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.

Hope . . .

There are seasons in each of our lives - transitional times that, when added together, make up the whole of this human experience. No one remains stagnant their whole life, and if they do, they aren't living much of one (just my opinion. Consider the source here - and yes, I do recognize the simple beauty of a life lived entirely in a 50 km radius of where it began. You can, however, go places without travelling . . . )

We're always changing, being changed, become more of something while being made less of something else. Hopefully it is the loss of a bad habit, a temper, an addiction, etc; hopefully it is also the gaining of a new appreciation for the good in life.

At times, though, the season does not seem so much like winter - a time of relative darkness and a lack of growth - nor does it seem like summer - a time of verdant opportunity and optimism. It isn't even really a season at all. It could best be described as night - the long night of the soul. Brought up by the fading of light in some way, shape or form, be it a loss of a loved one, the breaking of a relationship, the bitter sting of abandonment, the trauma of abuse, the dashing of dreams, or perhaps, a combination of all these, this night threatens to engulf those experiencing it.

In this night, it seems crazy to hope. But what is hope if not the belief that that which is is not final? Let's break it down to something a bit less ambiguous and metaphorical. Someone who has spent any amount of time studying to enter into a particular line of work doesn't do it thinking that they would be a student the whole time - rather, they hope to be gainfully employed in that line of work, or at the very least, not spend the rest of their life locked in the same four walls they now enjoy. The status quo - being a student - is not considered the destination, just part of the journey. There is hope that one day, I will be _______ (insert goal there).

You don't plant a field hoping it all dies. When you first plant anything, there isn't much to see, but you hope that things will happen like they should and that soon, you will have something to show for it - something tangible, real . . . edible.

Day always follows night. It is not foolhardy to hope for day when your soul seems mired in night. And sometimes, if we let ourselves but look up, there is light on display that can only been seen during times of great darkness. Perhaps that's the very reason for the night.

Contentedly restless . . .

Today's picture is from the Great Ocean Road in Australia. I'd love to go - I'd love to go to a lot of different places. Not just physical places either - there are places that I hope my friendships will go (not all do), places that I hope I go on my journey with God (some I don't) and places that I'd love to revisit in time, because from my current perspective, they seem better than perhaps they were.

I love my life. I love waking up every day. I love the rain that's hitting the windows right now, playing its own little song, and I love the roll of thunder that reaches into my soul and touches something deep and fierce and real and dares me to answer back. I love my family, so much. I love my friends - those who I share a particularly close bond with especially. I love the people I work with, I love the people I get to meet each day. I am content.

I'd hate to stay in Calgary the rest of my days. I'd hate to never see the Great Ocean Road, swim in every ocean, walk in a bamboo forest (again!). I'd hate to never see the Southern Cross, the afternoon sky over the Indian Ocean from the coast of Mozambique. I'd hate to never live in Scotland (I'd settle for northern England). I would hate to be stuck.

Though I love my life right now, I would hate it if this was the climax of my story. I would hate to develop a routine, a comfortable life.

I would hate to have gone through this whole thing building for a future that may never happen while never really enjoying the present.

Though I'm sure there are a number of wonderful careers I could take the time to train for and then dedicate most of the rest of my waking life to, I'd rather try for one that allows the freedom my heart so desperately craves.

Though I love my family and friends very much, I fear I may never ever settle down for very long in any one area . . . it's just that there is such a big world out there, and every horizon I see I feel like chasing.

One, however, I cannot ever chase, and it is this horizon that feeds this seemingly irrational sense of urgency I have towards travel and living a full life. I can't go back. I can go forwards and off to the side, but not back. That which I was yesterday I never will be again. I'll never return to an age of relative innocence, nor can I unlearn or un- remember certain things.

I don't want to waste a single second.

But I'm happy enjoying the time that I have where I am.

Such is life . . . .

If you're reading this, thanks. Thank you for letting my babbling interest you . . .

There have been several disappointments in my life, some which echo louder than others, and some that barely resonate anymore. More and more, as I think about the source, I think I come to an understanding of its nature. We are all longing for something we know not what, and have a faint glimmer of hope of its reality.

Everyone hopeless and hoping for something to hope for . . . 1

And we feel this as an uneasiness that sets in as we go to sleep, as we try to fill our quiet moments with the noise of routine, as we strive to be busy enough to forget what haunts us

Hope is coming, coming near
Hope is coming, coming here 2

I know my particular wounds are different from everyone's, but there exists a commonality. They make it hard to hope, hard to see something that is not, hard to hope for something better, hard to believe that the status quo isn't final.

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.

Take heart . . . though it is risky, it is not foolhardy to hope, to dream, to dare. It will take vulnerability, courage, and a strength you might not yet know . . . but never lose hope.

If you have taken the time to read this, know that I have nothing but love for you. Hope to see you soon.

Expectations vs Expectancy

Kinda thinking today about relationships . . . . and not necessarily romantic ones, though there's probably something in here that can apply. No, more just friends / family / whatever. Though this is hardly an original thought, I would still like to share it.


One of the many things that can destroy or undermine a relationship is the feeling of havign your expectations crushed, unmet, ignored. Sure, we all have reasonable expectations - I expect my friends not to betray me, my family to love me, I'd expect my spouse to be faithful - and there are similar reasonable expectations they can have of me. That is fair, and, well, to be expected.

Beyond the basics though . . . . it would be unfair to expect someone to validate you. It's unhealthy to expect your kids to live out your dreams. It's twisted to expect someone to meet your every need. I don't know that too many people would disagree with this, but the devil's in the details. The hockey dad who gave up playing and still thinks he could have gone pro who won't leave Junior alone about how he needs to work on his stick handling . . . the woman who wants to feel like a woman and expects her man to be able to do that for her . . . the man who feels inadequate and gives his woman the power to make that true or false about him . . . the friend who smothers for fear of being rejected . . . the friend who pushes away for the same fear . . .

Not all expectations are positive. And to stop talking about this in "out there" terms, allow me to enter into this conversation as a flesh and blood person. I've been here. I've expected others to make me feel worth as a human. I've given "her" the power to tell me I'm a man or not. I've smothered others because I so value their affirmation, and distanced myself from others because I fear it will never come.

Expectancy - rather than live life havign a list of demands others must meet, I'm learning more and more to just be accepting of where people are, and celebrating that part of their journey. It's not easy, especially when the person is particularly close to my heart and the path they are on is not the best for them - they are still free to make those choices and learn from them. Having a sense of expectancy, to me, enjoys what is will looking forward to what will be, with no pressure, nothing forced, just flowing naturally.

I'm indebted to those who have helped me see life like this. They know who they are . . . and to those who remind me of thigns I already know.

Summer 09 . . . .

So . . . . .had a wonderful chat w my mom and sister yesterday about feeling disconnected. Perhaps that's what fuel's blogging - a bunch of people wanting desperately to let their inner world be known because they can't escape the feeling that it is so worth it to share your life with people. Maybe there's a hint of something akin to group therapy, the ability to voice yourself without being judged or put down . . . at least initially.

Me? I just like writing. I like getting what's in, out. And, oddly enough over the years, I've met people interested in what I have to say, just as I am interested in what they are saying. It's been neat, sharing that bit of me with them.

But enough of that for now. So far this summer, I've taken in my first Stampedesque experience, moved into a place on my own for the first time, expanded my culinary horizons ( I now make myself more than just pasta) , and laughed and cried a fairly equal number of times. Hopefully, I'm gonna head home before September and go sky diving w Doug, but failing that, I might try some hang gliding . . . . or base jumping.

Oh the frailty of Existence

Currently Listening to : Dare you to Move, Switchfoot, from The Beautiful Letdown.
Current mood / state : Exasperated at my own financial incompetence at times, longing to see my mom and three wonderful sisters (and that crazy dog / cat combo they have ) , concerned about Ernesto, but holding on with an open grip, thankful for the journey but a little weary, and in need of a hug.

Hey whoever :) There are times that I call eternal instants - where you know something really deep and on a soul level is going on, where the drabness of reality melts away and something transcendent happens - and I'm beginning to see and comprehend them with a greater regularity. I realize I'm still quite young, but already it has been impressed on my mind just how delicate this thread called life is. Not can be - is. Every moment, every breath is a gift to be treasured.

This past Monday, I found myself in an eternal instant that was especially transcendent. A dear friend, who is bravely battling cancer, was the subject of that evening's gathering. Nothing big, mind you, but then again God doesn't always need a crowd to do His thing. And just as God was, is, and will be doing His thing in Ernesto's life, He's been doing something in mine.

As much as I talk about letting things go at times, I really do find it hard to do. I hate good byes. I hate having people enter my life and then leave. It cuts right to my core. The emptiness is never really filled, because it is for a particular person that I find myself feeling empty - and even God in His humility dares not fill it. He seems to allow us to need people, and grieve them when they are gone, if only to prove that individual's have intrinsic worth and value.

Holding on with an open hand - a wonderful idea, and ultimately the only way to not go insane trying to keep up with the joneses, but also a wonderful relational tool. You see, each of us has a place in our sphere of existence where only God and us exist. And if we aren't okay there by ourselves, we'll never be okay with anyone, no matter how wonderful they are.

I've rambled a bit, and this week has been a bit of a rambling week, but basically, in that eternal instant Monday night, I got to know three people I admire and respect and love in a whole new, deeper way. And really, that's what this life is about, isn't it? Getting to know others better - especially that God character.