Thank-you, Jon Foreman

Jon Foreman can write like nobody's business. Well, I think so anyway. He wrote this article on overcoming cynicism, relating back to the story of Joan of Arc and his own life experiences. By the middle to end I'm completely inspired and hanging off every word. History rocks. So freaking cool. And, I love how he weaves seemingly incompatible stories together to make a beautiful, motivating point. History is not separate from today - Joan of Arc becomes just as real as whatever is happening now. We are stories intertwined. My life, your life: one big, beautiful tapestry.

I was going to paste a snippet of it here but I don't want to ruin the profundity of it when read as a whole.

Found here on Switchfoot blog:

http://wereawakening.blogspot.com/2010/05/jon-foreman-on-joan-of-arc-elliot-smith.html

A Summer Lament

(An adaptation of Psalm 88)

Lord God, you save me,
all day and night I seek you.
May my words reach you;
Turn a listening ear.
For my soul is full of trouble
and it's only the start of summer.

I call out for your guidance, Lord;
this morning my prayers meet you.
You took my companions and loved ones from me;
the shadows are my closest friend.
My soul is full of trouble
and it's only the start of summer.

A beautiful novel that makes me think about fear.

I'm reading the most beautiful book by Alan Paton called Cry, the Beloved Country, which takes place in the mid-1940s in Ndotsheni and Johannesburg, South Africa. It follows the quest of a native priest, named Stephen Kumalo, to find his son, as well as his experiences of and reflections living under white oppression. When the whites came and implanted their European structures, the tribe was broken. The relationship of humans to the land and to each other deteriorated, leading to distrust and subjugation. One major theme in the novel is fear; fear of the oppressed native who resorts to crime, and yet fear of the native who is given rights, opportunity and power. Fear is on every page and in the heart of each character. Paton writes:

We do not know, we do not know. We shall live from day to day, and put more locks on the doors, and get a fine fierce dog when the fine fierce bitch next door has pups, and hold on to our handbags more tenaciously; and the beauty of the trees by night, and the raptures of lovers under the stars, these things we shall forego. We shall forego the coming home drunken through the midnight streets, and the evening walk over the star-lit veld. We shall be careful, and knock this off our lives, and knock that off our lives, and hedge ourselves about with safety and precaution. And our lives will shrink, but they shall be the lives of superior beings; and we shall live with fear, but at least it will not be a fear of the unknown. And the conscience shall be thrust down; the light of life shall not be extinguished, but be put under a bushel, to be preserved for a generation that will live by it again, in some day not yet come; and how it will come, and when it will come, we shall not think about at all....

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Perhaps, in some respect, we all live with this fear at a corporate and an individual level - a fear of what would happen if we gave up control. Rather than flourishing to our fullest potential, we create boundaries that limit growth, all because we are afraid of risking failure or loss. We are afraid of the unknown and what it could cost us; we are even afraid to seek justice because we want to keep our power. But perhaps the bars we put up to keep out threats end up becoming our cage and we don't really end up having any power or freedom after all. Perhaps in trying to keep our lives we indeed lose them.

dearma & poppa's house

everything is still
the highway just a scribble on a sheer white canvas;
evergreens tower on both sides as if to guard some secret
that, if revealed, would make nature lose its wonder.

and there, i see it, tucked away beneath the snowy hill where it belongs.

the house: a world unto itself, immune to time, awaits
where smells and sounds from seasons passed emerge
as if left untouched and waiting my return.

this is where we played and hiked and dreamed of other worlds.
stories that materialized, and, before our eyes
were colourfully brought to life...
through gentle island voices and happy childlike hearts.

so now i'm rediscovering relics in dusty cabinets full of age and
learning from the wisest, remembering what it is to play
and to not have fear of anything.

this food tastes like love, these clocks sound like home;
a sanctuary from the cold and from the world outside
for just a little while.

The No-Paper Poem

Liszt
Trees and snow and all is light
Window, close yourself to me.
I must retreat to pages long
- I must turn off ethereal song.

Mind
Is malfunctioning tonight
It sees only things unreal.
Heavy eyes and instincts fought
- To sleep would be to triumph not.

Bed
Perfect bliss and all is right
What was written goes away.
Drift in cosmos without time
- Won't wake until rest is mine.

Somehow...

I find myself pulling an all-nighter again to write a paper. I feel like I've had many of them so far this semester . I want to say I hate them (and I would much rather be in bed right now), but there's something to love about having the night, those countless dark hours to be alone, hence me taking the time to write this really unnecessary post.

I love the idea of floating in the in-between, one foot in yesterday, one in tomorrow. Thoughts that are suppressed or dulled down in the daytime are suddenly brought to life and sharpened and start buzzing around. It can be kind of annoying because you can start worrying about things that don't need to be worried about.

The paper I'm attempting to write isn't stressing me out. I know I'll get it together on time, and I'm pacing myself slowly and drinking lots of coffee so as not to rush and make it sloppy.

The truth is, this paper just isn't what's on my mind and it's certainly not sinking in as a priority. Life is overwhelmingly distracting and just seems to create this thick cloud that I can't see past in order to have the clarity needed to do things like schoolwork. My mind is like a tarnished spoon in need of a good polish. Sometimes the love I have for my studies just fades and it's only through prayer that I find the strength to press on and truly work from my heart.

So, here I am again, sitting up with one Kim Walker song playing over and over and over...and I know that somehow the night will end and eventually my thoughts will calm down enough for the stupid paper to get finished. Somehow tomorrow always comes.

Empty Hands to Hold

Joseph:

A 60-something year old man living on the streets of Toronto. A few minutes into conversation and it is obvious that underneath his aged and hardened demeanour is a young boy craving purpose and appreciation.

"I'm old, there's nothing left for me, my life is over - why am I still here?", he asks. I ask him what his passions are and he says "I don't know". He tells me he comes from up north, and after sharing his views on government, farming, and how the world has "screwed him over", he says with smiling eyes, "you'll win".

"What do you mean?" I ask, more so just to keep him talking.

"You'll win at life", he says, and his eyes smile wistfully.

A younger man interrupts, coming up to me for juice, holding something that reeks of chemicals, and someone behind him shouts "You gotta stop sniffing glue man!" Another man refuses a handshake, not wanting us to touch his unclean hands that were tainted by whatever the day's shady business might have been.

We give Joseph some socks and as I turn to leave I shake his hand. He holds it a little longer than necessary adding, "Be good."

All of us: the Josephs, the glue-sniffers, the shady, the searching...we know the difference between right and wrong even if our lives have not demonstrated it. My heart breaks for those who have grown skeptical, hard, and hopeless, searching for something to fill the emptiness that goes much deeper than material poverty.

Nancy:

She lives in a seniors home, and is a middle-aged woman suffering from an injury that prevents her from working, so she spends her days alone. She is Catholic, evident from the rosaries and crosses around her room, but despite the outward appearance of faith she is dispirited, dissatisfied with life, ending every sentence with, "but what can I do?" and a shrug. Life has taught her that without a job, husband or children she is useless, with nothing to offer, and she holds her hands out, empty, to emphasize her point.

We serve a God who made us to need him. He built us with innate desires that only He can satisfy because He loves us so much and wants us to turn our hearts to Him, to find satisfaction in Him alone. No matter the situation we find ourselves in, or what wrong turns we have made, there is always hope in Christ, who grabs a hold of our filthy and ignoble hands that so often work in opposition to His will. Yet, no matter how unworthy we are, He comforts, changing our attitudes and steering us in the right direction.

The things this world tells us are necessary, like money, or health, can only get us so far. We will leave this world empty-handed no matter what, so what matters is where we place our trust, and what (Who) we hold onto. The Josephs and Nancies of our world (all of us) need to know that whether or not we are seen as an asset to society, we are an asset to God's Kingdom if we will let Him shape and use us. He makes a feeble heart strong, a foolish mind wise, and an aimless life purposeful. God is present in the places we think are too dirty, and the places we have forgotten about. He is not distant, or far-off, but is ever-reaching for us in every moment, wanting to fill us so that no matter what our physical or material prospects for this life look like, we can go on living, being truly alive! There is nothing we can do to earn His affection, He takes us as we are, and where we are.

Psalm 139:7-10 - Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

Let us remember that we all come before God empty-handed, but it's those hands He wants to hold.