A Small Change

Seeing as I'm really much too busy to take the time to create relevant posts on this here blog, I'm crossing over to tumblr, where its a much simpler business to put down the things I fall in love with.

http://forlivingsimply.tumblr.com/

Thankya Thankya

-Andrew

Hope

One might call me the victim of hope. Or of a lacking imagination. Or maybe of childlike faith. For as I sit, I see a place I can't quite reach. Its a place I feel I have been given, but the time is somewhere out of reach. Its a land of mountains and valleys. Where greens and blues reign. Where snow falls and trees grow. Where one can stand alone for hours worriless and free. Free to run, climb, dance, swim. No shame, no pride, no pain. Only pure and burden-less joy. And hardly a joy of celebration, only one of the purest satisfaction and gratefulness. A joy that lasts longer than any moment, but permeates the life of the spirit it has attached itself to.

Its a place where a cabin could be built, with axe and saw and mallet. A cabin over a lake of silvers mixed with glass. A place where one could smile at creation and smoke a pipe while watching the sun set. There would be a rocking chair and a telescope, a fireplace too. Then a bed and a bookshelf.

In the summer it would rain, dark and powerful, with enough force to put that feeling in ones throat where nerves and energy meet. It wouldn't be fear, but adventure. And then as fall came, death would be viewed as a necessity to beauty, not only because the land was painted but because one day it wouldn't be. One day we would remember and hope, even as I do now. Except it would be a hope combined with knowledge as opposed to desire. And as winter settled in, rest and poetry would combine with fires and books. A place where stories are enjoyed for courage and self-sacrifice. And then as death would slowly released its grasp, spring would come again, pure and unbridled- the fulfilled and confirmed idea that with every death comes a more incredible beauty. One would walk outside and stare between the mountains and the flowers wondering over each's grandeur.

That land of mountains and valleys, seasons and change would be beautiful, a joy gifted by a painter who imagined it all into life. But that is the sort of land I imagine in my dreams.

And so my point in all these meaningless words is this...we all experience some sort of hope. We all have some sort of idea of what perfection is like. There are moments where I have experienced that sort of joy that proves the presence of the God I recognize. And as I remember and pursue those moments, I meet Him in pictures such as these, where I hope for something I can't quite picture. And to be honest it makes me more joyful to know that I do Him and His perfection no good, because that means His store for us is so much more infinitely simple, and so much more infinitely lovely. And when I realize that perfection, that eternity awaiting me, then I smile and press on, because my God is on my side. And that being said, I hope and pray the same for you. That you would live a life in bathed in the hope of your eternity.

I hope I didn't confuse you, but my thoughts are rambling tonight...hard to put into words.

Andrew

Living Simply.

I've started up a little notecard sized moleskine for thoughts, and its quickly filling itself up. Essentially, through this weekend of reading and thinking, most of what I've discovered has turned up inside it. I'm going to give a little warning about dwelling too much on what I've put down, because they're just ideas, but imagine what it would look like if I acted on them. Imagine what would happen if I took this progression, and began to pursue righteousness through it.

"Right now, I am completely filled with apathy for Scripture, prayer, Christ... I am even attempting to defy all I have ever been taught by claiming I can find Joy without pursuing Him..."

"I surprised myself yesterday by the definition I gave of myself in a letter (that I never sent, my apologies). I claimed I did not even know God, but whats interesting is that the more I thought about it, the more I realized that that was the case...So then I ask myself why I do not know God...why I might even suppose I never knew Him, my lack of the Spirit? It is the promise of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self control... All of which I so evidently lack. It would also seem that I would be able to keep a manner of stability in the world. For now, I feel am nothing less than the peoples of Israel, cursed to wander after lacking the Faith to trust in God after His miracles. Does that mean God never ceased to pursue them after His own heart? Does that mean His promises were left unkept? Does that mean I could even be a bearer of Faith...or will I just die off as that Faithless generation did?"

"The greatest desire of Christ, for us, is to, of our own free will, fully submit ourselves to His will. Not because Christ has absorbed us, but because we freely conform our wills to His. Servants to Sons. Empty to Overflowing. United to Him but fully distinct... This is why He cannot be Irresistible or Indisputable. That is why he woos."

"(From the Screwtape Letters) 'Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring , but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which ever trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys.'-C.S. Lewis... So perhaps today, in the face of doubts, in the face of fear, I will pray for the fullness of the Holy Spirit, because I am so weak, so frail, so scared, and He will always fill those who ask. Hardly for their own glory, but for His own. Allow me to be a vessel of faith."

"'...and then in his joy, went and sold all he had and bought that field...' Will I sell myself to buy the one I've found? For how can you be a believer without that sacrifice? But then again, is it a sacrifice? How is it a sacrifice when you sell it all to gain such an incredible joy as the kingdom of Christ? We not only turn away from that but we know nothing of it. We are satisfied in our despair."

"Christ was born in the most shameful conditions... then forced to become a fugitive... Then God decides to raise up a great prophet... a man in the desert, living off locusts and honey, a disgusting outsider, to prepare the way for the King."

"Christ then fasted, how can we expect not to fast? In fact, it is an expectation, scripture says, 'Whenever (key word) you fast, do not do it as the hypocrites do...so that your fasting will be in secret, and your father in heaven, who sees what is done in secret will reward you."

"Then after forty days of temptation and fasting, He begins His ministry. Would we call Him a fool? Calls the weakest most humble servants...fishermen. Foolish again?"

"The Sermon on the Mount...blesses the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the gentle, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers, persecuted for the sake of righteousness... 'Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great.' 'Whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also...' 'For if you love those who love you what reward do you have?' 'Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth...but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven..for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.' 'No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.'"

"'Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests but the son of man has nowhere to lay His head.' 'Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.' 'No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.' And the greatest of all...'Truly Truly I say unto you, a slave is not greater than his master, nor is one who is sent greater than the one who sent him.' This is what I am truly called to be as a believer, no...not a believer, a temple, of the Spirit. A wretched beast who was chosen for the glory of the Lord."

"Would I be hungry for the gospel without the comforts of the church?"

"(In regards to eating drinking and clothes) 'For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things...but seek first His kingdom and His righteousness and all these things will be added to you.'"

And thats my week from the perspective of the little black book. Its a tad bit random, but its themed... and I hope that the pieces do begin to click sooner or later.

So, by all that I am so frightened. I do not say it all out of pride...or out of some knowledge of scripture, but as someone who has never been more stricken by the commands of Christ, and their lifestyle. Their contrast is terrifying. Perhaps my lack of joy in Christ has to do with my actions, and the promises He lays out for those actions. I hardly know what to do folks, besides pray and hope that this won't be forgotten tomorrow... That I will never be weaker, so He can be more glorified.

-Andrew

(oh and if you read all that...gold star to you.)

Doubt.

I dislike arguments. And not the types that arouse anger and malevolence, but the philosophical ones. Because, they, as they are supposed to, present so much doubt to a weak mind. They nearly convince you of one thing, until you read the argument refuting it, which holds nearly as much ground. And before you know it, so much ground is being held that you can hardly understand any of the mess you're standing among. Everyone 'knows' exactly what they are talking about, presenting clashing facts and figures that have both been proven through long years of study.

So, you then wish to study. You wish to understand where all this is coming from, but you know, as always, that years of study will take you precisely where it has taken everyone else: realizing you have no idea. Realizing that where one study begins another study ends and the end of that study leads to another, until you feel so overwhelmed by trying to just learn a bit more that you end up where you started, albeit a tad bit more frightened. I guess that means that in the very beginning, you didn't just dislike arguments, they scared you. 

And that's when you look at arguments and wonder if there is another way to go about things. If it wasn't knowledge that would open up your eyes but perhaps faith, and experience. You might even go as far as to say, I do not know, BUT, I understand where there is joy, and joy that does not seem of this world. And that's where you have to give yourself over. For some odd reason that frightens you. You have placed your hope in intellect, in knowledge, in the proof of things for so long. Perhaps you could even call yourself a Thomas, because what other proof do you have? What else is there except your senses to understand this world? Maybe when you submit yourself it is that confidence that comes from a joy of living. It comes from a love of those around you and of a peace you don't quite understand. You even wonder if what you're enjoying is Him, it has to be. Doesn't it? You've submitted yourself and things are changing. But all you know is that once more doubts creep in as they always have, again putting you back where you started. And once more you are scared, and once more you argue.

-Andrew

One week.

Recently, writing has been difficult. In fact, I've sat down in front of this little white frame more than enough times to be shamed by it. I've opened up my journal, thats supposed to spill forth thoughts like that little spring my mind should be, and its remained empty. I've been stuck on the past. Stoppered by the future. And I'm not quite sure where to place the blame. But thats just a checkup, nothing much more to say. I just want the few of you that keep up with this darling to know I haven't disappeared. I still check every day to see if I have some waiting idea, but no. And if there's any excuse, it's that I had a bad week, which isn't an excuse at all, because the bad weeks are the ones where brilliance shows its head. Its not in the good times that boys become men, but the bad ones. So I suppose I'm still a boy. Forgive me.
-Andrew

And then perhaps... New beginnings.

So, today is the new beginning. Its the grand year of two thousand and eleven. I'm quite excited. Yesterday, I wrote down the names of a few items I was going to attempt to get rid of, and get rid of them I have. In fact, today I have hardly known what to do with myself. That is where my resolutions come in. They're rather small to be honest, but I want them to be achievable. Except for one, they also are not to be vague. I want numbers and time frames with results that can be measured. This is opposed to "doing better" or "trying harder"... which are incredibly worthless ways to determine a goal. Also, I've decided to try not to dub these as mere "goals", they are resolutions. The word resolution inspires a bit of awe in me, because it has its roots in the "resolve" of man. It defies the fickle, second-guessing nature of all of us by making a determination, a near certainty. So, in myself, I have thus resolved to attain these goals within one years time. I am resolved.

My first goal might seem a bit petty, but it is a necessity for the success of all the others. My room must be (and will be) successfully maintained. My reasoning is that without a determined effort to maintain the details, how can one achieve grand goals, that are built solely on details such as these?

My second goal regards writing. This blog might even find itself somewhere under this umbrella. I have recently found myself writing in moleskine journals. They are fantastic for thought and the penning of ideas. Much of this blog is copied letter for letter from those entries. So, I resolve to complete two moleskines of approximately one hundred and twenty pages, writing on one side. This will be completed by December 31.

My third and fourth goals are designed to improve my knowledge and sources of conversation. They are also for pleasure. I will read one book solely for the purpose of an increase in knowledge every two months and I will read one other book a month, perhaps from classic literature or for pleasure, or maybe even both.

My fifth goal is my personal favorite. I wish to send a letter a week. Letterwriting is a process long forgotten, and I hope to revive it, especially since I have lost other forms of communication recently. I can only imagine what it would be like to recieve a letter myself, so sending them will be even more fun.

My sixth goal is actually the worst of them all, and the most typical. But I would like to work out. Specifically finish the work out progamme P90x. Its ninety days and if I can finish it by December the 31st in its entirety, I will be very proud.

Then, lastly, is my seventh goal. It is the goal that is vague, but nonetheless more challenging for its vagueness. In all things, I pray to live passionately, humbly, and honestly, never forgetting my hope, and always keeping the faith. I hope to stay strong in the simplicity of a real life, by daily pursuing nothing less than the cross. Through this, I will be a man. That is the purest of all my dreams, all my goals, all my resolutions.

After having shared these with you all, I hope you will find your own resolutions.
Thank you.
-Andrew

This ending.

I've experienced relatively few endings in my life. Fifteen years haven't offered time for much to end at all. But, today is one of those few. When the sun disappears today, I'll only ever see it again if this year ends, and end it shall. So, as this year closes, what books shall I close, what memories shall I forget, and what deeds will forever be done. Where am I hoping for the suns rays to touch for the last time tonight? What am I going to cut so that newness can rise up tomorrow?

This is all to say that I would like to live simply. I want to figure out myself the way every other generation has. I want to rid myself of distraction, and make my way towards being the well-rounded man, who is physically, mentally, and spiritually able to deal with every obstacle. That requires change, and to make room for new processes, one must rid themself of the old.

Here is my list of departures...
...my ipod touch...This is for purposes of petty games and pointless browsing... ipod nano is being reawakened.
...the computer I own being in my room...I could spend hours of time on this sucker sitting at my desk, not so much at my kitchen table.
...texting...One of the more difficult departures, but how can I expect to focus on simplicity if I buzz so often I can't see straight. Call me, or write me a letter.
...facebook...The curse of this generation, I've spent 25% of my year on it. Thats disgusting.

So, sometimes it seems like making commitments is easy, when they're alone in your head, but then again those fail. These are commitments that will last, at least until 2012, because I am now announcing them to you all.
Please keep me accountable.
I will discuss my new beginnings tomorrow.
Thank you.
Andrew

The Nature of Chaos

They put me on a pedestal and they mock me.
I dont understand their words.
Of course it is because I am too young.

And at once I ask to speak, for I am confused,
why the pedestal, why me?
and so those are my questions.

But of course the crowd is too loud to even hear my plea,
For sadly I only whispered it.
I am afraid.

And I ask once more, trying for courage,
But again they mock louder than I speak.
My courage battles their noise.

And so we fight and we fight until I am pressed off
of the pedestal by a young man, who silent,
Watches man after man become their own enemy

He watches man after man, destroyed by their own ambition
join the jeering crowd below
each thinking they are still fighting for their own

But only destroying every other.

Some Sort of Adventure.

Sometimes I wonder if there are others among and around me that dream about adventure.

For there is such a romantic version of adventure, and then there is such a push for the reality of adventure. There are those who make it seem more incredible than it is, and then there are those who fight to make it so much less than it is. Well, perhaps we don't realize why the idea of adventure has been romanticized. Perhaps we don't realize that these men who have been through dark hours, come out screaming of the joy of overcoming. They scream of the ecstasy that only the climbing over an infinitely high obstacle can bring. And perhaps thats all we remember, but remember it we should, and pursue it we should. So, there I fall, If I can find that challenge, and overcome it, even if I can't see, even if I know not when the pain ends, even if I have to stare death down, then I will have found my adventure. I want to know that in that aspect, adventure has been romanticized, because only when it has can I know that it is worth the time to pursue. Because only then can I know that current pain will most certainly lead to future joy. Only then is it worth the fight.

And fight for it I shall.

Andrew

Not a poem.

Dear friends,

If you read this every once and a while, I would like to thank you. For some, I may request you to read a post or two and give me feedback, and for others perhaps you've remembered to check back since the day I first mentioned it. But, if you've read any of these, then I'm thankful. You're either a good friend, or you actually enjoy my small dabble in the poetic world. I would like it if you did. My hope is that something in these words will encourage you where you're at, or excite your dreams just enough to give you an hour where a warm beverage, a pen, and thought combine perfectly.

I also hope you enjoyed the first written post ever.

Sincerely,

Andrew

Fearless.

Take time to the place it was made

As if I can't handle it

Let me be tossed around in it

Let me return to the things I have said.

Let me view the ahead in the wretched sea

As I remember where I will go

As I know the things I hope

And the things I most want aren't too far to be.

Cast me out on the ship I am given

But at least let me know I return

Or even give me the chance to mourn

For the man I will come to inherit.

Grant me the wish to be that fearless man

Who sits in the timeless sea

Unafraid to be

Because he's not afraid to fear, to hope, and to love.

A Note.

So here is a poem for someone I love
Who suffers the burden that I tend to give
When alone with myself I dream and I hope
And write meaningless things like this little note.

Thoughts.

Again, I have fallen
into the streams
of a past of frozen
now thawing
thoughts.

Once again they surround me
Breathe in me; with me
and altogether of me
as they lead me
to write

And now, pen in hand
they guide me
without any forethought
to recount them
to use them

So now, dear thoughts
become in me what
you have become
in so many others:
Alive.

The Mountains

They stand

guardians of past

like trees

their roots grasp

Sometimes they sway

but not in the breeze

for that is nothing

to them

But they sway

to a beat, a rythme

their heart

our earth

And as they watch

swaying like trees

with beating hearts

and sharpened brow

They share stories

like men around a fire

they whisper

they groan

They discuss the fires

of old

of distant lands

of past days

These whispers

breath around the earth

always there

always speaking

Like the men

telling fireside stories

can be heard

in all chests

Like the whisper

of new lands

breaths life into

weak

Like the challenge

to win

to conquer

to live

That is their call

These ancient keepers

of dirt

of rock

That is their wild whisper

Their sharp sigh

Their bitter echo

Their uneven breath

That is the cry

That will drag men

out of their comfort

and into their home

A Hand

Take my hand

You hurt and pained

Take my hand

You weak at heart

Take my hand

Oh lonely man

Take it.

Can you not see.

For as you always have

Blindly.

You sit still

Against the wall

You mutter to yourself

You stare at the floor

You imagine

That you’re happy.

But once you take hold

Of my hand

You will see

What you have always missed.

You say no

You say you have what you want.

And I sigh.

And you return.

To weep in your satisfaction.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I catch you laughing
and I didn't hear the joke
But'll laugh with you.

Cause if by laughing we grow
Closer than we once were before
Then I'll be laughing

And when I catch you breathing
I can't stop looking cause I'de kiss you
If you'd let me

And when you write me I imagine
your hands were shaking so I held them
And then we smiled

And as you smile I stop
To I forget that I'm still hurting
because I'm with you

And being with you
Is all I can think of

Cause now its all that matters.

Trains

Oh the trains always seem to be traveling east
But my souls telling me thats not me in the least
And the paths always head where I don't wanna be
Never to the lands my eyes have wanted to see

So take me home
I'm tired of being where I don't belong
Take this soul
For fear of the light has kept me here too long

Oh my prayer is long and my sighing deep
Can you awaken my soul to a place we can meet
I fear I'll be stuck in the damp and the cold
And the life that I want won't be mine till I'm old

Forgetting.

How can I forget

The whisper of many wings

Beating quick this lonely chest

In silence and in hope.

How can I forget

A breaking dawn through windows

That though nearly breathless

Were stolen of their breath

How can I forget

The quaking skin I wear

Being calmed by purest warmth

When your eyes take hold of mine

How can I forget you

When your smile

And your laugh

Can heal the hurt of days

So I never will forget you

For forgetting is as much a sin

As seeing the beauties of heaven

And being satisfied to never return

Crying voices.

Funny how voices are just passing birds

Fading off into my mind

Cause when I look around your all I’ve heard

You and God intertwined

Then they pass and ‘light on the moon

While I’m laying here on my back

How many times have I wished for it soon

Not to fade into the black

Cause endings begin the unforgotten

They start anew what’s been gone

But the blackest night can’t stay pardoned

When I weep alone for my sin.

For my sin.

Liars.

Oh my dear and lowly reader

From the grasping clawing mirror

How I weep? How I weep?

For the body I can’t keep

Oh I cry, Oh I cry

For the flesh that’s never mine

And I tear at the skin

In a din, In a din

For the fear of the dark

Keeps awake my hark

So I hark, How I hark

For a flesh that so dark

Keeps in it a heart

Oh the heart How the heart

With the bloodless hopeless mark

Of a fearful generation

With the gloomy innovation

Of a dim and lowly standard

So far-fetched and pandered

To the desires of a few

And is now the hope of many.

How they lie.