.

I talked to my mom today before that, and we've had our rough patches. I have said things to her in the past I didn't mean, I've brushed her off when I really wanted to tell her how much she means to me . . . and sometimes, when I feel she doesn't think I can handle life on my own, I try to shut her out. But I love my mom so very much, and I miss her the most around Christmas.

I used to have these bold ideas about changing the world, about making some kind of huge difference in the lives of total strangers - yet I would exert precious little emotional energy with my own flesh and blood. Maybe it's easier to show love to a stranger - it takes a bit of courage, sure, but not nearly as much as it does to live with family, to be vulnerable and let people love you even though they know who you really are. And for me, that's part of where this shalom finds its source. My family has a messed up past, and we're not perfect people. But there is a sense of peace when you enter the French household, not because we're so great, but because a great God is at work, redeeming our dark places. And from this, I can go into other dark places and be a part of that redeeming and reconciling . . . and so can you.

Shall we?

Poetry . . .

What Have We Become?

As the fog lifted, revealing the ground

She gazed, stunned, not making a sound

The horror hitting her of all she had found

Pock marked craters, a battle here fought

Limbs, bodies torn apart, for nought

She fell to the earth, cried in anguish, thought

What have we become?

As the sun rose, beautifying the sky

He drove to his office in a building high

Not once did he stop and ask himself why

Why the six figure salary? The Aramni suits?

Why the cars and boats, alligator skin boots?

The ravenous faces of the corporate recruits -

What have we become?

As the sun set, coloring everything red

As a tired populace prepared for bed

One turned to the other, looked, and said

"Is life still precious?" - to the edge he creeped

Ans said no more, but choked, and weeped

The question unasked as he knowingly leaped -

What have we become?

As she lay there, just wanteing it to end

Was this what he meant to mean by "friend"?

THe tears she shed to him anger did lend . . .

What have we become?

LIFE

Quite quiet, causing no notice at all

Dew drops on green grass blades reflecting the light

Now nothing draws nigh to hear the faint call

The scarce cry - this worm will begin to fight

His chains shall be broken, and he shall be free

For lo, this occurence has oft hap'd before

It is his fate, his very destiny

Surely what blind providence has in store

Or is it? For others have failed in this place

Or failed to fight, and honour their youth

In failing, do they prove God's distaste?

Or prove fate fails to exist? Here's truth -

If he desires to be a butterfly

The worm's choice is to fight, or die

Though fated, once fighting, to become more

The outcome of the fight's not stone

HIs chains may triumph, may win this war

OR he might prevail - this we know

That weary though he may become

Wishing wings would simply appear

As if by magic, and if not, by some

Other mystical means just be here

Strong though this desire in him may be

The strength he needs has no magic source

Rather, a more simple means we see

The obviousness leading to "Aha! Of Course"

The chains which a prison seem to be

Strengthen that which will set him free

GF 09

How I See things . . . .

Hope is definitely different than optimism. Optimism is the belief that everything will turn out well, while hope is the certainty that everything will make sense, regardless of how it turns out.

Vaclav Havel

Dandelions

It has yet to feel completely natural to be vulnerable for me . . . if you've ever been subject to an lengthy pause while talking to me, you may have been privy to an inner turmoil barely contained. You see, I long for nothing more than to hold out my hands, as it were, with my life in them and say - SEE! This is me. I'm Greg. - and I always picture myself as a 5 year old when I do this. Not sure why, but I think 5 would be the age that I was last innocent. It seems that since that tender age, there has been something deep and dark that I've always felt near, something oppressive, something to gain victory over.

And so, though I sense that being vulnerable and open is tied into being fully alive, and that the things I see as valuable and of prime importance in friendships stem from openness, I hesitate. Not always, but often. Perhaps there is wisdom in this - the whole pearls and swine analogy. Perhaps the best and truest friendships are cultivated over time, not short circuited by going deep instantly. But really, my main motive is self preservation - I've been burnt before, and it's not that great. It stings, deeply, like your very soul somehow got stabbed.

And, partly because of this, and partly inspired by this, I had come to see myself as deserving of my fate - that somehow, I deserved to be burnt when I extended a hand of friendship, that I deserved to not just feel, but BE abandoned, and that the most use I had in life was to be used and then spit out when my usefulness was spent. Understand, it wasn't like I ever wanted to feel this way; but as a young one, you can only bear the brunt of a lie for so long before it starts to ring true.

In the midst of this feeling useless, I came across a song by Five Iron Frenzy, who have since become one of my favorite bands of life. The track is called "Dandelions", and I think it captures what I'm trying to say better than I am.


In a field of yellow flowers,
underneath the sun,
bluest eyes that spark with lightning,
boy with shoes undone.
He is young, so full of hope,
reveling in tiny dreams,
filling up, his arms with flowers,
right for giving any queen.

Running to her beaming bright,
while cradling his prize.
A flickering of yellow light,
within his mother's eyes.
She holds them to her heart,
keeping them where they'll be safe,
clasped within her very marrow,
dandelions in a vase.

She sees love, where anyone else would see weeds.
all hope is found.
Here is everything he needs.

Fathomless your endless mercy,
weight I could not lift.
Where do I fit in this puzzle,
what good are these gifts?
Not a martyr, or a saint,
scarcely can I struggle through.
All that I have ever wanted,
was to give my best to you.

Lord, search my heart,
create in me something clean.
Dandelions
you see flowers in these weeds.

Gently lifting hands to heaven,
softened by the sweetest hush,
a Father sings over his children,
loving them so very much.
More than words could warrant,
deeper than the darkest blue,
more than sacrifice could merit,
Lord, I give my heart to you.



I especially love the first chorus - She sees love where anyone else would see weeds. I mean really, how could this mother react in another way? Her little man just bravely picked a bouquet for her - who cares if they're "weeds"?

And I love how this theme carries into the next half of the song, where, as an adult (or so I picture it) the singer expresses that he feels unworthy, yet all his unworthiness and failed attempts are still so beautiful to God . . .

I'm not going to sit here merely dreaming of making a difference. I know I have already in the lives of so many people, whether it be a simple laugh, a hug when needed, truth spoken in love, or love spoken truly . . . but to me, it all seems like a filed of dandelions sometimes, more weeds than beauty. I feel like I'm my own worst enemy, like there is a way of life that I truly want to live out, and the only thing stopping me is me. And, too often, I succeed in doing just that.

None of my really deep plans seem bad to me. I'm not setting out to hurt anyone. I've never woken up to say - hey, how can I really screw someone over today. Yet too often, I've been more a source of pain than a source of love. I'm not content to stay that way (and thank God I haven't), but it is lamentable.


There is comfort though, in knowing that if no one else really gets where you're coming from, if no one else believes the integrity of your character or the purity of your motives, at least God does. And when the world sees nought but weeds, our Father sees a radiant bouquet, picked with nothing more than love for the Lover of our soul.

If you took the time to read this, thank you. Though I definitely get some enjoyment and satisfaction out of writing, you're the real reason I write. I write about the thigns I write about because this thing called life is too grand a thing to keep to yourself, and my best attempts at conversation tend to result in me being either too closed or far too open for the level of friendship involved.

Be blessed,

Greg

Thoughts . . .

Just some things that have me thinking a bit this season . . . enjoy!



The more a man can forget, the greater the number of metamorphoses which his life can undergo; the more he can remember, the more divine his life becomes.
Soren Kierkegaard


The essence of optimism is that it takes no account of the present, but it is a source of inspiration, of vitality and hope where others have resigned; it enables a man to hold his head high, to claim the future for himself and not to abandon it to his enemy.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer


Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.
C. S. Lewis

God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.
C. S. Lewis

Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours.
C. S. Lewis

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die.
Gilbert K. Chesterton

Fable is more historical than fact, because fact tells us about one man and fable tells us about a million men.
Gilbert K. Chesterton

A great man is always willing to be little.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

An ounce of action is worth a ton of theory.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Beauty without grace is the hook without the bait.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cuz I'm in the Mood for it . . . . .

Hey all. Taking a break from a rather dull day to do what I do when I feel this way - it's TopTens time !
Read the following with the understanding that at this time tomorrow, the list might have changed.

Here we Go -


GREG'S TOP TEN MOVIES OF ALL TIME

10. Hotel Rwanda
9. V for Vendetta
8. Waking Ned Devine
7. Gladiator
6. Shawshank Redemption
5. Life is Beautiful
4. Life as a House
3. Braveheart
2. LOTR Trilogy
1. Slumdog Millionaire


Novels

10. Three Musketeers Alexandre Dumas
9. Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe
8. Glastonbury
7. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
6. Rubber Duck - Jack Douglas
5. Chasing Francis ?
4. The Watchmen - Alan Moore
3. A Canticle for Liebowitz - ?
2. Lamb - Christopher Moore
1. Catch -22 - Joseph Heller

Songs (gonna be tougher)

10 Space Between - Dave Matthews Band
9 Don't Drink the Water - Dave Matthews Band
8 Unchained Melody - Righteous Brothers
7 Hey Jude - The Beatles
6 Careful - Michelle Featherstone
5 On Fire - Switchfoot
4 Hoppipolla - Sigur Ros
3 Falling Slowly - Glenn Hansard
2 Every New Day - Five Iron Frenzy
1 With or Without You - U2



K - they're all open to debate or opinion, but as of 10:30 or so on this thursday night, that's my top tens.

The Times they are a Changin'

"Change can be so constant that you don"t even feel the difference till there is one - it can be so slow that you don't know your life is better or worse until it is, or it can just blow you away, make you something different in an instant . . . it happened to me."


This is a quote from one of my favorite movies of all time, Life as a House. It's a story of great healing, of relationships and how the mess is so worthwhile, of how life isn't life unless you're risking all you've got for it, of how there are bonds which time may weaken but never truly break. I love it.

The character who gives this outlook on life is the father in the movie, who (possible spoiler alert) has an epiphany of sorts in the wake of tragedy, which leads to his rethinking his life. Though initially his priorities seem to shift almost instantaneously, the actual transformation happens (or has been happening) his whole life.

I think I've fallen into a bit of the mindset of this microwave culture of ours (a term I use without any hint of superiority, just a touch of lament). The things in my own life that I wanted to change had to change overnight, or they wouldn't change at all. I yearned for life altering moments, where you know in a profound way that you are part of something huge. I longed not just for a climax, but for a dramatic climax to every situation.

I find it hard to take things slow. What I sense lies before me is too enticing to not sprint for. But this race of life is a marathon if nothing else, and as such, these slow changes are beautiful, more like the gradual erosion of hard rock than a TNT explosion on a cliff face.

And I think I'm okay with that.

Oh Christmas . . .

I have a bit of a love / hate relationship with Christmas. On the one hand, it's a season of joy, peace, hope, love, etc., regardless of your religious affiliation. I think it's safe to say most people in Canada, even those who recently immigrated here, get a sense that there is something a little different about Christmas, or at least that traditionally, there should be.

I heard a radio ad for a Salvation Army toy drive try to make the point that it is just as hard on teens as it is on children aged 5 - 12 to not have toys under the Christmas tree. It was coupled with a very intentionally heart moving plea to donate toys to this particular organization (which I have nothing against.) What really irked me was the sentiment that not receiving a toy this time of year is troubling, and of all the things to do this Christmas, we should make sure all teenagers have at least one toy under the tree. Also, we're gonna need some trees donated.

Is it really a gift if it's demanded? Expected? And if that demand is unmet, should it be emotionally traumatizing? I'm not faulting those who grew up with this mindset and have not advanced enough in years to question it, nor am I saying not to give. I love giving. I love being gifted by those who do so because this bond means something to them. But rarely, if ever, do I approach Christmas dreaming of what I'm going to get. And this isn't a hey, look at me, I'm so awesome kinda rant. It really saddens me that we condition generation after generation to the point that someone finds it necessary to PLEAD for someone to give because Christmas won't be Christmas without gifts, specifically toys.

And I get that we're talking about those who are less fortunate, and I don't wish to come across as crass or unfeeling. Again, please give. But don't just give a toy. Don't give an object and think that that solves everything - "There, now little Timmy won't murder his high school because we gave him a Lego set." No . . . . the biggest difference is love.

I pray for creativity, chiefly for myself (that I would live up to what I feel I'm asking others to do) , so that the ways in which we express love to mankind this year (not just this TIME of year) may reflect the heart of a God who loves recklessly, gives liberally, and longs to restore all things.

On a sidenote . . .

More than anything this time of year, I want to be with my family. And it's not that I don't have wonderful people around me here . . . but I want to wake up and have breakfast with the same people I've been waking up and having Christmas breakfast with for years, to partake again in our little traditions. I don't want anything else really - I just wanna go home . . .

I'm so very thankful for my family here, for making the past two Christmases be joyous and filled with love. But I miss my Mom . . . I miss Annalies and the movies we watch together, miss Kara and inevitably doing dishes together, miss Erika and playing games at the dining room table with Byron . . . amd even Charlie and his insistence on pouncing on me (as much as a Shih Tzu can) when I walk through the door.

I'll see you all soon :)

Awkward . . .

Hey

Ever have those social outings where you're absolutely positive that everything you do is awkward? Like you're trying to do ballet wearing stilts, or moonwalk on water, or strike up a normal conversation without saying anything socially inappropriate?

Yeah. Had one of those tonight. And it wasn't just one incident. Pretty much every time I opened my mouth, I questioned what came out.

Now, don't get me wrong, and don't hear what I'm not saying - I'm not taking shots at my self esteem on this one, and my confidence hasn't suffered. I just think it's funny. Nothing friendship damaging was done tonight - I don't think - but maybe I need to get outta the house more. Maybe in this now week long extended break from work, I've lost some social skills.

Meh. I'll be fine.

The Truths . . .

Thanks Marah :) I have some wise friends - and as Marah pointed out, we do need to have truths expressed to combat the lies the defend ourselves against. Here goes -



I'M A FUN GUY TO BE AROUND - especially in crowds, where it's so much easier to be a clown. Honest. And it's not so much that I'm a gifted joke-teller and story teller - though I AM that as well ;) - but I just do some downright hilarious things in the course of living my life. Hocking loogies on my face, getting flustered anytime I'm near cops, forgetting my (insert item of choice) at (insert place of choice), or losing my (same) under/over/through? the (same), constatnly Spoonering my words, misspelling constantly : the list is nigh endless. If you've known me for a few minutes, I've probably made you laugh.

I'M THERE FOR YOU - Like the Moffats so lyrically proclaimed in the mid 90s, I'll be there for you. Though far from perfect in my expressions of it, there isn't a lot I won't do for my friends in a time of need. And my shoulders are always here to cry on.

I'M DEEP - kind of a 50/50 good/bad on this one at times, but overall, I count it an asset. All I mean by this is that I have a capacity for meaningful conversation and meaningful relationships, not that I constantly ( NAILED IT!) write out sonnets in iambic pentameter, extolling the virtues of love, romance, and the pursuit thereof.

I DELIGHT IN LIFE, AND HELP OTHERS DO THE SAME - I was once accused (though I didn't take it as such) of "shitting out sunshine and rainbows." Thank you :) More often than not, I live in a way that brings people up, not tears them down, that brings joy and shalom, not darkness and hatred.

I'M A MAN - K, this isn't false machismo time. I'm the last guy who would beat my chest and proclaim my masculinty in guttaral sounds (unless your posterior was just returned to you in some form of competition - in which case, you deserved it.) I don't have any kind of barbaric bloodlust (just a civilized one), I've never beaten someone up (though I enjoy fighting), and I don't have any kind of desire to dominate. What I mean by all this is what's found in Micah 6:8 - doing justly, loving mercy, walking humbly with my God. If that sounds a little like a pansy, I dare you to try it. Loving mercy means looking someone in the eye that the world, and every bit of flesh in you, tells you you should hate, and saying "I love you", and then LOVING them. Doing justly means quitting a job because you can't be a part of a team of shysters. Walking humbly is saying "Not my way, but yours", and not just on Sunday, but everyday. I believe that my striving to live life this way is not just an abundant life, but the way of a man.

(Or woman. I just happen to be a guy.)



Thanks again Marah. And if you haven't already, check out her blog.

The Lies . . .

Hey :) Thanks for reading. Today's thoughts might seem a little more personal (which is odd, as this is a rather impersonal way to divulge information), but I feel there is some sort of communal benefit in opening up certain parts of our lives, especially when it is something we all face.

Now, if you're reading this and don't have a world-view that you would describe as 'Christian' in any way, shape, or form, some of this might seem a little far. But I trust that it will resonate in some way with your experiences.

Though I might be off on what I'm about to say, I so strongly believe that I'm not that I take this less as perception and more as reality. We are all of us targets of an enemy, and if Jesus' words in John 10 are true, then this enemy is a thief and comes to kill and steal and destroy, whereas Jesus comes to show a way to life, and that more abundant. I've never bought into the "God as a Cosmic Killjoy" view - though I rarely feel like I understand the actions I attribute to Him, and though I sometimes let bitterness get the best of me, truth is deep down I trust that though life doesn't make sense, God is active in bringing about shalom, a permeating peace. This peace is not so much the absence of conflict as the presence of calm amidst conflict, if that makes any sense.

So if God is active in bringing about good (ie abundant life), then the situations that lead away from an abundance in life are not from Him - abundance here understood as not strictly material. If not from God, then they are from this thief. And their intent and purpose is to kill and steal and destroy, not bless and edify and encourage.

Kind of a messy situation, this, if we try to put all situations in a box and say "This is obviously ALWAYS God's work." I'm not trying to over spiritualize every situation. But these deep things that haunt our sleepless nights, these wounds that pierce us in places we don't let others see, and these hurts that we can't seem to recover from - these are spiritual. If Jesus tells us there is an Enemy who wants to kill and steal and destroy, is it outlandish to suggest that right now, we are under attack in an effort to be killed, to have something stolen from us, to be left destroyed?

Let me make it a little concrete for you here. And I hate classroom kind of arguments or illustrations - imagine a girl who has . . . picture a family that . . .

So here are my hurts, the areas I feel I am lied to. I do this not to seek validation or affirmation (though don't hold back), but to hopefully inspire you to be open about your own hurts.

It's the silence that empowers them.


- I AM A FAILURE. Not just in one particular area, like relationships or career or home cooking or education or whatever. I don't feel I'm particularly good at anything. This isn't a daily thing that I have to battle with, and for the most part, I recognize successes. But it's there, the moment I legitimately don't succeed at something or fall flat on my face. Of all my hurts, it's both one of the most constant ones, and, oddly, one of the easiest to get over.

- I'M NOT WORTH STAYING FOR. This one was big. Historically, it's led to sabotaged friendships in an effort to preemptively avoid getting hurt. Since moving to Calgary, and having some sense of constancy, it's been a lot easier to recognize this lie as soon as it presents itself. Before, it was gospel, and was closely related to

- I WILL BE ABANDONED. Now, you'd think coming to see myself in a new light, letting go of thoughts of unworthiness and all, would lead to the death of this lie. But I guess I still feel like I live in a Truman show like tension - like one day I'll find out for sure that this has all been a sham. I know, it's silly, right? And I recognize this when I say it and write it (part of the reason you are now reading it), but yet, because it hurts so much to be abandoned, this is sort of a no brainer area to pounce on. And not only will I be abandoned, but -

- I WILL ALWAYS BE ALONE. I don't mean alone like no other humans around in a Charleton Heston in The Omega Man kind of way ( or Will Smith in I Am Legend - basically the same story). What I mean by this is that there are parts of me that I really want to share with people, in deep and meaningful ways. I'm not interested in surface level friendships, any kind of camaraderie that doesn't require more of me than a physical presence. In the times that I feel I don't have these (such as a prolonged absence from those I consider my deep true friends), I feel lonely - even if I'm in a stadium of people. And when the absence is lifted and we re connect, we don't have to dive into discussion about our emotions and how we're REALLY doing per se. Sometimes you just need to stick a friend in Halo, or sit and watch the world together, or consume unholy amounts of avian limbs.

K, I dunno about you guys, but I'm feeling a lot better now that those lies are there for all the world to see. Like I said, it's the silence that empowers them.

Here's to abundant living

Dreams Addendum . . .

Oh . . . so, here's another little one that's not really that little to me. I'm working on a book right now, and though it might never ever be read by anyone, and even if read, it might not be enjoyed by anyone, I'm going to publish it. Myself, if I have to. I've wanted to write this thing since I was 18 . . . and not in a "i-want-to-be-a-writer-someday" kind of way. I had my basic plot and my pro- and antagonists on paper, and the first 4 chapters were all done. I've let it slide for a while, and the story has changed significantly from when I started, but it's what I've wanted to do for longer than most people who know me have known me.

So if I don't do it, I don't think I'd think I failed . . . . I just would always regret not finishing it.

Dreams . . . .

Before I start, I write with the full awareness of the fact that many of my dreams will never come true. I'm not saying this to depress anyone, but simply as a matter of fact. Some shouldn't come true, regardless of how badly I want them (really Greg? Turn every workplace into a paintball game?) but I dream anyway . . .

And then there are dreams that are, or at least appear to be, mutually exclusive. Rather than approach the situation like a Catch-22, I try to embrace the truth that it's better to dream big and never live it out than to never dream at all, and then live out one of those dreams wildly and freely.

It still kinda stings, though, knowing that there is a dream that will never happen. Now, hear me on this - none of the things I want to do with my life involve harming others or seeking to profit from harming others. I don't want to benefit from pain, I don't want to cause suffering, I don't want to get rich. Every plan I've ever had for myself has had in the forefront a desire to benefit the most amount of people in the greatest possible way. I used to think this meant speaking to large crowds, but maybe it looks more like influencing that one person who will THEN go on to speak to those crowds . . . and I'm cool with that.

There are some dreams, though, that if they never come to be, will more than likely leave me feeling a bit like my life lacked something. I don't hold this to be true for everyone, but I know myself well enough to know it's true for me . . . .

I want to get married . . . and not just to anyone, and not just to not be alone. The life I live is too grand a thing to keep to myself . . .

I want to have kids. Adopted, my own flesh and blood, or a crazy mix of the two. I'm in.

I want to matter - I want people to miss me when I'm gone, and not just say it because that's what a eulogy is . . .

I want to excel at life, love deeply, laugh freely, give willingly, and hope fearlessly.

I want those who meet me to not be the same for it afterwards.


I want to share in the dreams of others . . .

Moving in / with the Spirit

I feel like theologians have done a pretty good job articulating beliefs about God the Father and God the Son ad naseum. We understand Jesus, in a sense, because he's human like us, and calling someone father makes them easier to relate to (even easier in a negative way - like, if you had a poor father, it is easier to relate to God as Father poorly.)

But the Spirit? Kinda scary. We've seen fathers, and there are people whose writings we trust who have seen Jesus . . . but by his very definition (Spirit) no one has actually seen this third person. And so there is a sense of mystery and, given our fear of things unknown, a tinge of apprehension. We like to KNOW - the entire enlightenment period, and the fields of science and mathematics that flourished under it, are built on the premise that things can be KNOWN. Entire fields of study rest on the constancy of certain things - where would physics be without its laws? Or aerodynamics without Bernoulli? Or chemical engineering without the table of elements? It's a comfort to know that certain things in this earth always act a certain way all the time. We like that they are predictable - it makes them safe.

On the other hand, we have this being who calls Himself God and exists among us know as the Holy Spirit, and we're told that He indwells us and fills us and comforts us and teaches us . . . and because He doesn't have a sweet clue how to exist as a formula, we're not sure what to do.

Let me be clear on what I'm trying to say . . . there are certain ways of addressing the Spirit that I think fall well short of how we should, as much as they come from hearts with good intentions. 'We invite you, Spirit, into this place . . " K, he's already here, already at work. "Spirit, be with us tonight." Again, already here guys. There's two or three gathered in my name . . .

And I don't the school of thought that says that the Spirit works in an orderly fashion. There is a certain amount of disruption on Pentecost - peoples lives are NOT the same after encountering the Spirit. And if you should dare follow where He is leading, it will hardly seem safe or orderly.

The first big decision by the church at the Jerusalem council was not marked by certainty - rather, they said that "it seems right to us and to the Spirit . . " And here is the crux. If you really want to follow this wild and dangerous God who is by no means safe, but is GOOD, you have to be willing to let go of your own rights to control. There is a certain amount of uknown that will always be there. Math and science provide an area to prove thigns with 100% certainty. God? He provides opportunities to dare to believe in what you cannot see as of yet, to dream big and live full. It's kinda like what I imagine white water rafting to be - it's not dangerous per se, but not predictable. Yet the very thing propelling you onward toward rapids is what is ensuring you WILL get there safely. Just don't try to do it alone.

Elpis

Clever, eh? To avoid redundancy, and to make myself seem far more educated than I really am, I choose a word from a rather dead language (sure, it has a modern form - so does english, though.) and VOILA! A new title for the same subject.


I hope (haha) I'm not boring anyone with all this talk about . . . hope. It's just on my mind a lot. Kinda has been most of my life. And I really think that with it is central to what we do as Christians - we hope we are making a difference by our actions to the world around us. Not in a blind, "hey, let's see if this works" kind of way . . . but in a "I'm trusting that whatever happens, in the end, will make sense of what now appears to be chaos."

Really, though, as much as I appear to be hopeful, my knee jerk reaction to certain specific things is pretty negative. We'll get into details later - maybe - but these areas are all intensely personal and rooted in how I think of myself. So though I offer hope to all around me, it seems I don't do such a good job saving some for myself.

I'm not one to complain - honest. I have been richly blessed in this short life of mine. But enough has happened, and I've been exposed to enough personally to know that there seems to be a lack of happy endings in this world. I hope and believe that ultimately, the final ending of this world is good, as there is a completion of the restoration begun as soon as it was needed. Yet for the time being, heartaches and heartbreaks are par for the course, something that is a uniquely human experience - perhaps a way that we are made in God's image?

Emotions are such a powerful thing. Whatever is the next step deeper than feelings ( a state of being?) is even that much more powerful. Hope and despair are two of the most instantly noticed "feelings" (for lack of a better word) that I know of. Ever been around someone who is constantly despondent? How about someone who seems to defecate sunbeams? Notice a difference?

And yes, I could have been less crude there. But on the flip side, I could also have been MORE crude.

Point is, I think it's important to differentiate between an instantaneous emotional reaction to something and your actual belief about the way life is. Mine don't always seem to connect, and it bugs me. It's like I have to take a step back, away from myself, and remind me that whatever is happenning, it is NOT FINAL.

After all, if death isn't final, what could life possibly hold that is?

Eden :)

Until I have children of my own, one particular little bright eyed bundle of joy has kinda captured my heart. Don't get me wrong, I'm not playing favorites here. But Eden Hope Swalm, all of one year old and change, is pretty much the girl in my life right now.

Today she gave me two wet kisses, right on the lips.

Not sure quite how to say this . . . not even really sure what I'm trying to say . . . but my view of what marital bliss is gonna look like has gone from my wife and I spending the first 5 years of our lives together globetrotting to . . . well, kinda having kids pretty early on. I'm not in a rush, and believe me, I've seen enough disobedient kids that I know it's not always sunshine and rainbows. I've heard Mike say more than once now though that his daughters have only enriched his marriage, blessed the family that started when he and Trish got married . . .

Did I mention she gave me a kiss? Two?

Mike, Trish, thank you for letting me be Uncle Greg. It's refreshing to take part in the innocent world of a child, especially when Bella ecstatically shows off how she has arranged her cozies, and Elena turns on the demo music on the keyboard just so she has "something beautiful to dance to".

Hope

For whatever reason, I find hope to be the most precious commodity I know. I realize Paul proclaims love to be the greatest of those three - faith, hope, love - but I guess I feel that since the 60s, we're all aware of love. Burt Bacharach keeps spinning in our collective head spaces, reminding us that the world needs love, and until musicians find a way to not cash in on love songs, I think we'll have more than enough audio fodder for our hearts.

But hope? Where are all the songs infused with hope, with inspiration, with something stubborn that not only rejects the status quo but offers something better? Where are the hearts that not only dare to dream, but dare to dream big and then LIVE big?

When I watch films, I usually watch them allegorically - that is, in the processing of what is transpiring on screen, I usually interpret the message in terms of how it relates to the big picture. What does William Wallace's fight against the English have to say about oppression and freedom to the world? How is Neo's fight in the Matrix synonymous with spiritual warfare? How does Forrest Gump remind us that no life is wasted when it is lived fully and deeply and innocently?

The character who has most captured my imagination, however, is Guido. Life really IS beautiful :) The lengths he goes to in order to keep his son's hope alive pulled at my heartstrings . . . and made me think that perhaps this is my great call in life. We all know this world is messed up. Last week, a crowd of people watched a 15 year old girl get raped for over two hours. There were 4 police officers at this homecoming dance. Joseph Kony and his men are still active in forcing children to fight for their Lord's Resistance Army, which includes the rape of many of the young girls. You can buy girls in SE Asia, some as young as 5 years old.

I don't say these things because I enjoy hearing about them. It makes me sick - and not metaphorically. My stomach churns, my blood boils. I'm angry. But the cure for violence is never more violence. It wouldn't do anyone any good to kill everyone who has taken advantage of another person (which is what violence is) . . . at least, that's not the cure God offers.

See, I'm not just angry. Or, at the least, this anger leads somewhere. Redemptive violence is shit - Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer are dead, but there are still serial killers. The 9/11 terrorists died in New York, but terrorism still exists. If you were to kill every single one of your enemies, you would still have enemies. Violence does not lead to peace.

There has to be a deeper change, one that no single person could hope to bring about, but that everyone is desperately needed for if it is to work. It won't take place on a national level, so forget about pleading with congress or parliament to change laws to protect "Christian culture". It's a grassroots movement that begins right here, right now, with the way we treat people every single day. Jesus didn't head to Jerusalem and stay there the majority of his time on earth. HE went out and lived among people, talked with them, laughed and cried with them. It was a personal ministry. We are not called to topple governments, to kill Muslims, to hate gays, to ban music, to bomb abortion clinics, or to harp on and on on our radio shows about how wrong other Christians are. None of these are mentioned in the gospel at all. No, we're told to make disciples, and you can't disciple those you hate, and you can't disciple ANYONE without a vision to leave them with.

I have this crazy vision of a world united in praise, striving to live lives that bring glory to God and are marked by concern and care for others, not because I think Christianity is so great, but because I think Christ is.

I don't want to be a part of a nationalized religion, or a group of dusty old academics fighting centuries old battles while the world slowly dies around them.

I want to be a part of this change that Jesus started and we are asked to continue.

Will you join me? Can I join you?

Korea

I think I'm going to teach in Korea for a year. Soon. Like, if I'm not there by this time next year, I prolly won't do it ever. The restlessness is growing, as well as this sense that I really want to settle down into a "family" life soon . . . so, my window for unabated travel is closing. Though, not gonna lie, the idea of traveling the first few years of married life seems superb. Met two people in Korea who did just that, and I kinda fell in love w the idea.

Also, I am craving legit kimchi and bulgogi. Not to mention sannakji. Mmmmmmmm still living octopus :) So wriggly, so good.

Elaboration . . .

For whatever reason, I feel like elaborating on why money can / does bug me so much.

I don't want to be wealthy - and since that term is a tricky one and wealth is relative, here's what I mean by it. I don't want to have more than I need. I don't want to have so much that I don't know what to do with it. I don't ever want to be a slave to making money just to try to satisfy a deep longing that cannot be filled by anything material.

And I don't want to be poor - by which I mean I don't want to have so little that I am left scrounging for every last cent, barely eking out an existence, my only thought from dawn till dusk being "where will I find food?" Though I wouldn't call poverty a sin ( and think its fairly stupid when others do), I fail to see it as a desirable condition for the majority of humanity. I don't think we should strive to be poor - I think we should recognize that our blessings are not evil, but that we are given them to bless others.

So . . . I desperately want to be a blessing to others. And I work hard so that I can be. Yet most of my adult life has been characterized by barely getting by, being behind on bill payments and loan payments, racking up debt, and being limited in my dreams by how much I make. And no, I don't think that God will just miraculously gift someone with a fortune (though it could happen) . . . rather, I think that if we are given the skills and the talents to work, than that is what we are called to do in order to acquire the money to BE the blessing. God has blessed us with the ability to work, and so we work, and so we are rewarded for our work, and so we surrender our claims to "our" money and let God use it. And so I embrace work.

It's frustrating, though, because nothing that I have planned for "my" money is evil. There is a short list of people that I plan on giving significant portions to, there is the matter of my student loan and further education, and there is a couple creditors who would love to see some dough. I have cut back on leisure, recreation, eating out, eating in, and at times, eating. I work hard every day I go to work, and just want to feel like I'm moving in the right direction.

Y'know, it's not so much the money as what I guess it all says about me as a man. I feel like I should be able to take care of at least THIS area of my life, that I should at LEAST be able to make enough to break even.

Proverbs 30:7-9 . . . pretty much sums up how I feel.

Just some thoughts . . .

Hey

Nothing too organized tonight - just putting some thoughts on paper.

- I want kids. Like, yesterday. I so very much want to be a father. Mike and Trish are good enough to let me spend enough time with their kids to make me feel "fatherly" ( or is it unclely?). Heart melting moment this week - dropping Eden off at the nursery and seeing her smile and say "buh bye!" to me.

- I hate money. I hate the control it seems to have over my life ( or, more accurately, the lack of control I have over it.) It's not that I'm broke or desperate or in dire straits - it's just that money seems to dictate my choices far more often than I would like.

- Anthony and I picked up some Christmas stuff to decorate our place with. Pretty stoked, cuz I've always had a bit of a love hate relationship with Christmas . . . wrote a poem about it called Bittersweet Holiday that I've attempted to turn into a song, but the lyrics don't resonate as much anymore, and so I gave up. Bottom line - I'm looking forward to this Christmas, probably more so than any other.

- Anthony is my roomate, not my lover. My exuberance as we were purchasing our stuff tonight might have come acroos to another Superstore patron as homosexual in nature, but I can assure it is not. I call it "our" place because we just happen to share a delightful little TWO BEDROOM basement suite.

- I am about to nod off.

Peas and Carrots . . .

Oh my heart . . .

I love Forrest Gump so much. Just finished watching it. Anthony and I started it, went out for a bit tonight, and came back to find Spike had it on AGAIN, and that it was roughly at the same point as when we left. So, we finished it.

Forrest and Jenny and their story resonate so strongly in my life. Though I would be loath to equate myself entirely with Tom Hanks' character (who is far simpler and loves more freely than I think I ever shall), there is the beauty of the way he approaches the people around him that I hope I have captured a little. Jenny is always his girl, and nothing can change that. And anytime the two of them are together, it is like peas and carrots . . .

A lot of what I think I'd like to say here hasn't been expressed too openly for a long time by me, mainly because I just didn't know what I felt or, sometimes, how to feel. And I've grown up enough that I no longer wish to recreate another person's story, lovely though it may be. I'm living out a pretty amazing story of my own, complete with love, sadness, joy, sorrow, heartache, triumph, discovery, wonder, and beauty . . .

And though I am more in love with Jesus than yesterday (and hopefully will come to love him more tomorrow), there are people I miss . . . people who just get me, who know me deeply because of a shared intimacy that no one else in the world may ever comprehend. I miss my family like this . . . and I do such a horrible job of keeping in touch. Hmmm. Gonna have to change that.

There are others, who have travelled this road with me for a season, the Bubbas and Lt. Dans and others, who are missed in their own way. And there is Jenny, who, if the past provides any hope for the future, I will see again.

Life is Beautiful :)

Oh, and the foots not broken . . . that I know of. Still hurts though.

Days off . . .

I rarely admit boredom. But to give those of you who know me a bit of an idea of how bored I am, I started cleaning my room a few minutes ago. Thankfully, the idea of blogging came up, and so this will busy me for the forseeable future.

An injured foot sucks. Everything I enjoy doing involves my feet - drumming, basketball, not sitting on my ass all day. And I'd usually take a day like today as an opportunity to get out and see some people, but the car be dead.

So.

Rather than bitch about it, Ima start looking for opportunities here. I DID just pick up some Tolkien I've never read, and I DO need to get going on my paper for school, and I DO need to finish / start my novel.

Somehow, a banged up foot can make it hard to focus on any of those, let alone walk. Oy.

I love working. I don't really care what it is, but I love being dog tired after a day of manual labour. If I do become an addictions / marriage counsellor, I think I'm going to need a heavy dose of physical exertion weekly just so I feel good and tired at times. Sick days, injured days? Write offs . . . I'd rather have done overtime. C'est la vie.

There is something good and holy about work . . . it is deeply fulfilling, or should be, and dare I say, it is worship. God created work long before Lucifer created disobedience, and so it's not inherently bad but inherently GOOD.

I'm not sure if I have a point, and if I do, I'm not sure what it is. Also, it's time to ice the foot. Later.

Julia and the Waiting Room

I'll do one of the morals of today's story right now - don't drop heavy objects on your foot. It doesn't matter if you're wearing steel toes if the object is dropped even a mere inch behind it.

My foot might be broken - x-rays come back on friday - and until then, rest and ice are the doctor's orders. At any rate, this backdrop serves to explain how I found myself at the Glenmore Landing offices of MYK Radiology, where, as divine appointment would have it, I ran into Julia. More correctly, I was already sitting and waiting to be called when she walked in.

We've all been in waiting rooms, right? No one says boo to anyone else, you rarely establish eye contact with anyone, and it's considered rude to talk louder than a whisper . . . and you BETTER not be talking to yourself when you DO whisper.

I'm not one for societal norms. My rather loud " HI GUYS!" to the full waiting room was met with the expected quick, stern looks, followed by equally quick averting of the gaze lest my eyes burn a hole in their cranial space. Death by occular combustion. I wish I had that power. So, sensing that no one was in the talking mood, I provided ny info, took an empty seat ( THE empty seat), and proceeded to stare at the wall. I wanted to know what everyone else found so interesting.

HEre's my thing : there were about 7 of us there in this tiny waiting room, all made in the image of God, all incredibly wonderful in our own unique way, with stories of our OWN lives that would fill a few eternities each . . . and we sat there like rocks, saying nothing. In the words of BRad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds - " That, I cannot abide."

So when Julia walked in, I decided that her and I would play a game. She seemed young enough to be trusting and old enough to have sat in enough waiting rooms to be as tired as I was of this whole silent treatment.

Staring at her until I knew she knew that I KNEW she knew I was trying to say soemthing, I did.

" Wanna play a game of I Spy?"

And so began a delightful 15 minute conversation ranging from how we hurt ourselves to where we're from to our views on the rules of I spy ( she took offense to the fact that I had said "blue" and guessed my own eyes . . . apparently if you can't see it, you can't guess it. Boo.) It was fun, it was joyous . . . it was refreshingly human.

I dare anyone who reads this to start a conversation in a traditional "no conversation zone" . . . be it a doctor's waiting room, a line at a cash register or ATM, a red light while walking, or any other place where we try our best to ignore the wonderful creations beside us and focus really really hard on how impatient we are to get out of wherever we happen to be.

Take it as an opportunity to get to know someone that God loves very very much . . . maybe you'll discover what He sees in them :)

Lost in a Crowd pt 2 . . . .

For as long as I can remember (which, if you're the location of my keys, isn't long at all), I have longed to not be forgotten. I have yearned to leave a legacy. I love graveyards, not because I have a morbid fascination with the dead, but because what is written on the tombstone is meant to encapsulate an entire life. It is telling to see what family has chosen to write there.

I love hearing people talk about their loved ones as well, especially in their absence. It paints quite an accurate pictuere of who that person really is. What's the saying? Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you the kind of person you are? We are known by the company we keep . . .

And yet . . .

Here it is again. No matter how deep my relationship is with anyone, it can never be as deep as what I yearn for. See, I want to be remembered, but the things I am most remembered for are not necessarily indicative of who I am, because a soul is a rather infinite thing. It's how we are made in the image of an infinite God. And that is the part of me that is most truly me, this deep part that is there behind every action I take, every word I say, every thought and emotion. It is the symphony of my life - these individual pieces coming together to create beautiful music.

Most of the time, I only catch a couple bars of someone else's song. And most of the time, I feel that's all that is caught of mine. Sometimes, though, you meet people, and it's like there song just echoes deeply with yours.

And you feel
A little
Less lost
In
The crowd.

To people who make me feel at home, thank you. You know who you are :)

Dear Friend, Take Care of You

You know who you are. I mean that in two ways - you know that I am addressing you right now, and no one else in the world, though they are invited to read this. And you know who YOU are - you know you are the daughter of a king, you know you are precious. Please continue to live with the weight of this knowledge guiding your steps . . .

This song is my prayer for us, no matter what. See you soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dohj2QAdzs&feature=related


You thought of us before the world began to breathe
You knew our names before we came to be
You saw the very day we fall away from you
and how desperately we need to be redeemed

lord jesus
come lead us
we're desperate for your touch

Oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us

Spirit of the living God fall fresh again
come search our hearts and puify our lives
we need your perfect love we need your discipline
we're lost unless you guide us with your light

lord jesus
come lead us
we're desperate for your touch

Oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us

we cry out for your life to revive us cry out
for your love to define us cry out
for your mercy to keep us
blameless until you return

oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us



So reign please reign in us
come purify our hearts
we need your touch
come cleanse us like a flood
and set us out
so the world may know you reign you reign in us

Lost in a Crowd . . . . pt 1

When I was 5 years old, my family, as they often did, went to the Paris Fair in September. Not at all unlike other fairs in SW Ontario, there were Ferris Wheels, Merry Go Rounds, Cotton Candy, Fun Houses, and other rides. I was walking along with my dad, going back to where the rest of my family was, when I got kinda distracted by the crazy mirrors just inside the Fun House. Now, if you've ever gone out in public with me, but especially at a store of any kind, you'll know I wander. I've never outgrown that . . . at any rate, there I was , wandering around. It occurred to me seconds after I tried talking to him that my dad wasn't around anymore. So I did what any knee high 5 year old would do. I cried. I remember running around, desperate to find my daddy. The whole ordeal couldn't have taken more than 3 or 4 minutes, but it was an eternity. I remember being swooped up into two of the biggest, safest arms my five year old mind could think of, and then burying my head in my dad's chest and letting the tears flow . . .

When I was 15, I started playing basketball at the high school I attended. I was a proud Norwich District High School Knight. I wasn't all that good at basketball . . . in fact, I rarely played. The two defining moments of that year for me were almost losing to a team from the elementary school . . . and , foreshadowing the rest of my extracurricular activities, waiting to be picked up. It wasn't out of the ordinary to be waiting 2 or three hours for dad . . . and pre cell phone, w no taxi service in Norwich, there wasn't another option. Also, the thought in the back of my teen aged head was - what if he comes while I'm walking home? What then?

I don't say this because I'm trying to lash out at my dad - I'm not angry or hurt about it anymore, and he's been forgiven of any wrongs. Rather, it's because memories like these, along with a number of deaths in my formative years and probably a few other things, have conspired together to create in me an acute fear of abandonment. It's probably my biggest fear, and one I don't readily acknowledge. I'm so scared that at any moment, everyone or anyone who matters to me will be gone, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Most often, I feel like I'm the cause somehow, and though this could be true in some cases, it's hardly absolute. But that knowledge does little to comfort me most times.

So, though I've been blessed with some remarkable friendships along this journey, I rarely treasure them for what they are in the moment, and spend time mourning their eventual loss even while being immersed fully in them. It's weird, I know. I write this cuz I don't think I'm the only one who does it.

It's funny - I was gonna go a whole other route with that first story. Was gonna talk about how it's like how God is always searching for us and hears our call. Funny how things work themselves out sometimes. More thoughts tomorrow . . .

What is this Loneliness?

I have just said goodnight to five of my closest friends. We're small in number but big in love, and I am so blessed to know them. I have other friends that I have known longer and deeper, and perhaps am closer to, but that doesn't change how much I look forward to spending time with Josh, Mike, Krista, Dave, and Nikayla each week.

I have just said good night to them.

And I am lonely.

This is funny, because I have a roommate now - Anthony. Love that guy. The usual unease I would feel at being at my house by myself at night is gone a bit because , well, I'm not alone. But in a few short minutes, I will crawl under my covers and curl up to . . . my body pillow. I want to say good night to someone, want someone to be there at the end of the day . . . want to WAKE UP to her. And it's not that I don't say good night to God, greet Him with my morning breath each morning (than question his decision to make the imbeciles that usually populate my morning commute . . . oh patience. JK. I love all those idiot motorists. For real.)

But, well . . . you can't snuggle with God. I don't mind being really open and vulnerable about this, because for the most part, I'm fairly self sufficient. But there is this part of me that yearns for the kind of closeness I see others able to enjoy. I feel a bit unworthy of it at times - like somehow those who are married have deserved it, while I don't. There is a lot I feel that I don't deserve . . . again, this sinking feeling of having failed before being such a final thing is hard to get around. Nights like this, I feel like I've plateaued . . . that I've already hit the climax of my life, and that ultimately, there is nowhere to go but down from here. It frightens me to think that I had a shot at something great, something worthwhile . . . that vocationally and relationally, I have already experienced the best that life has to offer.

I feel like settling. I feel restless. I feel that it's hard to see the holy sometimes - it's not that i don;t think it exists, just that it's hard to see it. My past haunts me - I talked with a member of the youth group I had pastored, and it was a pleasant surprise . . . pleasant because I have and will always love this individual, and surprise because I didn't think I would talk to her again . . . I don't think I deserve it. Everything I wanted and tried to be as a pastor seems like a whole other person. Sometimes I wish I could rewind life and do things a little differently.

It feels a lot like it's going to be one of those nights that I just don't sleep . . . I don't feel like it, probably won't be able to. It's not that I don't enjoy the people I've come to met since moving here, and it's not that I don't love my life in Calgary. My life just feels so fragmented . . . so much like I humpty Dumptied it, and the pieces no longer fit.

There isn't a single person who has seen all of my life, who I have shared a significant length of time with. And when I say my life, I don't mean all 26 years . . . the first 18 are hard to decipher. Everything before my dad went to jail is a blur, like someone else lived it. It's really only the last 8 years or so that seem to matter, and even in that, there isn't a lot of chunks that have been lived with the same person or group of people.

The big things that happened when I was in New Brunswick mean nothing to all but one person I see regularly now . . . the highs of the Angelos tour are lost on those I usually talk to. If I say RIP! while driving, there are four people who will get it, and I haven't seen them for almost 18 months. Flying a kite means a lot to me and one person who peed herself laughing about it, but she's not here. And relating anything about my life in Calgary to my mom or sisters is weird because , well, they aren't here and don't get it - and i don't get most of their stories.

I feel that what i want is impossible, but that I can't stop wanting it. I don't even know how to put it into words. I want someone just to know me, and I KNOW, I KNOW, it's You . . . but You don't grace me with a physical presence. And no, the whole "my people are me with skin on" line of thought is little solace, God. I want to see You, talk to You, hold your hand . . . and not metaphorically, but ACTUALLY. Wrestle me like you wrestled the liar - he's not better than I , is he?

Though little of what I have written indicates it, I am content for right now. Just restless. Impatient. Waiting.

And a little lonely.

Good night.

Living with Regrets . . . . What I Meant to Do.

Hey

If you're reading this, than you, like me, have probably done something that you regret doing. I was perusing an old friend's blog when I came across her thoughts on what she meant to say . . . and if she's reading this, perhaps she may think that I write solely to impress something on her mind. Though that isn't without merit, the truth is is that I'm so tired of living a mask. I want to be known, and there are things to know about me that aren't that pretty, but they are me, and I make no apologies for sharing them. More and more, it seems silence is the enemy.

I'm not a virgin. I'm not proud of it at all. It's a source of great shame for me, because I so desperately wanted to be a lot of things that my dad wasn't - wanted our stories to be as different as possible. What I meant to do was wait till I was married and have ridiculously awkward honeymoon sex that left us both alternately laughing, crying, and amorous. What I meant to do was never kiss a girl unless I loved her, or could at least back that kiss up with the significance of relationship that that act represented. What I meant to do was never, EVER, touch a girl anywhere I wouldn't want a guy touching my sisters. What I meant to do was to be someone who any female friend of mine could trust, knowing I'd never hurt them. What I meant to do was only have sex with one person my whole life.

Good intentions, right? Absolutely useless, though, unless lived out. There's this guy that I strongly believe I am, and he's this hodge podge mix and match of William Wallace, Luke from Gilmore Girls, Maximus from Gladiator, Creasy from Man on Fire, and the dude from Life is Beautiful, Aragorn from LOTR. I'm a fighter, and though I absolutely love wrestling and punching and being knocked out by a man I respect as a physical equal, it's more of a fighting against hopelessness and worthlessness that I find myself locked into. I'm a protector - there are precious things in this world that one does not fuck with, and woe to the one who does. I'm dependable - anytime you need help, I'm here, with whatever help I can offer. I am noble of thought and deed, an inspiration, a leader. I'm laughter and joy and love and delight personified. It's a crazy mix, and I love being me.

But

Some of my actions don't back up claiming to be this guy. And depending on who you are, maybe MOST of my actions don't look like him at all . . .

There are many things I've done that I regret, and by and large, most have to do with how I have treated women in general and one very special woman in particular. Regret is useless, however, in and of itself. I don't think it's enough to just be sorry for doing / not doing something . . . and so, I press on, shaped by but not chained to my past, until little by little, who I'm known for being looks more like who I am than who I've been.

Oh Life . . .

I often like to think I have things figured out, or, at the very least, have a bit of an idea about what's going on around me. Gregory means watchful or observant, and for the most part, I feel like I do a decent job of cluing in to people's emotional states. Political trends, cultural phenomena and their sociological implications, blah blah blah . . . . without sounding ridiculously full of myself, I feel like I'm aware.

Now

When it comes to my own life, I'm a little blind. Blind and in the dark. Blind, in the dark, without a sense of hearing or touch. I lack perception and clarity. What I think is a good idea often turns out to be a bad one. What I thought would be the worst thing to do is often the path I should have taken. Slow learner? Perhaps. I'm more than a little stubborn, and just sure enough of myself to persuade myself that my gut instinct is the way to go.

Of course, here's where the plot thickens. Nothing is final in life, and so perhaps what now appears to be a good idea when at first I thought it was bad is in FACT a bad idea. Oy. Reminds me of that Chinese parable about the father who cautions his son not to too quickly ascribe good or evil to events. We never know how they will end.

Manifesto

Currently listening to : Hoppipolla

Current mood : Focused / Anticipatory


K - heads up. This is gonna be jumbled a bit. I think.

I talk a lot. I realize I'm adding to that by just talking here, but I feel like I say some things without fully thinking through what it's going to look like to live them out.

Before I say a whole lot more, know that I honestly believe everyone has a purpose on this rock, and that that purpose is tied in to our deepest desires - that both are given to us by the same God, and He's not in the business of misleading people. And the desires, these deep things, it's not the desire for monetary stability or comforts or even success . . . there is a kind of comfort, a kind of success that we long for, and it haunts us in the wee hours, tugs at our heart, plagues our dreams, but in a good way. Our deep desire is seen in how we envision our future, and in how we think of ourselves in relation to others. When we watch a movie and see something of what we desire in the story that unfolds on the screen, we find ourselves longing for it, nebulous though it may be.

Also, bloggers and blogging used to piss me off. I've kept a journal for a while, and there is stuff in there I don't want anyone to see - I used to think blogging was journaling, but less private; I envisioned bloggers as attention starved depressed losers living in someone's basement.

Oh irony. I am living in a basement. Though I need attention just like anyone else, I no longer am desperate for it. I'm not depressed, though I find my heart breaking quite a bit when I see our broken world (and me as a broken person). And what follows is not everything there is to know about me.

My own deep desires look a little something like this :

. I want to be used to help ease suffering, particularly of those who have been raped and abused, and especially children who have been traumatized in this way. I have a special burden for the invisible children of Uganda and Sudan, and for the sex slaves of SE Asia.

. I want to belong - I long to fit in. I don't want to do this alone. Though I am not a violent man and find a lot about war to dislike, one thing I appreciate about the military and anyone I know who is in it is a sense of togetherness. No one goes it alone. You need the soldier to your left and right. And if we aren't in a war as Christ - followers, then I wonder if we are following Christ. I want to chase my dreams with people whose hearts break in the same way.

. I don't just want to rescue from past experiences - I want to usher in something new and better. I don't want to wait until I am in Thailand or Sudan to be useful - I want to embrace my own usefulness right here, right now, in Calgary.


Maybe I'll fail along the way. But more and more, I'm starting to see failure not as a goal not reached, but a goal never attempted - not as a unlived dream, but an undreamt one.

It's gonna be a fun ride.

G

The Futility of words . . . .

Sometimes I feel this overwhelming urge to get whats in, out. And whenever I try to, I run into one huge obstacle, which, coincidentally, is the very means by which I wish to convey my thoughts - words. While they are a useful tool in describing the concrete ( or at least, our agreed upon definitions of the concrete), they fail to adequately paint the whole picture when talking of the abstract.

Through the window, you can see the mountains, and though they look majestic, it pales in comparison to actually being at Lake Louise, standing near the water, feeling the mountain air on your cheeks, smelling how fresh it is, seeing the whole thing through your eyes and your eyes only, and then on another level, experiencing the emotions that such a sight would evoke in you.

No matter how hard I try, my best attempts at writing end up a lot like this picture - it's nice, and we can see something beautiful perhaps, but you sense there is more to it than what you have in front of you.

C'est la vie.

Oh the fall . . . .

Currently Listening to: Michelle Featherstone's Careful

This is gonna hurt, if it ever ends
But somehow you have shattered my defence
This is gonna hurt, if it ever starts
So promise you'll be careful with my heart


Current mood: Reflective / mellow / sentimental



I love the fall. Anyone who has spent more than a few seconds with me recently has probably heard me say it. I love change, and I'm rather sentimental for the most part, and so of all the seasons, fall is the most accurate representation of my inner state. Also, there's usually an abundance of orange.

I love orange.

I don't know why I haven't been able to shake it - though I suspect it has something to do with 17 years of school starting in the fall - but September always makes me think of starting new, starting fresh. I'm by and large far more optimistic in the fall, and it's easier to let stuff roll off my back. I tend to start new things with greater gusto in the fall, and launch into a new frame of mind easier. Summer finds me rather intellectually drab and emotionally impulsive - whatever I feel like doing, I do, regardless . . . whereas the fall finds me a more calculating Greg, no less willing to take risks, but far more likely to plan for a fail should the risk not pan out.

For whatever reason, that's not really the case this year. There's a restlessness that has pervaded my sincerest efforts at comfort that I can't shake, nor do I think I want to. Like I said, I love change, but find myself in something of a routine. Routine is the illusion that feeds our sense of safety, and as much as I love this world and the people in it, it is far from safe - especially for the tenderhearted. Love is a risk, and it's impossible to have a tender heart that breaks for the things that break God's heart without loving.

If there is a point where I begin to risk less and become more conservative in my approach to life, I believe I'm hitting it. I don't ever want to give up on my big dreams, but I think there are some things that require more maturity than I've given them credit for. I want to love big, everyday - and of all the seasons, fall is when I most feel like just giving the world a hug. But . . . after a while, when it doesn't hug back, it rarely seems worth it. Maybe it's time to be a bit more selective with love?

A heart is a precious, fragile thing . . . be careful with yours, and, if anyone ever gives you theirs, be doubly careful. It's a living thing, though, so don't wall it in. A Miss Havisham is a horrible fate.

What if I stumble?

I have the awesome privilege of preaching this sunday at Abundant Life, the local assembly I'm a part of. I'm stoked, mainly because I love having conversations about God and faith and life, and I hate being interrupred or ignored. Preaching is a good way for at least one of those to happen.

In all seriousness . . . I'm a little scared. It's not the public speaking - I was born to be behind a microphone. It's not that I don't think I'm worthy to be a conduit, a vessel, a prophet. I fully recognize I'm not.

I think it's what preaching means to me, and particularly, what the message that is brewing means if I take it seriously.

What does the Eucharist REALLY mean? What kind of life am I called to? Do I have what it takes to live that kind of life? And slightly more scary - what is the basis I claim to be able to partake of the eucharist? What gives me the right to chose to identify with Christ in a solitary act, but not with my life?

What if I stumble? What if I fall flat on my face after exhorting a congregation to live boldly for the one who boldly gave His life? I don't plan on it, but . . . will I still be loved if I'm not perfect?

Living Loved.

To those who have just had the pleasure of getting to know me within the past 5 months or so, this may not seem so shocking. And perhaps it isn't all that shocking even to those who have known me longer. This last little season ( I love that word for its ambiguous length of time ) of my life has been marked by a lot of hard lessons, especially in the area of relationships. Not with any particular person per se, but more my general approach to them. Lot of learning . . . probably the biggest lesson is learning to live loved.

The reality of who I am from God's point of view is that I'm His son. He loves me. He has never not loved me. None of His actions toward me are motivated by anything other than love.

I can say these words easily, mentally process what the different phrases mean, and even have my emotions stirred by them . . . but to live like it? To live like Yahweh Himself CARES? To live a life that doesn't have to prove its own worth, but can rest in the worthiness that Someone Else declares when He looks at me?

It's tough. I LOVE proving myself. I YEARN for moments when I can show what I'm made of. I LIVE for the times when I'm asked to step up, and am able to do so. I love challenges - sure, I'll bitch and moan like the next guy, but deep down, I secretly dream of moments where my strength, my courage, all that I am, everything with in me is desperately needed. I love coming through, against the odds.

With God's love, I'm not really asked to do anything other than be loved.

Be still, and know that I am God . . .

Which is what I intend to do as soon as I post this - I appreciate moments when I can. True, more often than not I'd rather surround myself with people . . . and perhaps it becomes a salvation of sorts. For in the silence, in the still of night, no matter if you're married, living with someone, or single, at some point, it's just you and Him. What do you say to the One who knows not only what you're going to say, but also what you REALLY mean by it? What do you do with that terrible knowledge that He sees all AND LOVES YOU STILL? What is our response?

And, honestly, why can't You just give me something to DO?

Anytime I've taken the time to just do nothing, to just be still, there is a recharging, refocusing, re-filling up of whatever the substance is that God fills us with. There's something so deep and profound that transpires that I dare not try to use words to convey, for fear of desecrating it. Whatever it is, it makes it a little easier to live loved - not just by God, but by the ones I love myself.

Home . . . .

My mom is coming out to see me this Friday . . . she'll be here for just under a week. So pumped - I love my mom so much. From her reserves of strength that I'm sure she doesn't think exist to her quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) convictions on Who God is and what He is up to, to her ability to speak peace into my chaos, she is wonderful.

My buddy Mike and I had a conversation a few months ago about the theology of place - we were talking about a potential trip to Israel. Though I may be taking liberties with the idea, it got me thinking about just how significant geography is to me, how certain places carry a sense of weightiness because of the significance of what has happened there.

Southern Ontario, for the most part, is a place of shattered dreams and brokenness to me, and so though I spent my formative years there, I am loath to call it home. Calgary is home now due to the fact that I live here, but other than a handful of people who mean the world to me and provide a reason to stay, it's not really home. Owen Sound IS home, as my family is there, but I haven't been for longer than 3 months over the past 5 years.

People make a place home for me. Mike and Trish, Bella, Elena and Eden, Dayna and Asher, Trev and Rachel - these are friends so close they are family. Mom, Kara and Byron, Annalies, Erika . . . they make Owen Sound seem like home whenever I am there.

But for all the depth of human connection, I find my heart yearning for a place that has never been yet, only promised. Some days feel like Superman pining for Krypton - "a home I'll never see". Other days are so transcendent I feel I'm already there.

Until then, I find my home in the hearts of those who I've come to know and love, cherish and treasure, wherever they may be on God's green earth - soon to be restored.

Who Needs Air . . . ?

I long to taste adventure
Like the nature of the Sea
Always moving , always hiding
All the creatures underneath
Singing silent songs of sadness
My heart waits for its chance
To dance upon the ashes of
My burnt up little plans
And I

Stand alone before the night
My nakedness is so clear
In the glow of the moonlight
Life is old
But so short
We are young
We want more


Hey all . . . first verse / bridgey part of a song called Who Needs Air by The Classic Crime. It's been floating around my headspace for a bit this past season. It captures a bit of the heart cry I've got, this almost desperate need to live a life of substance and adventure and meaning and depth. I don't want to live for myself at all - life is SO MUCH BETTER SHARED! My heart DOES long for a chance to dance upon those ashes, to embrace the mystery and ambiguity of life and love and friendships and faith and God. I used to have this whole "knowledge is power" approach to life - if I knew God better, if I knew my own worth, if I knew what it was to have "arrived", if I knew I was financially and relationally secure . . . ad naseum.

But the thing is, the whole nature of life is that we don't know. I don't know what will happen this week. That doesn't mean we adopt some twisted form of fatalism and resign ourselves to a future we can never control; rather, I say rejoice that you can't. Who wants to anyway? It's too safe.

Some reading this may know my own rather deep heartaches and hurts and wounds. If this is you, then perhaps you would expect Greg to want to build those walls around his life, to never let anyone in, to never be hurt again. Follow me on this though - and I could be wrong, so think it through and post a comment. The desire to control the future, which often manifests itself as a manipulating of people , is the exact source of pain that leads to a wanting to control the future, thus avoiding that pain. A bit much?

Let's say you've been rejected by a lover. You promise yourself that that will never happen to you again. You'll never let anyone else hurt you like that as long as you live. You meet someone - they seem wonderful, you hit it off, there's a potential for real and deep relationship. You get scared - what if I get hurt. In a desire to not allow that potential future to happen, you reject your beau. Push him/her away. It doesn't mean you leave them per se, but there are sealed areas of your life they aren't allowed into, no matter how much they have proved they aren't going anywhere. Maybe you do leave them. The wound that you so intensely defend against becomes the wound that you inflict on someone else, all because you want to prevent something that may never happen.

There are other examples, but this will have to suffice for now. Burn up some of your little plans. Embrace the mystery. Let your heart be surprised. And, more than anything, break that cycle of hurt.