New Years Eve

It's New Years Eve and I'm full of empty promises, I half pretend to keep this time, just like last year. The band is loud and I'm wandering the shadows, wishing I was never here. I persevere. A crowded room, these whitewashed tombs, they raise their glasses high, they kiss the past goodbye.

This New Years Eve, I'm waiting for tomorrow. My heart is on my sleeve, and yes I still believe, this New Years Eve, will turn out better than before, I'm holding on, still holding out, until they close the door... on me.

It's New Years Eve and I feel my insecurities, are haunting me like ghosts, this sinking quicksand. And then with thunderous praise and lofty adoration, a second passes by, yet nothing changes. I hate my skin, this grave I'm standing in. Another change of years, and I wish I wasn't here.

A year goes by and I'm staring at my watch again, and I dig deep this time, for something greater than I've ever been, life to ancient wineskins. And I was blind but now I see.

This New Years Eve, something must change me inside, I'm crooked and misguided, and tired of being tired. This New Years Eve, I'm waiting for tomorrow. My heart is on my sleeve, and yes I still believe, in You.

These Frail Hands

I just spent the past hour or so washing dishes. My hands are slowly becoming less like raisins, although they still have the complete softness of constant exposure to soap and water. My fingers glide across the keys of my computer as I type, I feel as if they barely touch the keys I intend to enter, less concerned about what to write and more intent on slipping over and across.

I take for granted these two hands of mine. They are capable of doing so much, and yet I rarely thank them or give them any attention. Not that I should go around looking at them and saying oh thank you hands for being great at opening doors and throwing frisbees and driving stick shift cars and writing words on paper and holding other hands. But I think I should at least be grateful to them for all I've put them through.

For instance, four years ago I was playing tug-of-war with some friends. I stood in the front of my line of eight people, wrapped the rope once around my right hand, and waiting for the "go!" Needless to say my hand broke instantly. 5th metacarpal completely broken, 4th with fractures. It healed quickly, and I am more or less able to use it as if it were brand new. There are times when I remember it's not the 'ol perfect hand it used to be, but it does well.

Later that year, I had a scooter accident where I badly scarred that same hand. Blood dripped everywhere, but scabs formed in a matter of hours and slowly fell away over the next couple weeks. You have to deliberately look at it to see any scarring. I've also been bitten by a stupid chihuahua, sliced a finger open with a pocket knife, and so on and so forth.

For some reason, in all they've been through (mainly my right hand), I've still been told every now and then that I have beautiful hands. I suppose that's a good compliment to get, in fact I'd much rather hear that than have someone come up to me and say wow, your hands are quite ugly. I won't complain of course, I like compliments, and in all conceited honesty, I agree.


But what of my hands?

Do I protect them and do my best to keep them beautiful, clean and well trimmed? Or do I go out into this world and get them banged up, dirty and scarred? I can't exactly think the right way to go is the former. I can't think there would be any reason for me to stay clean and dainty. That's right, I used the word dainty. No, no I don't think so. So be ready world, my hands are going to grab you by the horns.

Or something like that.

And these frail hands, they tremble as they pen perhaps their last. And these weak words, can never say what cannot be surpassed. I need your love, and most of all I want to feel your peace. I need your love, let everything that you are not decrease.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

PLEASE CLICK HERE. (Or click the photo)

Did you visit the link? Because I really think you ought to. You're not going to get any more words out of me that would interest you. All you need is to read where I sent you. And all you need to know is I love my grandparents.

I've heard it said that he wastes nothing, so beautiful to behold, the Author of my hope is writing the greatest story ever told.

It Was Beautiful

Everyone seems to be flying home for the holidays. Soldiers on leave, dads getting back from business trips, students done with college for the semester; families returning to one another. There is a sense of joy and excitement in the air. An aura of love and good tidings to all.

For myself though, things are different. I am flying away from my family as we speak. Lost somewhere above Arizona or New Mexico at 39000 feet. I do not know what I will be doing this Christmas day. Usually I am at home with my family opening presents, eating food, and resting. Not this year. Maybe I'll be working. Maybe I'll be watching another family celebrate the joy of Christmas together.

The choice was my own. My work said I could have the time off. They said I could take this week and be away its entirety. They gave me an awkward look when I told them I'd rather it be the week before. Most people did. Most people were dumbfounded when they heard I wasn't going to be home on Christmas day. I thought it wouldn't make a difference. I thought I'd be fine. I don't think that's going to be the case.

Yet I wouldn't change my decision for the world. If I were asked to choose again I would do the exact same thing. I wouldn't even think twice about it. I wouldn't change one single minute, not even one single second.

It was too beautiful.

Pictures looking back, just snapshots of the past cannot compare to feeling what we felt, through anything that came that You were there.

All That Is Good

I'm sitting on the couch I should be currently sleeping in. Sheets are pulled back, ready for my feet to crawl underneath, and the pillow is all too inviting. They can wait for a couple minutes though, as right now the writer's urge has hit. And you know when that happens there's no stopping it. Shortening it maybe, but no complete cessation.

I had the wonderfullest of nights tonight over at my friend's house. We ate homemade tacos, dipped chips in homemade salsa, and ate tacos until our bellies were full. My dearest "A", seen above, decided her tummy didn't want tacos and so she stuck with chicken nuggets and ketchup. A fine choice if you ask me, even if her tummy still ended up not wanting them as well. She's been recovering from being sick, so hopefully sleep will help her out for a full day tomorrow.

Before her sleep though, we had the chance to read a book about puppies and snow. I must say she rather enjoyed it, her brother "ZC" did as well. After reading a book to her she'll always ask me to read it again, which always amuses me. I suppose it's the simple things in life that children are most fond of, and repetition isn't such a bad thing if it's beautiful. But I got to read a chapter of a book for "ZC", and we were all content.

Life's been like that recently, complete contentment. Alright so maybe not utterly bona fide 100% complete, but darn-near enough to where I'm not complaining. It's the simple things I'm finding hope in. The simple things that bring a smile to my face. And life has been full of them recently.

Where does the misunderstanding come from, demanding that we be outstanding and then some? Perfection never was a requirement, although some might say we desired it. So then for times when things get old I might get cynical.

Prologue II

I finally have a day off where I can sit and do nothing and fully enjoy it. This past week has been full of work work work, and even though I'm super excited to be making money once again and realizing I'm going to have a steady income, I'm glad for the peace and quiet. For the time being I'm listening to Soapbox Symphony along with the rain that is falling outside. It's raining steadily. Not a downpour or a sprinkle, but a nice consistent waterfall.

I've missed the rain. Having grown up in southern California I would always be appreciative of any rain we'd get. There would be instances when it would rain for a few days at a time, but with the absence of seasons there comes an inconsistent appearance of the sweet liquid.

Yesterday afternoon the clouds started rolling in. The humidity was bearable, but you could feel a change in the air, a difference was certainly presented. It took a while for the rain to finally decide it was ready. I was sitting eating dinner and I saw lightning strike in the distance. When I walked outside I could hear the thunder, see the lightning, and finally feel the first drops fall to the ground. I made it to my place of residence for the night without any problems, I was only a couple miles away to be honest, and propped up my umbrella above my open car door to get some of my belongings inside without getting them or myself too wet. As I lay on the couch ready for bed I could hear a steady downfall, and I was very content. 

Right now I sit on the same couch I fell asleep on, and look behind me at the consistency of raindrops pitter-pattering on the red deck. The oak tree above it catches as much of the drops as it can, soaking up as much precipitation as it can in order to stretch its roots deeper and deeper into the ground. It receives life from this water, and it lives in comfort knowing it has a long life ahead of it to live.

I feel like this oak tree. I may be a much younger version of it, but I get another vivid description of how my life is supposed to be lived right now. For me, life is happening all around me, and I've been called to sit and bask in the blessings that surround me. I'm supposed to take it all in, and become like a tree firmly planted by streams of water. The life is here, and I accept it fully, without hesitation or caution.

Let it rain.

In perfect orbit they have circled. As the light of many worlds falls softly on their skin. And days here pass like minutes. One moment of brilliant daylight will shift into the next. A flash of dark behind some distant lost moon. And then it is over. Like the pause before waking. Sleep is replaced by light, and life, and hope. It is the light of one far away sun that has beckoned them to leave and the hope of home that has lifted them from slumber. The hope that though the dark may come, the sun also rises.

Prologue I

I feel like this is just the beginning. The precursor to what is going to turn out to be the grandest of all adventures. And I'm okay with that, I always have been. It's just that I'm beginning, after being in a whole new place for the past two weeks, to realize that this is it. It's not the warm-up, it's not the stretches, it's game time. I can't be living as if this were just one more step before life truly begins. In a way that's how it's been. Ever since graduating college really.

In college it was simpler though. I had classes I needed to pass, and so that made the wondering how each day was supposed to pan out much easier. In those classes were people who lived in the dorm I was living in, ate in the caf I was eating in, and played the same intramural sports I was playing. Life and relationships just happened. There was always someone you could find who shared a common like or dislike, and as a result you became friends.

Video games kept us awake through ungodly hours of the night, late term papers had the same effect, and at times conversations in the prayer room lasted way too long. Did anyone ever actually pray in there? Maybe that's why they took it away. In any case, strong friendships were forged through these times, as well as broken I'm sure, but not as often. 

Four years have passed since then though. Each of us having lived over a thousand days, over thirty-five thousand hours. At first we stayed close to the city we graduated in. Our friendships were more important than our living arrangements. But as time passed, and the realization that we needed to get our lives in order, we spread out. Cheaper housing was available anywhere over five hundred miles away. Jobs and families had stronger bonds than our desires to stay nearby to one another. 

Maybe we finally started realizing that we needed to live our own lives. We couldn't live vicariously through each other, no matter how hard we tried. And maybe the only way we thought this possible was to move away from the friends we loved, the relationships we built over the past eight years. The closest "friend" I have from college lives 215 miles away, and we haven't even truly spoken since we graduated. The next closest is 900 miles away, and I don't even want to know what mileage category the others fall into.

I suppose what I'm saying is that we're now all out on our own. True life has hit us and we've decided to grab it by the horns and hope the ride ends somewhere enjoyable. We're ready to be held responsible for our actions, we're ready to build more relationships that will last longer than forever. We're ready to dig in our toes and our heels and plant ourselves in the soil that has been eagerly awaiting our arrival since birth. 

Where will our roots go though? Will they only linger among the topsoil and weeds that have no nourishment and only sporadic water? Or will they penetrate deeply into the firmament that longs to be tilled its entire life? It's entirely up to us, but as I said in the beginning I feel like this is the time to do it. It's not up to us to worry about where we will find ourselves tomorrow or next year. It's not up to us to try and change the seasons in our lives or force change that might not be ready to happen. 

Life, as complicated as it may be, is meant to be lived.

But not haphazardly, or lazily. 

No. 

Wholeheartedly. 

Passionately. 

Vigorously. 

Excitedly.

Take today, for all it's worth, and live the best way you know how. Just try it. I dare you.

Just off the border of your waking mind. There lies another time where darkness and light are one. And as you tread the halls of sanity, you feel so glad to be unable to go on. I have a message from another time. Godspeed.