The Fog

There's something safe, something comforting, that hides in the fog.

It crept in on a smothering silence, I didn't realize it was here until it was already firmly rooted in place.
No time to appreciate it, or revel in it, or contemplate it.
     Finals, papers, all-nighters, all at the same time as life.

It lingered, patiently waiting for me to notice... to really notice.
     A night, a morning, waiting through my oblivion;
          a day, an evening, a night; still waiting;
               a morning.

The whisper of the fog in the morning finally caught my eye; maybe I finally caught the sound of an unfalling rain, vestiges of lingering clouds building up on the leves, the weight of the unnoticed heaviness finally crashing to the ground.

I slowly began to open my eyes to the thickness of the fog when I saw the effects of its persistent loitering everywhere: slick moisture on the surface of every resting place, even those under the protection of cover.

Held captive by my car on the way to school, I gave in to the invitation of the fog.
_______________

There's something strange about actually planning an all-nighter in order to finish an assignment for school.
In none of my previous college or work experiences of the past have I ever been able to actually prepare to (voluntarily) lose sleep, to (voluntarily) work through usual rest time, to (voluntarily) push through the dark hours of fading ambition and physical resistance for the sake of completion.

But this time I was.

Knowing I had to produce seven thousand words, coherently, and with valid sources, by a particular date and time, I was able to gather all my resources together, I was able to schedule a full night of glorious, uninterrupted sleep the night before, and I was able to build, ahead of time, the most time-consuming, perfection-demanding, and aggravating section of the assignment; the works cited page.

I barely noticed the arrival of the fog during the initial stretch of writing my paper.  It was more of an inconvenience to me, something else out of the norm, while I worked on a project that was just as much out of the norm.

The fog wove itself in between the trees in my backyard and into the clearing, tickling  the windows, blocking any and all sources of natural distraction.  I was able to focus on my assignment for a full fifteen hours; the clouded intruder silenced the normal sounds of the woods at night.  It allowed me to keep my train of thought, even when I stepped away from the keyboard to sate my nicotine habit in the midst of the witching hours; it is only now that I can be thankful for that.

I'm used to the delusion setting in around dawn when I miss sleep; the fog covered for me again by blurring the transition.
This time, my body failed me before my mind shut down.
Unusual.
_______________

I always look forward to breaks.  Makes me sound lazy, but in fact, I'm quite the opposite.  Breaks force me to slow down, or else I'd just keep going until I collapsed.

This semester is no different.  I'm looking forward to the month-long break like a weary traveler, with no plans, no major projects to accomplish, nowhere I need to be.
This longing set in around October, but deepened and strengthened as the weeks went by, intensifying as they went.

Life reared her ugly head during this time as well, testing and pushing every definition, playing scrabble with the words, mixing up the letters, and forcing me to choose wisely; deadlines and assignments still looming, poking me when I wasn't looking.

Break beckoned, like the glare produced by a dirty pane-glass window when the sun shines directly in; knowing you won't be able to feel the warmth until you go outside; when all you want to do is feel it, experience it... but life gets in the way... homework gets in the way... work gets in the way.  Before you know it, the sun has changed position, and illuminates something else.

_______________

Held captive, I had no choice but to hear what the fog had to say.

The first indication of the coming intensity was the rain; the view out my windshield blurring as the fat, pelting drops exploded on my windshield, this the only perceivable announcement of their presence, since the cloud surrounding me made every background color absent.

It was quiet.  I couldn't hear the rain hitting my windshield, I couldn't hear the whistle of the wind outside my window, I couldn't hear the sound of my tires against the asphalt. No jingling of my keys in the ignition, no rhythmic thump of my misaligned tire. I didn't feel like I was driving on the road at all, but gliding over it, or even flying.

I couldn't see anything outside of twenty feet in front of me.  The unease of my usual speed sunk in, forcing me to slow down.  I had to pay attention; every roadside hedge became a jack-in-the-box, concealing what may have been hiding behind.  Intersections that I would normally fly through with barely a glance now demanded complete scrutiny; I had to look through the edges of heaven on earth in order to see any extraordinary signs of oncoming traffic, dispersed glare from headlights, shadows from metal moving through the mist.

Landmarks became black and white paintings, now forever etched into my memory.  All that approached me closely becames vivid, whether a crimson tree on the roadside, or the single leaf falling, twirling, dancing diagonally across my path.

A car pulls out ahead of me, and won't go any faster than a slow crawl.  My itchy right foot taps the gas like an addict as my eyes scan the turns ahead.  Yet, the fog.  I wait, biting my lip for the next upcoming turn that I know will give me the opportunity to scoot ahead.  The turn approaches, and with it, the voice of the white-haired wizard whispering "You shall not pass"... which instantly meant less about passing the vehicle in front of me, and more about not getting out of where I am any faster than I should.

_______________

The book arrived in the mail the day I had  scheduled to write my paper, a gift to myself that had long been on my wishlist; a treat, something to dive into when I had the time after classes and finals ended.

I set it aside to do my paper, but threw it in my bag the next day in order to kill some time while waiting at school.

I wasn't planning on opening the book, but had a few minutes to kill, so I cracked it open.

________________

Coming Clean.

Like a fog that rolls away,  or gets burned off by starlight so bright it burns the eyes.

When the fog is here, everything is close.  Quietly intimate, personal.

But when the time comes for the fog to depart, it takes something immense, something powerful, to break the bond that has formed between earth and sky.
Like the sun... whose light has to traverse unthinkable distances, passing through the vacuum of space, and penetrating atmospheres...
      still, arriving with the strength to sear the windows of the soul.

Veteran's Day Conundrum

Veteran's Day.  The day when a grateful nation recognizes the service and sacrifice made by those who have chosen to defend freedom.
As we celebrate with our parades and ceremonies, flags and thank you's, keep in mind that for some, the battle still rages within.

For some, the sacrifices beyond the obvious will never be known outside the bonds of shared experience, sometimes horrific, and sometimes at the cost of a piece of their soul.

War wreaks havoc on the heart and soul, clinging to the conscience, for sometimes decades, after the return home.  The trauma isn't always physical; the wounds inflicted by armed conflict can be etched permanently into the emotions, the memory, or into the very being of the bravest of volunteers.

Sometimes a "thank you for your service" is all that's needed to plunge a vet back into the horrors of war; our intentional yet potentially ignorant gratitude reawakening  the demons that have taken God-only-knows how long to subdue.

Maybe it's time to return the favor.  Instead of blindly thanking our vets, maybe it's time we stood in the ever-widening gap for them.

The Veteran's Administration is sinking faster than the Titanic with the growing burden of vets returning from an ideological war that seems to never end;  a war that, fittingly, and by nature, is causing just as much emotional damage as physical disabilities.

Are you really thankful for our veterans' service? Offer more than lip service with your thanks:
   Fight for the resources needed to help our vets.
   Fight for the organizations that provide for the emotional and mental health of the vets who so desperately need it.
   Fight for the lesser known non-profits who are doing the most for our vets,who are maximizing every cent creatively for the maximum benefit.
   Fight for the proper spiritual training for those who are called to help those whose injuries concern the conscience.

Our green light bulbs and our purchased t-shirts, while raising awareness, can not, nor will they ever, take the place of us standing in the gap for our vets.

We must remember that raising awareness for the issues and struggles our vets face is a whole different animal than being there, in the struggle, with our vets. We are sadly mistaken if we think that by doing one, we're helping the other.

Our vets need to know they are not alone... not alone in their experiences, not alone in their trauma, not alone in their coping, and not alone in the battles they wage within.

A green light bulb will never give a troubled vet peace, only the presence of a non-judgemental and caring friend can do that.  And that will always mean more than the generic, blanket gratitude from a stranger.

To my brothers and sisters in arms: you are not alone.

Opening Prayer

Father,  we come together,  before you, and we recognize we're in a weird place.

Father, we're stuck.
We're stuck in between what we know about you, and what you're showing us.

We're stuck in between our understanding of worship as something we do, and what you're showing us - sharing our lives together as worship, as who we are.

Father, draw us together, closer, despite our urges to run.
Show us the one thing that we run from is the one thing we need most.

With your resurrection life inside of us, let us be what we each need for one another.

Amen.

Offended

As long as we remain "offended", we'll never be able to ask why.  Why something is the way it is, or why someone is the way they are, or why something is happening.

Being offended by something just proves how self-centered we've become.

When the words or actions of others have to be pre-approved by us, then we've effectively made ourselves (and our view of the world), a god. This makes everyone else around us subject to our demands, desires, and limitations.

This stifles relationships, and throws any kind of equality or partnership out the window.

This also crushes creativity and freedom, because now the people around us aren't free to discover their own paths or purposes, or giftings, or strengths on their own; they have to conform to a worldview that's only as big as we are.
God forbid those around us have a purpose that's different from ours.

But fear does that,  doesn't it.
It keeps us focused on ourselves, paralyzing us into a short of self- preservation mode, which we then project onto everyone around us.

Maybe the next time we're offended, we should focus on something that isn't us.
We might just learn something.

No Wonder

We listen to the ads on our flatscreen TVs,
Telling us we need this, or how we deserve that.
No wonder everyone's driving a big red truck.

Working for something used to be called "delayed gratification";
Earning what we could in order to get what we really needed.

But as the years have gone by, somewhere in there,
the value of "value" has changed;
debt became our master,
and we lost our souls.

Delayed gratification became instant gratification became entitlement,
And we consumed our way into an abysmal pit.

The blackness spreading on the back of the lie
that "more will satisfy",
Where the "greater good" and our "fellow man" are shoved under the carpet called "MINE",
That gets more plush, more thick, more (blood) stain resistant, and more smothering as the generations pass by.

We stand back and watch as corrupt old men buy their way into power.
We recognize the greed.
By doing nothing, we acknowledge and validate the all-consuming, blood-thirsty hunger behind it all...
We might even find ways to justify it in our own warped and broken minds.

But then, someone notices the bodies left in their wake...
living and breathing,
lonely and bleeding,
suffering bodies.

And we have to wonder, how did we go so far?  How have we let it get so far gone?

When year after year of people seeking and buying what they want,
(and mortgaging their future to get it)
we wonder why our children aren't satisfied by anything we have to give anymore.

After decades of darkening backdoor deals to obtain whatever goods our dark hearts desire,
we wonder why our daughters are being sold into black market slavery,
and we wonder why our sons are the ones forking over the cash.

After years of filling our grocery carts, and our homes;
with a system that supports us,
and a collective identity that ignores those who can't,
It's no wonder that homelessness and hunger and destitution are spreading like a smoldering prairie wildfire.

As our cars and our clothes and our homes become more opulent,
It's no wonder the cycle of poverty continues to gain speed on its devastating tracks.

After years of allowing our offenses to drive us (instead of common sense),
It's no wonder that at the beginning and the end of the day, the only person we view as important is our self.

What if it's like Newton's third law of physics: that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, except with people?
Human beings.
Sons and daughters,
mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers,
husbands and wives...

If this is the case,that something I do, or something I want, or something I buy, affects someone else in an equal and opposite way...

If I find myself in the mentality of consuming, the mentality of chasing things,
then it's really me who's hurting someone else.

When I get that thing I want, the equal and opposite reaction is that someone else doesn't get what they need.

It's no wonder then,
that the day the world started falling apart
is the day we forgot our neighbor.

What have we become?

What have we become?

People who would sooner divide ourselves than be united by something greater...

People who would rather criticize than encourage...

People who would rather shout from our ignorance rather than humbly learn...

People who would more easily rely on our learned economy of self-preservation and the resulting outward hatred, rather than expend the energy it takes to understand...

People who have idolized our symbols,  without understanding or knowing our history,  and without understanding all the perspectives of our precious symbols, and without grasping the concept of the symbolism changing our evolving over time...

People who would rather unknowingly fall with the majority than stand for a minute with the least...

People who would rather live in self-created isolation and polarity than grasp the true freedom that comes from recognizing and destroying our self-centered universes...

People who have idolized ourselves and our beliefs,  without the knowledge of where we, or our beliefs, originated from...

Father, forgive us...

The Backyard

(Another English journal entry)  

 My backyard has never seemed like solace before, until now, the last three weeks of school.  Just to escape from my desk in the cluttered office, or the dining room table where dogs wrestle under my feet, coming outside is a return to life for me, even if it's into my tamed backyard.
     The rain sprinkling down unnoticed (until it finds the tip of my pen) isn't going to stop me, for there's life in the rain as well.  Besides, the sliding glass door opened all the way, a chair in the opening, and me on it doesn't seem to separate me as much.  I can still smell the air, I can still feel the morning breeze, I can still see unimpeded by glass and conditioned air, I can still hear the mad symphony being played by unseen musicians in the trees.
     Be Still.

     I wonder how it is that spending one clouded morning on my back deck gives more peace than the previous weekend in the mountains.  I went to the mountains looking for something; answers.  At the great cost of disturbing my expectations of peace, I got them.  Answers to facilitation of my calling, which has been weighing heavily on my mind, almost to the point of distraction.
     Maybe peace comes from within.
     I couldn't relax in the mountains, because I had so much on my mind.  Even when I had time to be alone, to think, any appreciation for my view was tainted by my thoughts, my worries, my questions.
     Despite the setting, (which I'm sure may have been chosen to illicit choices and responses out of the sheer magnitude of the beauty surrounding us) nature couldn't be the manipulator here.
     What good is a lake in the mountains if all you can do is look at it?  Looking at it does nothing but awaken the desire to be in it.  To be on the water, whether fishing or playing, swimming or boating; to be on the mountain, hiking or camping, or just sitting and breathing.
     If not intimate and up close, it all looks the same.

     It wasn't until I stole away one morning to the lake shore that I was able to find the peace I sought.  Sitting on the shore, not three feet from the water's edge, I was overwhelmed by God, who showed me the lake as a metaphor for the human life.
     I couldn't write fast enough, the time slipped away from me, and all of a sudden, the clock and the schedule, (the actual reason I was in the mountains) trumped my moment, my observations.

     I've learned more about humanity by observing nature that I ever thought possible, fleshed out with words to a world that won't listen, for the words fall on ears distracted by the high-pitched whine of selfishness and comfort.

     My backyard is coming to life.
     The baby leaves birthed onto bare branches nestled in with the monotony of the pines remind me to look for life among the masses, in the midst of the conformity, among the lives that all look the same from a distance.  Some will bear fruit, such as the persimmon trees, some will offer shade, some flower extravagantly, and some just put forth seed.
     But all of them, together, make up and describe the landscape of my life.