a story in parts. this is two.

the sun pouring in through the driver's side window was reminding Constance of her younger days. she used to sit in her brother's bedroom a foot or two from his window with the shades pulled up, watching the dust bunnies dance in the beams. her youth was quiet but nothing less than happy. there were moments of sadness, to be sure, but those were easily forgotten aside from the day Ethan left. she was 17 and it was a thursday morning. summertime in her house usually revolved around morning cartoons and the above ground pool they "inherited" when they moved in. shortly after the last cartoon her little brother wanted to watch was over there was a knock at the door. as she approached the door, through the thick bevelled glass she could make out the silhouette of her best friend and a grin crept onto her face. her steps turned a bit more bouncy and she opened the door. the next hour and half was full of tears and hugs as he told her he was going to be leaving and wasn't sure when or if he was coming back. it all made sense to her. he was drawn to the hurting and the less fortunate. he felt called to be where they are, hoping that he could be a source of Light for them. this was Ethan. it made sense. but in the selfish corner of her heart, this was exactly why she loved him so much. this was exactly why they were best friends. and she didn't want to lose that. she didn't want to lose him.

now ten years later, she's speeding down I-94 with her face drenched in the sunlight and her soul drenched in anxiety. she wondered what brought him back after ten years. she pictured the moment of pulling up to his parents house and seeing him on the swing, waiting, smiling. in one version, she screeches up to the house and leaps from her car, running to him and jumping into his arms with tears and hello's. in another, she pulls up slowly, takes her time walking to him, stops at his threshold and takes his hands in hers and just looks into his eyes with tears in hers and takes it in before wrapping her arms around his neck.

but then something hit her. she slammed on the brakes. what the hell was she doing? he hadn't called?! he hadn't written?! why would she just act like that didn't happen?! the car was now in park and she was pacing around it with her right hand holding the hair out of her eyes staring at the ground while her left hand was placed defiantly on her hip. what was she doing? she continued pacing and after what didn't feel long enough, she lit a cigarette and got back into the car. she filled her lungs with nicotine and the hope of calm. now the car was in drive and she was back on 94. she had come too far to go back now, but at this point, the movie in her head showed her car pulling into her parents house instead of his. then walking somberly inside to sit at the table with her mother, sipping on tea and deliberating on her next move. on the next scene. now all there was was that. that and driving with the sun as it set.

a story in parts. this is one.

stop reading this if you think it's going to be interesting or change your life. stop reading this if you're looking for an escape. this is imprisonment. this is shackles on your ankles. this will be a moment in time you wish you hadn't started.

today is the first day in a long time. there's been days before but how many counted? if she were to add them up, she'd still have a hand to pick up the broken vase on the floor next her bed stand. the reversing truck sounded from her red digital clock and as usual, Constance spun over quickly to slam the snooze button into oblivion. but today she knocked the new flowers over. she met them the night before. they were waiting for her at the door. as she bent over to pick them up she watered them with her tears. how many flowers had she ever gotten? if she counted the dozens, this would be the first. the card sat anonymously on top of the white gardenia and read to her

you make me the maddest
you make me the happiest
you make me weak kneed
you make me the strongest
you make me the most i have ever been

she wasn't the kind that gave her attention to more than one man. in all actuality, she has only ever given her attention to three in her life. this floral gift had to be from one of those three. she couldn't imagine any other explanation. on the back of the card there was a number that wasn't in her phone. she tried those reverse phone look up websites. nothing. she called her sister to see if she knew the number. nothing. she had narrowed it down to the possibility of her home town based on the area code. none of the three men live or ever had lived there. so the mystery only widened.

her sleepy eyes were quickly awakened to the crash of the vase then just as quickly, they swelled with tears again. her instincts kicked in and she hustled off the other side of the bed, ran to the kitchen, got a broom, a glass of water and a towel. she saved the arrangement and gathered the pieces of the ceramic that held the first buds of happiness she'd had in a while. how many times had she smiled in the last year? if she counted, she could pass a kindergarten math exam. she brought the small pile to her bed and sat on the foot of bed bench her Pops carved in the depression trying desperately to put the puzzle together. the ceramic puzzle and the whole puzzle. get a grip Constance.. think. as her mind was racing through the memories of home, from the playground to the stage she took the diploma on, the phone rang. once. twice. and kept ringing. she knew she had eight before it went to voicemail. she had eight to ten seconds to decide: answer? screen? she took it. while the ID noted it was from her home town, she thought nothing of it. her Pops could be calling from the pharmacy again asking for his Medicare number. but her hello was followed by a voice she hadn't heard in a long, long time. Ethan. "Hi Constance." she could hear a smile on his voice and knew immediately who it was. who was calling. who had sent the flowers. all in three words, she knew.

the ensuing conversation ended with her in her car, overnight bag in the back seat and Ryan Adams on the speakers. she couldn't believe her best friend from home was back. he stopped the letters. he stopped the postcards. the blog his mother kept hadn't been updated in months. she assumed he had found his place in the Eastern European turmoil. his missionary heart had always been the driving force in his life. he was in love with the children affected by war. he was in love with the God who could save them more than any of us could. he was in love with marrying the two. her mind was racing faster than her '98 Camry. what was he doing home? why did he write those things? why did he have to compound the note with her favorite flowers?

this was part one. there will be more. i told you you wouldn't escape.

TV Life

this might become a song at some point, but for now its just a poetic rambling:

i think our lives play out like a mini series
drama for an hour then we take a week's break
it builds and builds as the episodes progress
but after 13 weeks... these were our lives at stake

what would it take to turn it off?
a life we made of our own cast
all we are are flashing red yellow blue
but our beating hearts, they won't last

we're driven by the 30 second spots
the young family selling us their lives
a beautiful woman not saying a word
a roaming wandering helpless child

wistful romance we think will stir the world
gaping chasms cleared by a single bound
we're writing ourselves as the heroes we aren't
hoping to sleep later, tucked safe and sound

we will all be nothing more than our own worst critics.

The Philosophy of M & M's

haven't posted much lately, but here's a little gem i forgot about that i wrote about 3 years ago:

So i was eating a pack of peanut M&M's today. It was my lunch. I'm kind of a health nut. But as I pulled out the candy treats 2 at a time a funny thing happened. I pulled out 2 blue ones. Let your mind wander around on that for a while. Its hilarious. But it got me thinking. Is a peanut M&M first a nut? or first an M&M? My immediate thought was "its an M&M... the package says so." but then I started thinking, "well, the CORE of this morsel is a nut so it seems that it should be a nut. Then THAT got me thinking...

are we defined by what is it at the core of us? and do we even know what is it at the core? I know so many people, including myself, that struggle daily with "who am i?" so in my struggles, how do I determine to define myself? what is at the core of me? and if we resolve to not knowing what the core of our "self" is do we then define ourselves by the outer candy shell? I think most of us do. Its taxing to be in touch with one's true self I think. so most of our time is spent letting our attributes and qualities that rest near the surface become who we are. a shallow exsistence i'd say.

freakin M&M's.

desert rain, art and Australian hospitality

"the city's been our cage, but we can be each others' key" - Cody Dylan

there was a wall of water as we rounded the tenth curve in the west Texas mountains, and an anticipation in my bones was mounting. four J's for the fourth of July couldn't have been more appropriate. but for me, more than the holiday, more than the friends, more than the landscape was my escape. even if for a moment, i escaped the city. i escaped constant connection. i was a free man for 3 days.

freedom is a funny thing though...

i tuck inside my shell often as i approach a place of realization. it's not that i want to deny any outside perspectives, but i think epiphany is often a quiet lover who will only reveal herself if you sit still and listen intently. but this place, this freedom, this quiet, it's a lot to take when what's par for the course is a barrage of noise, people, and movement. stillness is scary to a shaker.

but thank God for the rain.

there's not many things in this world that can so gently force me into a calm, but rain is one of them. never does noise sound so peaceful. but it helps me breathe. funny how that happened for us this weekend in the desert.

as the rain came down we found ourselves huddled under an awning eating from a shark with strangers. there were puppies and babies and couples embracing to keep warm. i saw a familiar face and after a timid approach made plans for that evening at the bar in Marfa, Padres. as the rain subsided a little we left to find some art galleries. it was an odd feeling driving and walking through a deserted desert town (average annual income is less than 10k) looking for galleries where the pieces hanging were worth more than the buildings in which they hung.







we saw 12' canvases painted with pictures of 9/11 from the perspective of a child. we saw resin casts of books and cats.











on a quest for a meth lab we instead found a hanging ball and strings held by rings.



























the back yard of the gallery that once was a meth lab installation was interesting and intriguing. there were remnants of the rain that had just fallen pooled up on parts of the installation. other parts of it were hanging in re-adjusted repose from the wind that just rearranged them.








we spent time in a book store listening to odd music and flipping through books on art, Marfa and James Dean.

i went on a quest to find where the Reata was located.

this old house was used in filming the classic movie Giant starring James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor. i saw photos of the building and hoped to find it, but learned in the bookstore that the house was no longer standing. so instead we went to find an old abandoned Army Air Field.

we found the location of it but arrived to a barbed wire fence blocking us from it.

over this same field is where the famed Marfa Lights were to be seen. we tried for two nights to see them but saw nothing except a radio tower and distant head lights.

our next day was the 4th. we had a relaxing day of driving and playing in the rain. we found an abandoned building to play in from which we watched another wall of rain come at us from the distance. rain in the desert is just amazing. really amazing. later that night we met up with our Australian friends that we met the night before. they invited us to their campsite for dinner. it was a delicious meal with some really nice people. after we ate, one of the Australians, Cody, and I swapped songs. this man was amazing. such a great singer and song writer. [note: the quote up top is from his song Evelyn] they will be in Austin this week and i'm excited to spend some more time with them. we got shut down at their campsite and moved our party to the Marfa lights viewing area where we continued to sing and shoot off fireworks. before the night began, we were in our hotel room and i was contemplating just sitting in our room for the night. i felt exhausted and anti social, but i forced myself to go and thank God i did. this was the best night of the trip and so many great things came out of it.

the next day we packed up and began our journey home back east. this trip was short but so sweet. my mind was cleared and my soul was satisfied to be in the desert. i'll put some more photos up on my facebook page so if you're friends with me there, well, then lucky you.

now, i just need to continue living my freedom while in the cage of this city...

an allegory of a weekend ahead

"Three more days,
Girl ya know I will be comin' home to ya Darlin'"
-Ray Lamontagne

In this story, we'll refer to her as "Sarah". We'll start when she grabbed my hand as we walked out of a movie theater. Summer was in full swing and I couldn't have been happier. My bank account was empty, my sweat glands were working overtime in the Texas heat, and somehow my heart was full. There wasn't much to say about the movie we had just seen, but I'm probably the worst person to ask. My attention was fully off the screen for the entire 90 minutes and fully on the girl next to me. She smelled like strawberries and her warmth of personality was slowly and gently encompassing me. This wasn't the first movie we had seen together. Far from it actually. We were approaching the four year mark of knowing each other. A four year process that has been leading me to this enraptured state. Every day with her was a smile. Every argument with her that resolved so easily was a poem. She was my muse. She was my home. So you can imagine my elation as the cup was flying from my hand to the trash can, her hand took its place. I looked at her with surprised happy eyes and her smile told me "This is where we've both been headed, and I'm glad we're finally here." That was the beginning of a journey that we're now on and it's been a good ride. It's sure to remain so.

[now imagine that that girl is Marfa, TX and you'll know my feelings about what this weekend will be for me as I'm unplugged from the city]

an attempt to shift the scales

i'm searching for inspiration when days like today happen. there's no denying that Life happens around us, but it's pretty easy to deny that it's happening in us. i got a note today from someone that sent me to places i haven't been in a long time in my head. but this is what's ultimately come of it, so as not to bore you with the ridiculous details of the situation:

for all the days i've been on this earth, i've yet to shift the balance on the scale of selfish vs. selfless. the selfish side has been closer to the ground for, well, all my life. but as i get older i'm attempting to throw some of the weight off of this side and get the selfless part of me fat. i see it in my father, in my mother, and in so many of the people i love, this selfless living towards me. and it pains me to think... well, let me explain...

i'm going through a book with some great people right now called The Return of the Prodigal Son - A Story of Homecoming by Henri Nouwen. we met last night about it and discussed which of the three main characters of the story we saw ourselves as. i confessed i felt like the younger son who left home to pursue pleasure and wealth and frivolity. but that i felt i was on my way back home. the other characters, the older son, who resented his younger brother for leaving, squandering his inheritance, and putting his family through torment, and the Father who welcomed his son home with no question, just a party. both the sons have their hurdles to get over. their issues to deal with. and surely the father was in anguish the entire time his son was gone. still, he threw him a party when he returned. this kind of selfless love i just cannot understand. the act seems so simple, but the toll it must take on your being to live in such a way seems very costly.

but its where i want to be.

this note today was a glimpse that i may have been on this side of things, the selfless side, for one of the first times in my life. possibly. i felt as though i was living like i was towards them, and then... well the inheritance was taken and they're gone. so now, on this side, i feel the pain of not being considered. too many times have i done that to others. TOO many. so many that i see when i'm doing it and make an effort to stop. hence the scale shifting goal. but from here, i feel the pain of rejection in spite of so many efforts to love well.

so i'm hoping that as i continue this journey towards becoming like the Father, that maybe the pain will subside a little. or least i'll be given the grace to withstand it.

i read a great quote today that i'll leave you with:

"In life, as in the dance, grace glides on blistered feet." -Alice Abrams

Sam Cooke, Julie Jones and Marfa

"i was born by the river
in a little tent
and just like the river i've been runnin'
ever since

it's been a long, a long time comin'
but i know a change gon' come

oh yes it will"
-Sam Cooke

and now to quote a question i asked my great friend just a few moments ago: have you ever felt like you wanted your life to be different? not that what it is now is bad, but just that you want it to change? well, in the midst of the conversation that question started, i think i realized a couple of things. and here they are for you reading pleasure.


i believe i have a good life. i'm blessed in so many ways that are too numerous to list here, but just know: i'm rich in all ways. but my ability to recognize that in the midst of the busyness i put myself in has become weak. if i could look at my life and my world with fresh eyes i think i could more easily recognize how amazing it is. this leads me to the next thought this conversation led to...




this 2 is 2 fold. part a: i need to say "no" more. the busyness that begins to feel routine and thus weigh me down is more in my social life than otherwise. the inability to say no mixed with a conviction to keep my word makes for a pretty unhealthy me after a while. but i still believe, and this is part b: that if i learn to better spread myself, socially and otherwise, i will still need moments to escape. thus my number 3...




tonight i will go to my parents house [which is not visited by me nearly enough] and relax. then in July, i will go to Marfa, TX with some of my best friends and just be. no cell phone. no internet. just Marfa and my friends. what better way to celebrate independence day than to be freed from my slavery to connection? i'll fill you in on that as it comes to pass. i'm sure i will have plenty to write about once i'm back.






so.
i'm thankful for these things today: Julie, my parents living close, and my literacy.

old is the new new

this was one of the first string of words i put together in my head this morning after i woke up. i know you know what i mean. you wake up in a stupor and stumble with atrophied legs towards your bathroom. at this point you only have instincts. language isn't dictating your actions or even thoughts. for a brief moment after leaving sleep we are thoughtless zombies. walking dead.

or maybe that's just me...

regardless, this morning as i was coming out of my zombie me, the first words i had were "old is the new new." my life (and yours if you pay attention) has been infiltrated by phrases and sayings like a paper wall in a hurricane. par exemple:

"its a [place band name here] kinda day."
"white is the new black."

(just to name a couple. i could go into my thoughts about that first one, but i've already vented my peeves so i'll withhold those thoughts and move right along.)

phrases come in and they go out. how many times did you say "eat my shorts" after Bart did the first time? and now? you don't even think about that phrase do you? how about "tickled pink"? maybe ask your mom about that one.

all these phrases that are here then gone, it got me thinking about how fluid words can be. i think there is a lot of stigma placed on certain words. some people don't like to hear them, be it for their meaning (original or slang), or just the sound of it scratches its nails on their minds chalkboard. still other words are so easily tossed around that we never consider them threatening or at the least, important.

who decides how powerful, hurtful, helpful, or gruesome a word is?

we do.

i can hear words like shit and hear a funny word, a strong word, or a bad word, depending on the situation. my grandmother can hear the same word and always hear a bad word, no matter the situation. some of us decide to put the stigma on the words themselves rather than their usage. and personally, i don't want to do that. i'll let you decide for yourself what you want to do, but for me, words are just letters that we have decided represent sounds that our mouths can make which reflect our world around us. words are not evil. words are not Satan. Adam and Eve surely must've been able to communicate with each other, and in what language i don't know. i imagine it being a beautiful language that God actually spoke audibly as He walked in the garden with them. but then sin entered the garden and started a ripple effect of destruction and death. one of the results of the sin was our ability to believe we can become our own gods. that we don't need the One who created us. that was seen easily in the story of Babel. in a stroke of grace and genius, God "confused" the world by creating different languages. you may see this act as cruel and greedy. God says Himself in the story that if man, with a single language, can build a tower to heaven, nothing would be impossible for them. but if God is God, then we can't be. and maybe he saw us believing we could be and stopped it for our own sake. now, i don't know enough about the theology of this story to get too deep into its meaning and consequences, but something that sticks out to me is the birth of multiple languages.

[pause and reset]

[now breathe]

we are all confused. look at us: there's war. there's hunger. there's death. we're trying to stop all these things, which is noble, but a mission that will likely not come to fruition in our lifetime. we should keep going, but also realize where we are. how does this apply to our words?

glad you asked.

we're all in the same sinking boat together. we're throwing buckets of water overboard every minute. we're attempting to survive. why in the hell would we stop to argue about the fact that i just said "why in the hell"? if you have a problem with certain words, and i don't already know about it, tell me. i don't say "shit" in front of my parents because i know they don't like the word. the word itself coming out of my mouth speaks nothing to my state of faith or ability to love well. but it scratches its nails on my parents minds chalkboards, so i don't say it, in hopes of maintaining my ability to love well.

words can be powerful or hurtful, helpful or gruesome, so figure out where words are those things and chose wisely which ones you use.

Prologue

Our lives are seduced daily into becoming outsiders looking in. Always that and never insiders living and dying. Just observers. Watchers. Lifeless decor.

Think about your favorite TV show or your favorite movie. You can look onto the story with a knowledge that the characters don't have. Or at least don't have all of. They each only have their inside vantage point from which to view the story. It seems limited and perhaps scary.

[but why wouldn't we rather be in the story]