A Word To My Reader
I am not a perfect voice calling out in the dark, but a broken voice calling out in the dark. I have not said anything perfectly, nor have I ever touched on perfection flawlessly. Every element I speak on found here will fall short on every degree because of the breadth and width of which the topic expands (both logically and emotionally). In fact the only thing I can come closest to in explaining perfectly would be my brokenness, because that, I know better than perfection. I can only try to speak about the glimpses of perfection I have seen in my life. Please bear that in mind as you read. I hope that these compositions can bring further light to the honest depths and heights that life teaches us about ourselves, the world around us, and the starter of this all, God.
As Phillip Lopate says, in reading this you will learn more about my “habits of thought” than the activities that actually make up my day to day. I do not assume that most will want to read any of this, but for the one who is feeling lost or confused, for the one who is trying to find reason to keep living, for the one who is fighting against himself, others, or his God, and desiring to better understand why, I hope these pieces of writing might be a friend to you. I hope they push you to press on, to appreciate living (and working), to appreciate the smallest of moments with a family member, close friend, or stranger. I hope they move you to explore and imagine, to find the “why” behind anything, and to trust that though we have a finite understanding, the One who is infinite has been made accessible to mankind. Mankind meaning you and me, and there is no small amount of peace to be found in that truth.
P.S. I attached a song to the bottom of each composition to accompany its reading. Enjoy!
Love
(November 1, 2021)
I have come to realize that most terrible people are so because they have had little love shown to them in life, so they know not what it means to love. Either that, or if they were shown love, their heart was never made soft enough to receive it and let it change them. For it does take a bit of humility to accept real, honest love.
When you let love in, it will break your heart. It will find every crack in that hard, calloused rock and seep in. And from the inside out, it will tear open the stone and pull it apart piece by piece.
But then, it will reclothe the naked, crying thing, with a thick and comforting blanket full of protection, made with wrapped presents, warm drinks, and a fireplace in a hospitable home. And your heart feels seen for once.
And once you have experienced this, you cannot help but hope to be that love-breaking, love-ripping, love-changing thing in someone else’s life.
We Are Insects
(September 4, 2019)
We are insects, small creatures that live and move and walk on this blue and green dust ball.
We pick our battles, collect our food, bring our portions forward. We shake our fists towards the heavens, start fights we can’t finish, “for ourselves, for humanity... for ourselves.”
We have little legs, little mouths, little heads, bodies, little emotions, little thoughts—at least when you’re at a bird's eye view, or how about a satellite view. One wonders how big we must look from the sun’s view, or another galaxy.
We are insects, tiny creatures that live and move and walk on this blue and green dust ball.
He sees.
There is one who watches these creatures in their everyday living. Yet they pretend to be quite busy and unaware of Him. Their paper piling, food collecting, world-changing, as well as fighting and yelling, are a little too great at the present moment to notice Him.
He sees.
But He is kind.
He is kind to not retrieve His very breath back to Himself, sucking it from our frail lungs.
He is patient to not untwine or crush our feeble legs that run so rapidly away from Him.
He is gracious to hear our pathetic mouths curse Him hourly, yet restrain from filling them with clay and closing them shut.
How His ears must burn, and His eyes become filled with fire as He stares at the small beings who ignore Him daily and claim to be the masters of their own lives.
“I created myself”... “I can find my path in the dark with my all-seeing eyes, unmuddled feelings, and infinite knowledge.”
For truly, who would need such a God if this were true? What freedom, what blissful self-actualization and independent triumph.
But if such a claim were wrong, or even the slightest bit off, what a tragic disaster might these little creatures find themselves running towards. They beg Him for their ruin. They beg Him to be damned. Anything, oh anything, but to trust and submit themselves to such a cruel creator who gave them the very legs they use to run from Him with. Anything, oh anything, but to thank the One who gifted them the mouths they use to curse Him with. Anything, oh anything, but to acknowledge the one who granted them the very eyes they refuse to look at Him with.
Anything, oh anything, but to love the One who originated such a beautiful thing as love and demonstrated it so nobly by coming in such little form and dying for a creation that would not—no matter the gift or the warning—recognize Him to be their God.
