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:

pain.

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.

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