And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold...

I am making all things new."


The Story of Christmas - An Animation from Grace in Cranberry on Vimeo.


Merry Christmas all. Remember the lost, poor, and broken this joyous day. Remember that your beating heart means that you are presently functioning as a working member of God's plan of redemption. Remember that Christ was born, grew into a man, and then soaked up what was meant for us, because He loved us. May the joy of our God overtake you, bewitch you, and overflow from you this Christmas season.

Cheers!

Sometimes I wonder if we're so numb as a society that when we do have those precious few moments of clarity and sobriety it's so uncomfortably jarring that the resulting shock sends us back into numbness.

Boy, I feel funny tonight. Someday I hope that I will actually have some idea of what I wish to do with my life. Of course, my ultimate goal is to glorify God. Of course, the how is by worshiping Him by abiding in Him. Of course I abide in Him through daily supplication and application of His Word (and by His grace above all). Of course this is the greatest joy in my life. But I still suffer from anxiety, anxiety I think for what I will actually do after I graduate. Another picture of how I still am weak and need His strength to carry on.

Spoiled

Nor, I think, would many of us ever naturally say that in the light of the knowledge of God which we have come to enjoy, past disappointments and present heartbreaks, as the world counts heartbreaks, don't matter. For the plain fact of the matter is that to. Ost of us they do matter. We live with them as our "crosses" (so we call them). Constantly we find ourselves slipping into bitterness and apathy and gloom as we reflect on them, which we frequently do. The attitude we show to the world is a sort of dried-up stoicism, miles removed from the "joy unspeakable and full of glory" which Peter took for granted that his readers were displaying (1 Peter 1:8 KJV). "Poor souls," our friends say of us," how they've suffered." And that is just what we feel about ourselves!

--J. I. Packer, Knowing God

I've been convicted of this in the past few months. How easily my spoiled windy little mind seeks for sympathy when there is really no need for it, except that my selfish little self wants to feel loved (and by loved I really mean known). It's not wrong to want to feel loved; we were made to be loved. But this feeling of, "Oh let me show you a heavy cross," that is sin. For one, I've never starved, I've never been unwanted, I've never been enslaved, I've never found myself bereft of my "inalienable rights" (the question of their inalienableness is a question matter for another time). In relation to the world, I have no room to complain. But even beyond that the sufferings of this present time are not even worth comparing to the future glory that is to come. And yet, my ego still has an itch to grow beyond its recommended size. My dad used to warn me about becoming a PLOM when I was younger, a poor little ol' me. And boy was (is) he right. Really, what do I have to complain about? In reality, absolutely nothing.

Breathe

...

A Thought

This I suppose to be the blessed Trinity that we read of in the Holy Scriptures. The Father is the deity subsisting in the prime, unoriginated and most absolute manner, or the deity in its direct existence. The Son is the deity generated by God's understanding, or having and idea of Himself and subsisting in that idea. The Holy Ghost is the deity subsisting in act, or the divine essence flowing out and breathed forth in God's infinite love to and delight in Himself. And I believe the whole Divine essence does truly and distinctly subsist both in the Divine idea and Divine love, and that each of them are properly distinct persons.

J. Edwards

For Your Eyes' Pleasure

Dizzy

Sometimes, the only thing I want to do is overturn every table I can find while shouting repeatedly, "What am I doing?!"

Heart of Darkness

This is the text from the first movement of James Syler's Symphony No. 1, "Blue". You can find the rest of the text here.

I. Impending Blue

“Mistah Kurtz – he dead.”

Libera me, Domine             (Deliver me, O Lord)
Libera nos, Domine             (Deliver us, O Lord)

When night descends on a turning world
I hear the distant beat
of impending blue.

I sit staring, nervously
stirring coffee into a still point
waiting as one makes way for another.

I close my eyes, slowly
knowing what to expect
a quiet terror approaching out of time.

I inhale you, you consuming color
as you roll over me
a march of impending blue.

What keeps you from turning back?
Or blue from turning black?

Libera me, Domine             (Deliver me, O Lord)
Libera nos, Domine             (Deliver us, O Lord)

Sipping hot black coffee
on a night of blue pursuit
a stone cold sober
of the cruelest kind

I Pretend Middle Schoolers are Predictable

I'm a little idealistic with my timings I think. I hated middle school when I was in it; I wonder what it's like to teach it?

Then Something Miraculous Happened

"Once we had no delight in God, and Christ was just a vague historical figure. What we enjoyed was food and friendships and productivity and investments and vacations and hobbies and games and reading and shopping and sex and sports and art and TV and travel…but not God. He was an idea—even a good one—and a topic for discussion; but he was not a treasure of delight.

          Then something miraculous happened. It was like the opening of the eyes of the blind during the golden dawn. First the stunned silence before the unspeakable beauty of holiness. Then a shock and terror that we had actually loved the darkness. Then the settling stillness of joy that this is the soul’s end. The quest Is over. We would give anything if we might be granted to live in the presence of this glory forever and ever.

          And then, faith—the confidence that Christ has made a way for me, a sinner, to live in his glorious fellowship forever, the confidence that if I come to God through Christ, he will give me the desire of my heart to share his holiness and behold his glory.

But before the confidence comes the craving. Before decision comes delight. Before trust comes the discovery of treasure….

          Saving faith is the cry of a new creature in Christ. And the newness of the new creature is that it has a new taste. What was once distasteful or bland is now craved. Christ himself has become a Treasure Chest of holy joy. The tree of faith grows only in the heart that craves the supreme gift that Christ died to give: not health, not wealth, not prestige, but God!"

~John Piper, Desiring God

Still

The chilly November wind bit him as he stood at the edge of the lake, staring across at nothing, at everything, waiting. Speechless was his mouth, and quiet was his soul for this brief eternity of a moment. He wished he could stop thinking in paradoxes, but that was how he felt. One big fat contradiction. Hypocrite. The wind rushed by. He pulled his coat a little tighter.

Around him the seasons were changing. The leaves were turning and falling, round and round in a seemingly endless, cacophonous dance. Their last expression of life before their death. He turned his eyes up to the sky, filling them with the chilly gray of the cloud-sheet above him, wrapping himself in it. The gray sank into his bones, sending a chill down his spine. It was a nice feeling. He pulled his coat a little tighter.

And then it wafted across his nose, in the wake of the incessant wind. His eyes faded quickly, sealing him with the color of the sky. The smell was brief; it probably was not even real. But it was enough, the wispy trail of a memory that was too heavy to bear with confidence. He turned on his heel as if pushed around by the wind as it does to the dancing leaf. Forget it. He pulled his coat a little tighter.

His legs moved up the uneven sidewalk, stirring the leaves to dance around them, the tired ones crunching underneath his shoes. The wind continued to nip around him like a small dog that hungered for dinner, and he pretended to ignore its quietly adamant wining, continuing up the sidewalk. The ground was hard underneath his feet and pushed back through his shoes and into his femur, springing him forward. At least it was still warm inside of his coat. He pulled it a little tighter.

He was not alone, but he was the only one moving, besides the leaves. The people around him were still, frozen in the November air, parting the wind as it blew round and round them. The faces could have been anybody's, and they were just as gray as the sky above him, and just as hard as the ground beneath him, pushing back through his shoes and into his femur, springing him forward. He longed for the soft warmth of his home, but for now he was caught in a subtle trick of God, a moment hung up in the metronome of time. He pulled his coat a little tighter.

*zip*

Woops. There went October.

Anyway, I scored a short film. What fun! Needless to say, the director/photographer is ridiculously talented. And my good friend I got to sing is phenomenal. And I found my thesis, in this kind of work. I hope you enjoy.

"The prison doors have been opened and my Love has been set free.:)"


~From Mr. P, my friend and mentor, on the passing of his bride


Mr. P, janitor of my high school during those years, and I spent many a late night together putting things in order after band/choir/student organization events. More on this later when I better understand the onslaught of emotion coursing through my veins right now.

Fancy That

"The balloon is ready, I've tethered it to the balcony with a knot no sailor could invent. Ignore the gathering crowd below. Plebeians! Maybe if we look closely we will find our mothers waving handkerchiefs, and our fathers scowling. If we see any children we'll throw them candy but don't tell them why we are up here, floating above Belleville in a hot air balloon. If they knew, they'd never want to sleep in their own beds ever again.

Remember how we met? Barefoot on the beach (the hem of your dress starched white with salt). I was flying a beautiful kite. Yours was ragged and obviously self made. After a few failed attempts at flight you threw your kit on the sand and stomped on it. I wondered if it was your first kite. Kite making, you assured me, was not your specialty. But we are too old for kites. Let us toast the Flying Club Cup, our health, a quick painless death and helium.

I'm going to sleep so well tonight. Breathe in, deeply now, okay do you feel it? Don't worry, we're finally here."

~Beirut

Laundry List

Words words words
they fly around my eyes like bees
around a snow cone.

Buzzing, brushing, bumping,
Beckoning.

The laundry goes into the back of the pickup.
Scales to practice,
Do Re Mi--
But in 1776, TJ was hangin' in the hood...

Seriously, the engine rumbled to life
sparking the headlights aflame.
Out through the woods I go,
Fa Sol (not Soe)

And then I need to read chapter two,
And then I need to run this pattern again,
And then I need to put that keyboard back together,

Oh, and don't forget to be creative.
Stick out and build your resume.
All the successful people do it.

On the highway,
the night runs by at 70 miles an hour.
It's too dark too really see that though. Good thing I have
a speedometer.
I hope the clothes aren't blowing out of the back...

La Ti Do!
I bet you can't sing a minor scale though.
Remember, the vowels round out when you
flatten.
And the vowels square up when you
sharpen.

Wal-Mart waves in passing.
I don't have any pens...

Are the clothes okay?
The time is 10:12 p.m.
If I go to bed soon, I can get up at 6:02 a.m.
and then have enough time to practice my scales then.

It's the only way of insuring creativity.
That's what they told me
anyway.

I miss my dog.

Screech. Halt.
Shit. My fault.

(so much for folded clothes)

The dog continued on his way across the street.
The owner sighed with relief and incredulousness.

C'mon, man, it's night though.
Keep your dog on a leash at least.

But then I remembered,
(or I was reminded, rather)
that the world is much bigger than my mind.

How presumptuous of me.

Wasted

So easily the time slips by

when I am doing nothing of consequence.

Humbled

G. K. Chesterton,

The sun rises every morning. I do not rise every morning; but the variation is due not to my activity, but to my inaction. Now, to put the matter in a popular phrase, it might be true that the sun rises regularly because he never gets tired of rising. His routine might be due, not to a lifelessness, but to a rush of life.

The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game or joke that they specially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.

It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore.

How beautiful every sunrise and sunset is, so beautiful that I am often brought to my knees in awe. I will never be able to achieve such beauty, wonderment, and perfection in my own art, and so how much more inspiring are those things which are consistently beautiful. To have so much life in every repetition, to have so much energy in every good thing that it never gets old, or that maybe its age strengthens its beauty. It's timelessness, evidenced by its energy, raises against the fickle human a bulwark that is either awful or comforting, and always strong.

Such is the sun.

How much more is its Creator? And how much more that this Creator raises His bulwark on which you lean comfortably against the onslaught of the wicked powers that claw almost as restlessly against you. How much more that the work is finished, is finishing, and will be finished inside of you, the broken and the battered. Such is the difficulty of trashing the sandy hut of your flesh, and instead calling that infinite Bastion standing incomparably taller than the opposition, home.

Promote Literacy

"The vast majority of men, so long as their goods and their honor are not taken from them, will live contentedly, so you will only have to contend with the small minority who are ambitious, and there are lots of straightforward ways of keeping them under control."

National book week. Grab the nearest book, go to page 56, copy down the 5th sentence. Don't cite the book.

Enjoy words.

Spark ideas.

Impromptu

"O hope of all the ends of the earth and the seas that are far away. O blue waves that set us sailors free from the kingdoms of despair. Your way was in the sea, your life was in the sea. O soul rise up with this breeze and allow this salty wind to breathe. O give us voyagers of faith peace at mind, through the roaring waters of this time. Your path is in great waters, your life is in great waters. Your footsteps were never seen and the depths of the world were shaken by a dream."

Sweet words Mr. Klinck.


The music sounds, the faces frown. The laughter comes quietly, in the fog of the downs. Fill my ears with this sound. This sound that mounds, mixing the feelings like a giant tossed salad, awkward and refreshing? The dissonance, the beauty in it, if only because we are imperfect ourselves. The cascade of life, it soaks you in its cold pressure, enveloping you in the warm sun. Come and dry me, o Sun, that I may reflect Your brilliance. We are born in this water. We die in this water. You, who drew the lines of the water's edge, draw Your lines upon me.

Seeking

"I believe, but I desire to understand." ~Anselm

It amazes me how many people in a philosophy class jockey for the place of "most knowledgable." It not only amazes me, but it also makes me want to vomit. Isn't the claim of the philosopher the knowledge of nothing? You don't have to be knowledgable to abstain from hypocrisy.

Aren't we all philosophers, since philosophy is the perspective through which we live our lives, regardless of our knowledge of the "philosophers?" If life is a journey, so is knowledge, and so is perspective. Therefore...

...well, you know how it goes.

If you don't, think about it; you will.

Will you understand? Well now that's the million dollar question isn't it? Just don't call Christianity a möbius strip because you don't understand it. Don't call Jihad a terrorist act because you don't understand it.

Conversations

if i took an empty midnight train

across the country in the rain

would you meet me?

i would climb in the other empty midnight train

and meet you in the rain

in a distant town to turn up your frown

if i found a secret place to go

with you the only one to know

would you be there?

i would go

and see the show

that the Lord has set up for us

if my birch tree were afraid at night

and couldnt sleep without a light

would you bring one?

though trees don't need lights

for fear of the nights

i would bring you one.

if i ran backwards up a tree

and called for you to follow me

would you do it?

i would catch you as you fall

even though I was appalled

that you tried to run backwards up a tree.

if my clock developed nervous strain

and needed help to 'tock' again

would you fix it?

i would tick its tock

and fix the clock

to keep its time, again

if my wart decided yesterday

to be a dimple anyway

would you notice?

i'd notice

and grin

and give you a hug

And That's How You Do It

So how about that? That kid's amazing; he makes me look like an amateur. And it's awesomely inspiring.

By the way, if you want to take somebody's work and make it your own, go for it. Just do it well. This guy's well on his way.

Wand'rings

If I were confronted with the question (and I have been, but possibly only because of my own devices), "If you had the ability to give your life for the world to lose its suffering for perfection, would you?"

In contemplating the answer to that question, I have found myself discomforted. Discomfort is often a good place to be, though, since discomfort breeds action. In further contemplation of the answer to that question, I'm glad that, in a sense, it has been answered by somebody much wiser and stronger than me.

If death makes life tangible, then what gives life value?

Fin

Finally finished that semester.

Finally have a moment to spare.

I hope you find this video as enjoyable and inspirational as I do.

the trend is the lower case these days. sometimes we choose not to use a period (but then how do we seperate thoughts?)

fragment

focus

fragment

focus

perspective is the name of the game, and the train of thought. shrink away from the big picture--if only to see it better. power to the individual, eternity to the community. lower case.

fragment

focus

bells ringing. phones vibrating. clocks ticking. the machinebody plods forward.

are you awake?

Transported

I was reminded today of the absolute power over recollection music has; it's nearly like that of a perfect aroma. I was listening to Count Basie as I was working on a research piece, when all of a sudden a cd from my childhood came on (if I get enough responses, then I might tell you what it was, but otherwise I'll just call it a guilty pleasure).

Amidst my research and synthesizing of information--

I was transported, through time and space, immediately into my father's car, reading the second of the Harry Potter series (and some memories also of another favorite, the Winds of Mars). I have quite a few good memories of that music, that silver acura, two great books, and my father. It could sometimes be a long ride home each Wednesday.

I might put my iTunes on shuffle sometime, just to see what journeys I might readventure in past...

It also shows how much of a control freak I am. I know exactly what is coming through my speakers at all times, and what will come through them next. The unexpectedness of this event though--that's what made it real.

etc.

"well love is a slop-bucket and we are the children of awareness but our courage has yet to manifest itself within our floating community ... we put down the merchants, the [bs'ers], the hustlers and we sit around and it's all the same and there's nothing new under the sun and free food seems a long time gone because we're playing the game of the 1930's we're the new cry babies and james dean's tears have finally taken root in a shallow weak kneed series of cabals which expect someone to take care of their livin'. some revolution"

~From  "about time we started doin' our own livin' and diein'"

Printed by the Communication Company on April 20, 1967

Well, I'm trying an experiment. I changed my major, from music to history/english. We'll see how I feel at the end of the summer. If I can't bear it anymore, then I know I made the wrong decision. If I'm excited about it, then I know I made the right decision. Then we'll go through the semester and take stock of how my life is either in shambles or not then. I love music. But music is not greater than life.

I am never going to finish this history paper...

The Institution

The creativity has been fully stifled, my percussion instructor warned me about this. Once I was more extroverted, more personable...more. I'm taking measures to find the spark again; we'll see how it goes.

One Day I'll Be Able to Fully Understand

The sea, to list, like a boat upon the ocean, we so wistfully drift.

Providence

Sometimes I think God put me in a relationship with an incredible God-fearing woman and committed me to a church that won't easily let me go because He knows how strong my doubts can be. Grace abounds. Don't let me take advantage of it.

Received 2:04 pm, February 5th

I don't want you to worry. Worrying doesn't make things go faster or happen better or make you happier. you have been given this moment to work (on this presentation) for the glory of the One True God. You can ask for no greater blessing. Before you go stressing out about your homework and practicing and everything, know that whatever happens happens for His glory and in His perfect Will. He has all of YOU under control. So don't fret, dearest. Why would clay worry about what its maker will make from it? Why would a music note worry about what note comes before or after it? God has got it covered. Just take joy in what He's given you.

Oh how blessed I am. I must not, I cannot take it [none of it] for granted.

Primal

For all of the things I dislike about it, there are a couple of things I do enjoy about playing in the basketball band.

For one, I get to play this momma.

Today found quite a good game with the men's team. Down to the last six seconds the score was tied, a foul, then we managed to gain one point in a free throw. On the way back down the court the opposing team launched the ball to the goal, though the ball was obviously not going to make it. Unfortunately, a member of our team swatted the ball out of the air, catalyzing a fury of pointing and yelling from the other team. The referees huddled to make a decision and the tension exploded. The whole fieldhouse was chanting, "Go. Start. The buses!" punctuating each phrase with thrusts of keys into the air. The place grew wild. The drummers picked up their sticks and set the rhythm for the chant, and I took to my synth and laid out a melody (very primitive, one and five, set to compliment the chant) to dress the groove. The court swayed with the chant, the drums sounded in our chests, and the sound of the "Mini Three" patch ricocheted with the energy. Nobody told us to stop; we were having too much fun.

In the end, the refs gave it to us and we went home with a victory. Good game.

It got me thinking though. I find it odd how worked up we can get over such a simple thing. I mean, that place was insane, over what? A ball? No. It has to be more than that.

What an incredible experience, to organize the crowd, then steady it, with music.

For Your Adventure

Snowfall

So I was privileged this morning with a beautiful ride on the way to the doctor's office. The roads were slightly iced, just enough to keep me awake. The adjoining hillsides were blanketed in white. The dawn began to break as Dave Matthews sang through the speakers and snow flurries danced amongst the cars. It looked as if angels were ice skating around us.