Showing posts from February, 2011


We go for a drive, down the hill, time for some Christmas shopping. "Have you changed since you came to college?" she asked me. "Yeah," I said, had to say. "Yeah." It's funny how that answer holds both pride and shame. "Do you like all the ways you've changed?" Ha. No. And I'm having to think again about the ways I've changed; it's hard to separate out because they are all tangled together in who I am. The things that have caused me to change are all tangled together too. It's not as if I received a neat little check list in my mailbox at the beginning of my freshman year that said, "Check here if you'd like to learn how to deal with the messiness of real life; check here if you'd like to not be haunted by decisions you make; check here if you'd like to fit in." None of us do. Sometimes I can look back at a moment and say, "I should have done that differently." Sometimes I can say,

Singing Words

I take a blue sharpie pen and ink words onto my arm. Send me to the edge of the earth Show me what a life is worth Words from Jars of Clay's song Call My Name that have caught at my heart this semester. I don't know what a life is worth, don't know how to value a life, a person, as I should. It's awfully easy to become callous to the hum of life that's around me all the time, because I have other things to think about, like grades and the summer and Dagorhir and sleeping. And am I my brother's keeper? But he's still missing and it's been more than a month. So I wonder who it is my responsibility to be keeping and how much a life is worth. Jesus saved me at the cost of His own life. Sometimes I'm haunted by what the Newsboys say in Elle G Silence all, nobody breathe How in the world could you just leave? You promised you would Silence that evil with good... Maybe this world is a barren place For a soul prone to get lost But heaven still hounds fr


I'm in a class about CS Lewis (well, and his writings) this semester, which is pretty awesome. So I was reading for Monday, an essay by Lewis called Christianity and Literature, and came across this quote. It's the kind of thing that challenges me to actually think about what I'm posting, so I thought I'd share it. He's talking about writing, although it can apply to a lot of things, such as storytelling, as well. The unbeliever may take his own temperament and experience, just as they happen to stand, and consider them worth communicating simply because they are facts or, worse still, because they are his. Lewis goes on to make the point that for Christians, we should seek to communicate our experiences in a way that connects to something bigger than ourselves, because our purpose is not to be self-absorbed. Anyway. Ouch. How often do I blog about, or talk about, something just because it happened to me? It's an uncomfortably large amount of time. Twitter and f


I finished the third book in Lawhead's Song of Albion cycle today. Here's my favorite line: Neither woman cried out, but both stood gripping the bars of their prisons and watching us with the astonished yet fearful expressions of captives who have long ago abandoned hope of release, only to learn that hope has not abandoned them. They only get to this rescue after a lot of awful time wandering around in enchanted country, fighting their ways through nightmares, and a lot of giving of lives. But they didn't abandon the women. I was very glad. It's a good picture of what Jesus did for His people. It's not that we were out looking for Him. He came anyway.

Airport Living

We were talking about dying in Sunday school the other day, how it is sometimes difficult to strike a balance between living in the moment and not getting tangled up tight in clinging to the life we have now. It's like an airport. I'd be foolish to try to skip going through the airport if I was planning to fly somewhere, and while I'm in there, I need to be properly engaged -- going through security, presenting my ticket, getting on the proper plane. But I'd be no less foolish to buy lumber and furniture and begin constructing a house in the middle of the waiting area. That's not what the airport is for . It's for going through. And then going on.