Happy Halloween

Okay, it's after midnight, and I need to post something for Sunday, as I will be gone all day to Atlanta.

I'm getting up in a few hours to hit the road to Atlanta to see Jonsi play The Tabernacle. I'm super stoked about it. And...the day after I moped on this blog about how no one was going with me, someone's original Halloween plans changed, and they are now coming with me. Thank you Jesus. I feared being too lonely and bummed to enjoy the show. We're leaving early though; he wants to meet up with a friend for lunch beforehand, and we want to get to the venue fairly early, as the tickets are general admission.

To celebrate Halloween, I got on Netflix to watch a horror movie. I chose "Paranormal Activity," as I hadn't seen it yet and I'd heard it was genuinely scary. I regret watching it now, though. I'd been expecting a ghost story, but this was about demonic activity. Maybe I'm not far enough removed from the Marzulli conference, but I honestly didn't feel right watching it. I've never been one to ever experience anything in the demonic realms as many of my friends have, and I really don't want to. This movie felt too...loaded...for lack of a better term. I don't know what I'm trying to say I guess. But it felt wrong. The demonic isn't to be messed with.

So, to distract myself, I watched "Saw VI." While infinitely more gruesome than "Paranormal Activity," it was totally just mindless entertainment. At the end a dude got acid pumped into his torso, and it burned him in half. His lower half fell to the ground and intestines all spilled out. Mindless entertainment.

Happy Halloween, folks.

I May Not Leave the House Today

I may not leave the house today.

The air is cold, the sky is gray,

And the rooftop keeps the rain at bay.

No, I may not leave the house today.

My head's been on my pillow since

I stumbled out of bed convinced

I'm meant to do, produce, and gain.

Ugh, I may not leave the house today.

This isn't how my heart is wired,

To work so long, come home so tired

And know full well I'm poorly paid.

Yeah, I may not leave the house today.

Yet here am I in suit and tie,

And all that's left is a kiss goodbye.

But darling, when you kiss that way!

Oh, I may not leave the house today....

Total Freedom!

It's after midnight. This post counts for Friday.

My week in Seattle and Portland was an amazing adventure that I can't help but tell people about. Unfortunately, it seems like with every other person I tell, the first thing out of their mouth is, "You went alone?!"

Is that seriously the first thing that comes to mind? I have stories. I have places to talk about, sights to describe. And you're hung up on the fact I went by myself?

My stock response is, "It's better that way! I can go wherever I want to go and I can do whatever I want to do. Total freedom!" That's a lie, of course. But I certainly can't be all Debbie Downer and say, "I had no one to go with me." And then immediately I always recall how every time I went into a restaurant the hostess would ask "How many?" and I'd say "One" and she'd give me this look that was a cross between pity and thinly-disguised disgust.

Truth is, I can't even give away a free ticket to the best concert of the year as a bribe to get someone to join me in Atlanta for the show (even during my birthday week). Of course no one's going to take eight days and fly all the way across the country with me. "You went alone?" What a f**king dumb question.

I might as well get used to it. If I get to do any of the traveling I want to do in my lifetime, I'm gonna get besieged by that question every time I return.

Little Things

So guess who told his boss he could do the work of two people. Yup. I did.

Tomorrow is a co-worker's last day, and I'm taking over his position while still keeping up with my normal work. My current job duties include (but are hardly limited to) files maintenance, keying all orders into the computer system, preparing and approving test pressings for every new order, monitoring all reorders, answering the phone, giving tours, and invoicing. Starting Monday, I will also be in charge of copyright compliance, purchase orders, and the general email account (which will include sending out a gazillion price quotes to the morons too dumb or too lazy to use the quote generator on the website).

I'm honestly not sure if I can do it all. I feel like the bosses are expecting me to handle it, but it seems a bit ludicrous to me, especially during a busy time of the year like this. But I expect myself to do it all, and to do it all well. I know myself well enough to know that I will do whatever I can to make sure it happens, and that most likely I will run myself into the ground. Any slight criticism (from others or myself) will make me drive myself harder, and it could eventually turn into burnout. It's exactly what happened with Publix. I expected myself to be the best employee and hardest worker there, and my bosses learned that by offering me criticism instead of encouragement, I'd push myself even more. And those bosses took advantage of that. I'm paranoid that my current job will end up being the same.

But maybe not. Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe my bosses will recognize my work and reward me appropriately.

Either way, I'll focus on being diligent to do the best work I can. That's what God expects, after all--for us to be faithful in the little things. Of course, the way my luck has always been, I'm rewarded for my faithfulness in little things by being given twice as many little things to be faithful to in the same amount of time and for the same amount of money. Ugh.

Boob Jobs

If I were a plastic surgeon, I would absolutely view my work as an art. All that tucking, shaping, lifting, sculpting...how could it not be? People stare at it, study it, critique it...again, how is it not art?

And like any good art, it should profit the artist as much as possible. That's why I would copyright my artwork and establish a royalty system for it. I would offer the patient a discount on the procedure but require royalties to be collected any time said surgical art appears on film, in photographs, or for public functions. I would register my creations with a performing rights organization, which would sell synchronization or blanket licenses to tabloids, modeling agencies, film and television companies, adult entertainment establishments, and Sears portrait studios everywhere. Just like any other kind of artist, if my work is on display, I'm getting paid. It's really only fair. My work boosts a patient's career, and I should be paid accordingly.

"I'll give you 25% off on the procedure, but in return I want points for those puppies. And on the underside of your left boob, I'ma tattoo '(c) Dr. My Name 2010. All rights reserved.' Also, any future boyfriend must demonstrate to you that he has obtained a mechanical license from the PRO before reaching second base with you, or within thirty days of your written notification that he is getting boobage."

I Wish

I wish I could hold the hurting. I might not be able to assuage their pain in any way, but I can wrap my arms around them and love them. I hate seeing those I care about being beat upon by life, or by the people who should be supporting them, and not being able to do anything about it.

I hate seeing a life wasted because they had no one with them to tell them how valuable and valued they are. These kids hanging themselves, jumping off bridges, putting a gun to their head...it's cruel that they felt they were so alone in life that their only option was death.

Hopelessness is my archnemesis, and it tears me up to see others succumb to it. I've been battling it my whole life; I wish there was some way I could fight alongside someone less experienced in this warfare, so that they could know they are not alone, and that it really does get better.

Crap At Theology

I'm often still puzzled by the question of why a loving God allows great and unnecessary suffering. A child falls ill, and after four years of prayer for her healing, she dies anyways. A giant tsunami wipes out tens and hundreds of thousands of innocents. A young man drops dead of a brain aneurysm.

I trust God. I know that a big part of faith is trusting that God is in control even when things get bad for no discernible reason. But what do you say to one whose faith has been weakened and battered time and time again, till it's all but gone? To one who believes that God is distant and unconcerned with man's suffering?

I'm crap at theological discussions. I don't know how to answer these questions for someone with a more philosophical/theological mind. I've developed faith out of desperation. I don't know how to assist someone seeking it through reason.

Endings

Endings are frightening for many people. There is no mystery as to why this is so. Endings mean upheaval. Endings mean a loss of constants and comfort zones. Endings bring stress, in part because one often fears that the ending won't lead into a new beginning, and he'll be left with nothing.

For me, however, endings are consistently a source of hope, because I do believe that God is faithful. Knowing high school would end at a guaranteed time kept me from doing anything rash to myself. Having college graduation in my sights filled me with a sense of anticipation for what God might have for me in the "real world." When I worked for Publix, I annually switched stores or departments as a way of reminding myself that the grocery store was only a means of paying my bills at the time, and not a life sentence imposed upon me. This too shall pass, I told myself with each change.

Once school was over, however, I had to get used to the idea of quick endings. I could see graduations coming from the very start. It was easy to have hope, and to make plans for the new beginnings. Now, it's not like that. I have to maintain and nurture hope even when there is nothing visible to hope for.

I spent four years at Publix working full time. Constantly I begged God to let me quit as a leap of faith, even though I hadn't found other work. And always He told me to wait just a little longer. "Be faithful in the little things, Dan. Be faithful in the little things. And if I asked you to spend your entire life behind this deli counter selling fried chicken and sandwiches, would you do it?" I would grudgingly concede the point and press on through with no hope of an ending anywhere in sight.

And so, after four years of this, I found myself in the bakery airbrushing hot pink princess cakes and squirting whipped-topping borders on key lime pies till I wanted to scream. I had a manager who appreciated nothing that I did and directed all her favor to one of the laziest coworkers I've ever had the displeasure of working with. I was burnt out beyond recognition, and I was constantly made to feel worthless even as I was consistently amazing customers with the cakes I made for them. I'm sure my output did begin to suffer from it all, only providing more fuel for my manager and her minion. And then one day God quietly said I was permitted to go. With a sense of relief, I told the store manager I was retiring from Publix in two months (I'd made a wedding cake commitment to a customer for that time) and I wanted a transfer to another store for that remaining period. So within a week I found myself at another store working for managers who genuinely appreciated what I had to offer and who admitted their sincere regret that I was leaving. And within two months, that chapter in my life was ended completely.

Two months. That was a quick ending compared to what I'd had in the past. Within two months I'd gone from a hopeless place of stagnation to having a much-sought ending to it all.

Then came three months of unemployment. My savings dwindled as I continued to pay bills without an income. Then came October, and I saw that I didn't have the money to pay November's rent. There was no ending in sight, and I was losing hope.

Then on a Sunday, Adam Riggs tells me I should apply at his workplace, United Record Pressing. On Monday I do. On Tuesday morning I wake up to a phone call offering a job interview at 10 a.m. that day, and at 2:30 that afternoon I start work. An ending. Hope. In under forty-eight hours.

So here I am again, in a place of restlessness. I feel like the winds may be shifting direction a little. Maybe that's because I just had my one-year-at-URP anniversary this past week, and I've never gone much longer than a year at a job without changing something significant about it. But for the most part I'm relatively content with my job. No, I feel like it's something else about to change. Something's going to end before long--but in a good way, I think. There's something stirring, and I can't put my finger on it. But I feel like there's a fault line in me that's steadily been building pressure. I feel like I'm inching over the crest of a roller coaster, and the potential energy accumulating in me is ever growing.

Again, I don't know anything more than that. I'm not one of those people that God talks to often in specific ways. But I can sense it in my gut, and I know now from experience that often God likes to spring these things on me suddenly.

Some fathers like to plan out elaborate birthday parties for their children, something that builds a sense of anticipation and excitement. I think my Father is more the type to make me think that I won't be having a party at all for my birthday, then pulls off a massive surprise party where I least expect it. I'm not sure which type I'd rather have, but the fact that I have a Father who loves me unconditionally is enough for me to have hope for any and every ending.

Brave Face

These are just some potential song lyrics I threw together this evening.

Oh let my heart be moved

Oh let my hurts be soothed

Sentries uphold

Their guard upon walls of stone

I've built for my soul

I fear love I've never known

Oh help me put on my brave face

Oh help me put on my brave face now

I've set deep inside of me

Invulnerability

But look out below

I'm falling in love and it's

Starting to show

These cracks in my battlements

Oh help me put on my brave face

Oh help me put on my brave face now

My skin is thick

My back is strong

My mind is quick

I've fought so long

But I'm felled by your slightest touch

I'm felled by your slightest touch

Oh help me put on my brave face

Oh help me put on my brave face now

To Whom It May Concern:

Your eyes are a hint.

True, your body tells a story. It's in the way you sit just so, with your legs crossed and your fingers fidgeting with your phone. It's in that slight curl of a secret smile as you read the text I sent across the room to you. It's in the hair you woke up in that somehow looks more perfectly in careless place as the day passes. It's in the shirt around your shoulders, and the belt around your waist. It's in a brush, a breath, a blush.

But your eyes--your eyes are a hint. They hint at so much more of who you are. Every time they twinkle, or every time they mist...a million possibilities and a million reasons more flash like a spooked horse through my mind as tiny fears and hopes. I thrill whenever your eyes catch hold of mine; it's as though an unexpected icy drop of water drips upon my tender, sunburnt back. And I want to know more. I want to tread the never-ending pathways of your mind and heart, your dreams and experience, your spotlit and your shadowed.

To stand transfixed within your depth of gaze is to stand before the wardrobe door, yearning with excitement for the Narnia sprawled behind Aunt Mathilda's ermine coat and Uncle Francis' dinner tails. I want to explore! I want to see the landmarks, the landfills, the mountains, the marsh. I want to learn just who it is you really are, and love it all. I want to know you intimately; yet years from now, when both we in our rocking chairs that creak just like our bones rest contented under sunset's guard, I want to stumble upon still unknown glens and copses in the landscape of you. I want to be forever yours and have you ever mine.

Yes! I want to be forever yours and have you ever mine.

Three Tall Tales of Much-Too-Much

1.
The holidays are upon me. You in your kindness agree to give me a lift to the airport. Your car pulls up at my front door and it only then sets in that soon I will find myself with crazed and holi-dazed family half-way across this land of ours.


We hit the road and I realize you missed the turn. No, you didn't miss the turn; you want to show me the city. I don't want to see the city. I want to get to the airport. But I've not seen the city this day, this hour, you say. We'll see the Batman building, you say. We'll wander Lower Broad and pose with Elvis, you say.


And so we do. You take me to a Preds game and a fight breaks out and there is blood on the ice. And happy hour at the Saucer is not to be missed, you insist. And now that it's dark we need to see the lights out at Opryland. It's stunning the work they've done since the flood, you say. It's also not to be missed, you say. And Bellevue's got a shopping mall, and Green Hills has one too. We must compare, and make a 'pro' list, and a 'con' list. Still I persist; eyes a-mist, I beg to be taken to the terminal.


But you need to show me the city. No matter that I've made this place my home for nigh on five long years now. Franklin must be seen, and Radnor Lake and Goodlettsville.


And I think of Billy and Family Circus and I despair of ever setting foot on my plane.


2.
Cramps. I hate them, but they happen. Potassium. That's what I need.


You have food, and I have none. Have you a banana? I ask. My body craves potassium.


And lo! you do! Excited, I reach out my hand.


But no. You first must peel it, then roll it in sugar and fry it in oil. You dip it in chocolate and wait for it to shell. Add a massive scoop of cookie-dough ice cream and fry it all in oil again. Top it off with crumbled pecan chips, and whipped cream, and a maraschino cherry the size of a fat clown's nose.


With a flourish...your potassium is served, you say.


3.
I have a gorgeous new painting--a masterpiece! by one Jacob Gregory mayhaps. I have the perfect space of wall for it to shine up on display. But alas, there is nary a nail to be found in the house.


And to the hardware store go I. But sad to see that passing time has chased away our mom and pop and built the Depot now on top.


Inside are aisle and aisle of everything and nothing that I need. And in you swoop with gleaming teeth and ask me what it is I seek.


A nail, say I. A nail to hang my picture by.


A nail, you say? you say, and I'm corralled into the plumbing aisle. And here, you say, we sell pipe fittings and porcelain toilet seats and fixtures of all kinds.


A nail is all I need, say I. A nail to hang my picture by.


A nail! you say. You say a nail! But no remodeling can fail with custom brands of primer, paints, and brushes. Tahitian sunset, mountain mist. Robin's eggshell! Here's a list of all the tints and shades and hues of any color you might choose.


A nail! I cry.


A nail? Oh my! This table set and chairs is gorgeous and on sale! Dining room or covered deck, this table set's the perfect bet! It's honest-to-goodness wood, not particle board. I'll wager you cannot afford to walk away from such a deal!


A nail...I weep...it's all I need. So ring me up this table set, and home I'll go and I can bet that somewhere in this table set there is a nail that I can remove, recycle, reuse. Oh sir, a picture's worth a thousand words, so consider this five hundred "f**k you!"s.

Kiwi!

I have no shortage of thoughts right now. I could fill a hundred pages trying to untangle the knot of Christmas lights that is my mind as I search for the one broken bulb that keeps the whole string from lighting up. So know that this is no cop-out.

I want to post this video. It's had over 27 million views on YouTube in the last four years, so you've likely already seen it. But this has been on my mind so much lately, and it sparked the thought process that brought about the poem in yesterday's blog post.

I need not elaborate further. The video speaks for itself.

to the sky, why

the heart will scout the sky, but I

can do nothing about it. 'swhy

i case my head in earth and try

to trick myself that stars don't shine

and moon and sun don't sashay by

like models on the runway sky

too porcelain for hands like mine.

why birth a bird that cannot fly?