The Show Must Go On

Now you guys have to leave. Get out of my house!

On every episode of Cribs the host always ushers out the camera crew with some type of forceful good-bye. If you are apart of the MTV-faithful (never quite got there) then you can generally guess how the ending line is going to go. Rappers are going to insert some sort of expletive while holding a $800 dollar of liquor, charming mid-age actors are going to wave good-bye with their wives (do you ever get the feeling they hate each other?) and surfers/laid back rockers ala Jack Johnson are going to give some sort of aloha that makes you want to stay forever. Its obvious that their good-byes are well thought out to go along with their Hollywood image. They are seizing the moment and putting their own special touch on a show that is all about them. Ok, its probably more about what's in their refrigerator but that makes us sound so stupid as a society.

Have you ever wondered how cool you would be if you showed the world your game room and where the magic happens? Notice I said how cool and not just cool, because who wonders how big of a loser they would be on national television? If you're like me then your good-bye would be rocking. I would probably be somewhere between the sexually provocative Justin Timberlake and the my genitels wear armour masculinity of Russell Crow. I would leave my house a little messy (not college messy but that was a great party with all of my very hot clean friends messy) and show off a little chest hair with the open button down (this is so fake). The midnight black Ferrari and restored Land Cruiser would seal the deal as me being the baddest man in the world.

Don't tell me that you have never played out your own Cribs episode in your head. We are all very selfish day-dreamers and by rule of thumb we're the main character in our imagination. Our story surrounds us and everyone within that story revolves around us. Do you remember the personal bubble of elementary school? The bubble where if someone got too close you went Rambo psycho killer and put your finger in their face for the next three hours proclaiming to the world I'm not touching you. Well as we get older the bubble extends to anyone within fifty feet of us and they automatically start to revolve around what we're doing and what's going on in our lives. The problem with this warped picture is that its not about us. This isn't our story. No one gives a flying flip abour what's in my refrigerator or about the sweet system in my Honda Accord (factory issue). Francis Chan proudly proclaims in his book CrazyLove, that it doesn't really what place you find yourself in right now. He is addressing the issue that we're not the lead actor/actress in this unfolding drama (or comedy, depends on how you look at life). We spend so much time worrying about ourselves and what's going on with our world we miss the picture book around us.

Maybe its time to live out a different story because no matter what the show must go on. He will continue to paint with us or without us.

I Can't Think of a Title

Real loss is only possible when you love something more than you love yourself.

~ Robin Williams in Goodwill Hunting

Some days I just want to lose. Don't get me wrong I mess up quite a bit but there are those moments, you know, the ones where you wish there were tears. You pray that your heart will actually beat out of your chest. I'm not trying to be dramatic, quite the opposite actually. I'm talking about reaching down and grabbing hold of that pain. Because it seems like I really need to cry before I'll ever be able to have that laugh... the liberating gut wrenching kind of laugh where colors are brighter and music is pure. Why do I feel this way? Am I just a spoiled grown up kid? I don't want to succeed to make someone happy or fulfill a five year plan. I want to live.

I want to experience selfless love.

I want to give selfless love.

I want to be a blessing.

I want to have meaning.

I want to accomplish something.

I want to love a beautiful woman in a tiny apartment.

I want to cuss at my broke down car.

I want to write a good story.

I want to get a sunburn.

I want to take my kid to his first ball game.

I want to hug my baby girl.

I want to die with laughter creased around my eyes and tear stains on my cheeks.

I need to live.

Shout the light across the field
Chase away the smoke stains and tears
Run screaming and yelling praise and love
Bury your faces to the heavens
Cry out to the cross
Paint your smiles on the faces of the damned
Kiss the lips of the forgotten
Bring beauty where there is pain
Carry the wounded and weary
Forgive the religious and prideful
Wipe the knees of the saints
Give eyes to the blind and suffering
Taste the hunger of the poor
Burn your money
Help a beautiful man
Carry us all
Back to the hill
where he made it right

Take away the bullets and we'll use rocks

Do you wonder if the boy's mother feels it when her son pushes the button walking through the crowded square?
Does she taste the burned bodies lying all around?
Are her tears for the son or the unnamed dead?

War is so ugly. I'm no longer proud to watch our soldiers march in unison and wave good-bye from giant steel boats. Their sand colored fatigues and M-16s aren't cool and adrenaline rushing. The dog-tags no longer tug at my heart from around their necks.

Peace is one sided, of that I'm sure. If you don't shoot somebody else will. We can scream for non-violence and for our boys to come home but the killing fields will always call the names of the dead. If we don't bomb their homes they will bomb our embassies and the sick roller coaster goes on and on.

I'm not writing this to proclaim answers or opinions. There is no pretty picture.

06.23.08 Good Morning

Every morning I commit that day to Jesus and hope that I show my love for him through action and thought. I get ahead of myself sometimes thinking and wishing about days ahead but the moment is here and now. Don't take hold with an emotional high, sit back and take some breaths thanking Jesus for the love and courage he has placed in us all. There is so much in the world I'll never be able to change or understand but at least I can take this moment to tell a friend hello and that I love him.

Quick thought -
Braves are 1 game below .500... sports aren't nearly as important as people make them out to be but if Jesus played ball he'd play for the Braves

torn and dying loving and flowing

Falling down like rain
my knees embrace asphalt
bleeding from the inside
my hands start to shake
am I sleeping or dreaming
is this happening
all I am is tears
flowing past her lips
once forgotten and lost
now standing and staring
emotion dying and starving
truth blossoms in her voice
I am so afraid
her touch
her hand
is this right or wrong
wisdom is near and far
it mixes with the past
and fades into skin
she is beauty
she is the wind
the fence has fallen
and my heart is fleeing
which direction
I do not know
but I long for color
lying within her eyes

A lot is on my plate these days so you'll be hearing from me quite a bit more on staymysoul (chances are nobody reads this but I like to pretend I have a couple hundred readers). I have never been direct about myself or what's going on in my life on a blog. Generally I tell a story, share a thought dealing with society, or flow with a poem; I'm never open about me that instant. Taking a step away from that philosophy I want to discuss a couple of things that are going on in my story.

It has taken me three years to decide on what I want to major in at school and where I wanted my studies to go. I was determined to never to be one of those students who switched back and forth between majors before going the way of General Studies (also known as Psychology). Over the lunch the other afternoon someone told me about their major that they graduated with and absolutely loved, anytime you hear someone say they love their major you should check it out. She graduated from Georgia State with a degree in Speech and Communications, she also said to checkout a concentration in Public and Political speaking. Following her advice I jumped on the website and read through the description and job opportunities and it really clicked with what I want to do with my life. I'm pleased to say this is the degree I am going to pursue over the next two years (hopefully two years... God help me).

I have been through quite a bit over the years trying to decide where I want my life to go. The hesitancy and unsteady footing allowed me to procrastinate in my studies that in my mind had no purpose. This was an unbelievably immature outlook on my education but I have no excuses or explanation, I had to go through it to learn. Now here I am wanting to make a difference and pursue a life of meaning. My gifts lean more toward writing and speaking and I have always had the urge to speak in front of others about love and relevant issues in our society. Looking to new found heroes and fresh ideas I have found there are many outlets available to me as long as I put myself out there and go for it. I'm very excited to share and have an impact on others.

15% is translated into 8.6% on Sundays... its in the Bible right after no patience is allowed when dealing with the hostess with the nose ring

They will know we are christians by our love, by our love, yes they will know we are christians by our love.
~ Jason Upton

Every morning I wake up my boxer briefs are in need of rearranging and my breath is begging for mouth wash. My hair is generally in some sort of turmoil and my eyes are heavy with the weight of gravity and thought. I'm not a stubborn sleeper, so when I'm up, I'm up. A bowl of cereal followed by a run or workout (please note that workout could consist of dancing with my iPod or lifting weights... it depends on how the mood is striking me) ending in a hot shower and optional shave. I try to take a timeout for quiet time and prayer but I haven't been able to put an exact time on that moment, so it could happen morning, afternoon, or night.
I'm sure you can find some similarities in your morning routine. People are set in their ways when it comes to waking up and gaining momentum for the day, deviating from the plan could mean emotional breakdown or world destruction. We all measure our steps from the bed to the automobile that will deliver us into the outside world. Consistency is key to a smooth beginning and I'm betting you could tell me whether a day was going to be good or bad based on the beginning. In those minutes shaving scruffy faces, straightening hair, trimming noise hairs, whatever, everyone for the rest of our day is being effected by our movements and emotions. If you stub your toe on the bathroom sink it could mean absolute hell for the bagel guy down the street. God forbid the blow drier doesn't work because your waiter at lunch and dinner will have to provide their own 15% if they're a little late with the drinks.
This seems appropriate for Sunday morning, where in some house holds around the world there is absolute pandemonium. Seriously, getting the wife and kids ready, fed, and into the mini van turns some fathers into Jean Claude Van Dam ready for Blood Sport 2. On a day made for rest and relaxation christians, the ones who celebrate Sunday as the day of rest, are some of the most disgusting humans in society. I bet if you took a christian couple aside and asked them the nastiest things they've ever said to each a large portion of those would have occurred on a Sunday morning. And I'm not even going to mention the poor waiters and waitresses serving the fine people who are the light of the world...
Love is how they will know we are christians... no matter the beginning or the ending of our day.

Maybe

For the Lord gives, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. (Prov. 2:6)

Growing up I hated when my dad made me read Proverbs and its profound ideas on life, at the age of twelve it seemed lame. Now here I am nine years later starting off a blog with a passage from Solomon's greatest written work. This particular verse caught my eye with two words, knowledge and understanding. I believe early in life we possess a larger amount of these gifts than we believe but we're too scared to take hold of truth because we are aware of our supposed mental frailty. I personally struggle with faith in my ability to make decisions and take the necessary big steps in life. My reasoning is simple: How could I ever have the knowledge and understanding to have an impact on this earth and fulfill my place in the great puzzle? Shouldn't others lead me and show me where to go; they have lived longer and seen more so they are better prepared to lead my steps.
Yet here Solomon is teaching that claiming the knowledge and understanding from within our heart is accepting the words from our God's mouth. This may come off as arrogant and it shoves us onto the unstable ground of trusting our relationship with Christ but isn't that the point? If you always follow and obey the elders before you, at what point in time do you follow and obey Jesus? This isn't an attack on mentoring or leadership, its a call for leaders to do what they know is right no matter what someone may say is wrong. You always learn more doing something yourself rather than following another's lead. Its always safer to follow but the reward is greater to take a chance and step out on faith in yourself and your gifts. Fear of failure is a lost cause in itself because the moment you allow fear to take hold you have already failed.

November

Her parents named her November on a warm day in May. The room smelled of cigarettes and sweat. The doctor referred to himself as Jack Daniels and he spoke with a Spanish accent. When her face was wiped clean and her mother was quiet, Jack said she was beautiful.

It started to rain.

November grew up in a trailor park outside of Tuscon, playing frisbee with paper plates and chewed up doggie dishes. She smiled a lot and her only friend was a boy named Sam. He was two years younger and wet his pants when he got excited. They played till the sun went down and crept home past Old Man Wither's trailor. It was blue with a yellow stained roof.

On her thirteenth birthday she ran away and hitch hiked to Las Vegas. She had seen the lights in a magazine once. An old woman the locals called Betty invited her into her one room apartment and fixed her eggs for breakfast. November went to school during the day and worked as a cocktail waitress in a strip club at night. She was a pretty girl and nobody cared that she was sixteen.

A jar full of money and three years later November enrolled in a small community college in Detroit. She loved the smell of gasoline and the colors of the city. She was drawn to the grey in the eyes of everyone. They smiled when she smiled. Four years of papers and coffee and November was a teacher.

Alone in her apartment one night she made a promise to the ceiling. She was going to gather a small group of children and devote her life to teaching them all she knew. They wouldn't be special or pretty or smart or stupid.

Her classroom was full with sixteen kids between the ages of four and six. They started with finger paints and picture books. It snowed a lot but the teacher was always there. No child was the same except for the twins who were very different. They spent Monday talking about love, Tuesday discussing truth, Wednesday laughing at intelligence, Thursday crying about fear, and on Friday they played frisbee.

November was there for everything. She cried through graduation. She cooked chili for tail-gate parties. She drank at weddings. She drank after divorces. She held children. She watched them sing in church. She drove them to the tatoo parlor. She went for Starbuck's. She ate McDonald's hotcakes. She went fishing. She practiced ballet. She watched movies at 12 am. She loved them all.

And one day she decided to leave. They came together and they begged her not to go. November kissed them on the forehead and said, "love and teach the world as I have loved and taught you". A rusted taxi took her away to a small town in Florida.

The children looked at each other with tears in their eyes. Someone tried to make a joke. It was funny but nobody laughed. Slowly they parted and went back home. They ate Thanksgiving dinner together two months later. One of the children quoted November and someone said she was wrong. They argued for hours. They began to say terrible things to each other. Hatred was born in their family. Groups started to form as people took sides. They pointed fingers and called each other liars. Everyone knew what November had said. And everyone else was wrong.

They broke away and never spoke again. Their families got larger and they built mansions to have their meetings. November's name was all over the country. They celebrated their knowledge and the others' stupidity. A young man once tried to enter but he didn't have on a Detroit Tiger's jersey so they didn't let him in. The outside was for him. The children ran their mansions thanking December for her knowledge and love. They loved a forgotten name.

The world started to burn in a huge fire one day. People died and cursed the earth. Everyone was scarred and disgusting. The children laughed at the outsiders stupidity and claimed November's knowledge was not for them. They laughed with money in their pockets and food in their bellies.

November sat on a small beach and stared at the water. The waves were blue like Old Man Wither's house. She sat and listened to the world fall away and wander in the dark. The children forgot her love and all her teachings. November wept on a warm day in May.

Life is short Ross, just seventy or eighty years and boom, its all over.

Last Sunday our worship band at church played Dave Matthew's "Where Are You Going" to close out the service. It was an excellent cover and it reminded me that Jesus can claim anything as his own in order to reach culture. As the band played my mind stretched beyond the message and grasped ahold of the meat of the song.

But I do know one thing:
Where you are is where I belong.
I do know, where you go, is where I wanna be

I haven't enlisted into the thinking that life is short. I'm twenty-two, and like other twenty year old males I'm ignorantly certain in my invincibility. My legs work and my mind is still quick so as of this moment there is much to be seen and heard. Although I am guarded in my fantasy land I can't help but wonder about days long gone and the time ahead. Do I want to spend the next three decades chasing money and success? I want my family to experience stability and prosperity but every day those terms fall further from dollar signs. Is a six figure check more important than a room full of people hearing the love of God? No. Does how fast my BMW will go out weigh the love extended to others through a book of thoughts and wonderings? Will my daughter's iPod be more important than a HUNGRY NEED WORK sign being put to the side forever? In my heart the answers shout themselves across my soul.
Maybe a lifetime of serving him is more important than a lifetime serving them. I found my answer while typing, good luck with yours.