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.