song of the stars

Immortality

is a dinosaur

(or maybe a dragon)

a beautiful nightmare; a terrifying daydream

unending possibilities

unending heartache.

But you still don't know--would it be worth it?

You feel it stirring in your soul long before you give it a name. The eerie feeling you've been here and done this before, that you've known a thousand names and held a hundred hearts between your soft, living hands

but not here.

When you were twelve, you would lay under the stars and piece together constellations

tracing the stars on your arm

(Orion's belt--was it a sign? or just

a trick of fate)

They seemed to you kindred, singing

in voices as high and white as silver, of eternity

of oblivion

and you sang too

(but not aloud).

Now you sit in crowded coffee shops and stare across the table at

mortals. Caught up in their troubles, worrying

about jobs or romance or ethics.

You like being among them because

it grounds you and

keeps

     you

           from

               floating

away.

But when you feel 

the autumn wind in your hair

fresh from turning dying leaves into a dancing whirlwind

when you hear songs of kings and queens

or gods

or poets

when you stare up into the blackness of the night

and feel your heart whisper, "friends, I have missed you"

it is then that you recognize the dragon 

(or maybe the dinosaur)

for what it is.

Immortality.

The feeling that you alone know what it is

to live eternity over and over again

to catch a glimpse of the beyond

but never touch it

to always hear the song ringing in your ears

but never sing it.

Know this, mortals.

There may be only one of us

But we dwell among you

forever.

one step enough for me

I'm in an interesting stage that most young adults will recognize: that strange borderland of "transition," a foot in two worlds, belonging to neither.

Let me explain. I have friends on Facebook posting about new couches for their homes, revealing pictures of their newborn children, announcing engagements, and moaning about midterm exams. But not the same friends on all four counts. I'm in that awkward stage of "Well I'm out of college but not really to the next part yet, but thank heavens I get to preview it from this cozy seat."

Just kidding. I could skip the preview, thanks.

Tomorrow I go in to speak with an advisor about a secondary education certification program. Basically, "Do you have what it takes to teach High School English?" I've been working through a lot of things and have come to a resounding conclusion:

I don't know what I want to do with my life.

Of course there are the "ultimate goals": seek, serve, and obey God, love people, live with boldness and courage.

But there are so many ways I could do that. I could

• Move to a south Asian country and teach English.
• Get a job as a marketing professional in a local business.
• Work part-time at a coffee shop and tutor international students.
• Get a masters in English and teach at a college.
• Get a masters in Library Science and become a librarian/archivist.
• Complete teaching cert and teach high-school English.
• Get into the publishing, journalism, or media world.

In short, there are about a billion different things I could do with the education and talents I already have. But the options are a little overwhelming, and I'm scared to move for fear I'll make the wrong choice.

This is my solution for the fear: Remember. Remember. Remember the signs. Recall the mighty deeds of the God Who Saves, of God With Us, never leaving, never sleeping, never failing. Remember how He brought the children of Israel out of Egypt, how He led them through the desert, gave victory to Joshua, direction to Daniel and Joseph, provision for David over and over again.

My God is a God who plots the path of kings. He is capable of handling mine.

But sometimes, you're 21 and driving down a road and suddenly you're not just driving, you're running away from all the responsibilities and expectations and hopes and dreams you thought you'd given up for lost (and maybe from God, too). And the future catches in your throat and chokes you and suddenly you're sobbing in highway traffic and praying "God, God, God, don't let me be for nothing!"

And then you remember that you're 21, that you still have a good 60 years on this planet to do something, to discover what it is you're here for, and in the meantime there is a bed for you to sleep in and a wonderful thing called parents to hug you and comfort you and make you cookies and dinner and tell you it's okay, that you're okay, that you're not a failure, that it's not for nothing.

But oh, to have dreams again! To know what it is I would do with my life, "time and money aside."

Lord, direct my thoughts and decisions, that I would always seek after you, and not after my own desires.

Here in the dark, I do not ask to see

The path ahead; one step enough for me

Lead on, lead on Kindly Light!

-Lead Kindly Light, Audrey Assad

contemplating surrender

I am contemplating surrender and finding that it is not an easy task. It is simple enough to speak with your lips, "Lord, take my heart and let it be/ever only all for thee," to pray "Be my all-in-all; ruin my life, the plans that I've made. It is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me."

But how does one sacrifice? How does one eternally give up all claim to earthly possessions and feelings and anxieties and desires? Or rather the question should be "CAN one give up all those things?"

I know with my head that You want The Whole Tree, Lord, and not just this branch here and that limb there. You want to uproot ME. To break ME. To unform ME so that you may plant in MY place a thing that is GOOD and of YOU. And I long for that, Lord, with all that my sinful heart can long.

But must it be a daily surrender?

Must I take up my cross every day?

Must I die a thousand deaths-of-self, offer up my will again and again on Your altar in the hopes of one day being conformed to Your likeness?

Will I ever be whole?

"Father, I want to know Thee, but my coward heart fears to give up its toys. I cannot part with them without inward bleeding, and I do not try to hide from Thee the terror of the parting. I come trembling, but I do come. Please root from my heart all those things which I have cherished so long and which have become a very part of my living self, so that Thou mayest enter and dwell there without a rival. Then shalt Thou make the place of Thy feet glorious. Then shall my heart have no need of the sun to shine in it, for Thyself wilt be the light of it, and there shall be no night there. In Jesus' Name, Amen."

-A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God

day after dreary day

It's been a week since the break, and I still find my mind wandering in abstract ideas and prosaic musings that don't add up to two. It's like having the attention span of a five-year-old because the world is so great and strange and new that you can't focus on the present activity of walking to class or even the future fear of finding a job because look there are fuschia flowers popping out of green buds and the grass is the color of unripened bell-peppers.

This morning I awoke inside a cloud. The branches on the ghostly trees hung silently until the spring breeze began stirring in the deep, sending the flowers trembling with a yawn, cartwheeling across the surface of the silent lake. And then the mist blew away like wreathes of smoke (where does fog go when the wind takes it by the hand and whispers "Run"?) and all that remained was a slight dampness and the smell of fresh grass.

Walking to class, I saw a child with skin as soft as silk and slight, slanting eyes. My mind memorized the way his arms swung out, the way his steps faltered and jerked along in the sporadic movements of a child, still learning to be human. Spontaneous, free, joyful. The world is new to him, and everyone's head brushes the sky.

Jets roared overhead. I stopped to stare, the roar resounding in my ears and for a moment everything was just blue--the blue of the sky stretching over me, flying, soaring over the surface of this spinning ball of mud. And when I turned to walk on, I was flying still.

The world is new and strange, because I am growing. My head is inches away from brushing the sky. I am learning to look at a couple holding hands and smile because He holds my hand and my heart, and a mere fifty years is nothing compared to eternity. They are an echo of the real, a shadow of love, but I have the thing itself, the unknowable, the vast, the magnificent, the glorious. I am learning that suffering is not meaningless, that waiting and waiting and feeling as though I am always sliding backward as day by day my sin becomes more evident in the light of His love and grace is only the fire burning those very sins away, the wine press that is making this bruised and broken skin less and less a part of me.

I am learning to pray for brokenness.

I am learning that only one thing matters in life, and all else is vanity. And the one thing--not only is it the pearl of great price, worth dedicating my whole life, day after dreary day, to serving, seeking, finding, preaching. Not only is greater than any loss I could suffer, greater than any sacrifice I could give, greater than any pit or darkness or despair or depression. Not only is it All, but it is already mine. All the answers to the questions I ask lie in the leather book I carry with me every day, sitting there in the worn backpack beside me.

O, that my heart would be able to say, in complete truth, "You are enough for me!" If only I believed His promises, trusted in His faithfulness, leaned upon His strength instead of blistering my hands digging into this hard clay.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Though you slay me, yet I will praise you
Though you take from me, I will bless your name
Though you ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the one who's all I need.

-Shane and Shane, "Though You Slay Me"