.

Ignorance is bliss, so let's reminisce,
about the things we don't know,
and the ways we won't grow.

Meditation on Witnessing

In response to something I've just come across, I think it's worthwhile to spend some time in examination of the role of a witness in faith. What exactly is a witness? What does it mean to be in this role? What are the implications of being directed to witness? What is on the line if this role is fulfilled or neglected? Is it something that can be successful if attempted haphazardly? Tough questions, let's try to forge some answers.

"Christian witnesses must always maintain integrity before the world"

This is the particular quote that struck me, and got me thinking about this role. First and foremost, the lazy part of me disagreed with this absolutist claim putting such emphasis on consistent success, making no allowances for failures or mistakes. Then the realist set in to remind myself that witnessing is never a guaranteed success, and can be negated by the simplest acts of hypocrisy. Tough role? Considering what's on the line, it better be. A witness, unlike in the legal context, isn't someone whose always sought out to answer pre-rehearsed questions to arrive at a common conclusion but instead is one who, through their behaviours and guidance of the Spirit, directs the attention of others towards God. In such a circumstance, how much room for error should be allowed? If, at best, I'm an imperfect representation of a perfect being, at which point does my imperfection so cloud the view of God that he becomes abstract and incomprehensible?

Though there's no one answer to absolve such anxieties, it should be understood that the more my imperfections get in the way, the less God may be visible through my witnessing. This isn't to say that my behaviours should be perfect, as I'm liable and susceptible to sin at any point. Rather, it should be realized that the position of witness requires a degree of integrity that can both balance acceptance of one's weaknesses and sins, while directing one's capacities to behaviour reflecting the one who may repair and rebuild the broken areas. I must maintain balance between the realization that I'm going to sin and thus require forgiveness yet I must, in all circumstances, resist any desire to let myself slip. If I am to point to God, I cannot expect to be turning away on a regular basis. I must, at all times, desire to seek Him, and though I stray always re-align myself. Beyond that, I must acknowledge his role in this process as the one who absolves, and the one whom I may depend on to strengthen my resolve.

This whole internal process, while necessary for maintaining personal proximity to God, is useless in my walk as a witness if it remains internal. If all others may see of me, in relation to my God, is that I do good deeds then I conceal the most important aspects of my salvation. Maintaining this integrity, rather than through hiding the areas that don't reflect God, requires an acceptance of failures and a demonstration of humility in sharing how I may falter and yet be restored through forgiveness. It is God who restores, God who motivates, God who directs; my role is to accept his direction, and follow or stray from his desire for my direction. If all who look upon me, seeing either the good or bad deeds I commit, attribute my behaviours as exclusively internal, they miss the fact that my motivation comes from God.

So what does it require to witness? It requires first that I am directing my attention to the very being that I am witnessing to. It requires that I, even in my mistakes, maintain a desire to turn and face Him. It then requires that I share my failures, as well as my successes, without presenting an exaggerated version of my true self. Finally, it requires that the internal workings of God, the motivation of the Spirit in directing my heart be related in tandem with the acts being perceived. It requires integrity, as near-perfect integrity as can be achieved, to admit my faults and strive for virtue while walking with honesty and humility. To witness, my unconscious yet ceaseless act of worship and evangelism, requires me to associate myself with God in word and deed. It requires that I focus on constant reflection of the behaviours I choose, and acknowledge with transparency the moments of error while striving to consistently make the right decisions. Tough business, I suppose, but it ought to be considering what's at stake.

P.S

A friend said my blogs contain no real updates regarding myself, no journal-esque musings. As such I shall say that the thoughts, rather than the actions in my life, are the best way for me to intimately update you on who I am and what's going on in life. That said, I'll humour her enough to say that life is well; I'm coming to have a more developed, patient, and appreciative view of school (as I near the end of the semester, coincidence?) that is making life easier. In addition, I'm working hard to implement the stuff I talk about with my Life Group and live a life of greater integrity and reflection. Finally, I'm thoroughly enjoying married life and striving towards better loving and caring for my amazing wife. All this to be summed up by saying I'm trying to live now, not with the expectation that life will happen later. This sort of mind frame has me more appreciative of each day, regardless of the challenges it may bring. Life's Good in a real, non-surfacey way that feels refreshing to be able to relate with absolute honesty.

Always the way it feels, never the way it is.

One day I'll be the guy who's not too busy to be himself,
I'll have all the free time to be with everyone who remains,
I'll clean the mess that's amassed, and sort the unsorted,
One day I'll have time to use all the time I've been saving,
One day.

Pride vs. Humility

I've got time, I've got energy as a result of a caffeine high/(overdose?), and I've got a topic that I have been passively pondering in the spare moments of my days. I've got the perfect music to encourage my thoughts, and the inspiration of having read the internet in its entirety. Shall I continue hyping this post? Naw, let’s get to it.

I am convinced, or at least have been convinced in the past and am attempting to remain convinced, that life is all about a struggle between pride and humility. That if we were to boil down the differences of humanity, the essences of what makes the good truly good, and the wicked seem wicked, the virtues of comparison would not be love and hate or good and evil but rather pride and humility. The difficulty of achieving humility makes it something beyond natural grasp. To achieve true humility requires enlightenment, self-reflection, empathy, social comprehension, love, compassion, the list goes on and on.

"Why these two things, Matthew?" you may find yourself asking. "Because, it's my blog", I'd reply.

I was sitting around thinking about the way we grow socially, the way we develop from egocentric beings concerned solely of our own interests into empathetic beings who have become a lot more capable of moving away from this former self as we develop to understand our place among others.

We learn the pitfalls of pride in a cognitive way that takes years, if not a lifetime to comprehend.

I know it is wrong for me to build myself up to some great degree, yet I feel a great sense of joy knowing I'm better than others. The struggle isn't to mask that sense of joy, the struggle is to overcome it. Not in the faux-polite mock-modesty way where I brush off your compliments as I'm eagerly awaiting your further flattery but in the way that I understand my position and willingly sink below it. To will myself into submission and service...to WANT the place among the downtrodden, not as a means of feeling thankful for what I have, but as a means of understanding what it really means to love as I love myself. As a means of understanding that my place in the first world isn't attached to my worth. As a means of understanding that I am NOTHING more than those around me, regardless of education, wealth, age, gender, or any other label society tells me to value.

And that's exactly it, isn't it? You wouldn't sell goods by allowing people to see themselves as equals. People don't consume when they're spiritually full. I could care less about the labels on my clothes, because the tattoos on those easily removed layers are less than permanent. When I'm living a life of humility, my soul is branded with a culture that transcends the capitalist dream. However, as I stated before, this is a lifelong struggle, with society drawing out this prideful existence, building up this notion of self-importance as a means to extract all the material goods I can amass.

I need those goods, don't I? I mean, without wealth, how will I be remembered? Without wealth, how will I know my place? Without these status symbols, what will represent the man I am to be?

Why do I need to be represented by anything but the man who I am? Why let a symbol stand in for the person I am? My existence is nothing more than a gift, and rather than hoard all which I have, and all who I am, storing my every experience in an effort to saturate life with experiences, why can't I just be? Is an acceptance of life as it is such a terrible endeavour? When I die important, will I die prepared for death, or simply remorseful that I'm to be parted from all which made me worthy?

Pride will prevent me from knowing the man I could be. Pride will part me from my potential. Pride will preoccupy my consciousness until I am prepared to abandon my place in society. Pride will bind my existence to the world I am to depart from, separating my soul from the one who calls me home. Pride is the choice to follow myself into the abyss.

Humility is the opportunity to discover the man I've always wanted to meet. Humility takes Christ from the throne and brings him to the heart which yearns for filling. Humility is a commitment to disappear without a loud goodbye, but a lasting whisper; sought not in the noise of a multifocussed life but the intentional quiet of one striving to hear sounds long since heard, but never to be forgotten.

I'll choose humility, but I'm as unsure as always if I'll ever abandon pride in that choice.

To be heard

What does it mean, this seemingly simple goal of self-improvement? It's something that I consider in passing, a thought that seems rough and complex, beyond my comprehension but something worth considering nonetheless. It is in these moments that I think without aim, and often forget the haphazard conclusions I arrive without so much as becoming aware I've thought at all. However, tonight illumination carried me beyond the destructive forces of my own distracted tendencies.

But this thought, although previously abandoned, began several weeks ago. I was returning home from a friend's house when a woman approached my car requesting a ride. Her hesitation and jittery posture alerted me, but I decided that at such a late time, the least I could do was provide a bit of help. As she sat beside me, the pain behind her voice slowly seeped out and she shared with me her struggles to find a safe place to sleep. The conversation was constantly directed, by her, to money as she continuously requested some small amount of financial support. I had none, and without certainty of her mind state, I was unsure of what such aid would lead to anyway. As I dropped her off at a shelter, all I could think was that I didn't do enough. I didn't know what to say, how to respond, how to love. I didn't know how to be Jesus for this woman. I feel like I know God on some level, yet had no idea how to treat someone who desperately needed love. It broke my heart, and as I sat in my car praying for guidance and direction, I couldn't shake the feeling of shame that I didn't know what to do. I simply didn't know what to say.

Fast forward to present day, and I'm leaving metrotown station late at night. A woman stopped me outside the bus terminal, explaining her situation as a woman recently laid off, not a beggar but a regular citizen down on her luck. Embarrassed to ask, but required by necessity, she requested any change I might be able to spare. I never carry change or money really, and told her that I wish I could help, but I didn't have anything on me. I truly wished I could have helped, but again I felt helpless. As I walked away, God spoke to me. He had decided in this very moment to shed light on my prayer of weeks before.

How can I help? What can I do? What does everyone in that position need? What would I need? As I kept hearing her shame, I understood God's lesson for me. He said not to feel ashamed. He said that neither woman was below me, nor required to feel such a way in their requests for aid. He said that anyone could experience loss, and that the difficulties of these women in no way diminish their worth to Him. They are loved. God spoke these ideas as I walked away, privy to a voice that gave me no excuses or diversions, no guilt or remorse but instead a message of love that is to be shared. God gave me this simple advice to bridge the gap between His voice and my own. He spoke not to abstractly instruct or provide closure for me, He spoke to be heard.

Needs and Wants

Even as I am given the greatest gifts of all, my eyes stare greedily at that which I lack. When my needs are met, I no longer view the world in terms of satisfaction. Suddenly, my desires become a necessity and I toil and strive for them with a careless lust in search of self satisfaction. Not only are my efforts egotistical, but harmful as I becoming willing to justify my wants over the true needs of others. When I go starving, I need nutrients. Yet when my cup is full, I return for more in hopes that I'll secure provisions for tomorrow while others go without today.

I am motivated by fear, drawn to the loudest voices encouraging my paranoid dread. For me, compassion is a buzz word displayed as a trophy gathering dust on a mantle, brought out only to demonstrate status and garner acceptance. I care...watch as I click my way to support or donate an hour of my precious time to your cause while not bothering to understand your obstacles. I am self serving, self protecting, and afraid. I am the facade of a smile, cracking beneath a worn exterior which grows tired of its own falsehoods. I am all I've grown to detest but often fear the abyss of change too greatly to seek improvement. I am vulnerability incarnate as I truly examine my shortcomings and list them in a pitiful list of weaknesses.

Yet, amidst all this I am not without hope. I may stand tall and admit my weakness or cower in a shell of fear, citing the normalcy of these despicable characteristics. I may face the fact that perfection is my goal, not my requirement, and that an imperfect humility is worth more than a distorted perfection. I may bring myself in submission to One who restores the broken. I may repent, not out of fear of judgement or the pressures of my peers, but out of a desire to be something greater than the self reliant man I gravitate towards being. Only in my admission of my mistakes, the humble posture I must assume, may I bring myself closer to a better reality; one in which I have ears to hear and eyes to see beyond the needs and wants of my isolated existence.

Welcome Back

It seems I've gone far too long without finding the time to write, usually meaning I've been too busy living life. Marriage, new home, grocery shopping, dishes, meals, scheduling, planning, decisions. Leaving me breathless, these concepts have consumed me. I only remain grounded and stay afloat knowing that I'm not in this alone. It seems I've grown mentally feeble, like a house of cards with new levels constantly springing up upon an already exhausted and weak frame. Magnificent only in its great stature, it is the adding of these layers that both builds me up and weighs me down.

As though this work is an end in itself, I'm somehow missing the value of the labour put into making life what it is. Exhausted in knowing that I've got to arise tomorrow to an amazing job, head out afterward with an amazing wife to buy food, clean our clothes, and decide upon when and where we are able to visit with amazing friends, these complaints are 1st world problems at their finest. It's nice to think aloud, as it is only in finding words to express these consuming thoughts that I am made able to realize my foolishness.

As the caffeine from a late night visit (which wasn't all that late, truth be told) courses through my system, I'll continue on my journey. Lately, I've been very fleeting, excusing my lack of committment by citing the busy state of post-married life. I think this is a cop out I've overused. It's not THAT hectic. Maybe I'm not doing this right? I feel tired from a lack of exhaustion. Stressed from a lack of worries. Confused by the constant simplicity of life. The more I think on it, the better I feel about it all.

To write, for me, is to awake something deep within. Even in the ramblings of a jolted, contradictory, repetitive gent such as my present self, I find a calm emerge through this organization of ideas. The more I gather these pieces, the more they assemble and assist my mind, in a effort to do more than simply live life. This needn't make sense for it to be of great worth, I appreciate it nonetheless for its simple truth.

Venting/Trying to Figure out What to do

So lately it has come to my attention that no matter what I do, no matter what others may think, no matter how much effort I put into relationships, I'm bound to fail. Unfortunately, the failures of late haven't been little things, not to me anyways. The failures have been really offensive, they have been born from carelessness and represented me as a man I'd never wish to be. An apology may repair the damage-if forgiveness is afforded to me-but it doesn't change the fact that there are major areas in my life which I have come to overlook.

I came back from a church retreat this weekend on somewhat of a high horse. While I wasn't outwardly exclaiming anything prideful, nor had I been acting in a damaging nature, inside the feeling grew that I was doing things right. The feeling that swelled within had me feeling that I had been making all the right decisions, that I was well-liked by all, and that regardless of my effort, people would flock to me. I have taken friendship for granted, and to some extent forgotten what it means to properly engage in this bond. I have spent much time praying that I'll be a good husband, reflecting on what it means to be married, and what my role will look like, and I've neglected to care for the people around me.

I feel terrible. I feel absolutely terrible that I am about to get married in 3 weeks time, and there are people I have neglected to invite simply due to fear of offending them. If anyone knows the way to express this feeling, to overcome this issue please let me know. We are having a small reception, and in that comes the challenge of how invites are sent out. In the one wedding that I've attended, it was common knowledge that to be invited to one, without the other, was a major faux pas. I have thus spent hours trying to make a list that works, and feeling guilty over names of people I care about whom I wouldn't be able to invite. I want everyone to come to see my love for Leah, I want EVERYONE who cares, has cared, may care, thinks about us, knows us, etc to celebrate with me. But I let fear of awkward social conventions dictate my decision and have had it smack me in the face. I don't know where to go from here, but I feel as though regardless of my decision I've already approached this wrong. Please do weigh in, cause I'm feeling VERY hurt by the knowledge that I'm doing the wrong thing, and I need advice more than ever.

While I vent my regret, I know nothing more to say to express this remorse. Perhaps the words not said, the sentiments not expressed, have already done irrepairible damage. If not, I hope to try and fix this mistake, and am running out of time in which to act. Excuse my possible errors as I madly click away here on my laptop, this reflection was written out of true sentiment, and not filtered, edited, re-worded or altered as I feel it's best for me to be as real as possible about my reflection as thoughts come and go. Forgiveness is all I may ask of those who feel like I've let them down. The best thing for me is to know who you are, with the hope that I can become a better man through humility and grace. I'm sorry, and though I've not shown it, I hope you know I have come to value every relationship that has gotten me through the years of struggle and hardship.

Thanks for listening, my virtual therapists.

One Man's Thorn.

I was going to take a poetic style, try to wrap some alliteration and rhyme around the emotions of my soul but it didn't seem real. Poetic language shouldn't be something you plan, it should just happen. With that in mind, I get to the point.

I have this idea that my sin is a burden I carry alone. I have this image that every time I sin, every time I do something I know I'm not supposed to, every time I feel a guilty pang at my inability to walk a proper path there's this thorn digging itself deeper into my flesh. At times, I wish I had an actual thorn there painfully reminding me that I'm straying, an itch that pulls me not towards darkness, but rather to repentance. It seems sin is always something I'm lured into, and righteousness is something I must choose against this temptation. I wish it were easier, that I could remember easier to pay attention to this thorn. Unfortunately, pain is only an afterthought.

Anyways, the image I have is of this thorn as my burden is very true. Yet this thorn, or perhaps these thorns, that I plant do not hurt me. The pain, I know, is something I'm privileged enough to forego. Though I wish it on me, I wonder of the agony, feeling every thorn I am responsible for dig itself in. This is not a pain I am capable of comprehending. Each time I lie, each time I get angry, each time I lust, each time I disobey, follow selfish ambition, fail to show love, horde my wealth; each time I sin, to feel this sting is too much for me to handle.

Then this image within my head reminds me of a crown of thorns. It reminds me that somewhere on that crown, my thorn sits sharply prepared for innocent flesh. I feel no pain, I could not bear the pain of my own sins, and yet a man bore a multitude of thorns. When I feel a desire for that sting to remind me to repent, the sting pales in comparison to the image of the cross. It's not the sting that hurts, it's not the pain I'd feel that hurts, it's not about the way I'm physically feeling. To know I'm putting a thorn between myself and that man is pain. To turn my back on sacrifice is pain. To reject the gift of forgiveness in an effort to fix things myself, THAT is pain.

What I Hate

I hate the fact that I care if nobody reads what I write. I hate the fact that I count the number of replies to an event, and that when the rejections outweigh the number of those attending my heart drops. I hate the fact that I can remember exactly what it feels like to be without close companions, and that those fears are what motivate me most to seek others. I hate the fact that regardless of what I do, I cannot manufacture for myself the embrace of friendship, or the feeling that I have the attention of those who I hold dear. Every moment I feel unheard this hatred grows, every moment I'm interrupted or ignored, silenced or neglected, overlooked or simply discarded it feels as though I'm digging deeper into a hole of solitude.

Worse still, I hate the fact that the relationships with the people I care most about are sometimes built and standing on shifting sands of obligations, small talk, and frivolous jestings. I hate the fact that I am unable to sustain with sincerity true conversations of belief, conviction, passion, and care. I love without loving, protected from vulnerability by a relational distance that rarely moves beyond the realm of acquaintance. I pray for an understanding of how one is able to become a person of importance. No, maybe that's not the right phrasing. Not a person who has importance, but a person who extracts important information. One who moves beyond the surface to interact on a level that surpasses the guarded chatter of lifelong friends who know nothing about the areas of hurt, need, love and joy their loved ones feel into the realm of true friendship.

Is there some sort of contract entered into? Does it take a spontaneous late-night conversation to spark this interaction? Can it be duplicated, recreated, manufactured or pre-planned? Can I become a man who seeks truth, seeing through the sheltering disguises of hesitant broken people into the hearts of those with whom I interact? I desire nothing greater than an understanding of how we work, how I can overcome both the barriers I set in place, and those put in place by others. I don't know how one begins a man-to-man without suggesting or implying an awkward bromance, I don't know how to look into the eyes of the people I've known longest to ask the questions I've always wondered about, and I don't know how to share without forever alienating the ones I'd do anything to keep close.

So, out of ignorance, not desire, I perpetuate the status quo, divert attention with trickery, showmanship, wit, and humour while secretly wondering about the unspoken bits. My mind slows down as I ignore the voice of sincere curiosity and begin to exist on an energy-saving mode, toned down from the pursuit of understanding and strong relationships into this self-constructed role of a man without depth who sacrifices opportunity for security.

With cowardice do I retreat, expressing my true thoughts behind a veil of anonymity. Sure, you know me, but the me you read about and the man you see are far from the same, and by the time you next see me I might as well be in costume.

Rambling

On a beautiful day such as today, to waste time in petty rhyme seems trivial. On a beautiful day such as today, to watch hours waste away seems criminal. On a beautiful day such as today, to share my mind's work in kneejerk fashion, with lyrical passion and instant expression in points of digression is perhaps the only way to truly live. Transcribing cognitive snapshots of my mind's work, painting prose through the recordable means of documentation, etching thoughts from caverns of unused potential, my brain is alive and enjoying the sunshine of its dreamful existence. Every day is beautiful, every moment a chance to relish in the natural beauty that is existence; whether rain or snow plagues the earth on which I stand, when I return to this space of reflection the sun shines through. When I stop to consider consideration and cease the cessation of thoughtlessness, the darkest days are illuminated from the inside out.

Follower (unfinished/rough work)

I was born to be a follower,

No,
responsibility is not a skill to be trained or maintained
so shift blame
from my shoulders, help me stave off this boulder
of burden.
If the doors open I'll surely walk in, but I need a leader for this process to begin.

And it's not just any leader that's worthy to follow,
any pill that i'll swallow, or any party we'll all go
to support.
Suppose this individual with influence infinite should be in it to win it,
not spin it to emit half-truths of bull spit with the goal of opressing all who submit.
Not just any who will lead is worthy to follow.

But yet, with the path well worn do I continue to trace tracks set before me.
With a naive joy do I embrace the same ploy,
cause to lead isn't in me, and I've got to follow somebody.

The Wheel Keeps Spinning

The sky contains more joy than I'll know.

Or at least, it feels that way sometimes. As if off in the distance there's this untapped location stowing away all the happiness I'm short of experiencing, and to attend this place would be to experience freedom from frustration and sorrow. I don't want to run from worry, I want to face it head on. Yet, to face it with the confidence I know I'll one day be capable of mustering seems like the poetic thing to await. Yet, there is no barrier between the dissatisfaction I feel now and the joyous emotion of this future place. I am the only thing in my way, and I am crippling myself with the distant goal by ever placing it several feet beyond my reach.

It's the image of a hamster on a running wheel that best characterizes this position we find ourselves in. Always working, sometimes pushing extra hard, as if the effort we put in on that wheel will bring us any closer to this joy. Maybe running is your passion, and an end in itself, but if you're spinning the wheel with the hopes that one day something changes, it's time to get off it and step on more solid ground. Why is it that we accept where we are, and sit around with hope that something will alter our condition if we just wait for it. I'm not saying we should be without hope. Rather, we should engage in hope, let it be an active position and allow ourselves to seek out fulfillment rather than wait for it to come to us.

When I die, I want to die a happy man. Would I be disappointed if I died tomorrow? Yes, probably. Why? Because there's so much stuff I haven't done yet. Not because I'm not a happy man, but because there are all these other goals unspoken yet fully entrenched in my being. If you gave me twenty four hours to live, I'd reflect deeply and use that time for great things. I'd die tired. And yet, here I sit, perfectly aware that my time is limited, and perfectly content to stockpile my energy as I spin the wheel and wait for signs of impending danger. Even though I'm aware of this predicament, it's a tough first step to take.

Poemish

My heart breaks at a distance for the cries of injustice.
With apathy does it receive hurt and cringe at emotional distress.
Like the hurt of a phantom limb, its mourning for the loss of unity and wholeness
undercuts my understanding of the purpose original design.
Like the reception of an estranged child, its comprehension not prepared
for the overflow of tears and overwhelming reception of someone else's pain.

Characterizing the problems of nature in terms of
Synthetic simile, I force myself to grasp at the concept of empathy.
Coming up empty, I straddle the gap between trenches of compassion and indifference,
striving to discover a place amongst the fallen.
The obligation of support and audacity of ignorance contrasting both sides,
I remain struggling with the call to love as I love myself.

In light, a love of self is that of reflection.
Channeling the grace of agape into self-worth, I begin to comprehend.
Yet, beneath the dark clouds of the fallen world, rays of light are distorted.
In darkness, I see no part worthy of love.
It is within this existence, torn between ignorance and support,
that I desire to share the burden of heartache, and reject the objective lense for true understanding.

Ramble ramble...

When will the time come that sees me appreciating what I have? When will it be time to sacrifice my desires for those of the people around me? When will it become a reality that can no longer be overlooked or delayed? What will it take for me to realize that urgency is not some distant concept but something that can be lived out everyday?

I wish I had these answers. It's easy to say that the reason I struggle in the world is the world, and that I'd do much better if I was isolated away from the pressures and distractions of society. I'm not sure how truthful this all is, but it sure is easy to say. I suppose this is my problem with running away, as I've yet to see the destination where troubles aren't permitted, and ran past exhaustion is search of a solution. I know I'm supposed to struggle, I know I'd much rather be on the end of adversity than that of simplicity. Yet, it'd be nice to have a balance.

Despite these rantings, I think fulfillment is found not in what one does for the self, but what can be done for others. While not exactly profound, it's something that I need to be reminded of. I'm bored in an existence that fails to branch beyond the thoughts of my mind. Excitement is in the unpredictability of interaction.

It'd take loss, by the way...one realizes wasted potential after the opportune moment has passed. To look back not with memories but regrets is the sentence for idle behaviour. I like to think I live without regrets, but sure wish I had more memories.

Imperfection...

Our love is imperfect,

It's messy, unplanned, unfinished, and slightly off-centre. It may be constant, but its presence is subverted and hidden by obligation and routine. We fight for every inch of ground only to realize we're standing on eachother's toes. We argue so deeply that we drown ourselves in trivial confusions. We overshare, and leave things unsaid. We grow too close, and then counterbalance by placing great distances between us. We are on the process of perfection, aware of our distant proximity from any semblance of it in our lives. Yet, as you remind me, beauty can be found in the asymmetrical.

Our eyes are drawn not to the things which are mirror images, but those which stand apart. My most vivid mental images are incomparable to the true beauty of the world. I'm incapible of envisioning anything truly unique, something representing natural beauty. I can recreate what I've already seen, but there is no capturing the essence of a sight by simply reproducing it in my mind. We're always looking at what we think is beautiful, but never questioning the lack of fulfillment we experience. Always wanting more, growing tired of those things which our minds have grasped, we require more than we're capable of providing for ourselves.

And so, when I realize just how imperfect our love is, it's with these things in mind that I can find joy. Though our love is not an ideal, though we're not the manifestation of perfection, I am satisfied. Not satisfied as in "that sandwich was satisfying." No, satisfied as in I need not look further for happiness. I need not look upon the perfection in others with envy or yearning. I am imperfect, I am in love, and though I'd love to be perfect in my submission, I am incapable of perfect love. I am capable of admitting my shortcomings, I am capable of accepting my faults and I am certainly capable of trying to overcome. I work every day to better myself not with the hopes of perfecting our love, I work with the hopes that we both need not look any further. I work to give you the love you deserve. Even when you don't see me, I work to capture and hold on to your beauty for the moments where our imperfection is showing.

Thinking hard, or hardly thinking?

Man, do I ever love the freedom of a blank page without criteria, word counts or structures. I'd love to be all artistic and say that it's representative of how my mind works, without structures, order or a set process. However, unfortunately, and perhaps to my regret, this simply is not true. I process, I weigh options, I scan and consider pros and cons. I worry about repercussions; I think ahead and foresee opposition like a game of chess. And yet, as I sit here writing my paper on Obama (woooooo! Obamaaaaa!) I cannot help but get all artistic and struggle to foresee any sort of opposing views to my own. Talk about complicated, perhaps I'm just contradictory. But then again, perhaps not.

Now, time to get down to business. I sat here momentarily, listening to an inspirational piano solo, thinking of what I felt was worthy of attention of such a focused moment. Here we go.

I was in bible study the other night, working through Amos chapter 1, and the topic of helping others was raised through the lens of compassion. I don't quite remember the specifics of how we arrived upon the notion, I just remember where my mind went. Not for quite some time has my mind raced as it did. While I sat in silent reflection, I pondered to myself just why is it that I can read about the death of someone with such a cold response, and yet feel a shudder jolt through my body at the thought of losing someone I love. A couple ideas came to mind.

In Obama's book "Dreams from my father", Obama's dad is characterized as a rough sort of guy with alcoholism and a bit of an antisocial attitude. Yet, in a moment more revealing, Obama is told of how his father, when doing well financially, always lent out money and gave generously to his friends. And yet, when struggling, he was abandoned. After this slow period, when he bounced back and those who turned away from him struggled, he embraced them yet again with open arms. To his disservice, he gave. He gave all he could, and never refused those who asked. He gave, even when he couldn't afford to, to the very people who had abandoned him. This behaviour is criticized in the novel, as Barack Sr. treated everyone like family one character notes "if everyone is family, nobody is family" or something to that effect.

This was my initial thought. I can only care so much. I cannot see every death, every bit of injustice or misfortune as I would for the people closest to me. If I do, where is there special place in my heart? How can I raise a healthy family if I spend as much time, or more, away raising and restoring others? There's no way to balance familial love equally, and a choice eventually must be made. It's not selfish, and this is the crucial bit. It's entirely selfless. But even in selflessness, it's a tough thing to come to terms with. Who do I love? Who can I invest time loving? I can love everyone poorly, or love some people in a deeper sense. If I care for everyone, I shed a tear at their misfortunes, but if I care for those closest to me, I help them through their hard times.

Next, it made me think of Notes from the Underground. Philosophy, year 2, DC. Essentially the story of an existential consciousness paralyzed by choices. His authenticity and true-to-self attitude is not in his attempts to do a bunch of things, or decide on anything in particular, but rather to be stagnant in the face of overwhelming possibility. Contradictory at times, full of conviction throughout, this voice as it constantly shifted in thought remained within an action-less body in contrast to the way many people carry out many actions without thought or true desire to act at all. Rather than do, he thought.

This one, perhaps, is more of a stretch, but maybe not. What does it ACTUALLY look like to care for EVERYONE? Consider that. I didn't say to think about others, I didn't say to reflect on suffering, I said to care for everyone. Where do you begin? How do you decide that's where? How legitimate is your care? How superficial? Are there those who are fine, who need no care? How can you be sure? How do you help those that refuse help? How do you help, if you yourself require assistance? How do you prevent yourself from making it worse? Etc. These are the secondary thoughts that raced through my mind upon consideration of this dilemma. I've heard it said that in many things a Christian is called to, there is a sort of paradox. That we are called to act in ways we maybe lack the disposition or capacity to act in, yet we should do them anyways. That this is the call of a Christ-like lifestyle. And yet, these questions all remain. The overwhelming sense of uncertainty paralyzes my mind when I reflect; all the while I can't help but feeling I'm missing out on something crucial.

So then where does that leave me? Where are the lines drawn for who gets cared for, and who will have to rely on others? Though I'm inclined to draw the lines as close in as possible, and build on what already exists, I can't help but feel that that's not right. Furthermore, the idea of expanding the lines out in an infinite way feels cheap and unproductive. I don't know that the question is meant for an answer. I do know that it's meant for reflection. Like so many other concepts in life, there are things which in themselves are an end. Things which, by way of the means alone, one can arrive at places of enlightenment and truth. The goal is to think, but to think with compassion. Let thought dictate word and deed. Never limit yourself to just thought for fear of paralysis. Likewise, never limit yourself to just deed, for fear of alienation and neglect of those closest to you. Balance is not a goal, as balance too can be stagnant. Constant flux, constant reaction to the circumstances and needs. Constant work at improvement not in search of perfection, not in search of an answer, but in search of the means through which to live properly. That the search may become the right path, and all along have carried you to an ever changing destination of love and care.

A pulse

I'm still alive and kicking...

Yeah, so I've been inactive lately...

But I'm still here, I tells you! For the few (if any) who read my words, don't give up on me. In the shadow of my mountain of homework, the last mound of earth between myself and bliss, I stand firm with faith and conviction that I'll come out of this one alright. Prayers work greater wonders than well-wishings and mutual pity parties, and as such are immensely appreciated.

I wish I had more time to stay and chat, I feel inspiration tickling the tips of my fingers as I am torn between free thought and mental conformity manifested in an evil essay outline. Good will prevail in the long run, but the short term is dictated by due dates and passing grades. If only inspiration would take a number, patiently awaiting the conclusion of this semester to encourage me to write when time is more readily available. We shall see.

Until then, prayer. Prayer for focus, for attentiveness, for motivation, for that extra push when I know I've done all I can do, but haven't begun to let God do His work in me.

Cheers!

My Most Valuable Reflection

Dramatic title, no? Well, this post will be somewhat of a confession, followed by expression of regret, and it all culminating in a hopeful conclusion. There's no guarantee that this path will remain unvisited by me in the future, just the hope that it is avoided for want of a better way. Enjoy.

First and foremost, an apology - to be taken in earnest - is due to those who I may have offended by any sort of anti-hipster sentiments I've expressed of late. I don't think the people close to me associate themselves all too closely with that label in an explicit way, and therefore may have remained free of offense, yet an apology is due nonetheless. It's wrong to spread hate, in any degree or manifestation, against others. It's more wrong to spread this hate without purpose or reason.

To allow oneself to be so affected by the dress and customs to such a degree that it develops strong distaste is wrong. It's easy to do when those people are in direct contact with you - when they're in your city or town - but convenience is no reason to get carried away with the spread of hatred. As I say before, hatred may itself fall on a spectrum, and even the most minute manifestation of distaste, if nurtured in similar fashion, may itself be a degree of hatred. There is no objective difference between hating a man for the colour of his skin than hating for his dress. There's no enlightenment in judging your behaviours as superior and thus drawing a negative comparison to all others who don't fit your paradigm. It is all wrong. I am guilty of this, and for this, I apologize.

How did I realize, then, that the way I've been acting is wrong? Simple, it was through song that I considered the duality of my behaviour; the hypocrisy of my heart was plain to see when I sat down enjoying the amazing music of people who I would have previously characterized in a negative way. Sitting here, coming increasingly close to a place where my spirit is lifted; I realized that I could respect these people for their abilities. I realized that I ought to love them for much more than what they may bestow upon me. I ought to be the man I aspire to be, I ought to live a life of love rather than a life of aspiration to love. Capacity alone is static; it is through action that one truly defines their limits.

It is extremely easy to see the world in terms of a selfish subjectivity. It's easy to see myself as rational, correct, both an agent and a victim; to become all sides in an attempt to justify my actions as the default position. Yet, this sort of "me" thinking limits my mind in its ability to recognize when I perpetrate an injustice on all of the "you"s. What does it matter if you dress, talk, think, and feel differently than I? Unique is not something to be feared or hated, but rather embraced. While we share differences, we all desire acceptance and love. This is the human condition. The goal, therefore, is not to sort people into categories but to embrace people in a blind way. The goal is to see through the differences, as deep or shallow as they may lay, and see the common desire. The goal, however, is not abstract. It is realized in every glance, every exchange, and every moment through which you perceive an insignificant interaction has passed. Each opportunity is yours to decide how you want to react to the varieties of our world.

We are empowered to resist the ways of the world. We accept our position in a flawed, broken, hurting, unjust world, but this acceptance doesn't need to limit our ability to seek change. It begins with thought. Conscious reflection on life, on the direction we walk and the repercussions of our steps helps us define a path. The danger isn't the choice; the danger is the perception of helplessness. Apathy stems from this feeling that no matter what, there will not be change. Apathy then spreads from isolated incidents to a way one deals with all situations. It infects the mind to ignore its ability to influence the world, and coaxes the individual toward blind acceptance of the status quo. Why we would ever accept our world as an eternally broken place confounds me.

Though we care less, we still care and maintain the earth we inhabit. What happens when we stop caring all together? The day thought dies in the individual, that very condition uniting us ceases to carry importance. These isolated incidents of hatred for me, while small and relatively insignificant, may very well help lead me on the path of an apathetic existence. Yet, there is hope in my ability to resist, my ability to look beyond those markers I've been conditioned to respond to, and to accept all people. The alternative is grim, the results of which would not be seen until change is all but impossible. If it starts with one reflection, it should continue to carry through all other decisions till each and every thought about the way I want to live my life is displayed through the way I'd already been living it.

So...sup?

I need to be a photoblogger, photobloggers are cool. First, I need camera. Hmmm. It seems like a lot of work. Maybe I'll stick to text based blogging.

Anyways, I found some old essays of mine, good times. On that note, my SFU essay streak is looking pretty hot right now as I found out recently my teacher took a liking to my latest one. How affirming is that, amiright? Maybe this English language thing aint so bad after all.

And now, back I go to the mound of work. Just thought i'd give what essentially could have amounted to a tweet in the form of some decent interaction for the eyes that, like mine, have a hard time staying in productive places.

Later days.

My Life Be Like...

The kid is officially sick. Boo! For at least a week I've been combating the notion that I could be brought down by sickness, only to succumb to the peer pressure and admit my inevitable defeat. How's that for dramatic?

On the plus side, it's reading break. So really, for me, it's sickness break. I don't know why I set such lofty goals when in reality I'll not come close to achieving them. I planned to do work every morning this week, and thus be productive in my reading break. So far I'm 0 for 3. Life aint easy, alright? Plus...no, let's just leave it at that. I'm pretty brutal at the whole proactive thing.

I'm in the mood to make sweeping, absolutist statements, and as such, I shall say that I'll never be satisfied with the present condition. That's not to say that I won't be thankful or appreciative of what I have, just that it'll be easier to focus on what I'm lacking. Not in the sense of material possessions, mind you, more so personal qualities. I wish I was a baller, I wish I were a little bit taller, etc. You get the picture. But in seriousness, it's much easier to step back from a picture and notice what you'd fix instead of marvelling at all which you've gotten right. That's generally the sentiment I'm feeling at the moment.

Now, while I update you fine folks, as identity can so often be reduced to the few aspects of life which people attribute ones existence to, I shall give an account of my present circumstances.

Wedding: invitations done (I'd like to say it was a team effort, and I suppose it was, but I was benched for said performance), caterer being pursued (this one I've got, we're going with The Banqueting Table), guest list being trimmed (painful process, to say the least. Think of all your previous experiences making guest lists, and compress them into one super-meaningful, hugely sensitive subject and multiply by one million to comprehend the pressure), budget being worked and reworked (more often the latter than the former), cake being pursued (Leah's handling this one), location settled upon.
Rings, rentals, suit, etc. = still to be completed.

Soccer: CFC! Bet many of you don't know what CFC is, but for those who do, respect. We're in the playoffs, having clinched first place in our division, and showing no signs of stopping. Game this Saturday in Port Moody against the top team of a rival division. Should be a good match.

School: Meh.

Social: Much better. In the past month, I've seen people I'd gone ages without seeing. It's hard to put into words what something so seemingly insignificant can do to a person’s state-of-mind. At the very least, it's nice to know that everyone's doing well, at the most, it's nice to know that time has no bearing on true friendship, as those who matter most are justified in being so valued.

Relationship: Madly in love, I suppose. In all seriousness, two things really come to mind. One, simple and light, in half a year’s time I'll be married to a woman I'd give anything for. Anticipation, even as it is contrary to my nature, is beginning to creep up on me. Perhaps I'll let it. Two, heavy and dark, I'm learning how tough it is to carry the weight of my sinful behaviour as it weighs upon the shoulders of someone else. To know I'll mess up is one thing, but to know that my messing up can bring someone else down, is a tough thing to come to terms with. I don't feel hopeless, but just aware of the gravity of our commitment to be married, and the responsibilities my role carries not only in times of joy, but in times of pain. Love aint easy folks, and in trying to keep myself righteous, I need to constantly think of those around me as pillars of encouragement.

This is all. This is not all who I am, but rather the convenience sake update that's becoming increasingly valuable in today's society. If not to be read by any eyes but my own, at least I can look back and get a good view of the man people could see in me.

TL;DR: though flawed, life's good.

Filling the Hole

Hearing words of truth uttered with such conviction, such passion, such certainty and integrity; it's making me wonder why it's getting so hard to speak. Avoiding unposessed areas of virtue, inwardly do I look upon the void. Wholely certain that this massive crater deep within only has room to grow, I prepare the self-sacrifice of more. Giving up everything, I submit to emptiness. Isolation makes nothing of men, and takes men to a state of nothingness.

My vision is limited to the pictures in my memory. Past bleeds into the present and still memories overwhelm my sights. In a crowd of solitary confinement, this hole grows ever larger. I land upon firm ground, surrounded by the encroaching waves of the faceless crowd, blind to the presence of humanity.

With an ear to hear in this muted existence do I find myself ever searching for a voice; some sound to take away the dark days. To speak is to be heard, and a lifetime of inner dialogue will not fill this hole. With an arm of exhaustion do I find myself reaching for strength to share the depth of this depression, to relate the means of my destruction. Hope is the light with which I can illuminate this void.

Speaking aloud my forgiveness plea, I pray with you that He'll come fill me.

The other guy

1. In any like terms, wherein meaning is subjectively applied, of what worth is my ability to perform?

In an audience of one, applause roars as I roll out of bed and let out a lion-like yawn. "Sensational form" remarks the voice echoing in the halls of my mind. Further cheers and encouragements come as I sit writing reflections, penning ponderings of prose and philosophy, frantically filling folds of loose-leaf. Feeling 20 feet tall, proud of all gifts bestowed upon me, thoroughly thankful for their source, I mirror all praises showered upon me by my audience upward to my maker. I am man, made to praise and rejoice in all that I do. Thanks spouts freely from my lips as I'm forever reminded of Your work in me.

Suddenly, appearing in the distance, I see the fuzzy outline of one just like me; one who stands on two legs, one with two arms, one who looks capable of performing my specialties: the yawn, the stretch, the roll out of bed, even the thinking part! This can't be good. Does this one know what I'm capable of? Soon, with much curiosity do I learn of this one. He writes. He writes well. He writes of his maker, he writes of his feelings, he writes thoughts in such ways I've never considered. Suddenly, the applause comes to a halt and I put down my pen, never to lift it again. I forget my purpose and ignore my gifts. In light of this other, I let myself abandon my purpose.

A voice fills my head, the voice I'd once let cheer me to exciting new heights. Reluctantly, I let it speak and listen as it fills me with hope.

"I gave you talents for your use, for you to apply, to change and encourage change around you. This place is his alone, as yours is only fit for you. I miss your writing; it hurts me to see you discard your talents for want of what he has. The world needs you both, not to compete, but to enrich it. Pick up your pen, become the man you're made to be."

So I did.

So this is where these tactics come from...

While I was hard at work procrastinating studying, I found this little video about American political jeers. Enjoy!

Love might look something like this

No titles come to mind as I frantically type all that passes through my mind. It's been too long. I think it's a good feeling to return to my blog with the excitement of encountering an old friend that I need to fill in with more than what happens to me. This is the essence. In the moments of deliberation, contemplation and realization the true self is shared.

Ever get the desire to go against the grain? Counter-will, I believe Mel calls it. Anyways, every time I am asked whether I'm an introvert or an extravert, I generally find that an honest answer is both. Maybe I feel that it's a cop out, so I say extravert, because the presence of others influences me to feel social. Yet, in the quiet of the night, with nothing but some music and my thoughts, I feel really comfortable. Solitude is maddening when it's all one knows, yet as an option it's the freedom to realize your thoughts can run their own course. Further maddening is it to realize you're thinking and doing exactly what the world wants of you, without intervention or choice.

I write as I think, which is why I don't edit my posts. I spell check, of course, because an English major like myself can't be caught making mistakes, but I like the flow of chaos. It's garbage to read, at times, but it is so much more real than a polished entry of thought. Who thinks with such structure? Certainly not myself.

In a post that began with such promise, I've neglected much substance. Here we go (I seem to favour that phrase). Sorry folks, I've been sitting here all of 5 minutes (sounds like less time than it feels like when you're keeping track) and I've been unable to think of anything but my fiancé. Scratch that, I'm not sorry. You know what people ask you all about when you're engaged? Yes you do, don't you? That's right, the wedding. To be honest, I don't know much about the wedding. To be entirely honest, I don't care much about the wedding. I care about the bride, I care about the groom (good fellow, he is) and I care about the marriage. Anticipation is jealous of my excitement as the day approaches that Leah and I are unified under God. With tremendously hyperbolic understatement, so greatly down-played do I tell you that excitement such as this only comes for truly wondrous things.

All the joy, peace, calm, and love in the world do I want for her. Tonight I could barely bear to leave her and get to my homework. I felt overcome with the spirit. I felt confirmed. I feel confirmed. Man is it ever a great feeling. So yes, please do ask. Ask all you're willing to hear about; as I could speak 10,000 words of what I feel for her. I could share in great depth, with huge emphasis and marvellous emotion, speaking till my voice dries up or your ears begin to filter my utterances as white noise. But, please don't expect such a response to your questions of the wedding. I will refer you to Leah/give an uncertain response. My thoughts are tied up with the musings of my heart.