I hear nothing but my brain creating
White noise to fill the void of sound surrounding me
Perhaps instinct is telling me that everything
Including the ice crystals bombarding me
Creates tiny explosions upon impacting
That vibrate the molecules nearby which carry
Through the air to tiny bones that give me hearing
But now, these vibrations are muffled before they reach me
As the multitude of inundating flakes are being
Absorbed by the snow that blankets the ground around me
So I hear nothing but myself explaining
The reason for the lack of sensation in me
Now, I know that it's been a long time, for sure. Fathomless, endless oodles of time since I last updated this blog. I guess I wanted to be sure that I've still got it in me, and that I am not too rusty when it comes to writing (which could easily be the case, after an entire school year of not really writing a whole lot). Even aside from this, I somehow feel this weird sense of urgency to relate all of my experiences since the previous true blog update...which, by the way, I consider to be the last update in January.
However, I also know that in the interest of keeping you all interested instead of losing you to the vast number of multifariously boring stories that would commence if I set out to recount the past year. So ultimately, I will keep this post tethered to the aforementioned subject: Ewoks. If you have ever watched the movie "Star Wars: The Return of the Jedi", you will remember (hopefully with fondness) the cute, furry, walking teddy bears that they are. And you might also recall the stirring image of a slew of Ewoks holding tightly to a rope that had been looped around the 'foot' of an AT-ST walker, and being dragged along the ground with each mighty step.
Warning. In the next few sentences, I will compare Star Wars to a believer's relationship with God, so please bear (yes, pun intended) with me for just a moment.
Amused, God looks me in the spirit
He has no need to verbalize
My ignorant folly, for I can hear it
Simpering softly before my eyes
How could I be so blissfully unaware
Of my own assumption of doubt?
That I believe the power of prayer
Is lacking in heavenly clout?
Whether I pray for my own sake
And the wisdom to prioritize,
Or for those caught in life's wake,
Or for a friend's spiritual fire to rise
Why does He choose to act and move?
It's not because I am devout,
But so the Mighty One can prove
Himself to man is what He's all about
It’s weird to write this blog, knowing that I hadn’t planned to make another long blog post, but also knowing that things would probably end up heading that way. So really, I have no idea where this will take me, but I’m strapping myself down.
For example, I was sitting at my laptop writing the past sentence three and a half hours ago, when I heard a game of Clue going on outside my suite, so I joined it, and then ended up watching “Grand Turino”. (Great movie, by the way.) Now, I’m laughing inside at the craziness that goes on in my life, and I’m quite happy with it.
I'm sure you all have heard the tale of Custer's last stand...the triumphant defeat of a small band of American soldiers at the hands of an impossibly large native force. But you probably haven't heard the whole story. Did you know that General George Armstrong Custer actually attacked the natives—a village of the tribes of Lakota and Northern Cheyenne—and then proceeded to make several errors that brought his own demise?
That's just a small portion of all that I saw a few weeks ago with my family, from July 11 through 16, on our trip to and from Mount Rushmore, South Dakota. Ready to take a ride with me across the Mid-west United States? Then buckle your seat belt, because my dad's a notoriously reckless driver (though I've never been in an accident with him yet). But before I get ahead of myself, I should probably warn you that I will almost certainly forget something or mix some details up, so just bear it and grin.
This is an image of the note I wrote while near the top of Granite Peak. It reflects a lot of the thoughts and feelings that were coursing through my spirit at the time. In case my handwriting's not legible enough (keep in mind, I was using a cheap ball-point pen in high-altitude, low-temperature conditions), here's a transcript of what it says:
With all that's been juggled around in my head, I would need to write a pretty long blog to get it out in its entirety...so to spare you folks reading, I'll
Y'know what? No. I'm not going to make this blog note another "abridged entry". My apologies if you don't feel like actually sitting down for a few minutes with me (metaphorically speaking) and joining your thoughts with mine, but I really am going to fly, so strap yourselves in tight.
Bandages: they serve their original purposes well enough. But I felt like it was a waste of perfectly good white space not to use the medical tape on my hand for jotting down stuff I didn't want to forget. So here, on my palm essentially, I have two items written down for my convenience.
This post's title is a nod to the cliché phrase "summer daze", as a play on words with "summer days", and as opposed to Summer Glau, who is entirely different. Something kinda funny I've realized about summertime: weekdays start to mean less. Without any classes to remind me of what day of the week it is, I'm starting to lose track, and am routinely shocked whenever someone tells me what day it is. Of course, I still go to church on Sunday, which serves as a good milestone for the week, but within Sundays there are few appointments to keep me on the ball...which could get disastrous if I end up missing a tutoring session as a result (I'm currently tutoring a 7th grader in math).
In spite of my tendency to let the days slip by, I do desire to accomplish a meaningful task or experience a meaningful memory this summer. Admittedly, my dad has probably nagged me to the point that this desire did not originate with me. However, our ideas of what a meaningful task or memory can sometimes be at odds with each other...for example, although I know that money is unfortunately necessary for me to go to school, and therefore I could really use a job this summer, I also would like to stay relatively laid back. I wouldn't be wasting my time if I didn't get a job, because I have plans to finish a significant portion of my novel and my movie script, as well as film a couple movies with Joel and the Triforce Studios film crew.
Another thing about summer I've noticed is that it's a great time to get less pale and skinny. I have been helping my dad work outside, which has lent itself to reducing my pallor and puniness significantly. If all goes well, I will get a membership to Oz Fitness or somewhere I can get back into shape.
All randomness aside, I was actually going to mention my recent observation that so far this summer, several of my younger friends have graduated from high school. It's one thing to feel old graduating from high school yourself; it's entirely different to feel old[er] watching your friends graduate. Fortunately, I get to see them now that I'm back from Pullman, but still, they'll be going out into the [cold, cruel] world soon. And I know that I shouldn't really feel so old, because in comparison to a lot of people, I'm still young. But I still have experienced things that the new grads haven't, so I wish that I could share these with them. ohey lukz- a idea1
On another note, I seem to regret my own actions more often than I'd like—sometimes regretting them only minutes or even seconds after I've done them. And I don't mean regretting obvious mistakes (e.g. I just stuck my hand in the path of a door being slammed, and I really regret it, or even, I just said something that may have hurt someone's feeling, and I really regret it), but rather, regretting the decisions that don't actually connote any harm or foolishness. Though nothing immediately D'oh!-y comes from these actions, I still look back on them, and think to myself, Could I have done something different that would have brought a more desirable outcome? And then after thinking that, I wonder if I should have done something different, and it tortures me until I realize how ridonculous it is. I'd provide an example, but I don't actually know who reads this blog, so in the interest of keeping me from regretting it later, I won't. And because I don't exactly understand this myself, thus, trying to explain it could very well turn out disastrous.
That's all the musing I'll fit into one post, because not everyone has the time/attention span/all of the above to read much longer than this. Stay tuned, though...I feel some more muse brewing in my brain.
* * * * *
Author's note: Sheesh, after only about 3 weeks of not writing any blogs, it's been embarrassingly hard to get back into the groove...and by 'groove', I definitely mean 'funky feeling', not 'rut'. It's taken me literally 73 hours to get this post finished.
Pullman is dead
Summer killed it
The life has been sucked from Pullman
Not completely...
Some of my friends,
A few who stay for the summer
I can smell it
The emptiness
Like a building before living
Quiet, peaceful
Unmoving sound
Disinfected, disconnected
Only shadows
Here rest, lazy
Leaving them till fall breaks the still
Make myself heard
But none to hear
Within earshot, people are not
So, to you, Lord
I take my cry
Knowing that you listen, attuned
I recognize
From His wisdom
The emptiness of godlessness
Like Waller Hall
At the moment
Would my heart be, but Him in me
Filling my void
Giving purpose
To direct and guide me, His child
I will never
No, not ever
Be lonely then, ever again.
* * * * *
Author's note: Check out this song by Rob Evans, called "The Donut Repair Club" by Rob Evans, which has this line in it: "Life without Jesus is like a doughnut / ... / 'Cause there's a hole in the middle of your heart / When Jesus fills your heart / He satisfies your soul / Like a pastry nugget in a doughnut hole".
That's right. Convicted. None of us are really any better than thieves and crooks. Think about it...what's the difference between us and them? We all have the same nature. The people who don't steal or murder are not worth any more than the people who do.
So then, why bother doing what's right? After all, even our most righteous acts are just filthy rags to God (Isaiah 64:6). But this is only part of the picture; when a missionary from Ethiopia, named Fred Van Gorkom, spoke at the E-Free Church this Sunday, he pointed out something that I want to share with you.
Each child of God is like an ore, impure and sullied by dross. In the refining process, ore is smelted in a furnace, so that it changes phase into molten form. Most precious metals are denser than the impurities, which float to the top and can be skimmed off of the surface.
Dr. Van Gorkom finished the illustration with an anecdote. He went to a silver refinery, where he watched a worker melt the silver ore and skim the dross off the top, repeating the process over and over and over. He asked the worker how long the silver must be refined before it is ready, and the worker replied that when he could see his image in the silver, then it was fully refined.
What is awesome about that illustration is how it resembles our own lives. Each of us is in a various stage of refinement, trying to reflect God's image with our life.
Now, the process of refining is not an easy one. It involves sacrifice...giving back to God what we can offer. But sometimes, we try to sacrifice things that don't actually cost anything for us. I challenge you (and myself) to give up to God something that we really do value.
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Author's note: Thanks, Greg, for the use of the leaflet in your bulletin...I wrote most of the ideas for this post on that leaflet in church.
