Sup (kept that up longer than I thought . . . )
I'm not sure how much sense this is going to make, but I need to get it out now or I'll forget all about it. I'm wishing I hadn't forgotten my Bible at Asher and Dayna's, but here's where I am . . .
I am tired. The past 4 or 5 nights, I haven't got more than a few hours sleep . . . I'm hoping tonight is different, because I really need it.
Mike, one of my best friends and my pastor, is going through a sermon series with us entitled Reawaken Imagination. We're ogoing through the book of Colossians, and I gotta say, it's inspired some stuff in me. And this is happening in conjunction w my daily chats with Peggy, who I would say is one of the most compassionate and loving people I know, except for the fact that she's really an angel. Her and I go through some stuff that I don't think I'd blog about, not because I don't want people to know, but just because it's so hard to put into words for me.
At any rate, I'm guessing the lack of sleep is due to both of these things . . .
Today in church, Mike was stating that we usually operate asa dichotomy - I think he used the term dichotomously, which may or may not be real. And there were a few things he was saying that really hit home for me in this current season of healing.
I used to make salvation such a one sided thing - that all it entailed was salvation from a certain destiny and some warm and fuzzies while you talk to God in the present. FOr the rest, you were on your own. But my imagination was so small . . . here's how Mike put it . . . when we are in darkness, we can't even imagine what light might look like. And when we hear someone who is operating from the kingdom of light talk about their dreams, we don't get it - we CAN'T. It's only as God takes of the blinders, so t ospeak, and we see the light, that things start to come into focus . . . when we are operating from a place of darkness, even our best thoughts are going to be dark.
For me, this means that these areas of my heart that have been off limits to God, that in my own dark imaginations will ALWAYS be some certain way, are now open to Him to shine light into. There are things that worried me that just don't as much anymore - because all I could imagine was something dark.
Now, if it sounds like I'm using dark to mean "unsaved" or something similar to that, I'm not. Again, my view of salvation has changed - it's such a process, not an event. And the being transformed by the renewing of our mind? That doesn't just happen once, but more and more every day.
Part of me feels so stupid for not seeing this all before, and the other part is a little softer on me and says, "really, Greg, you didn;t know any better." And with that thought in mind, I'm going to try to go easier on those whose imaginations are still being redeemed and reawakend, all the while celebrating this freedom with people who "get" it . . .
So, if you're out there reading this and feel like you know what I'm getting at, drop me a line. I don't care if we haven't talked for years or if we were never really close, or if we've just recently fought, or if I've annoyed the ever lovign crap out of you at some point . . . the point is, everything is being redeemed and restored and made right . . . and I don't think I've ever been this excited to follow Jesus . . . which is funny, because if you just look on the outside of my life, I've never been at a more hopeless spot. Such is the economics of the kingdom apparently.
1.31.2010
1.29.2010
Everything that Has a Beginning Has an End
'Sup.
I have a little confession - I am haunted by the prospect of things ending. And I don't have anything specific in mind - I am haunted by ANYTHING ending.
But the truth is, our very existence is made up of one moment in time ending while another begins, a continual chain of starts and stops that commences at conception and faithfully runs its course until death.
I was a little sad that I made a final entry in my journal. I'm still going to journal, but that particular book that has been with me since I was a youth pastor in Leamington, ON three years ago is now done.
I kinda hate it when movies end.
As a kid, nothing irked me more than to have an otherwise perfect dream interrupted by waking up.
I loathe good byes.
Now, I have a collection of instances in time, memories that I treasure, that I refer to as eternal instants. I copped the name from Max Lucado (in the unlikely event that you are reading this, Max, please don't sue . . . and feel free to comment!) When I think of these times, it's like I could stay in that moment forever and be perfectly content, perfectly at peace with who I am and the world around me. Most involve just God and me, and those have a separate little compartment in my brain that I call Glimpses of Eternity . . . and for the other eternal Instants with people, I find myself longing to create more of them with those particular people. The ones who have died will have to wait for now, but as for those who are yet alive . . .
It kinda gnaws at my heart to know that someone whose presence I treasure so much in my life, who is a part of so many of my Eternal Instants, could never be a part of them ever again. And regardless of what may have happened in the past, there is enough forgiveness to cover any injustice, real or imagined. It may not be easy, and it may not be the safest thing, but for those people who I have been close to who are no longer currently in my life, not a day goes by where I don't want to laugh and take delight in life with them.
Part of my brain acknowledges that some people are only in our lives for a season, and most of my heart mourns this . . .
My usual reaction is to fight against an inevitable farewell . . . but lately, I guess I've been open to the brevity of all things. It's the great hope of eternity, that all be will made right, and all will BE right , forever.
Kinda can't wait . . .
I have a little confession - I am haunted by the prospect of things ending. And I don't have anything specific in mind - I am haunted by ANYTHING ending.
But the truth is, our very existence is made up of one moment in time ending while another begins, a continual chain of starts and stops that commences at conception and faithfully runs its course until death.
I was a little sad that I made a final entry in my journal. I'm still going to journal, but that particular book that has been with me since I was a youth pastor in Leamington, ON three years ago is now done.
I kinda hate it when movies end.
As a kid, nothing irked me more than to have an otherwise perfect dream interrupted by waking up.
I loathe good byes.
Now, I have a collection of instances in time, memories that I treasure, that I refer to as eternal instants. I copped the name from Max Lucado (in the unlikely event that you are reading this, Max, please don't sue . . . and feel free to comment!) When I think of these times, it's like I could stay in that moment forever and be perfectly content, perfectly at peace with who I am and the world around me. Most involve just God and me, and those have a separate little compartment in my brain that I call Glimpses of Eternity . . . and for the other eternal Instants with people, I find myself longing to create more of them with those particular people. The ones who have died will have to wait for now, but as for those who are yet alive . . .
It kinda gnaws at my heart to know that someone whose presence I treasure so much in my life, who is a part of so many of my Eternal Instants, could never be a part of them ever again. And regardless of what may have happened in the past, there is enough forgiveness to cover any injustice, real or imagined. It may not be easy, and it may not be the safest thing, but for those people who I have been close to who are no longer currently in my life, not a day goes by where I don't want to laugh and take delight in life with them.
Part of my brain acknowledges that some people are only in our lives for a season, and most of my heart mourns this . . .
My usual reaction is to fight against an inevitable farewell . . . but lately, I guess I've been open to the brevity of all things. It's the great hope of eternity, that all be will made right, and all will BE right , forever.
Kinda can't wait . . .
1.27.2010
Of Latte Art and Wendy's, Strangers on the Bus and God Moments
'Sup. That's my totally gangsta way that I'm going to start every blog (or at least this one).
I realize i use ellipsises (ellipses? those crazy triple dot things) too often in my titles, so Ima switch it up and let the title be a little bit about how my day was.
First, the Latte Art . . . (DAMN it - there they are again)
K, so I work at a cafe. And while I love meeting people and serving them stuff, I like to think most people who come through the door are a lot like me - laid back, chilled out, and I just want what I ordered in a timely fashion. However, I happen to work for someone who is obsessed with Latte Art. And really, he's my superior, so he gets to call the shots. I'm not complaining about that - I'm not really complaining at all - but it's interesting to me that I can't serve a single drink unless that latte art is perfect. And if it's not? I throw it out.
Understand, I hate waste with a passion. My dear Oma instilled in me a heightened sense of how blessed I am to be able to CHOOSE what I want to eat. And if I put it on my plate, I'd better eat it, or Oma would find a way to make me.
I feel a little ashamed that I throw away a luxury drink just because the heart I made with steamed milk is not perfectly shaped.
However, if I didn't work at Waves, then today would not have unfolded the way it did. I would not have had a chance to give someone a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. And yes, fast food is bad for you and there are healthier food options - but I'm on a rather tight budget ( zero dollars set aside for food), and so when I have a chance to bless someone with what little I DO have, it's not gonna be any organic junk. Sorry.
For the record, he loved it. His face lit up like Christmas, and the little prayer I had been praying the whole time I was in the Wendy's near the bus stop came true - the bus didn't come until we had time to share our little meal together and chat a bit.
Also, if I didn't work at Waves, I wouldn't have met Shelley, who is in the Music Program at Ambrose (the Christian Liberal Arts University right beside us at Waves), and who happened to be on the same first bus that I was on. Can't remember how the conversation got there, but we ended up talkign about heaven . . . maybe it's two pilgrims sharing thoughts about what their final destination is giong to be, and for a little while, the journey we were both on was a little easier. Whatever the case, I love God moments like that. Here's what I mean. If I believe the creation record in Genesis 1 and 2, than humans are the closest to God of anything I'm going to find here on earth. And call me crazy, but sometimes, if you're open to it, a conversation with someone who is otherwise a stranger can be like talking to the One who knows you best.
So the moral for today? Well, I've never regretted buying someone a meal, no matter how small, but I have regretted times when I could have and didn't. Be bold in your giving. And be open to God's presence anywhere, even on the Number 2 heading east on 17th Ave.
Also . . . cherish the people who are in front of you while they are there. It might not seem too connected to anything I have written thus far, but it's been on my mind a lot.
I realize i use ellipsises (ellipses? those crazy triple dot things) too often in my titles, so Ima switch it up and let the title be a little bit about how my day was.
First, the Latte Art . . . (DAMN it - there they are again)
K, so I work at a cafe. And while I love meeting people and serving them stuff, I like to think most people who come through the door are a lot like me - laid back, chilled out, and I just want what I ordered in a timely fashion. However, I happen to work for someone who is obsessed with Latte Art. And really, he's my superior, so he gets to call the shots. I'm not complaining about that - I'm not really complaining at all - but it's interesting to me that I can't serve a single drink unless that latte art is perfect. And if it's not? I throw it out.
Understand, I hate waste with a passion. My dear Oma instilled in me a heightened sense of how blessed I am to be able to CHOOSE what I want to eat. And if I put it on my plate, I'd better eat it, or Oma would find a way to make me.
I feel a little ashamed that I throw away a luxury drink just because the heart I made with steamed milk is not perfectly shaped.
However, if I didn't work at Waves, then today would not have unfolded the way it did. I would not have had a chance to give someone a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. And yes, fast food is bad for you and there are healthier food options - but I'm on a rather tight budget ( zero dollars set aside for food), and so when I have a chance to bless someone with what little I DO have, it's not gonna be any organic junk. Sorry.
For the record, he loved it. His face lit up like Christmas, and the little prayer I had been praying the whole time I was in the Wendy's near the bus stop came true - the bus didn't come until we had time to share our little meal together and chat a bit.
Also, if I didn't work at Waves, I wouldn't have met Shelley, who is in the Music Program at Ambrose (the Christian Liberal Arts University right beside us at Waves), and who happened to be on the same first bus that I was on. Can't remember how the conversation got there, but we ended up talkign about heaven . . . maybe it's two pilgrims sharing thoughts about what their final destination is giong to be, and for a little while, the journey we were both on was a little easier. Whatever the case, I love God moments like that. Here's what I mean. If I believe the creation record in Genesis 1 and 2, than humans are the closest to God of anything I'm going to find here on earth. And call me crazy, but sometimes, if you're open to it, a conversation with someone who is otherwise a stranger can be like talking to the One who knows you best.
So the moral for today? Well, I've never regretted buying someone a meal, no matter how small, but I have regretted times when I could have and didn't. Be bold in your giving. And be open to God's presence anywhere, even on the Number 2 heading east on 17th Ave.
Also . . . cherish the people who are in front of you while they are there. It might not seem too connected to anything I have written thus far, but it's been on my mind a lot.
1.26.2010
Pistol (aka Greg can't sleep)
So the past few blogs have either been songs, made allusions to songs, or have found their inspiration in a song . . . this one is the latter.
Dustin Kensrue is the source for this early morning hour blog title, and I've been playing "Pistol" over and over in my head for bit this past week or so. My buddy Asher loves this song, as does his wife, Dayna . . . and well they should, cuz it's theirs.
I love how you curse when I wake you up
And sweetly demand that I fill your cup
The sight of your cool gunpowder stare
Honey, you lay me bare
It's fast becoming one of my favorite songs as well, because, well, to me anyway, it's just REAL. I grow a bit weary of love songs that paint an accurate picture perhaps of our dream, but not of our reality.
Call me wierd, but I kinda love the quirky things about people that make them unique, that make them human. And as much as I long to be an Aragorn or a William Wallace, the truth is that my breath smells awful in the morning, it smells when I shit, and I think that if I ever do get married, I will probably hog the bed.
I will make many mistakes, not because I want to, but because I am stubborn and proud and sometimes rather stupid.
I laugh too loud in public for the comfort of most people who are with me. And this does not bother me. The way my feet smell after work DOES, however, and I will try to remedy that as soon as I come home. I promise you this.
You're the girl of my dreams
And a pistol it seems
But you shoot me straight and true
Honey, I'll take my chances
Oh, I lay all my money on you.
As for my unfortunate wife . . . well, I can hardly expect her to be anything but human if I'm going to embrace it myself, right?
We will misunderstand each other, to be sure, but I like to believe that at the end of the day, we'll love each other too much to stay mad.
There will be days when we look at each other and say, "What the hell? I married YOU?" . . . but those days will be few and far between, and all the days in between them will be marked with moments where I pinch myself, because I can't believe I get to take part in this story.
I won't ever get mad about burnt food.
I won't forget anniversaries or birthdays or the time we first met or our first kiss.
I will forget where my keys are. Many times a day.
I will not always remember perfectly whether or not the dishes are self cleaning.
I will say, "I love you" more often than not.
I will back that up with actions of love.
I will fart. Often. It's my shitty digestive system (no pun intended).
I will laugh as we grow old together.
And I will always be there.
See, to me, that's the beauty of Asher and Dayna . . . they're so human, so real . . . and it's so beautiful to see them together. I'm sure if they were to read this, they wouldn't think it was sucha biggie, and perhaps they'd scratch their heads and wonder if I have a different Asher and Dayna in mind . . .
Whatever it is that they have, I want that. And whatever it takes for me to get there, I'm going to do it.
It'd be worth it.
K . . . 3 am . . . time to sleep maybe?
Dustin Kensrue is the source for this early morning hour blog title, and I've been playing "Pistol" over and over in my head for bit this past week or so. My buddy Asher loves this song, as does his wife, Dayna . . . and well they should, cuz it's theirs.
I love how you curse when I wake you up
And sweetly demand that I fill your cup
The sight of your cool gunpowder stare
Honey, you lay me bare
It's fast becoming one of my favorite songs as well, because, well, to me anyway, it's just REAL. I grow a bit weary of love songs that paint an accurate picture perhaps of our dream, but not of our reality.
Call me wierd, but I kinda love the quirky things about people that make them unique, that make them human. And as much as I long to be an Aragorn or a William Wallace, the truth is that my breath smells awful in the morning, it smells when I shit, and I think that if I ever do get married, I will probably hog the bed.
I will make many mistakes, not because I want to, but because I am stubborn and proud and sometimes rather stupid.
I laugh too loud in public for the comfort of most people who are with me. And this does not bother me. The way my feet smell after work DOES, however, and I will try to remedy that as soon as I come home. I promise you this.
You're the girl of my dreams
And a pistol it seems
But you shoot me straight and true
Honey, I'll take my chances
Oh, I lay all my money on you.
As for my unfortunate wife . . . well, I can hardly expect her to be anything but human if I'm going to embrace it myself, right?
We will misunderstand each other, to be sure, but I like to believe that at the end of the day, we'll love each other too much to stay mad.
There will be days when we look at each other and say, "What the hell? I married YOU?" . . . but those days will be few and far between, and all the days in between them will be marked with moments where I pinch myself, because I can't believe I get to take part in this story.
I won't ever get mad about burnt food.
I won't forget anniversaries or birthdays or the time we first met or our first kiss.
I will forget where my keys are. Many times a day.
I will not always remember perfectly whether or not the dishes are self cleaning.
I will say, "I love you" more often than not.
I will back that up with actions of love.
I will fart. Often. It's my shitty digestive system (no pun intended).
I will laugh as we grow old together.
And I will always be there.
See, to me, that's the beauty of Asher and Dayna . . . they're so human, so real . . . and it's so beautiful to see them together. I'm sure if they were to read this, they wouldn't think it was sucha biggie, and perhaps they'd scratch their heads and wonder if I have a different Asher and Dayna in mind . . .
Whatever it is that they have, I want that. And whatever it takes for me to get there, I'm going to do it.
It'd be worth it.
K . . . 3 am . . . time to sleep maybe?
1.22.2010
Song
There is a place
Where no fear can touch
No pain is final
No loss is too much
To bear
There is a place
Where love is tangible
And hope and faith
Have been realized
It is You
It's in You
But we're in a place
Where nation rises against nation
And hope seems dim
And love seems rare
And we yearn for a place
Where we are free
To be as we were meant
Can you take us there?
It is You
It's in You
Make this a place
Filled with your glory
Shining Your light
For the world to see
Make this a place
A place of safety
A place of healing
A place of prayer
Make us a people
Who are more like You
Make us a people
Who love like You do
Let your Kingdom come
Let your Kingdom come
1.21.2010
The Space Between . . .
the space between
the tears we cry
as the laughter keeps us
coming back for more
the space between
our wicked lies is
where we hope to keep
safe from pain . . .
DMB
I love the Dave Matthews Band. Carter Beaufort is one of the all time best drummers. Of Life. And as much as I love the music, it is the lyrics from Space Between that capture my thoughts today.
I have been a liar, the king of the half truth, master of misdirection, spinning tales interwoven with equal parts fact and fiction. Sometimes I tell stories to get a laugh, and these I consider innocent. Most of the time, though, I have been manipulative. Because I so desire a certain outcome, and believe in the goodness of that outcome, I try to make it come to pass of my own accord. Now, I haven't consciously done this to anyone for quite some time - indeed, this season of my life has been marked with a dedication to honesty (which I think some people find more unnerving than my lies, but that's their deal).
What I'm finding is that the most harmful lies I've told are the ones I have told myself. I'm not sure quite how to put it into words here, but I've always assumed that when I reacted poorly to certain situations, it was because of a "sin" problem in my life, and that if I just followed God "better", then this would go away. If I submitted myself to rigorous discipline and checked off twelve steps and had people I was honest with about my life, I would be "better".
It's a lot like telling someone with cancer to work out and eat healthy. Those aren't bad things, but the real issue is the mass of cells that are rebelling against the way the body was meant to function - that area needs to be surgically removed, and in some cases, a transplant is necessary.
What I'm finding in my own life is that the real root cause of my poor reactions to others actions, my addictive tendencies, my neediness in friendships, and my performance based view of my own worth is that . . . well, there is this space between my wicked lies where I hope to keep safe from the pain. I have been hurt and rejected and abused and used and I don't really want to trust anymore - but I DO, because it's the only way to really experience life.
My friend Dave shared this nugget the other night - "You don't know what you don't know." And it hit me . . . of COURSE I can't see things properly, I'm the one LYING to MYSELF!
Since Christmas, I've been talking to one of the most wonderful counselors - two good friends of mine recommended her to me. And in the brief time we have been chatting, there has been a lot of areas that I hadn't thought about that she has shed light on. And the more light that gets shed on them, the more I see some other areas that I had never known about . . . it's so good :) Tough, but good :)
And in a way, I don't want to be safe from pain - it's a part of life, and Jesus Himself didn't avoid it.
1.20.2010
Dance Forever ;)
Hey
Currently listening to CB's Forever, and not gonna lie, the JK Wedding thing makes me giggle a little with delight every time I think about it . . .
I understand why it had to happen, but my own engagement being broken off really hurt, and it's not the easiest thing to think of most times.
But here's where I'm at with being single - it's so good and VITAL for me to be single right now, really embrace it, and really bust through a few deep areas of my heart that are still behind walls so that I can love my wife out of the overflow of these areas, out of an overflow that loves a Jesus who is not content to let someone stay where they are. And it's not like he forces you to face your deep hurts and fears so much as shows you through the Spirit how needed that confrontation is.
So though I am rather hopelessly single right now and not even looking in the slightest, when I hear this song, I picture my wedding day. I wanna marry someone who will
A) Let me wear a kilt
B) Do something crazy for an entrance with me
C) Both.
My wedding day is going to be anything but solemn and serious. I will purposely invite people who are depressed to come, because I plan on having more than enough positive energy for everyone. I'm a horrible dancer, but best believe I'ma dance forever.
And I have no idea who that bride might be, but my Papa has a good idea. I'll let him show me when He thinks I'm ready.
I hope he's not waiting for my skills to improve, or I might as well embrace celibacy now :)
G
Currently listening to CB's Forever, and not gonna lie, the JK Wedding thing makes me giggle a little with delight every time I think about it . . .
I understand why it had to happen, but my own engagement being broken off really hurt, and it's not the easiest thing to think of most times.
But here's where I'm at with being single - it's so good and VITAL for me to be single right now, really embrace it, and really bust through a few deep areas of my heart that are still behind walls so that I can love my wife out of the overflow of these areas, out of an overflow that loves a Jesus who is not content to let someone stay where they are. And it's not like he forces you to face your deep hurts and fears so much as shows you through the Spirit how needed that confrontation is.
So though I am rather hopelessly single right now and not even looking in the slightest, when I hear this song, I picture my wedding day. I wanna marry someone who will
A) Let me wear a kilt
B) Do something crazy for an entrance with me
C) Both.
My wedding day is going to be anything but solemn and serious. I will purposely invite people who are depressed to come, because I plan on having more than enough positive energy for everyone. I'm a horrible dancer, but best believe I'ma dance forever.
And I have no idea who that bride might be, but my Papa has a good idea. I'll let him show me when He thinks I'm ready.
I hope he's not waiting for my skills to improve, or I might as well embrace celibacy now :)
G
1.18.2010
To Be Known . . .
Now, I know there are just a handful of people who read this, and all of you reading this probably have talked to me in the past week or so, and so you know what's going on in my life recently.
The following is a song I wrote for Tamara Larson, who is the "most beautiful woman I've ever met" that I mentioned a few blogs ago. I'm going to assume that every one out there in blogger-land has experienced some kind of relationship ending . . . with Tam and I, there has been this cycle that we go on. I'm not always sure how it gets to the point where it ends, but I DO know that it starts with me welcoming her back in after a prolonged absence.
I wrote this song for my father, Gerry, who has been far from a perfect father - shit, far from a GOOD father - for most of his life. I can remember waiting at basketball practices for two or three hours because he forgot to pick me up, or waiting on the bench at home games, earnestly scanning the crowd of 20 people to see if he was one of them.
I wrote this song for my mother and sisters, who I love with all my heart, but who I have felt invisible to at times.
I wrote this song to get some deep stuff out, not because I hate any of the preceding people. It's just how I've felt.
I wrote this song for God, because I think He gets it better than anyone.
I wrote this song after hearing Rachel play a song with the same sentiment this past summer.
The following is a song I wrote for Tamara Larson, who is the "most beautiful woman I've ever met" that I mentioned a few blogs ago. I'm going to assume that every one out there in blogger-land has experienced some kind of relationship ending . . . with Tam and I, there has been this cycle that we go on. I'm not always sure how it gets to the point where it ends, but I DO know that it starts with me welcoming her back in after a prolonged absence.
I wrote this song for my father, Gerry, who has been far from a perfect father - shit, far from a GOOD father - for most of his life. I can remember waiting at basketball practices for two or three hours because he forgot to pick me up, or waiting on the bench at home games, earnestly scanning the crowd of 20 people to see if he was one of them.
I wrote this song for my mother and sisters, who I love with all my heart, but who I have felt invisible to at times.
I wrote this song to get some deep stuff out, not because I hate any of the preceding people. It's just how I've felt.
I wrote this song for God, because I think He gets it better than anyone.
I wrote this song after hearing Rachel play a song with the same sentiment this past summer.
To Be Known
How long should I wait here in front of you
How long until I've wasted my time, again
All I want is for you to open your eyes
And for once, see who I really am.
But you don't even know me at all
I could spend my whole life, and still
You'd never really know me at all
I wonder if you ever will . . .
I could try to speak your language
And when I do, there's a spark of hope
Then it's gone
You've moved on
And I'm still here
And I've got nothing left to show
For the times that you cried
And I dried your eyes
The times you did the same for me
All the times that we laughed
Oh, I miss them so bad
It seemed to good to be
And it was
Because
You never really knew me at all
You thought you did, and you were wrong
You never really knew me at all
And I've been here all along
Maybe I never really knew you
Even though I thought I did
I wanted so badly to know you
How did we end up like this?
God - do you even really know me?
Sometimes I wonder if you care
And if you really truly know me
Why does it seem you're not even there
God, do I really even know you?
Is your heartache the same as mine?
When you want somebody to know you
And they don't seem to have the time
Please
take
the
time
The Great Hope I have is not that , in the times when I feel like this, that "this too shall pass". My God is far bigger than that - He doesn't just brush things aside and numb the pain.
No, but a far better promise is this - This too shall be made right :) And it's exciting to see some, if not all of these relationships, and others that I haven't explicitly mentioned here, being MADE RIGHT.
1.15.2010
Fatherhood . . .
Regardless of what comes out in this blog, I wanna start by saying that I am in a good place, spiritually, emotionally . . . all the ways that really matter. There isn't a whole lot that I can take my hands about my life and say, 'Hey, here is an area where I am exactly where I wanted to be a year ago", but that's okay . . .
One of the deep areas of , well, ME, is this area of fatherhood - what it means to BE a father, what it means to have a father, who my father is . . . and it is a source of both hurt and comfort, joy and sorrow, deep healing and deep loss.
I want to be a father. It is deeper than my desire to be successful in any kind of career sense, deeper than my desire to "be" something in this world . . . I can't think of any of my dreams that I have for myself that I wouldn't give up to be a father.
My dad, Gerry, and I were talking about how there is a lack of real fathering in the world today - there are so many absent fathers who impregnate the mother of their children and then . . . bail. If not physically, they bail emotionally, never giving the kind of masculine love and tender strength that a young soul needs. It was a bit ironic, having this conversation with my dad, but I'm not so callous as to not recognize how very far he has come.
I was staying at Mike and Trish's place last night, and when I got there, their 3 girls all smiled, faces lighting up - for Mike. And rightfully so. And though they were also excited to see me, Uncle Greg can't hold a candle to Daddy. It's such a joy to behold how Bella pounces on Daddy, followed closely by Elena . . . and then little Eden does her best to make her way over there :)
I want that. There is a little bit of fear, not because I think I'll be a poor father, but because of the awesome responsibility and privilege it is.
I don't think words can really say what I'm trying to get at here, and I kind of tear up a bit whenever I think about this, but suffice it to say that I have no greater desire than to be a daddy :) And no greater desire than to share my life with mommy:)
I was chatting with my friend Sara recently on Facebook (one of the rare moments it worked for me) about my recent trip to Ontario . . . and how it was difficult for me to spend time with my mom and sisters and then my father, separately. It's left a deep impression on me, my own father's failings . . . anyway, at one point in the conversation, this is what I said :
I want to come home to my wife and hear our kids laughing or crying or playing or whatever, and I want to have meals together and live together and just let all of them know right from day one that this house, our house, is a home, and it's safe, and mom and dad aren't going anywhere
My days are rewarding, for the most part, and I have deep friendships here that I am so thankful for . . . but there is a tinge of loneliness that haunts my days. It is all good, but I have this sneaking suspicion that like all good things, it would be better shared. Being patient is tough, and I know it's needed of me right now . . . but these deep desires are so very much a part of what makes me who I am that they will not be silent until they come to fruition.
One of the deep areas of , well, ME, is this area of fatherhood - what it means to BE a father, what it means to have a father, who my father is . . . and it is a source of both hurt and comfort, joy and sorrow, deep healing and deep loss.
I want to be a father. It is deeper than my desire to be successful in any kind of career sense, deeper than my desire to "be" something in this world . . . I can't think of any of my dreams that I have for myself that I wouldn't give up to be a father.
My dad, Gerry, and I were talking about how there is a lack of real fathering in the world today - there are so many absent fathers who impregnate the mother of their children and then . . . bail. If not physically, they bail emotionally, never giving the kind of masculine love and tender strength that a young soul needs. It was a bit ironic, having this conversation with my dad, but I'm not so callous as to not recognize how very far he has come.
I was staying at Mike and Trish's place last night, and when I got there, their 3 girls all smiled, faces lighting up - for Mike. And rightfully so. And though they were also excited to see me, Uncle Greg can't hold a candle to Daddy. It's such a joy to behold how Bella pounces on Daddy, followed closely by Elena . . . and then little Eden does her best to make her way over there :)
I want that. There is a little bit of fear, not because I think I'll be a poor father, but because of the awesome responsibility and privilege it is.
I don't think words can really say what I'm trying to get at here, and I kind of tear up a bit whenever I think about this, but suffice it to say that I have no greater desire than to be a daddy :) And no greater desire than to share my life with mommy:)
I was chatting with my friend Sara recently on Facebook (one of the rare moments it worked for me) about my recent trip to Ontario . . . and how it was difficult for me to spend time with my mom and sisters and then my father, separately. It's left a deep impression on me, my own father's failings . . . anyway, at one point in the conversation, this is what I said :
I want to come home to my wife and hear our kids laughing or crying or playing or whatever, and I want to have meals together and live together and just let all of them know right from day one that this house, our house, is a home, and it's safe, and mom and dad aren't going anywhere
My days are rewarding, for the most part, and I have deep friendships here that I am so thankful for . . . but there is a tinge of loneliness that haunts my days. It is all good, but I have this sneaking suspicion that like all good things, it would be better shared. Being patient is tough, and I know it's needed of me right now . . . but these deep desires are so very much a part of what makes me who I am that they will not be silent until they come to fruition.
1.13.2010
Home
Hey :)
It's about 6 am here. I flew into Calgary last night from Ontario at about quarter to 9. I work at a cafe at 6pm today.
I have no idea why I'm awake.
Since I'm awake, I might as well do something, and since I don't really feel like doing anything, I might as well blog. If my last post seems a little depressing, well, life isn't always sunshine and lollipops.
Whenever I hear the word home, I'm a bit conflicted, and have been for years. Since I was 19, I've never stayed in one spot for very long. Owen Sound is home by virtue of the fact that my mom and sisters live there . . . but I haven't lived there for longer than 4 or 5 months in a row since I graduated high school. I went to school in New Brunswick, and that definitely never felt like home. The house I live in and get mail sent to is now in Calgary, and there is an awesome group of people out here I would consider family, but it's not quite home either . . .
When I graduated from school, I began an internship at Calvary Baptist Church in Leamington, Ontario. It took me a few weeks to settle in, but after a while, it really started to feel like home. Then I began dating the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and it felt even more like home. I was at this place in life where I started to feel like I was doing exactly what I was made to do . . .
Unfortunately, I wasn't who I was made to be. We don't have to get into all the whys concerning why nothing of that previous statement currently exists in my life, but the Reader's Digest Condensed version is that I had a lot of growing up to do. And though I recognize this, that period in my life still haunts me a little to this day. I'm not looking for a pity party here, but none of the jobs I've worked since stepping down as a youth pastor are as fulfilling, mainly because they are strictly a means to an end.
I had a wonderful time with my family this past week. I'd been away for so long, I don't think I really realized just how much I missed them. We're a quirky bunch, but I love that about us. Pretty sure anyone who darkens our door would feel the same warmth and love that I feel when I go back to Owen Sound :)
I've been asked why I moved out to Calgary, and I give a number of reasons each time, depending on the audience. Sometimes I'll say that I did it because Erika consistently beat me in Halo (which is true), or that I wanted a sense of adventure (also true) . . . sometimes I say that it's because Ontario reminds me of failing, of having something and then losing it because of negligence. I think the last one is closer.
In that regard, this trip was redemptive for me in that my connection with my flesh and blood family, which had been weakening in my time in Calgary, was strengthened. And though I wasn't looking for any particular spiritual lesson, one came to me on my last day in Ontario, moments before getting dropped off at the airport.
There is always a plan at work, and we are foolish to make judgment calls about situations without knowing their end. I, for one, am quick to proclaim things as being "good" or "bad", without fully knowing the depth of a circumstance. Abraham, for instance, is considered faithful because he believed in the promises of God. If I really and truly believe God can do anything, why doesn't my life back that up sometimes?
Perhaps it's unrelated to this issue of "where is home", but I like it anyway.
It's about 6 am here. I flew into Calgary last night from Ontario at about quarter to 9. I work at a cafe at 6pm today.
I have no idea why I'm awake.
Since I'm awake, I might as well do something, and since I don't really feel like doing anything, I might as well blog. If my last post seems a little depressing, well, life isn't always sunshine and lollipops.
Whenever I hear the word home, I'm a bit conflicted, and have been for years. Since I was 19, I've never stayed in one spot for very long. Owen Sound is home by virtue of the fact that my mom and sisters live there . . . but I haven't lived there for longer than 4 or 5 months in a row since I graduated high school. I went to school in New Brunswick, and that definitely never felt like home. The house I live in and get mail sent to is now in Calgary, and there is an awesome group of people out here I would consider family, but it's not quite home either . . .
When I graduated from school, I began an internship at Calvary Baptist Church in Leamington, Ontario. It took me a few weeks to settle in, but after a while, it really started to feel like home. Then I began dating the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and it felt even more like home. I was at this place in life where I started to feel like I was doing exactly what I was made to do . . .
Unfortunately, I wasn't who I was made to be. We don't have to get into all the whys concerning why nothing of that previous statement currently exists in my life, but the Reader's Digest Condensed version is that I had a lot of growing up to do. And though I recognize this, that period in my life still haunts me a little to this day. I'm not looking for a pity party here, but none of the jobs I've worked since stepping down as a youth pastor are as fulfilling, mainly because they are strictly a means to an end.
I had a wonderful time with my family this past week. I'd been away for so long, I don't think I really realized just how much I missed them. We're a quirky bunch, but I love that about us. Pretty sure anyone who darkens our door would feel the same warmth and love that I feel when I go back to Owen Sound :)
I've been asked why I moved out to Calgary, and I give a number of reasons each time, depending on the audience. Sometimes I'll say that I did it because Erika consistently beat me in Halo (which is true), or that I wanted a sense of adventure (also true) . . . sometimes I say that it's because Ontario reminds me of failing, of having something and then losing it because of negligence. I think the last one is closer.
In that regard, this trip was redemptive for me in that my connection with my flesh and blood family, which had been weakening in my time in Calgary, was strengthened. And though I wasn't looking for any particular spiritual lesson, one came to me on my last day in Ontario, moments before getting dropped off at the airport.
There is always a plan at work, and we are foolish to make judgment calls about situations without knowing their end. I, for one, am quick to proclaim things as being "good" or "bad", without fully knowing the depth of a circumstance. Abraham, for instance, is considered faithful because he believed in the promises of God. If I really and truly believe God can do anything, why doesn't my life back that up sometimes?
Perhaps it's unrelated to this issue of "where is home", but I like it anyway.
1.12.2010
More coming soon . . .
Hey
Just wrapping up the tail end of a trip out to Ontario . . . it's been really good. Better than I thought it would be . . . it's been too long since I last saw family and friends out here. I missed my mom, my sisters, and others more than I knew . . .
My cup's kinda overflowing right now, if you know what I mean, and there are some deep things this little heart needs to process about life, love, family . . . and more importantly, home. I'll be jotting down some thoughts in the coming days.
Home . . . that word has alternately comforted and haunted me since I was about 18. It represents something I know I long for, and yet fear I will never reach regardless of the journey towards it. I know that there is a post mortem home for me, though I don't know exactly what shape it will take. And I know that I once felt like I was going home here on earth, but that is now a distant memory of a different person.
More soon.
Just wrapping up the tail end of a trip out to Ontario . . . it's been really good. Better than I thought it would be . . . it's been too long since I last saw family and friends out here. I missed my mom, my sisters, and others more than I knew . . .
My cup's kinda overflowing right now, if you know what I mean, and there are some deep things this little heart needs to process about life, love, family . . . and more importantly, home. I'll be jotting down some thoughts in the coming days.
Home . . . that word has alternately comforted and haunted me since I was about 18. It represents something I know I long for, and yet fear I will never reach regardless of the journey towards it. I know that there is a post mortem home for me, though I don't know exactly what shape it will take. And I know that I once felt like I was going home here on earth, but that is now a distant memory of a different person.
More soon.
1.01.2010
The Music of the Ainur
First, about the title. I'm a bit of a Tolkien nerd, though more of a modern one I suppose in that it is the movies that fed my interest in the books. And not just the trilogy, which I enjoyed . . . I'm currently alternating between the Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales.
The first pages of the Silmarillion contain Tolkien's creation myth for his world of Arda . . . in it, Eru, The One, creates the Ainur, and instructs them to create music. Each one of the Ainur know a bit of the mind of Eru, but no one of them knows it all, and so in their music, they play what they know. This blends into a beautiful symphony, and in their minds they see what Eru has envisioned for future creating . . .
I write this because I just listened to a song that takes me somewhere very deep every time I listen to it - and there are a few songs that do this. But Congratulations by Blue October is especially tough to listen to sometimes. It touches a deep place in my heart that longs for something not yet fully realized while also effecting some wounds that have yet to fully heal. I'm not going to write more about this know, as words don't really do that area of me justice and I'm sure confusion would ensue . . . rather, I want to talk about the power of music.
We have dictionaries to tell us what we have agreed to be the definition of a word as an English speaking culture, and so when we communicate just with words, we mean something fairly precise for the most part. But no one tells us what music is to mean to us. The same song that brings joy to someone's heart can wound another's. The same chords that one enjoys listening to can offend the sensibility of the person beside them. And for me, anyway, every song I love is tied to a particular memory, a particular place, or more usually, a particular person or group of people.
And then there are those songs that inspire dreams, that give me a glimpse of the way things could be and dare one to hope. It's not unlike the Ainur with Eru, I think - perhaps these songs area bit of the mind of God, pushing us towards what we have been made for?
I left out a little bit in my allusion to Tolkien. There is one of these Ainu, named Melkor, who was the greatest and knew more of the mind of Eru than the others. But when he was instructed to play, he desired to play his own chords, and was out of tune with the rest of his brothers and sisters. Eru rebuked him, and Melkor was ashamed . . . so when Melkor saw the full vision of Eru, the creation of Arda and the making of Elves and Men, he desired to have subjects of his own and rule over them . . .
It's a nice, warm and fuzzy kind of thought to think that music can inspire dreams and make us think of what can be . . . but there is someone who does not want to see those dreams come to pass. Understand, I'm not talking about dreams that are self serving, because ultimately those dreams aren't about who we really are and who we really are meant to be. But if you've felt your heart being tugged by something, if there is something that excites you when you think about it and the prospect of never doing it is profane to you, then by all means, DO IT. Chase that dream. And if you've spent a lifetime aimlessly drifting, let 2010 be the year you seek out your purpose with reckless abandon.
As for me? Well, I got some dreams. I'll keep you posted on what they are and how they are coming along :)
The first pages of the Silmarillion contain Tolkien's creation myth for his world of Arda . . . in it, Eru, The One, creates the Ainur, and instructs them to create music. Each one of the Ainur know a bit of the mind of Eru, but no one of them knows it all, and so in their music, they play what they know. This blends into a beautiful symphony, and in their minds they see what Eru has envisioned for future creating . . .
I write this because I just listened to a song that takes me somewhere very deep every time I listen to it - and there are a few songs that do this. But Congratulations by Blue October is especially tough to listen to sometimes. It touches a deep place in my heart that longs for something not yet fully realized while also effecting some wounds that have yet to fully heal. I'm not going to write more about this know, as words don't really do that area of me justice and I'm sure confusion would ensue . . . rather, I want to talk about the power of music.
We have dictionaries to tell us what we have agreed to be the definition of a word as an English speaking culture, and so when we communicate just with words, we mean something fairly precise for the most part. But no one tells us what music is to mean to us. The same song that brings joy to someone's heart can wound another's. The same chords that one enjoys listening to can offend the sensibility of the person beside them. And for me, anyway, every song I love is tied to a particular memory, a particular place, or more usually, a particular person or group of people.
And then there are those songs that inspire dreams, that give me a glimpse of the way things could be and dare one to hope. It's not unlike the Ainur with Eru, I think - perhaps these songs area bit of the mind of God, pushing us towards what we have been made for?
I left out a little bit in my allusion to Tolkien. There is one of these Ainu, named Melkor, who was the greatest and knew more of the mind of Eru than the others. But when he was instructed to play, he desired to play his own chords, and was out of tune with the rest of his brothers and sisters. Eru rebuked him, and Melkor was ashamed . . . so when Melkor saw the full vision of Eru, the creation of Arda and the making of Elves and Men, he desired to have subjects of his own and rule over them . . .
It's a nice, warm and fuzzy kind of thought to think that music can inspire dreams and make us think of what can be . . . but there is someone who does not want to see those dreams come to pass. Understand, I'm not talking about dreams that are self serving, because ultimately those dreams aren't about who we really are and who we really are meant to be. But if you've felt your heart being tugged by something, if there is something that excites you when you think about it and the prospect of never doing it is profane to you, then by all means, DO IT. Chase that dream. And if you've spent a lifetime aimlessly drifting, let 2010 be the year you seek out your purpose with reckless abandon.
As for me? Well, I got some dreams. I'll keep you posted on what they are and how they are coming along :)
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