surrounded by death
embraced by life
enveloped in struggle
I submit

Happy Birthday to me, indeed.

Whaaaat, who is this guy? Two posts in such a short window! Now this is a blog worth following...

Now that I'm done patting myself on the back, let's get to it.

I shall now put on my philosopher hat as I ask..."what is a birthday?" Surely more than the day I was born, plus 23 years. Surely it has become something much more meaningful, much more sentimental, perhaps much more dreaded, a birthday is a commemorative excuse for celebration and the exchange of well wishes.

Now, those who know me well know I'm not much of a holiday guy at all. How do I console this with the fact that I had an awesome birthday? I'm working on it, I tells ya. (Tangent) I am not a fan of holidays as I believe that they tend to idolize a day above others for good tidings, good behaviour and general admonishments of love, neglecting moderation for overzealous hyperbole that, in contrast, makes other days some more dreary.

(A wild rhyming cynic appears!) Those who post upon walls, text instead of placing calls, respond late or perhaps not at all drain the sincerity from the claim happy birthday. It becomes another article of meaningless grunting along with such gems as "how's it going?" and "canucks-canucks-canucks, etc." If you really cared, says the lonely abscess of my subconscious, you'd make an effort to get personal in your message. If it really mattered at all to all you folks, you'd do more to make it something that reflects the value you place in our relationship.

Now see, that right there is some useless bit of selfish, prideful reflection. That right there is the product of an idolized day wherein I'm supposed to be treated specially and allowed to be high-maintenance under the cover of my special status as birthday boy. This is how I respond to this day when I treat it as anything more than what it is.

What is it? It is just a day. Though it provides an excuse for the over-sharing that breaks social character, the kind of over-sharing that says I love you, I love the person you are, the things you've done and the things you've helped me realize in the time we've known one another. These sentiments, for me, are the essence of friendship. Yet it is this companionship that is hidden behind all the other empty statements we use to do our little social song-and-dance, hiding and disguising our true thoughts. So at once, this day is entirely unspecial, and entirely amazing, as it allows us to be real, or not, but even in our hesitation confirm that there is a bond that is valued beyond the limits of the incomplete phrase "happy birthday".

See now, when I'm prideful I see these words and shake my head, demanding more, and neglecting the source, doubting any sentimental connection to this ghost phrase. Yet when I reflect, step down from upon a perch of socially constructed superiority, I realize that these words tell me that there are people out there loving me. There are people out there who care enough to pause life, borrow my attention, and affirm our relationship. Love isn't the eloquent MC-improv-poet stepping up to bestow blessings crafted for quote-books and re-tweets. Love is the attitude behind each individual whose will for their own happiness is momentarily halted as they seek to devote their time and energy to the happiness of another.

I love best when I am loved, and on a day when so many people reach out from their worlds to bestow joy on me, I feel equipped to love like crazy. Thanks to those who show love, in whatever form best finds their focus, I only hope you feel some sort of reciprocity in the love you demonstrate and know that your words, to me, represent a carefully constructed and well cared for bond.

Mentors...the freshmakers?

Weeeeeelcome BICK.

Nice to be back to the avenue of free thought. Don't get me wrong, I love writing about modernism and reading about nutrition and education, but it isn't the same as writing about my passions. I searched my mind and came up with today's topic, something I've been considering a while now and felt like getting something down about. This absurdly obscure topic that prior to my coming to faith I'd never encountered...mentors.

What is a mentor? I work with kids, am I mentor? What's the point of mentoring? What's it all about? Is it only for kids? Does it matter? All these questions rushed upon me as I first encountered this topic, but now my interaction with the subject goes much deeper. Allow me to share,

So there I was, existing (as I'm so prone to doing) in a state of confusion, disappointment and frustration. You see, for me, sin is a heavy burden that I am constantly struggling with. In addition to that, I was in a community, which was something I'd longed for for such a long time. I'm not very good at the whole social thing, not as good as I may appear to be, and so this was a blessing. However, even within this community I felt isolated.

I have a WIFE! A wife, how crazy is that? Me! This guy! A wife! I know, I'm still surprised myself. Anyways, what's that like, you may wonder. So do I, so did I, so will I ever consider such a thing. I don't know what to do, I don't know the procedure, you make it up as you go. However, I felt like, and still feel like largely, I'm not very good at this. I make mucho mistakes, I am selfish, I am overly obsessive, I am not the husband I promised to be. So I searched my community for support, I shared my shortcomings, and though they listened and responded with care and empathy, I felt insufficient.

Enter mentor. One day, after weeks (and I literally mean weeks) of screwing up and delaying, making up excuses and fighting the situation off, I sought out a Mr. White to ask him to mentor me. It had been dawning on me that I didn't have an example of faith, I didn't know what a Christian man looked like from my own childhood and I lacked that guidance. We met, we talked, we laughed, we shared and I felt myself being repaired. He's not a medical surgeon, and it's not about him anymore than it is me as individuals. We allowed ourselves to become part of a process wherein God used him to sharpen me, and convicted me to share with him. It was the thing I needed to repair, to reflect, to share and grow and understand what it means to live for my wife, live for my God and stop living for myself. It made a difference, it was a fresh maker (like the pun? see title, lololol)

Now, where am I? Obviously sinless and blameless...NOT. No, I still screw up, but we still meet, and I still share as much as I wish, knowing the more I hold back, the more I hold myself back.

See, here's the extra crazy part. Now I'm a leader, now I'm responsible for others, and now I feel called to be a mentor. I went from lonely, frustrated, and isolated to comforted and supported so that I can support. It wasn't to build me up, it was to equip me to do the same, it was part of something bigger. I look forward to my mentoring relationship and wonder whether I can do anything near what Joe did, before I realize that Joe simply listened and responded, remained obedient to his God and supported me. I think I can do that. It's not about me, it's about my mentoree (is that a word? It is now!).

All this rambling to say, are you supported? Are you alone? Really? Or are you being kept from having a relationship where you're able to share it all, be supported, be prayed for, and grow. It's not even about faith, it's about support. If you don't have faith, you still go through difficulties. I honestly think this type of a relationship can benefit anyone. Is it awkward to find someone? Not as much as you think. Seek it out, think about it, pray about it, and allow yourself to grow.

Boo yeah! Post over!

A post of substance

Here we go!

I like to write update-ish posts among others that are more difficult to characterize, so here we are. Topic of the day? Let's go with...moving! Well, more so the issue is growing up to discover that there's a difference between idealism and practicality, discovering also that what you may have previously considered the latter may in fact be the former. Coming to the conclusion that the lines are never as easily drawn as they seem is a potentially life changing revelation.

I want to help people learn, I want to be a teacher, I want to teach, these notions have occupied my ambition for as long as the concept had relevancy in my life. Technically, in my early days I just wanted to help people. A noble enough cause, I'd say. Yet, at some point there comes a time when I realized that, though these goals are not impractical, they are steeped in idealism. Do I simply want to teach? Or do I also want to raise a family? Do I not also seek religious fulfillment? Community? Love? Knowledge? Stability? Once I reflect upon what I actually want, acknowledging how the simplest of goals can become saturated in practical logistical concerns, life becomes complicated.

I wish to teach, but more so I wish to be used. Even more so, I wish to be useful. I wish to acquire skills that can build a better world, that can benefit my immediate company as well as those further away. I wish to be valuable (though an individual's value can be a tricky thing to assess). Furthermore, I wish to be driven. With this assortment of desires, I wonder whether it is still practical to plan anything specific in life. My goals become complicated by my uncertainty regarding their overall purpose. Do I still want to teach? Teach what? Teach how? Teach where? What if teaching renders me useless beyond my subject? What if teaching replaces my passion with complacency, and my idealism with practicality? What if teaching requires me to leave everything I've ever known behind for roads unknown? All these annoying little queries arise as I reflect on the possible paths my future may be mapped upon. What I know for sure is that life is, at this point in time, about a submission of control rather than a desire to take control. With such a lack of true direction, I must submit to the possibilities and trust where I am sent, knowing I've got an amazing woman by my side to work through the issues (both practical and idealistic) that may arise as we wait for inspiration to provide clear guidance.

For the longest time, I've thought it was all about what I wanted to do. It's only now, as I near the end of my educational journey, that I am beginning to realize the many possibilities life may offer and the limitations of my strict expectations. Open minded doesn't feel quite right as a label for my attitude, as I seek to open myself deeper to possibilities beyond the realm of thought alone. It is with an open soul that I prepare for the next stage God has in store for me.

I wish to be poetic.

I dream of a world where beauty is found in the words we use rather than the clothes we wear, where joy is extracted from moments perfected by the expression of soul. Yet I'm restlessly awake attempting to assemble assortments of poetic speech, with each ensuing effort reminding me of the difficulties associated with consciousness. As we dream, our fancies become unattached scenes of impulse and curiosity marked not by effort or awareness but by impulse. On the contrary, the alert state that I currently experience is trapped by its own limitations, governed by the restrictive grip of reality. So easily may my dreams come true, yet the shudder that arouses me from my slumber carries with it the sting of forgetfulness. Its as though each night, as I drift into a world of curiosity, I experience the greatest moments only to lose my recollection of their occurrence.

To write as one dreams, without hesitation or need for explanation, passing from thought to thought in detached sequence of impulsive thought with a semblance of coherence, this truly intrigues me.

I'll figure you out yet, dreams, as I furiously strive to recall all which I've come to learn and understand.