All creatures of our God and King
Lift up your voice and with us sing
O praise Him, alleluia
Thou burning sun with golden beam
Thou silver moon with softer gleam
O praise Him, O praise Him
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia
Thou rushing wind that art so strong
Ye clouds that sail in heav'n along
O praise Him, alleluia
Thou rising moon in praise rejoice
Ye lights of evening find a voice
O praise Him, O praise Him
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia
Let all things their Creator bless
And worship Him in humbleness
O praise Him, alleluia
Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son
And praise the Spirit, three in One
O praise Him, O praise Him
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia
Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son
And praise the Spirit, three in One
O praise Him, O praise Him
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia
O, alleluia, alleluia
Golden Beam
The other day as I was driving to class, dreading the two upcoming tests for which I had so "fervently studied," I began to think about the past few weeks of my life. I had a short psych session with myself in my car and realized something...I had lost my fire. It was gone, vamoosh, extinguished. I thought I could never get it back. For a fleeting moment, I thought that I was going to become a drifter in this life, a man with no hopes, no ambition, no future. I had become numb to this fact until that very moment when it hit me hard.
I was merely going through the motions, smiling and saying I was happy (which I was most of the time...no worries, I didn't go crazy or become suicidal). I had no peace. I felt like nothing was anchoring me down, like I was an old flag flapping in the winds of life, giving into my desires and emotions.
As I came down one of the hills on the way to school, I looked over to the West and saw the full Moon in the sky, shining as bright as if it were midnight. It was a peculiar sight to see the Moon lingering so long in the morning sky. But I just shrugged it off and drove on, staring blankly ahead at the oncoming road. I turned at the next light and made it down one more hill and around a bend.
The whole trip takes about ten minutes, but the whole time the Eastern sky is blocked by trees, houses, and 7-Elevens. As I rounded the bend I gasped...the sunrise was brilliant! The Sun was just coming up and there were clouds in the East. The great golden orb shone brilliantly, illuminating the clouds with beams of warm sunlight, painting them pink, purple, and dark blue. Right where the crest of the Sun and the bottom of the clouds met there were strands of gold, like a necklace over the sky.
I was speechless and tried to balance my eyes between the beautiful sunrise and the road. I hadn't seen such a beautiful sunrise my whole life. I found myself with tears streaming out of my eyes. I thought of Who had made such a beautiful sunrise, and how small I was in comparison. I thought of the past few weeks that I had selfishly taken and wasted, playing a game of life and not living it for my created purpose. I cried in sorrow for forgiveness...but I also cried in joy, finally realizing I had found my peace and fire again.
No matter how hard life gets, or how much I think I can do on my own, He has, is, and will always be there in brilliance like that sunrise. Like the full Moon I saw in the West, we sometimes are lingering, hanging around, waiting for the sunrise. Sometimes, it takes a revelation to change us and turn us back around. This was my revelation...this was my turning point.
I was merely going through the motions, smiling and saying I was happy (which I was most of the time...no worries, I didn't go crazy or become suicidal). I had no peace. I felt like nothing was anchoring me down, like I was an old flag flapping in the winds of life, giving into my desires and emotions.
As I came down one of the hills on the way to school, I looked over to the West and saw the full Moon in the sky, shining as bright as if it were midnight. It was a peculiar sight to see the Moon lingering so long in the morning sky. But I just shrugged it off and drove on, staring blankly ahead at the oncoming road. I turned at the next light and made it down one more hill and around a bend.
The whole trip takes about ten minutes, but the whole time the Eastern sky is blocked by trees, houses, and 7-Elevens. As I rounded the bend I gasped...the sunrise was brilliant! The Sun was just coming up and there were clouds in the East. The great golden orb shone brilliantly, illuminating the clouds with beams of warm sunlight, painting them pink, purple, and dark blue. Right where the crest of the Sun and the bottom of the clouds met there were strands of gold, like a necklace over the sky.
I was speechless and tried to balance my eyes between the beautiful sunrise and the road. I hadn't seen such a beautiful sunrise my whole life. I found myself with tears streaming out of my eyes. I thought of Who had made such a beautiful sunrise, and how small I was in comparison. I thought of the past few weeks that I had selfishly taken and wasted, playing a game of life and not living it for my created purpose. I cried in sorrow for forgiveness...but I also cried in joy, finally realizing I had found my peace and fire again.
No matter how hard life gets, or how much I think I can do on my own, He has, is, and will always be there in brilliance like that sunrise. Like the full Moon I saw in the West, we sometimes are lingering, hanging around, waiting for the sunrise. Sometimes, it takes a revelation to change us and turn us back around. This was my revelation...this was my turning point.
Death by Silence, 8.29.07
This idea came to me one night before bed and I had to jot it down before I lost it. I'm thinking about expanding the character and plot in order to submit it to North Lake's literary contest:
There once lived a man who lived through a song. This wasn’t like other songs with an immediate beginning and an end…this was a life-song. A life-song connects all of the happenings of a man’s life through a melody. A man’s first kiss may be marked by a romantic violin solo. A man’s first heartache could be signified by a solemn and ugly trumpet. All aspects of life have their own distinct sounds.
You can’t go in search of a life-song; it is a gift from the gods. Only the very few are lucky enough to hear its beautiful melody and its unforgettable harmony. It is a continual reminder of the beauty and fragility of life, and only those gifted with a life-song can hear it.
The music kept this man alive. Each note moved with the rhythm of his breaths. As all of the instruments mixed together to form one fluid, graceful song, so did his heart and lungs and mind all work in sync with one another. He felt tied to the music, as if his life hung in the balance with the song…little did he know that it did. As the song grew quiet, his life too grew quiet and calm. His surroundings seemed to slow down completely. As the song roared to its peak, his life became chaotic and loud, like the crashing cymbals of the orchestra.
One day flowed into another, like the measures of a composed song fit seamlessly together. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and still the song progressed, as constant as the sun rising in the East. But there came a day in the man’s life when the song grew strangely dim and quiet, more so than usual. He ignored it in the beginning, but after a week of continual softness, he started to strain his ears in search of the melody. Like a man in search of answers, this man was in search of his song.
After another week of searching, the song had become so quiet that it was near silence. The man had never experienced the sounds of the outside world because his life-song had drowned them out. Now he could experience the harsh words of an angry friend, the screaming in agony of pain and sorrow, the dry wind blowing through the leaves of the dead trees in winter. All this he had never experienced before, and he became overwhelmed…and then depressed.
He could no longer find the beauty in life because he had no music to reveal to him nature’s mysteries. He became ill, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. He lay in bed beneath the thick blankets, trying to protect his now frail and aged body from the cold world. He stared out the window, in search of inspiration or hope, but could find none. All he could see was a frosty window with leafless branches flailing out in the yard.
One month past and he became worse. He had become so weak that he could no longer turn his head to look out the window, but he had to look out of the corner of his eye. He would fall asleep and have nightmares of death and disease and pain and wished that it could all be over, but he would wake up the next cold morning and once again live through an unbearably silent day.
One morning he woke up and knew that he would die that day; he could feel it within his body. So, with all the strength he could muster, he turned his head to the side in search of one more sight of life before he passed on. The window was no longer frosted over, but was clear enough to see the leafless tree outside. There, on the top branch of the tree, was a single pink flower, and beside it was a mockingbird, singing the welcome-song of spring. Seeing this, the man smiled, closed his eyes, and once more heard his life-song quietly before he died.
There once lived a man who lived through a song. This wasn’t like other songs with an immediate beginning and an end…this was a life-song. A life-song connects all of the happenings of a man’s life through a melody. A man’s first kiss may be marked by a romantic violin solo. A man’s first heartache could be signified by a solemn and ugly trumpet. All aspects of life have their own distinct sounds.
You can’t go in search of a life-song; it is a gift from the gods. Only the very few are lucky enough to hear its beautiful melody and its unforgettable harmony. It is a continual reminder of the beauty and fragility of life, and only those gifted with a life-song can hear it.
The music kept this man alive. Each note moved with the rhythm of his breaths. As all of the instruments mixed together to form one fluid, graceful song, so did his heart and lungs and mind all work in sync with one another. He felt tied to the music, as if his life hung in the balance with the song…little did he know that it did. As the song grew quiet, his life too grew quiet and calm. His surroundings seemed to slow down completely. As the song roared to its peak, his life became chaotic and loud, like the crashing cymbals of the orchestra.
One day flowed into another, like the measures of a composed song fit seamlessly together. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, and still the song progressed, as constant as the sun rising in the East. But there came a day in the man’s life when the song grew strangely dim and quiet, more so than usual. He ignored it in the beginning, but after a week of continual softness, he started to strain his ears in search of the melody. Like a man in search of answers, this man was in search of his song.
After another week of searching, the song had become so quiet that it was near silence. The man had never experienced the sounds of the outside world because his life-song had drowned them out. Now he could experience the harsh words of an angry friend, the screaming in agony of pain and sorrow, the dry wind blowing through the leaves of the dead trees in winter. All this he had never experienced before, and he became overwhelmed…and then depressed.
He could no longer find the beauty in life because he had no music to reveal to him nature’s mysteries. He became ill, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. He lay in bed beneath the thick blankets, trying to protect his now frail and aged body from the cold world. He stared out the window, in search of inspiration or hope, but could find none. All he could see was a frosty window with leafless branches flailing out in the yard.
One month past and he became worse. He had become so weak that he could no longer turn his head to look out the window, but he had to look out of the corner of his eye. He would fall asleep and have nightmares of death and disease and pain and wished that it could all be over, but he would wake up the next cold morning and once again live through an unbearably silent day.
One morning he woke up and knew that he would die that day; he could feel it within his body. So, with all the strength he could muster, he turned his head to the side in search of one more sight of life before he passed on. The window was no longer frosted over, but was clear enough to see the leafless tree outside. There, on the top branch of the tree, was a single pink flower, and beside it was a mockingbird, singing the welcome-song of spring. Seeing this, the man smiled, closed his eyes, and once more heard his life-song quietly before he died.
The Thing Which Holds You
It's like it holds onto you, grabs hold and never let's go...a skin that is not your own, and yet you cannot shed it. It becomes a part of you, an enemy within your own soul. No matter how hard you try to separate yourself from it, it is relentless. You run as fast and as far away from home as you can, only to find yourself a hundred miles away from a warm fire and your family, and no further away from the thing which holds you.
It is black, dark, evil, overbearing, taking over every fiber of your being, invading your most personal and innermost thoughts, leaving no stone unturned. It destroys what you once knew to be true and replaces your world with ceramic figures, easily shattered and difficult to repair. It's path of destruction is obvious and leaves nothing but bitterness, confusion, sadness, and lostness. It is the worst feeling in the world to know that you cannot get away from it, to escape it no matter how much you want to. This evil driving force has a name...sin.
And then, one day, you wake up and see the sun. You realize that the trees no longer seem gray and dead, but vibrant and alive. You hear the bird's song anew and know that everything will be ok. Why do you know that? Where does that feeling of reassurance come from? Maybe the sun, maybe yourself. But why is it now that you can feel alive again? What did the sun do to make your world better, or even, what did you do?
No...it has to be something more. Something bigger out there than what you or this world has to offer. And then you smile as you think of what all this means. You finally have hope and peace again, still acknowledging that the road will be tough, and yet no longer having to feel that unending sense of despair...you have let go of the thing which holds you.
It is black, dark, evil, overbearing, taking over every fiber of your being, invading your most personal and innermost thoughts, leaving no stone unturned. It destroys what you once knew to be true and replaces your world with ceramic figures, easily shattered and difficult to repair. It's path of destruction is obvious and leaves nothing but bitterness, confusion, sadness, and lostness. It is the worst feeling in the world to know that you cannot get away from it, to escape it no matter how much you want to. This evil driving force has a name...sin.
And then, one day, you wake up and see the sun. You realize that the trees no longer seem gray and dead, but vibrant and alive. You hear the bird's song anew and know that everything will be ok. Why do you know that? Where does that feeling of reassurance come from? Maybe the sun, maybe yourself. But why is it now that you can feel alive again? What did the sun do to make your world better, or even, what did you do?
No...it has to be something more. Something bigger out there than what you or this world has to offer. And then you smile as you think of what all this means. You finally have hope and peace again, still acknowledging that the road will be tough, and yet no longer having to feel that unending sense of despair...you have let go of the thing which holds you.
Untitled, Part 1
A work in progress; written during the church service this morning on the back of my and John's sermon notes...I am such a heathen:
Sobs echoed throughout the empty cathedral. Within the empty hall, merely a skeleton of ribbed vaults and stained glass windows, there stood a large stone table, an altar upon which many sacred rites had taken place. The gray stone floor made the hall feel cold and uninviting, and the soft pitter-patter of rain drops created a low hum on the shingled roof, somewhat filling the seemingly endless void of silence. A large, wooden cross loomed over the altar, intimidating and cold.
The man sitting in the empty pew at the front of the hall didn't notice these details. He couldn't, because he was too preoccupied with the thoughts flooding his mind. He stared at the cold floor through his fingers, not really seeing the individual stone blocks due to the many tears welling up in his eyes. His emotions were about to boil over as he thought of all the wrongs done against him, and of the many wrongs he too had done to others. Harsh words, bad looks, evil thoughts all collided in his heart, creating a tumult, a tempest of feelings and regrets all mixed together. Then he finally couldn't keep it all in...
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" he screamed as he jumped up, shaking rebellious fists at the heavens, being brought down as he saw that all he was yelling at was the ceiling. "They all lied...there's no one out there!" His voice echoed throughout the hallowed hall, confined to the empty space within, just like he was confined to the empty body he lived in.
After the echoes had resided, giving way to the silence, he plopped back down into the pew, tired and defeated. Slumped over in the pew, he was too tired to cry anymore. He felt like nothing mattered, like he was in a hole that he himself had dug, in which he could no longer see the light of day or feel the cool breeze on his face. He closed his eyes and dreamed of death, longing for it to take him away from this wretched world. He was so caught up in his deathly dreams that he didn't even notice the man walking in through the doors in the back of the cathedral. It wasn't until the large wooden doors had bolted back that he heard any trace of anything else in that hall. He jumped up with a startled countenance as he turned around and was met face-to-face with a man in tattered, weather-worn clothes.
His face was rugged and wrinkled with age and strife. His unkempt brown hair was wet with rain, dripping down onto his shoulder, soaking his already damp rags. However, in spite of his obvious hardships, there was a peace on this man's face and an air of kindness about him. He only gave the man in the pew a quick glance as he walked past. The man in the pew watched, wondering what this man was doing. The homeless man walked with confidence to the steps of the altar and the intimidating cross and knelt there with his head bowed low. The man in the pew waited a few seconds to compose his thoughts until finally he began to feel anger, not towards the man, but towards what he was doing. He ran to the altar and began a tirade.
"Don't you know that doesn't work?! Who's listening to you? It's hopeless, pure stupidity, to pray! You could speak to the birds and they would listen better to your problems...there is no God!!!" That last word lingered in the air longer than any other. The man was red-faced and out of breath, looking down at the homeless man still kneeling there. "Are you listening to me, old man?" At that, the homeless man stood up with his eyes still closed and a look of reverence on his face. Then he looked up at the cross, seeming to try to communicate with it in some way. Finally, after a few long seconds of silence, he looked over at the angry man standing next to him with a piercing gaze and spoke in a low, raspy voice.
"What is your name, son?" he asked...
(to be cont'd)
Sobs echoed throughout the empty cathedral. Within the empty hall, merely a skeleton of ribbed vaults and stained glass windows, there stood a large stone table, an altar upon which many sacred rites had taken place. The gray stone floor made the hall feel cold and uninviting, and the soft pitter-patter of rain drops created a low hum on the shingled roof, somewhat filling the seemingly endless void of silence. A large, wooden cross loomed over the altar, intimidating and cold.
The man sitting in the empty pew at the front of the hall didn't notice these details. He couldn't, because he was too preoccupied with the thoughts flooding his mind. He stared at the cold floor through his fingers, not really seeing the individual stone blocks due to the many tears welling up in his eyes. His emotions were about to boil over as he thought of all the wrongs done against him, and of the many wrongs he too had done to others. Harsh words, bad looks, evil thoughts all collided in his heart, creating a tumult, a tempest of feelings and regrets all mixed together. Then he finally couldn't keep it all in...
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" he screamed as he jumped up, shaking rebellious fists at the heavens, being brought down as he saw that all he was yelling at was the ceiling. "They all lied...there's no one out there!" His voice echoed throughout the hallowed hall, confined to the empty space within, just like he was confined to the empty body he lived in.
After the echoes had resided, giving way to the silence, he plopped back down into the pew, tired and defeated. Slumped over in the pew, he was too tired to cry anymore. He felt like nothing mattered, like he was in a hole that he himself had dug, in which he could no longer see the light of day or feel the cool breeze on his face. He closed his eyes and dreamed of death, longing for it to take him away from this wretched world. He was so caught up in his deathly dreams that he didn't even notice the man walking in through the doors in the back of the cathedral. It wasn't until the large wooden doors had bolted back that he heard any trace of anything else in that hall. He jumped up with a startled countenance as he turned around and was met face-to-face with a man in tattered, weather-worn clothes.
His face was rugged and wrinkled with age and strife. His unkempt brown hair was wet with rain, dripping down onto his shoulder, soaking his already damp rags. However, in spite of his obvious hardships, there was a peace on this man's face and an air of kindness about him. He only gave the man in the pew a quick glance as he walked past. The man in the pew watched, wondering what this man was doing. The homeless man walked with confidence to the steps of the altar and the intimidating cross and knelt there with his head bowed low. The man in the pew waited a few seconds to compose his thoughts until finally he began to feel anger, not towards the man, but towards what he was doing. He ran to the altar and began a tirade.
"Don't you know that doesn't work?! Who's listening to you? It's hopeless, pure stupidity, to pray! You could speak to the birds and they would listen better to your problems...there is no God!!!" That last word lingered in the air longer than any other. The man was red-faced and out of breath, looking down at the homeless man still kneeling there. "Are you listening to me, old man?" At that, the homeless man stood up with his eyes still closed and a look of reverence on his face. Then he looked up at the cross, seeming to try to communicate with it in some way. Finally, after a few long seconds of silence, he looked over at the angry man standing next to him with a piercing gaze and spoke in a low, raspy voice.
"What is your name, son?" he asked...
(to be cont'd)
Job 26: A Rendition
“The dead tremble—those who live beneath the waters.
The underworld is naked in God’s presence.
The place of destruction is uncovered.
God stretches the northern sky over empty space
And hangs the earth on nothing.
He wraps the rain in his thick clouds,
And the clouds don’t burst with the weight.
He covers the face of the moon, shrouding it with his clouds.
He created the horizon when he separated the waters;
He set the boundary between day and night.
The foundations of heaven tremble; they shudder at his rebuke.
By his power the sea grew calm.
By his skill he crushed the great sea monster.
His Spirit made the heavens beautiful,
And his power pierced the gliding serpent.
These are just the beginning of all that he does,
Merely a whisper of his power.
Who, then, can comprehend the thunder of his power?”
God is so powerful it is incomprehensible! We can say that we understand his ways, but by saying that we are merely highlighting our own ignorance. Isaiah talks about how God's ways and thoughts are higher than our own. That means that we cannot fully understand him, no matter how hard we try. Job's friends were trying to convince him that they knew God, or at least knew him enough to tell Job how he should act in his present situation. Then in chapter 38, God challenges Job by pretty much giving a resume of his accomplishments, not because he is cocky, but because God is allowed to reveal to us his glorious nature in order to help us move into a better (and yet not full) understanding of his power, our purpose, and Christ's promise.
So, let me give a rendition of Job 26 as I can see it:
"Everything ever created, whether living or dead, past or present, fears God.
There is nothing God can't see or hear, because he has a hand in his creation.
He took the sky and made it our ceiling, stretching as far as the eye can see.
He suspends the Earth in space, in a seemingly endless nothingness.
He gives the rain a blanket in the clouds,
Harboring it from the elements until its anointed time.
And even with their great and precious cargo, the clouds don't falter.
He created the dark side of the moon,
Hiding it from prying eyes and keeping it as one of his many mysteries.
He made the horizon when he created the seas,
So that human beings could look to it for hope of things to come.
He tells the sun where to rise and where to rest,
And he holds the moon in the clear night sky.
Everything ever created, whether living or dead, past or present, fears God.
All creation trembles at God's anger, for he is immensely powerful.
When the waves became rowdy, he comforted them with sweet whispers.
He slayed the great sea dragon, Rahab, controlling chaos and bringing order.
His Spirit was the inspiration for the great painted sunsets and the beautiful cloudy skies.
And even more amazing is that these are merely a few of his creations,
Only a touch of his glory, a taste of his Spirit, a whisper of his power.
Again, I say, his ways are incomprehensible. Oh! What a beautiful God!"
The underworld is naked in God’s presence.
The place of destruction is uncovered.
God stretches the northern sky over empty space
And hangs the earth on nothing.
He wraps the rain in his thick clouds,
And the clouds don’t burst with the weight.
He covers the face of the moon, shrouding it with his clouds.
He created the horizon when he separated the waters;
He set the boundary between day and night.
The foundations of heaven tremble; they shudder at his rebuke.
By his power the sea grew calm.
By his skill he crushed the great sea monster.
His Spirit made the heavens beautiful,
And his power pierced the gliding serpent.
These are just the beginning of all that he does,
Merely a whisper of his power.
Who, then, can comprehend the thunder of his power?”
God is so powerful it is incomprehensible! We can say that we understand his ways, but by saying that we are merely highlighting our own ignorance. Isaiah talks about how God's ways and thoughts are higher than our own. That means that we cannot fully understand him, no matter how hard we try. Job's friends were trying to convince him that they knew God, or at least knew him enough to tell Job how he should act in his present situation. Then in chapter 38, God challenges Job by pretty much giving a resume of his accomplishments, not because he is cocky, but because God is allowed to reveal to us his glorious nature in order to help us move into a better (and yet not full) understanding of his power, our purpose, and Christ's promise.
So, let me give a rendition of Job 26 as I can see it:
"Everything ever created, whether living or dead, past or present, fears God.
There is nothing God can't see or hear, because he has a hand in his creation.
He took the sky and made it our ceiling, stretching as far as the eye can see.
He suspends the Earth in space, in a seemingly endless nothingness.
He gives the rain a blanket in the clouds,
Harboring it from the elements until its anointed time.
And even with their great and precious cargo, the clouds don't falter.
He created the dark side of the moon,
Hiding it from prying eyes and keeping it as one of his many mysteries.
He made the horizon when he created the seas,
So that human beings could look to it for hope of things to come.
He tells the sun where to rise and where to rest,
And he holds the moon in the clear night sky.
Everything ever created, whether living or dead, past or present, fears God.
All creation trembles at God's anger, for he is immensely powerful.
When the waves became rowdy, he comforted them with sweet whispers.
He slayed the great sea dragon, Rahab, controlling chaos and bringing order.
His Spirit was the inspiration for the great painted sunsets and the beautiful cloudy skies.
And even more amazing is that these are merely a few of his creations,
Only a touch of his glory, a taste of his Spirit, a whisper of his power.
Again, I say, his ways are incomprehensible. Oh! What a beautiful God!"
so the year passes into many yesterdays...
I was reading Sir Gawain and the Green Knight for my british lit class today and came across this little descriptive passage. Notice the alliteration line by line, those poets had some talent:
"But then the weather of the world chides with winter;
the cold withdraws itself, the clouds uplift,
and the rain falls in warm showers on the fair plains.
Then the flowers come forth,
meadows and grove are clad in green,
the birds make ready to build,
and sing sweetly for solace of the soft summer
that follows thereafter.
The blossoms bud and blow
in the hedgerows rich and rank,
and noble notes enough
are heard in the fair woods.
After the season of summer, with the soft winds,
when zephyr breathes lightly on seeds and herbs,
joyous indeed is the growth that waxes thereout
when the dew drips from the leaves
beneath the blissful glance of the bright sun.
But then comes harvest and hardens the grain,
warning it to wax ripe ere the winter.
The drought drives the dust on high,
flying over the face of the land;
the angry wind of the welkin wrestles with the sun;
the leaves fall from the trees and light upon the ground,
and all brown are the groves that but now were green,
and ripe is the fruit that once was flower.
So the year passes into many yesterdays,
and winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us."
I love the description in this passage, talking about the movement between seasons. It really emphasizes the beauty and liveliness of spring, the growth of summer, autumn's harvest, and both literal and figurative death experienced in winter. The author talks about how "the year passes into many yesterdays, / and winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us." It is so true. Years in our lifetime seem to mix seamlessly together. We can't distinguish one from the other because time, in our sense of the word, is a human invention.
Before human beings were around, the world moved on as it always had. The birds kept no records of history, the squirrels didn't have their own timeline, and the fish couldn't tell each other the exact date the new coral reef came into being, because that is not how nature worked. It is a cycle of life and death, continually moving forward. When those on the earth now die off, the world doesn't cease to exist. It goes on like it always has.
That is why this passage touched me so much. The author captured the beauty of nature, of its life-cycle, and came to grips with the fact that even though humanity is not eternal, there are natural things (and many things super-natural) that ARE eternal, the seasons being one of many.
The beauty of nature is great, but it is no accident. Time didn't just come into being, it has a purpose. Human beings are not merely on Earth to live and die, we have a meaningful life. All of these facts can be debated, but I have no doubt in my mind that there is something (or someone) greater out there to live for, and the beauty of nature just makes that idea seem so much more true.
"But then the weather of the world chides with winter;
the cold withdraws itself, the clouds uplift,
and the rain falls in warm showers on the fair plains.
Then the flowers come forth,
meadows and grove are clad in green,
the birds make ready to build,
and sing sweetly for solace of the soft summer
that follows thereafter.
The blossoms bud and blow
in the hedgerows rich and rank,
and noble notes enough
are heard in the fair woods.
After the season of summer, with the soft winds,
when zephyr breathes lightly on seeds and herbs,
joyous indeed is the growth that waxes thereout
when the dew drips from the leaves
beneath the blissful glance of the bright sun.
But then comes harvest and hardens the grain,
warning it to wax ripe ere the winter.
The drought drives the dust on high,
flying over the face of the land;
the angry wind of the welkin wrestles with the sun;
the leaves fall from the trees and light upon the ground,
and all brown are the groves that but now were green,
and ripe is the fruit that once was flower.
So the year passes into many yesterdays,
and winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us."
I love the description in this passage, talking about the movement between seasons. It really emphasizes the beauty and liveliness of spring, the growth of summer, autumn's harvest, and both literal and figurative death experienced in winter. The author talks about how "the year passes into many yesterdays, / and winter comes again, as it needs no sage to tell us." It is so true. Years in our lifetime seem to mix seamlessly together. We can't distinguish one from the other because time, in our sense of the word, is a human invention.
Before human beings were around, the world moved on as it always had. The birds kept no records of history, the squirrels didn't have their own timeline, and the fish couldn't tell each other the exact date the new coral reef came into being, because that is not how nature worked. It is a cycle of life and death, continually moving forward. When those on the earth now die off, the world doesn't cease to exist. It goes on like it always has.
That is why this passage touched me so much. The author captured the beauty of nature, of its life-cycle, and came to grips with the fact that even though humanity is not eternal, there are natural things (and many things super-natural) that ARE eternal, the seasons being one of many.
The beauty of nature is great, but it is no accident. Time didn't just come into being, it has a purpose. Human beings are not merely on Earth to live and die, we have a meaningful life. All of these facts can be debated, but I have no doubt in my mind that there is something (or someone) greater out there to live for, and the beauty of nature just makes that idea seem so much more true.
Ode to a Broken Heart, 6.25.07
Has it ever occurred to you how fragile the human heart can be, or how unsettled it is at discerning true and false feelings? The heart is the spring from which all emotions flow…love, hate, confusion, understanding. It’s no wonder so many people can’t make up their minds! How is it that one second we feel enamored by our significant other, on the top of the world with them (in our minds of course), and the next we harbor a deep and devouring hatred toward another person (or even the same person)?
Oh, God! If only you had not created such wretched things as the heart and emotions! Things on this earth would be so much less complicated. There would not be the ache of a broken heart, which brings life’s fire burning down to a mere ember among the hearts of men. And would there not be confusion between feelings? The mind would no longer spin at the daunting task of discerning whether or not what we feel is love or lust, or compassion or jealousy, for there would not be emotions to compare.
And yet, is that not what makes us human? Is the idea of emotions not at the core of humanity and morality? Even though the pain of a broken heart may sometimes seem unbearable, does it not make the world seem alive and new? When one finally overcomes the pain and suffering of having their very lifeblood drained from them, one can find that the trees seem greener than usual, or that the sparrows’ song is much merrier, or that the warm spring rains bring more healing and love than any human could ever bring.
So, here’s to a broken heart! If I must choose between trudging through this life feeling numbness and running through this life feeling alive…I would choose a broken heart any day. Besides, how then could I finally find the love I was looking for in the first place without first finding the pain which I am so eagerly avoiding?
Oh, God! If only you had not created such wretched things as the heart and emotions! Things on this earth would be so much less complicated. There would not be the ache of a broken heart, which brings life’s fire burning down to a mere ember among the hearts of men. And would there not be confusion between feelings? The mind would no longer spin at the daunting task of discerning whether or not what we feel is love or lust, or compassion or jealousy, for there would not be emotions to compare.
And yet, is that not what makes us human? Is the idea of emotions not at the core of humanity and morality? Even though the pain of a broken heart may sometimes seem unbearable, does it not make the world seem alive and new? When one finally overcomes the pain and suffering of having their very lifeblood drained from them, one can find that the trees seem greener than usual, or that the sparrows’ song is much merrier, or that the warm spring rains bring more healing and love than any human could ever bring.
So, here’s to a broken heart! If I must choose between trudging through this life feeling numbness and running through this life feeling alive…I would choose a broken heart any day. Besides, how then could I finally find the love I was looking for in the first place without first finding the pain which I am so eagerly avoiding?
Martian Excursion
I actually wrote this for my college application...go figure. Anyways, I was happily pleased with the way it turned out.
Stardate: Wednesday, Sept. 5, 2107
Dear Mom and Dad,
What a day it was! Today, I took an excursion to Mars on the new Hyperspace Dart Line. The ride was a little rough due to the meteor shower we flew through, but the turbulence subsided in a matter of minutes. As we flew over the Red Planet, I couldn’t help but gasp at first glance. I had seen it numerous times on CNN, the Cyber News Network, but only in conjunction with information about the new Mars colony. It was so tremendously red (obviously). As I watched the sand storms roll across its surface, it reminded me of the waves on the shores of a desert island, powerful yet peaceful, a monster with the gracefulness of a ballerina.
As we descended, I heard the hiss of the brakes and then…thud, we had landed. I stepped out and right away I was bombarded with a wave of salesmen, all ready to prey on the tourists coming to the Martian colony. I hurriedly walked past them and when I got past the crowd I caught a glimpse of the monstrosity of the structure in which I stood. The giant Biodome stood twenty stories high, and from its ceiling hung numerous green plants: ferns, trees, bushes, flowers, all being held in hanging pots, reminding me of Babylon’s Hanging Gardens.
This little metropolis was teeming with life, people were running around frantically, heading to work, visiting friends, going to find the best bargains at the nearest outlet mall, and it was all too much for me. So after a mere five minutes of being on the surface, I turned around and headed back for the Dart station. I boarded the next ship and sat quietly at the back, watching the diverse people stream in and sit down also.
I thought about home on Earth and the way it was changing for the future. The moon had been colonized twenty years before, and now Mars was being inhabited. “What is the fate of Earth?” I thought. “What if it becomes merely a relic of the long-forgotten past?” And almost immediately after I asked myself that question, I got an answer…the Earth will never be forgotten. Just because times change, doesn’t mean the past is gone. Sure there are colonies on the Moon and Mars, and Donald Trump III is thinking about going for Jupiter next because it’s “the best real estate in the galaxy,” but it will all fade away. People will get tired of being so isolated and they will become sick, longing for their home and heritage…Earth.
So, Mom and Dad, Mars was fun, if only for a short time, but I think I’ll stick with Earth. It’s my home, and it will always have a place in my heart.
Terminate
transmission,
David
P.S. Maybe next weekend I’ll visit the Moon…
Stardate: Wednesday, Sept. 5, 2107
Dear Mom and Dad,
What a day it was! Today, I took an excursion to Mars on the new Hyperspace Dart Line. The ride was a little rough due to the meteor shower we flew through, but the turbulence subsided in a matter of minutes. As we flew over the Red Planet, I couldn’t help but gasp at first glance. I had seen it numerous times on CNN, the Cyber News Network, but only in conjunction with information about the new Mars colony. It was so tremendously red (obviously). As I watched the sand storms roll across its surface, it reminded me of the waves on the shores of a desert island, powerful yet peaceful, a monster with the gracefulness of a ballerina.
As we descended, I heard the hiss of the brakes and then…thud, we had landed. I stepped out and right away I was bombarded with a wave of salesmen, all ready to prey on the tourists coming to the Martian colony. I hurriedly walked past them and when I got past the crowd I caught a glimpse of the monstrosity of the structure in which I stood. The giant Biodome stood twenty stories high, and from its ceiling hung numerous green plants: ferns, trees, bushes, flowers, all being held in hanging pots, reminding me of Babylon’s Hanging Gardens.
This little metropolis was teeming with life, people were running around frantically, heading to work, visiting friends, going to find the best bargains at the nearest outlet mall, and it was all too much for me. So after a mere five minutes of being on the surface, I turned around and headed back for the Dart station. I boarded the next ship and sat quietly at the back, watching the diverse people stream in and sit down also.
I thought about home on Earth and the way it was changing for the future. The moon had been colonized twenty years before, and now Mars was being inhabited. “What is the fate of Earth?” I thought. “What if it becomes merely a relic of the long-forgotten past?” And almost immediately after I asked myself that question, I got an answer…the Earth will never be forgotten. Just because times change, doesn’t mean the past is gone. Sure there are colonies on the Moon and Mars, and Donald Trump III is thinking about going for Jupiter next because it’s “the best real estate in the galaxy,” but it will all fade away. People will get tired of being so isolated and they will become sick, longing for their home and heritage…Earth.
So, Mom and Dad, Mars was fun, if only for a short time, but I think I’ll stick with Earth. It’s my home, and it will always have a place in my heart.
Terminate
transmission,
David
P.S. Maybe next weekend I’ll visit the Moon…
It's a Breeze...
It's amazing what a cool breeze can do to improve one's morale. Just to feel the wind's soft touch can make someone feel one hundred times better. On a sticky, stagnant summer day, there is nothing better than looking up at the roofs of the rustling trees and hearing the quiet whisper of the wind. Mother Nature's Spirit comes and caresses our faces, comforting us and giving us hope.
Sometimes, our lives can become stagnant too. We seem to be going through the motions, never finding an escape from that humidity of life. Many people just check out and decide to stop living their lives, so they sit under a shady tree, waiting until that heat gives way to a cool day. But what if the heat never stops? What if everyday of our lives becomes hotter and hotter until the heat waves coming off the scalding Earth engulf and burn us? What if...
But that's just it, merely a what if. Our lives don't always turn into a metaphorical desert (no matter how much we think they may). There will always be hot days and always be cold days, but that doesn't give us an excuse to give up and wait under a tree. A life lived in waiting is better than no life at all. Sitting still in our lives doesn't do us any good, especially when there is plenty of work to do. Why be afraid of the heat at midday when there is a chance the breeze will catch us?
We don't know when exactly those breezes will come, but when they do there is no better feeling. So why not get out into the world and sweat in the heat? Maybe one day we will feel God's Spirit refresh our lives, and when it does, it will be the most hope-giving feeling we have ever experienced.
Sometimes, our lives can become stagnant too. We seem to be going through the motions, never finding an escape from that humidity of life. Many people just check out and decide to stop living their lives, so they sit under a shady tree, waiting until that heat gives way to a cool day. But what if the heat never stops? What if everyday of our lives becomes hotter and hotter until the heat waves coming off the scalding Earth engulf and burn us? What if...
But that's just it, merely a what if. Our lives don't always turn into a metaphorical desert (no matter how much we think they may). There will always be hot days and always be cold days, but that doesn't give us an excuse to give up and wait under a tree. A life lived in waiting is better than no life at all. Sitting still in our lives doesn't do us any good, especially when there is plenty of work to do. Why be afraid of the heat at midday when there is a chance the breeze will catch us?
We don't know when exactly those breezes will come, but when they do there is no better feeling. So why not get out into the world and sweat in the heat? Maybe one day we will feel God's Spirit refresh our lives, and when it does, it will be the most hope-giving feeling we have ever experienced.
Knights, Dragons, and Used Car Salesmen
What ever happened to chivalry? Where are the days of old when the valiant knights in shining armor used to rescue the fair maidens from the clutches of a ferocious dragon, an ugly troll, or an evil witch? Ok, so maybe that never really happened except in fairy tales, but there did used to be a time when a man would lay down his comfort, time, or even life in order to show compassion and love for someone less fortunate.
Nowadays, so many people are out merely to please themselves, to make a profit, or to get revenge. It saddens me to think of the numerous women who are holding out hope for that knight to ride in on his white horse and sweep them off their feet and whisk them away to a castle in a faraway land to live happily ever after, only to find that the so-called "knight" is really a slime-ball who could really talk a big game, but when it came down to it he was about as chivalrous and gentlemanly (sp?) as a used car salesman.
What about the guys who really do care? Sure, they will eventually win out, hopefully, but why does it take the fair maidens so long (if ever) to realize that what the "nice guys" have to offer is just as good if not better than what the "knights" have to offer. I may be interpreting reality far from what it is, but can we give the good guys a break? They bend over backwards to please the woman-folk, only to get excuses like, "listen, I really like you, but I guess we'll always just be really good friends," or how about, "I just look at you like my brother; we've been good friends for too long," or my personal favorite, "you're such a nice guy, really, and you will find someone later in life who is so much better than me, believe me..."
So, all I'm saying is that just because a man doesn't wear a suit of armor, or ride a beautiful stallion, or can slay the ferocious dragon, it doesn't make him any less of a man. Sometimes you will find a knight in the places (or people) you would least expect to look.
Nowadays, so many people are out merely to please themselves, to make a profit, or to get revenge. It saddens me to think of the numerous women who are holding out hope for that knight to ride in on his white horse and sweep them off their feet and whisk them away to a castle in a faraway land to live happily ever after, only to find that the so-called "knight" is really a slime-ball who could really talk a big game, but when it came down to it he was about as chivalrous and gentlemanly (sp?) as a used car salesman.
What about the guys who really do care? Sure, they will eventually win out, hopefully, but why does it take the fair maidens so long (if ever) to realize that what the "nice guys" have to offer is just as good if not better than what the "knights" have to offer. I may be interpreting reality far from what it is, but can we give the good guys a break? They bend over backwards to please the woman-folk, only to get excuses like, "listen, I really like you, but I guess we'll always just be really good friends," or how about, "I just look at you like my brother; we've been good friends for too long," or my personal favorite, "you're such a nice guy, really, and you will find someone later in life who is so much better than me, believe me..."
So, all I'm saying is that just because a man doesn't wear a suit of armor, or ride a beautiful stallion, or can slay the ferocious dragon, it doesn't make him any less of a man. Sometimes you will find a knight in the places (or people) you would least expect to look.
People-watching: A Lesson in Life
Have you ever gone people-watching? You know, when you just sit down somewhere in a public spot with a lot of pedestrian traffic and watch people as they pass. You may not be looking for anything, or you may be focusing on one thing. Whatever the case may be, you will always find that human beings are just plain-old weird!
It's not that I am calling the individuals strange beings, but that all of humankind itself is weird. Everybody has that weird niche that sets them apart, whether it be an extra bounce in one's step, the way one talks on a cell phone, the sounds one makes while eating, or the uncanny ability to fall asleep on a park bench with not a care in the world about who around is watching as small drops of drool drip onto one's newly bought Lacoste polo. It is just a natural phenomena. Since Homo sapiens do not live by mere instinct, we all have that free will and reason that the rest of the organisms in nature lack, giving us a chance to make different choices and to develop different habits than our fellow animals.
My apologies for boring you with a biology lesson in the middle of my story, but I think I proved my point. The beauty of people-watching is that it teaches you how best to interact with other people, but more so how to really appreciate the beauty of diversity. If everyone walked the same, talked the same, ate the same, and slept the same the world would be a rather boring place. It is that one person I see falling asleep on the park bench drooling on theirself that makes me smile and say to my Father, "Thank you, God, for creating me the way I am, even if I smack when I eat a hot dog!"
It's not that I am calling the individuals strange beings, but that all of humankind itself is weird. Everybody has that weird niche that sets them apart, whether it be an extra bounce in one's step, the way one talks on a cell phone, the sounds one makes while eating, or the uncanny ability to fall asleep on a park bench with not a care in the world about who around is watching as small drops of drool drip onto one's newly bought Lacoste polo. It is just a natural phenomena. Since Homo sapiens do not live by mere instinct, we all have that free will and reason that the rest of the organisms in nature lack, giving us a chance to make different choices and to develop different habits than our fellow animals.
My apologies for boring you with a biology lesson in the middle of my story, but I think I proved my point. The beauty of people-watching is that it teaches you how best to interact with other people, but more so how to really appreciate the beauty of diversity. If everyone walked the same, talked the same, ate the same, and slept the same the world would be a rather boring place. It is that one person I see falling asleep on the park bench drooling on theirself that makes me smile and say to my Father, "Thank you, God, for creating me the way I am, even if I smack when I eat a hot dog!"
The Nebula, 11.8.06
The Nebula swirls.
All pink, dark blue, and black,
Vague; it marauds my mind with thoughts unseen,
Unfelt for centuries.
I think of all the men who have sailed its rolling waves before,
Both great and meek.
I think of all the tragedies, comedies, romances
Played out beneath its billowing clouds of dust and ash.
Then I think of its vastness,
How small I am in comparison to its seamlessly fashioned sky.
All the achievements are mere dust,
All the buildings, the families, the wealth,
The love, the loss, the happiness, the sadness,
The thoughts and emotions of the human race are fleeting
In comparison to the Nebula.
And yet, the Nebula is also mere water, dirt, grass, air, heat, cold.
Nothing that matters or can be really felt in comparison with HIM.
I see only a taste of HIS greatness everyday,
Among HIS creation, within my body, in a breath, in a thought.
And yet, HE stoops to hear me.
HE bends down and listens to me as if I were nothing but an ant.
And still, HE loves me more than anything else in HIS creation.
The Nebula still swirls,
But it moves slower now.
Maybe because I understand just a little bit of it.
Maybe because HE wants it to.
Or maybe because of a sign of the times to come,
When we will truly see HIM
In all HIS awesome splendor.
All pink, dark blue, and black,
Vague; it marauds my mind with thoughts unseen,
Unfelt for centuries.
I think of all the men who have sailed its rolling waves before,
Both great and meek.
I think of all the tragedies, comedies, romances
Played out beneath its billowing clouds of dust and ash.
Then I think of its vastness,
How small I am in comparison to its seamlessly fashioned sky.
All the achievements are mere dust,
All the buildings, the families, the wealth,
The love, the loss, the happiness, the sadness,
The thoughts and emotions of the human race are fleeting
In comparison to the Nebula.
And yet, the Nebula is also mere water, dirt, grass, air, heat, cold.
Nothing that matters or can be really felt in comparison with HIM.
I see only a taste of HIS greatness everyday,
Among HIS creation, within my body, in a breath, in a thought.
And yet, HE stoops to hear me.
HE bends down and listens to me as if I were nothing but an ant.
And still, HE loves me more than anything else in HIS creation.
The Nebula still swirls,
But it moves slower now.
Maybe because I understand just a little bit of it.
Maybe because HE wants it to.
Or maybe because of a sign of the times to come,
When we will truly see HIM
In all HIS awesome splendor.
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