I proposed to Dorothy last night. Pictures:

we all have a meaning- we search for it our whole lives whether we want to or not, whether we are aware of it or not.
our lives are a constant journey toward self-meaning.

however, if we give up on searching- our life has no hope.
we have to continue searching for our life's meaning, because that is the meaning of our life. we are meant to search. anything short of that is a rip-off of life.

we search for God in our journey, and hopefully, we find him.

why do I always get sick when I can't get sick at all? I got some kind of cold about a week ago, and it has slowly taken over my throat and sinuses. My voice is gone, and my occupation is my voice. great. but- God has a plan for it- I just wish I knew!

I am positive that I would have been better by know if I stayed quiet, and away from "exciting" places, but i can't help it! I have to be surrounded by music, so I have been singing my lungs out, going to blues Concerts, and all that jazz (but not jazz).


Speaking of blues: I saw Mac Arnold (above) at the Handlebar last night. It was awesome. Mac plays a guitar that he made out of old gasoline cans (also above). I am normally not a blues guy, but my cousin Matt was playing drums for the opening band (which also was amazing. they did a cover of Folsom Prison Blues that literally stopped my heart. well, maybe not literally...) Matt also was asked by Mac Arnold to play the last three songs of Mac's set. What an honor! Arnold has played with blues legends such as Muddy Waters all over the world. He currently lives in Greenville (i believe). It was a great show. The crowd itself was worth going: there was such a variety of people, from old people in sweaters, to goths, to rednecks, to drunks (who disguised themselves as the formers).

The second opening band, which I cannot remember the name of, had a lead guitarist that you wouldn't believe. This kid is 11 years old- yea- eleven! He was tearing it up. better than I could dream of being, and he hasn't even hit puberty. just imagine, getting your braces tightened, then having about three hundred adults going crazy for your playing.

you slept so soundly today. it was the best present i received- watching you sleep.
you looked so innocent, so perfect.

it honestly made me weak. i cannot lie, i fell in love with you today, if i haven't a thousand times over.

it might have been my favorite christmas ever. no, it is.

the musics loud, but my soul whispers low. it has no words to express and is bashful for you are too lovely

i am whole
i am empty
i am lost in the deep blue sea

i am full
i am hungry
desperate to find the feast

i am hope
i am despair
i lack the drive to breathe the air

i am love
i am pain
cutting through; heart is slain

i am here
i am gone
i'm hiding from all i've done wrong

i am done
i will rest
dear God, take me at my best

i am...

o, the traditions we will have.
can't you see it now?

we will not carol, or force ourselves into smiles that have not fit us for quite some time.
we will be. together. that will be our tradition.

we will celebrate Christmas by cuddling close on the floor beside a roaring fire, granted the weather permits, and live. breathe in. breathe out.

we will not annoyingly decorate clutter the outside of our house with fat men and fire hazards. we will decorate our souls with wreaths of joy, a tree of love with ornaments of passion.

can't you see the traditions already? it will be the perfect gift- what i already had. no fights over money or schedules. simply each other.

the record lays down the background noise to the sun's soundtrack. both seem practiced as they, in perfect sync, transition the world into night. the moon, who is not one to overact, waits for its cue stage left. it has had stage fright before, causing the sun to improvise. this is one of those times.

the sun pauses, as if it hit an invisible wall. "where the streets have no name" by u2 crescendoes, as the sun uses all of its energy to burst the sky into shades of pink, red, and orange.the sun has spilt its soul. this should buy some time.

the music fades, and before the next song clicks on, the moon has regained composure and set foot onto the earth's stage. the moon rises to the rhythm of the next song, "i still haven't found what i'm looking for." the stars begin to light up as background dancers.
the beauty of the day.

if i leave the world tonight
would you go with me?
or would you even know i'm gone

if i leave the world tonight
would you try to come get me
or leave me in the night?

for the dark is wrapped around me
a blanket in the fog
the dark is wrapped around me
a dark that defies the name of God

it isn't part of me
the dark that holds me tight
it can't be part of me
i have to find my way to the light

if i leave the world tonight
would you go with me
hold my hand and guide me to the sun

if i leave the world tonight
would you stay near me
keep me safe until tomorrow arrives

His six-shooter hung off his waist abruptly, as if it were hanging itself. As he walked, the gun clanked against his legs and made sounds difficult to impersonate.

He walked into the saloon and directed himself to the bar. He needed a strong drink. To remember. To forget. Maybe just to stay alive. He sat proudly, as if the world already knew of his accomplishment. But no one knew. Not yet. James' death had not reached town yet.

He ordered a whiskey and lit a cigar. He didn't like to smoke- made him sick. But he felt as though he should.

He keeps his overcoat on, lest he draw attention to his blood splattered shirt. He closes his eyes- and sees Jesse's head pull his body to the ground violently, on account of the extra weight from the bullet that just entered.

He will become a hero- a name remembered in history. Robert Ford- the man who killed the criminal Jesse James. But that would not happen. Cowards are not remembered. Not him.

Ford knew he was meant for great things, and often told those around him so they couldn't forget.

His mind goes back to him and Jesse in that room. Jesse had been acting strange. lost. That glimmer had left his eyes as if his past had finally caught up with him. Jesse James was becoming human. He laid down his guns, which he never did, and turned around. Ford lifted his gun and with the gentleness of a nuclear bomb, inserted one shot into the back of Jesse's skull.

Ford began to think how he will tell the story- what details to excite the story, what details would dull. Someone would probably write a book in his honor. Make him rich. Something as great as this doesn't go unnoticed or unrewarded.

He his six-shooter from its cradle, and lays it on the bar. He inspects it carefully, as if he was melting the bright nickel with his eyes. It was a gift. A gift from Jesse. As an apology for believing Ford to betraying him. Ford remembered how he used to dream to be Jesse James. But those dreams had been traded in for simple fame. However- that fame did not come with the affection he thought deserved.

Robert ford did not look the part of an outlaw. His clothes hung off him strangely. His coat did not fit him, as it should a hero or outlaw.

It was the only evidence needed.

So I just made the list. The list of things that I want to do before I die. It was incredibly hard, and three Moleskine pages later, I know that I will fill many more pages. I had to decide on a route to take before starting: do I write things that I know I can accomplish, or things I want to do, regardless of my actual being able to do them. I found a healthy middle, I believe. There is no "fly in space," nor is there "hold my breath for three seconds."

My writing this list was inspired by my good friend Charlie Waddell. I viewed his list, and through watching him, see the passion to complete it. I wanted that passion. It may sound stupid, it may sound dumb, and those two phrases may sound redundant. Well, two of the three are true- you decide which.

I am not sure if I should post my list or not, that will be decided later. But I want you to begin to think about your own personal list. It may exist as of now, it may not. If not, begin to make one. What are your hopes, what are your dreams.

This might help one make their list: your completed list will (simply the things done) define who you are. Your list as written is your life as you want it to be defined as.

Therefore, don't make a list that you will never be able to complete any of. At the same time do not make a list that you can complete in a year. Where is the challenge in that?

When I am dead and gone, I pray that people will look at my completed list and know who I am, what I stood for, and what I believed. I pray that be reading my list, they will know me, like a close friend knows me.

it was the first day of summer. the air was warm and the breeze was easy.
she came in as if it was nothing special.
it was anything but.
he saw her across the room, his saliva caused him to swallow uneasily. there was no fuzzy feeling. in fact, it felt like he was hit by a '97 ranger. he froze, standing awkwardly in a place where people don't stand. their eyes met, she smiled.
he stopped breathing.
he forced a hand into the air, and ordered it to sway back and forth sublty.
she continued walking and living- his world as he knew it just ended.
this is love.
this was love.
this is life.

Downtown is cold and wet tonight, I pull my hood close as if to be completely surrounded.
With our stomachs filled with pizza and drink, Charlie and I make our way down the brick-laid paths.

Shops were closed and empty, although there were a few close to closing. Bathrooms were locked, and there were few places to seek warmth.

This is my city. Whether I raised it, or it I, that is of least importance. My city sleeps tonight. Soundly. Cozily. Falls Park is lit up brightly by the Christmas tree, which lights the area like a bonfire on a deserted island.

I take down my hood and feel the rain. My hair, which was pointed, now lays flat. And although I want to be warm and dry, I feel alive and wouldn't have it any other way.

This is my city. My city desires to feel my touch, like a last resort in a hostage situation. My city feels my warmth. Charlie and I continue on into the night, never knowing what awaits next.

So I am called to help plant a church in the Lancaster SC area, in 2010. more info on that to come.
but we finally have a name for the church plant, i think. it will be called reaction church, with an emphasis on action and reaction. because we want to see a reaction (change) in the lancaster area, but to do that, there must be action. that being said: here is the logo

I am very excited about it, it will be awesome to watch God work!

This is the signal before the crash
The writing on the wall
Its our only chance to make it work
Before the sky begins to fall

Its the reflection in the mirror
The twisted view of self
The feeling you get inside your heart
That there's nothing to your wealth

See the scarlet tint there in the sky
The warning to us all
Its the art that only God can paint
To make us feel so small

This is the signal before the crash
One last chance to carry on
If we'll only turn our eyes
And see the lighthouse through the fog.

I have been thinking alot lately about love. Mainly God's love for us, and I have been trying to understand it. Trying to understand the concepts of love, and how we show the relationship/grow the relationship.
I have come to this conclusion: We should compare our relationship with God to a dating relationship. because essentially that is what this is, the Christian Church is the bride of Christ.

If you were in a relationship, you strive to see them often, and to communicate often. A very dear and special man once told me- "Always court your wife." Many couples, married or dating, have weekly date nights. Think of this as Sunday morning for our relationship with God. We put our best things on, not to impress the other person, but to respect the other person that we care about. We spend intimate time together in public settings here.

But relationships can not last with just weekly dates. If I was to go a week without talking to my girlfriend at all, except on the weekly date, it would be hard to continue the relationship. (You probably know where I'm going with this) Our relationship with God is the same way. We cannot expect to have a good relationship with Him if we only talk to Him Sunday morning.

BUT, and this is something that unfortunately most Christians believe- we don't talk with God every day because he requires it. This may come as a shocker, but no where in the Bible does God say "You must read My Word every day for twenty minutes, along side a Lifeway devotional followed by a prayer."
God never said it. Sorry. here's why: God loves us. Think of this: do you talk to your wife/girlfriend/husband/boyfriend simply because he/she tells you to? No, that would be absurd. You talk to them because you love them, and vice versa. You want to communicate. God loves us and wants to talk to us, but will not be the controlling boyfriend/girlfriend who says "if you hang up or don't talk to me, I'm breaking up with you." He gives us a choice to come to Him. That way when we come to lay at His feet, its because of love, not requirements.

I hope you are able to look at Christianity as a love relationship rather than a religion. That phrase, which I have found very cliche, "Relationship, not religion" is true. Cliche, but very true.
So next time you don't want to go to church, or next time you do your devotion to "earn back points," think about the dating world. It may change your perspective.

you stood, looking like you always did in those days.
i could not see the pain the laid in my future. maybe i did, but i didn't.
we touched, and for a brief moment the world actually stopped moving-
it was as if time itself tried to warn us.
but happiness slowly packed up and left, letting misery live in its place.
but it was good, so we said, in the long run. it was just a bump.
i may have changed like u say i have, i am not certain.
i am positive i am not who i was, and you aren't either.
the people we were back then are meant to fall in love.
they were made for each other. we are not.
or maybe we are, but are simply made to not speak.
because of you, the scars have grown deeper.
larger.
bolder.
older.
so we don't speak. the sun passes over us without so much as a friendly nod.
this is life. this was love. that was sanity.
but no more.
the day you said goodbye was the day the earth said hello.
to me. to you. to us, separately together.
and i like it.
our love might have been compared to roses, but the pedals droop quickly as if they themselves are saddened with our love.
our lives should be compared to the dandelions, being carried where life takes us, never taking root in each others soil.

made some changes, hope you enjoy them. more to come.

we are not meant to be alone. we are made to love. i was made to love. to love you. i believe with all my heart that God created you for me, and that we were destined to be together when God created the world.

love makes me do some stupid things. some good, some not so good. but it is all in love.

"in love." what a weird phrase. there is so much more than me "standing in love." i'm surrounded by it. by love. your love.

i give you my heart
as you exchange yours with mine
we'll hold each other's soul
until the end of time
until the end of time

Do I worship my Creator God because I feel that I need to impress him? A "look what I can do, daddy!" kind of thing? Do I worship because I feel that I need to because its what He said?

Or do I worship my God because of love. I have learned so much yet still am hopelessly confused on love. But not with worship. Paraphrasing Erwin McManus: Some girls want chocolates, others flowers. Some girls want long meaningful conversation. God is the same way, he desires time with us. So focusing on the communal worship atmosphere: we worship to love God. Think of it as sort of, singing a love song to your spouse or significant other. When you are doing it, there isn't another soul in the world. It is just the two of you, and you aren't trying to impress, you aren't trying to do anything other than love. Its really unexplainable in many ways, the reason for this. I don't think there is any better word than connection. We desperately want a connection with God, want to show Him that He ranks higher than anything in this world.

The winter air pierces my skin and chills my very soul. I pull my collar closer to my neck as I tuck my chin into my body. The walk has been long and lonely, and I am desperate for companionship.

It has been too long since I heard another's voice. The warm touch was foreign to me. The moon lights the path ahead, guiding me home.

My breath is visible and warm, so I imprison it with my hands. It will do for now.

How did I get here? What events brought me to this stage of my life? I cannot answer that which I do not know.

Snow that fell yesterday now lies on the road, as if God himself shook powdered sugar on the road. Every now and then the sound of crunching leaves rings in my ears.

Up ahead I see smoke. A fire? A chimney. A small cottage here in the woods. I change my bearings and walk in its direction.

The cottage looked abandoned except for the chimney and a strange glow coming from inside.

A carriage sits rotting outside, and there are no signs of automobiles.

The cottage door, made of mahogany, looked out of place amidst the shoddy cabin. A bright brass knob beckoned me inside.

I take my hands from my warm pockets and grasp the doorknob, which was surprisingly warm. i open the door slowly, allowing anyone inside to become aware of my presence.

Inside the cottage was beautiful- a feast was set on the table, and a roaring fire burned in the fireplace. it was as if I were expected.

There is a note on the table that reads:
"Hello weary traveler. Enjoy the fire and feast. Get your rest for your journey is long. When you leave, please prepare it for the next."

A bed was visible in the corner. A red quilt lay atop in large mattress.

What is this place? It seems so nice. I begin to examine the food and begin eating.

The food is hot and satisfying. I have had better, but now, at this moment, nothing could be. I eat my fill and place myself in front of the fire.

How many travelers come through here? There is a shelf of books in my view. I look at them to find mostly old fiction: Hemingway, Fitzgerald. There was an old C.S. Lewis book, the title had been rubbed off. I pick it up and begin to read.

I awake several hours later. Apparantly I fell asleep reading. I look outside and see the sun.

I remember the note and that I should tidy up. I look at the table where I ate, and to my surprise, all the food I ate was back on the table, as if I was never there.

My journey ahead is still long, so I make my leave. As I walk I think about that magical cottage, and I hope I find it again.

There was a commercial not too long ago, where a husband was speaking, saying "When my wife was pregnant, she had strange cravings for laundry detergent..." It cut the family getting out of the car, husband holding a child saying "My question is when will it stop?"

That commercial was genius. Not for what it sold, because I can't even remember it. But for the underlying theme that I have just found.
Our soul craves things. Whether we know them or not, it yearns. As a Christian it is our duty to find what our soul craves. But all too often we find it (i.e. Salvation) and settle. But we should be like the mother in this commercial, even after the cravings should have stopped, they are still going strong.

Smoking is extremely addictive, and although there are numerous commercials anti-smoking, as well as known health risks, many people continue to smoke. They crave it. They are addicted to it. They're bodies long for the nicotine to enter them, and they seek it out.

Y0u do not entertain an addiction by sitting on the couch waiting for it to come to you (unless your addiction is sitting on the couch waiting...) You go and find it. You search for it, you long for it, you do not give up until you find it.

So why are we, as Christians, not seeking out a lost and dying world with everything we have? If we mean even a third of what we say/sing/hear, then aren't we addicted to seeing God change lives? This is aimed at myself as well, because I have done a terrible job in the field of verbally witnessing.

Instead, we enroll ourselves in "Spiritual Rehab," at least some form. It could be your Sunday school class, it could be worship services, it could be reading. Spiritual Rehab is anything that is there to help rid you of your addiction to changing lost souls. We do not want to enter this rehab. I pray to God that I check myself out, and go into an immediate relapse of binge-witnessing.

So when will our cravings end? Has ours as a church already ended? How can we entice the addiction to come back?