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.