Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Death Becomes Her

In an attempt to address all the adversity around us, I compose.

"Merry Christmas" doesn't ring with silver bells all the time. The year turning new isn't always happy. Seasons of joy seem to be peppered with suffering.

This is where we live.

This is how we are.

This is how it is.

"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world."
-CS Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Why would we ever want to cease to be roused? If we are indeed deaf and sitting in a wallow of our own filth, but can see outside of it a world of clean splendor, then why would we ever choose to stay and not be drawn out of it? It doesn't make any sense.

Until we figure out what brings us out:


Who wants to be hurt? Who wants to not feel comfort or happiness? Thus, the paradox of our faith.

Jesus separated himself from his heavenly throne, from his Father, and from his Glory to take on the greatest pain, so we have no footing to stand on that will allow us to shake a fist at God for the hurt we feel. Still we do and still he allows it, but once the dust of anger settles we see where we are and where He is and we put our fists down.

If you are in the community of believers, hold the ones around you. Notice them. Ask them about things. We don't have any other source by which to maintain our sanity. We are the church. The most coveted bride. She has scars and beauty marks all the same, and is becoming in a gown of bandages. She is us and we are her.

Friends, if you're content with life, get ready for a storm to come soon. If you're not content, take heart that God is rousing you. If you are apathetic or unaware, I pray that God screams at you and you hear. I pray this for myself.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

musicful lyrics

when ever i listen to Bright Eyes my resolve to write a musically simple song grows exponentially. this is the outcome of a ride home blasting the "Lifted" album. thanks Conor. (recorded version soon to be posted somewhere on the World Wide Web)

there's a lighthouse by the shore
beckoning to keep us yore
the flashing light could tell a tale
of the one's that came before
that came before

there's a house that stands alone
on the road where we were shown
there's a hobo by the door
beckoning to keep us yore
to keep us yore

every little word that comes from
every little thought
all wrapped up into a perfect
needle through my heart
fairer skin has never tasted
as sour to my tongue
but how do i want this
and what do i do with you?

things are helping keep me numb
but my brains a little dumb
chemicals that quell the thoughts
of returning to your arms
to your arms

but all that wins is dreams of us just
layin' head to head
whispering "i love you darlin'"
bundled in my bed
escaping all the world's sorrows
for moments just like this
but then i wake up
and what do i do with you?

with you?..

there's a car that's parked outside
beggin' us to take a ride
there's the keys right by the door
of the place where we grew up
we grew up