Deafening Silence.

You know when you can't stop thinking... either about someone or something, and no matter what, the thoughts

just

won't

stop?

I'm not even really sure of about half of what I'm thinking either. That's the part that really kind of gets me. Normally, your thoughts are what only you can control and nobody else. I guess sometimes that isn't true. It's like every time I stop to do anything, what would normally be silence is now deafening. All I can think about is what they must be going through... all of the horrible things going on in the lives of people I know and some I've never met, or other things like... and how much I love certain things and how much I hate other things, and how... Then of course there are thoughts about how I have become a terrible student. Graduation, a job, an internship, where I will live, how I will retire. Some of those are a little exaggerated, but I think about all of them. Each of them a faint murmur lurking in the shadows of my mind, together creating something much more than a quiet whipser. It is a deafening silence.

Cracked.

Concrete. It's everywhere. Cold. Lifeless. Concrete. Why do we like it so much that we put it everywhere? I noticed something a while ago that was quite inspiring. Concrete has to be poured in smaller chunks so it doesn't crack everywhere. The ironic part of that is that there are manmade cracks every so often. Well, I was walking down 99W and I noticed something. A small almost unnoticeable orange flower, blooming up from between the cracks. How awesome! Even though it wasn't supposed to grow there, it did anyway. Even concrete could not stop the will of a small orange flower. So much for lifeless.

Stones.

I went for a walk along the beach yesterday morning. The weather could not have been nicer for the Oregon coast and the peaceful solitude was quite refreshing. I love the sound of the ocean and the way you just keep walking if you are not careful. Anyway, I was walking along the edge of the ocean, taking in the sounds and enjoying the beauty I was surrounded by. Minutes slipped past without a hint of my knowing. I was literally surrounded by beauty and taken aback by it. Then, as I continued along the shore, I noticed a small stone. Seeing as it was nearly a perfect circle, I picked it up. I liked the cold feeling in my hands and the way the sand slowly came off as the water dried off of its smooth surface. As I walked a little farther, I noticed another stone, and then another. I decided to head back toward my starting point only this time noticing many more stones along the way. I kept picking up these stones, varying in size, shape and color. I didn't really want them, but I refused to let go at the same time. Deciding that I must throw at least some of them back, I looked over each and weighed its unique characteristics against the others. Again, I needed none of them, but they became the sole objects of my attention. My walk continued and I neared the end of it, but the way back saw only the stones and none of the beauty I had seen before. Finally realizing this, I began throwing the stones back, one by one, until only one remained. For whatever reason, I could not let it go.

Negative space.

If life were like a painting, I think we often forget about the negative space. We get caught up looking at the parts that stick out and draw most of our attention; the things we want to look at. Then we begin to walk away, moving on to the next painting- perhaps something more interesting. But as we continue on our way, we look at the painting again, but this time we notice the negative space. That area behind the shapes that were painted on... the shapes created in the space between. At this point we realize that the masterpiece is not created merely by what we choose to see at our first, hasty glance. It is created by those prominant shapes, but only when supported by the space surrounding them. The true beauty lies in the negative space. That area that holds the rest of the painting together, but often goes unnoticed. If only we could shift our focus, to see the negative space. To see those around us who make our lives so much more beautiful, but often remain unnoticed and unappreciated. What if we allowed ourselves to see the negative space? I think our lives would be so rich and so sweet.

To the ones who lay in the negative space: thank you for making life beautiful.

The Interlude.

You know how you buy a CD and there is always that one track that is not more than a minute or so long and someone thought it would be neat if they called it an interlude? I think I just realized why they are important.

I often think of my life in terms of a song or movie. Sometimes, I try even try to write that song or play out the movie in my mind. Usually, there is always something that keeps me from reaching such an end and I am left defeated. Those interludes never seem complete, but I often find myself wishing they lasted longer; that the music of those tracks were an entire album.

I think my life is at an interlude. A time where I don't necessarily understand why things are the way they are, but there is still something good. A time when I don't have answers and I am left wanting, but a time which is also complete. If it were the entire album, perhaps quantity would detract from quality. I guess that is why I should be thankful for the minute or so I have and move on.

Dandelions.

I can't for the life of me remember her name. She told us. We either didn't understand or forgot since it was foreign to us. The little girl selling flowers; weeds actually. They were dandelions. Begging us to buy the flowers she had. Little girls are supposed to be overjoyed by flowers, not be at the mercy of others to buy them for a few Lei. She had beautiful brown eyes. I don't really remember this for sure, but thats what I picture. Big, beautiful, brown eyes. But they were tired and worn as if nearly overcome by the dark side of this world. Doesn't anyone care that she is out there all alone? I wonder if she is even 10 years old. I wonder if she knows what it is like to really be cared for. I remember Emily asking her for her name. She had a younger girl with her. I assumed it was her sister. Rick is kindhearted. He took them to McDonald's and bought them something to eat. I wonder if they are still outside, still on that street, still trying to sell those flowers...

Impossible.

The other day I found out something impossible happened. Not that it actually wasn't possible, but in my mind the unlikely nature of such an event made it seem that way. I suppose it's times like this when you have the most questions, the least faith, and the greatest opportunity to show grace. Maybe grace is the impossible part; I don't yet know. How can some people screw things up so badly, even when they have so much going for them? What if the people we hold as "good" are really just the same as us and our misconceptions of them cause us to hold them in higher esteem? If they are capable of such moments of failure, what prevents the rest of us from screwing everything up? Seriously. What if we are all headed toward imminent failure?

Goliath

Goliath was a badass. He took out a bunch of people before some lucky kid with a few rocks got a lucky shot in on him.

I don't think I really believe this, but sometimes I wonder. What if David was just a lucky kid who got in a lucky shot on an unlucky badass? Seriously, that would change a lot about my faith. Yet somehow that seems sacreligious or something. David was appointed by God to take out this Philistine giant; this Philistine badass.

Too often you hear sermons on David and Goliath, how this unlikely hero rose up and, through the power of God, was able to overcome this giant. But what if, what if in giving these sermons, they are missing the point?

There were many men who tried to overcome this tyrant they called Goliath, but just one boy was able to finish the deed. What about those men? Were they not mighty among their comrades? Would we not send in our best if another nation boasted a goliath? Certainly they were not just average men, for even attempting such a task would have been foolish. Couldn't they have been a David at some point in their lives?

When we look at the story of David and Goliath, maybe it is best to think of it differently. Sometimes, David is crushed by the hand of the bad guy. Many of the people we regard as great will be destroyed by the hands of our enemies. Sometimes, though, David is triumphant. But is it because he got a lucky shot in, or because his faith was greater than the one who challenged him and his God?

Oh, man.

Tonight, I was sitting with some of the guys I would say are part of my core social group. Without fail, they are able to have a good time. Tonight was another one of those times. However, the topic of their conversation really bothered me. At one point in time these were the men saying they wanted to be different than the stereotype out there of the men of our generation. Tonight, they fit it to a tee. Tonight, they became the stereotype. What the hell happened? The most defeating part of this is that I remained silent. In the midst of mediocrity, I refused to do anything. Tonight, there was a downfall among my friends, and refusing to be a true friend, I did nothing.

The Pain of Music

Most people wouldn't consider music painful. Maybe a song or two. Sometimes I think it is. I'm not talking about music like whatever you might have on your iPod or listen to from someone's iTunes or your satellite radio. I mean music- like when it is just me and my guitar. Somehow it is painful. But, I think it is a good sort of pain. Sometimes I can want so desperately to say something, and have no reasonable means of doing so. The music says everything. I wanted to say it, and I tried. I just couldn't. The music did. And that is the pain. It steals the expression of my inmost thoughts before I have the chance to formulate something adequate. I wanted to say it. It was mine and it was stolen from me. If there is such thing as a good pain, this might qualify. There is still a certain relief which comes from this musical theivery. I just wanted to say it myself.