Perfect music.

Sometimes, every song seems like the same song. The same album, the same track, stuck on repeat. It's torturous. Always longing for, but never finding, the song that will absolve this feeling of uneasiness. Then, finally, by chance a song more perfect than you expected falls on your ears and everything, at least for that moment is okay; not because things are actually okay, but because the music of that moment is. My favorite times are when there is no audible music, and that same feeling washes over. It might be the wind or rain or the way light catches you for a split second but for a moment, things are perfect.

Fire.

For the past several years, I have been involved with the Muscular Dystrophy Association. It's one of those things where, if you allow yourself to be truly alive in the moments you are at their summer camp, you can't help but return the next year. It's often hard and frustrating, but there is something about it. Most of my time throughout the week was spent simply 'hanging out' with my camper and others in our cabin group. There is always a fire burning, and one camper is always encouraging somebody to throw more wood on the fire... to "make it bigger".

Muscular dystrophy in one sense is a very sad disease. No cure. Often, a shortened life expectancy. Limited mobility. A constant dependence on others. Though these negatives are stinging reality in the lives of most of the campers, there is much to be learned from them. Many learn more about love, the beauty of interdependence, and the joy of true community than many of us ever will. For this week of camp, all bets are off, the field is leveled, and everyone is somebody.

Many of the campers are loud and boisterous, while others remain practically silent. Yet to each of them, camp is like a little morsel of heaven. Unfortunately, this heaven isn't eternal and has been cut short. MDA just announced that the age limit for their summer camps would be dropping from 21 to 17. 4 years of this magical place stolen from many of them. Apparently, those making the decisions haven't spent time at one of their summer camps, or this decision would have happened only after much more deliberation. For these kids, this is what they live the other 51 weeks of the year for. It is the highlight of their years, and for many and their shortened lives, it is a yearly source of strength, love, and joy.

When a camper has reached an age where they will no longer be able to return to camp, their counselor is asked to say a few things to everyone about their camper. This year, I was up, as Ben is now 21. Typically, there are about 6-10 "graduates" as they are lovingly referenced. This time, there were 37. Not just 37 campers, but 37 of about 90 campers who will no longer be invited back to camp; not another week of joy and camaraderie, and no partaking of a small morsel of heaven.

Yet, there is still a fire burning. A passion for life and for living; for loving each other and relishing in the joy that comes simply from 'hanging out' with one another. That is a fire which can never be put out.

Usual Monday, hold the tact.

I've said before that people who lay in the negative space make life more beautiful. Just keep that in the back of your mind.

I love Mondays that feel so normal you hardly know another has come. Sometimes they get lost in the business and others, well, they are as normal as they seem.

This morning, I tried to get up early and got up on time, as usual. I made some delicious tea and headed out the door with food in my bag to eat, as usual. I drove to school a few minutes early and parked in my usual row of the parking lot. Then I did something unusual. I read the a chapter of the Bible. Don't get me wrong, I'm not tauting this in a 'look at me' sort of way, just that it was something unusual about today.

The Who have a song called "Behind Blue Eyes". Limp Bizkit actually remade it and I'm little embarassed to admit that I like it better. This song was stuck in my head. I'm not sure now why this is important, but I'll move along nonetheless. (This is a post I've added a sentence or two whenever I've had the chance. I'm still not sure how to say all I think about this though)

Anyway, this was a day that my chapel band was playing, so I headed in through the back doors of Bauman Auditorium as usual on these days. I did my usual dinking around under the guise of "tuning" and, surprise, everything was usual. Thats when things became very unusual, awkward, and emotions from every part of the spectrum flooded me; except good ones. I was informed with very little tact, that a former student had passed away the previous night in a car accident. What a shock. I guess its the same feeling as finding out that anyone has passed away because of some freak thing. Simply shock. He was actually one of the first people who got me to play bass guitar at George Fox, and I would see him from time to time at Chapters, one of my favorite places in the whole world. For a couple weeks, we seemed to bump into each other everywhere; Fred Meyer, Chapters, the gym, among others. But now he was gone. It wasn't even the sadness that I first felt, it was the fact that we had been told with such haste it was almost as if it had been said in passing. Sort of like when you see someone you kind of know and to greet you they say, "Hey, what's up?" but keep on walking. It so... unsatisfying.

To make things worse, I later found out more details about the death. The disturbing part was that it was more than a car accident. It was sort of like one of my worst nightmares had been manifested for someone else. From my understanding, he and his wife were driving and slipped off the road. They were fine, but their car got stuck so he walked up to the road. Then another car came over the same hill and struck him. He died instantly, but the worst part is that the driver of the other car was also a former student, and they were friends. How terrible. I have no idea what to do with things like this. He was such a nice guy, always friendly and inviting- always smiling. That's all I suppose.

GirI in the corner.

She has this austere look about her. I can tell she is deep in thought, the way she looks around and then back at her book or computer. She's actually leaving right now. Carefully putting on her socks, she still thoughtfully looks about while paying careful attention to how she ties her shoes. I wonder what she's thinking. Does she know she is beautiful? Does she want to 'grow up' and be a wife, a mother, a teacher, a great friend, a politician, a musician, a writer? She's gone now, but I could see her walk past the window I have found suitable to study next to. She looks at the ground while she walks. Is she insecure or is she admiring something on the ground or is she still deep in thought as before? Maybe she needs somebody. Maybe she doesn't need anybody.

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...