Okay, okay. I admit. I’m a little behind on technological times. I still have a phone with actual buttons and my Willard is almost a decade old, but I like to think that I’m capable of catching up with the times if I so choose. I just haven’t yet chosen.
I guess it’s no wonder, then, that I didn’t realize until sometime last year that people actual make a living making music cover videos on YouTube. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I accidently stumbled upon one such artist and was so amazed by his work that I kept listening to his songs. In the months since then, I’ve continued listening to his work—and many other independently funded artists’ works—and in the process caught up on a lot of the current pop music that I often miss out on by listening to books on CD.
One of the songs I’ve frequently heard and even caught myself singing along with is “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. It wasn’t until hearing yet another cover of the song on TV, though, that I actually paid attention to the words.
A few weeks ago, on Palm Sunday, a live performance of “The Passion” was aired on Fox. My parents and I recorded the special but hadn’t had a chance to watch it until last Saturday—and even then it was only me. Honestly, I didn’t know exactly what the production entailed—just that it was a modern version of the last week of Jesus’ life, that it was set in New Orleans, and that it was rumored to be quite powerful.
I must admit: When the special first began I wasn’t overly impressed. I thought that the next two hours were simply going to be filled with songs and narration like a modern music awards show—but I was wrong. It was similar. Yet it was so much more. It was focused and centered around a life-changing theme. And it presented Christ’s message of love, grace, and hope in a powerful way.
Not surprisingly, I cried a few times. And not surprisingly, I ordered the CD. Yes. The CD. I like to have something to hold and look at.
As I was listening to my new CD yesterday, I suddenly found myself sobbing. I’m not talking about leaking a few tears, I’m talking about full blown “ugly-crying” (as Mister Pastor Patrick said on Sunday morning). Out of the blue, I felt like my heart was going to explode in gratitude for Christ’s unwavering love and grace.
The song was “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. The characters were Judas and Jesus. The emotions were defeat and anguish. Judas was defeated by his own humanity and anguished over his inability to escape his demons. Jesus was defeated by misunderstanding and betrayal and anguished over his friends’ inability to accept unconditional love. On some days, I am Judas. On others, I am closer to Jesus. I get it. The core of me gets it. Even without a lot of modern technology, I get it. And maybe using this little piece modern piece of technology, you get it, too?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8oe4KHMUVE
"Demons" as sung in The Passion
Judas: When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale
I wanna hide the truth
Jesus: I wanna shelter you
Judas: But with the beast inside
Judas and Jesus: There’s nowhere we can hide
Judas: No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
Jesus: This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come
Judas: When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
Jesus: It’s where your demons hide
Judas: At the curtain’s call
It's the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl
Jesus: So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you made
Don't wanna let you down
Judas: But I am hell bound
Jesus: Though this is all for you
Jesus and Judas: Don't wanna hide the truth
Judas: No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
Jesus: This is my kingdom come
Judas: This is my kingdom come
When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
Jesus: It’s where your demons hide
Judas: They say it's what you make
I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul
I need to let you go
Jesus: Your eyes, they shine so bright
I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how
Judas: When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Showing posts with label betrayal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label betrayal. Show all posts
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Loving Can Hurt
I collect orange fish. My mom collects piano figurines. Finley The Brother-in-Law collects Rubik’s Cubes. Whenever I see a Rubik’s Cube that looks like it belongs in Finley’s collection, I buy it for him. This Christmas added two new cubes to the collection—a pastel cube like I had growing up and a tiny cube deemed the world’s smallest Rubik’s cube. I thoroughly mixed up each cube, then Finley promptly solved the puzzles. I have no idea how he did them, but he did. He said that there is a series of tricks and moves that makes solving the cubes possible. I believe him. I just don’t have the spatial and/or logical intelligence to see them.
I remember attending a workshop on different intelligences during my early years of teaching. That workshop was the first time I’d ever taken an intelligence inventory that listed musical intelligence as a real thing. I silently chuckled as I checked every indicator for musical intelligence and realized, for the first time, that the things that I think are perfectly normal—like harmonizing with the hum of an air conditioner or composing a full rhythmic composition to the sounds of the Wal-mart check out line—are only normal to those of us with a musically geared brain. The rest of the teachers at my table thought me a bit odd.
Other than musical intelligence, my intelligence indicator leaned toward both intra- and inter-personal intelligences. As an intuitive feeler, this makes a lot of sense. I genuinely care about and want to know people. I genuinely want for people what makes them the best versions of themselves. I read about these things. I study them. I stay in counseling. Yet my intelligence and my desires are where I fear that I struggle as much as I excel. Sometimes in my desire to be genuine with people and have them be genuine with me, I often go wrong—cross invisible boundary lines or fail to meet unspoken expectations—and I sometimes invoke equally as deep hatred and love in those around me.
I just got back from having my legs waxed. Some of you will remember that I embarked on my first leg-waxing journey over spring break this year. Since this December has been unseasonably hot, I decided that I’d end the year by returning to the place where my journey started. I wanted to start the new year with clean-shaven legs. Out with the old. In with the new.
As I lay on the waxing table and felt the warm wax applied to my legs, I knew what was coming next. I knew that in a few seconds I would hear and feel a rip and that it would hurt. Yet I still jumped every time the hairy wax came off my legs and I still inwardly winced, “Ouch! That hurts!”
I knew what was coming. I set myself up for it. Yet it still hurt.
I know that loving people is hard. I know that most relationships—however close or distant—will one day end—or at least fade into the background. I know that each time I open up to someone, share a bit of my story, or take a bit of someone’s story into my heart, that we each run the risk of getting hurt. I know that one day I could find myself unfriended and blocked from Facebook. I know that trust can be betrayed and my stupidities used against me. I know that out of nowhere I can receive a message telling me that I am no longer respected, that I ruined someone’s life, or that while I am a great person, I think too much and ask too many questions.
I know what could happen. I stay prepared for it. And yet it still hurts. Every time.
As 2015 comes to a close, I have over 1,100 friends on Facebook. I am surrounded by real-life friends, family members, coworkers, and church members who love me and whom I love in return. I am blessed. I am grateful beyond measure. I truly am. Please hear that. And yet the seven people who have completely blocked me from Facebook over the years are the ones that keep haunting me today.
Joe The Counselor says that this is human nature—to focus on the one 8 on the scorecard of 10’s—and I know that Joe is right. I know that relationships are two-sided. I know that I am not solely responsible for everything that happens between two or more people. I know this. I know it. I know it. And yet having a connection forcefully ripped from my life still hurts and makes me wonder if something is terribly wrong with me. Joe says that this is human nature, too—to wonder if we’re good enough even though we know, in our core, that we, in our fumbling nature, are.
Finley has the spatial and logical intelligence to solve a Rubik’s cube. The steps are clear. The tricks are straightforward. The puzzle can be solved. It is complicated, but it can be done. I don’t have that intelligence. And my inter- and intra-personal intelligences don’t come with tricks and steps that make solving problems easy.
Yet this much is clear:
I know the risks of love. Of wanting the best for people. Of building relationships that very well may fall apart. I know I will do stupid things. I know that things and people may be yanked from my life with little to no preparation while I know that other things and people will stay and fight not to be removed like the stubborn hair that grows on my toes. And so. As 2015 ends and 2016 begins, I will keep on loving. Because it is all I know to do. And it is what I want to do.
As Ed Sheeran says in song Photograph: “Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes. But it’s the only thing I know. When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes. It is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”
Keep loving with me, friends.
For God is love.
And Love really is the only thing that we know.
And it really is the only thing that keeps us alive.
Love is…
I remember attending a workshop on different intelligences during my early years of teaching. That workshop was the first time I’d ever taken an intelligence inventory that listed musical intelligence as a real thing. I silently chuckled as I checked every indicator for musical intelligence and realized, for the first time, that the things that I think are perfectly normal—like harmonizing with the hum of an air conditioner or composing a full rhythmic composition to the sounds of the Wal-mart check out line—are only normal to those of us with a musically geared brain. The rest of the teachers at my table thought me a bit odd.
Other than musical intelligence, my intelligence indicator leaned toward both intra- and inter-personal intelligences. As an intuitive feeler, this makes a lot of sense. I genuinely care about and want to know people. I genuinely want for people what makes them the best versions of themselves. I read about these things. I study them. I stay in counseling. Yet my intelligence and my desires are where I fear that I struggle as much as I excel. Sometimes in my desire to be genuine with people and have them be genuine with me, I often go wrong—cross invisible boundary lines or fail to meet unspoken expectations—and I sometimes invoke equally as deep hatred and love in those around me.
I just got back from having my legs waxed. Some of you will remember that I embarked on my first leg-waxing journey over spring break this year. Since this December has been unseasonably hot, I decided that I’d end the year by returning to the place where my journey started. I wanted to start the new year with clean-shaven legs. Out with the old. In with the new.
As I lay on the waxing table and felt the warm wax applied to my legs, I knew what was coming next. I knew that in a few seconds I would hear and feel a rip and that it would hurt. Yet I still jumped every time the hairy wax came off my legs and I still inwardly winced, “Ouch! That hurts!”
I knew what was coming. I set myself up for it. Yet it still hurt.
I know that loving people is hard. I know that most relationships—however close or distant—will one day end—or at least fade into the background. I know that each time I open up to someone, share a bit of my story, or take a bit of someone’s story into my heart, that we each run the risk of getting hurt. I know that one day I could find myself unfriended and blocked from Facebook. I know that trust can be betrayed and my stupidities used against me. I know that out of nowhere I can receive a message telling me that I am no longer respected, that I ruined someone’s life, or that while I am a great person, I think too much and ask too many questions.
I know what could happen. I stay prepared for it. And yet it still hurts. Every time.
As 2015 comes to a close, I have over 1,100 friends on Facebook. I am surrounded by real-life friends, family members, coworkers, and church members who love me and whom I love in return. I am blessed. I am grateful beyond measure. I truly am. Please hear that. And yet the seven people who have completely blocked me from Facebook over the years are the ones that keep haunting me today.
Joe The Counselor says that this is human nature—to focus on the one 8 on the scorecard of 10’s—and I know that Joe is right. I know that relationships are two-sided. I know that I am not solely responsible for everything that happens between two or more people. I know this. I know it. I know it. And yet having a connection forcefully ripped from my life still hurts and makes me wonder if something is terribly wrong with me. Joe says that this is human nature, too—to wonder if we’re good enough even though we know, in our core, that we, in our fumbling nature, are.
Finley has the spatial and logical intelligence to solve a Rubik’s cube. The steps are clear. The tricks are straightforward. The puzzle can be solved. It is complicated, but it can be done. I don’t have that intelligence. And my inter- and intra-personal intelligences don’t come with tricks and steps that make solving problems easy.
Yet this much is clear:
I know the risks of love. Of wanting the best for people. Of building relationships that very well may fall apart. I know I will do stupid things. I know that things and people may be yanked from my life with little to no preparation while I know that other things and people will stay and fight not to be removed like the stubborn hair that grows on my toes. And so. As 2015 ends and 2016 begins, I will keep on loving. Because it is all I know to do. And it is what I want to do.
As Ed Sheeran says in song Photograph: “Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes. But it’s the only thing I know. When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes. It is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”
Keep loving with me, friends.
For God is love.
And Love really is the only thing that we know.
And it really is the only thing that keeps us alive.
Love is…
Friday, June 13, 2014
Pete The Plant and Other Scattered Thoughts
My thoughts this week have been very scattered. And so, too, this note will be. So bear with me, reader, as we journey through my mind and hopefully land on a few gems in what could be considered a jumble pile of rocks.
First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.
Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.
Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.
Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.
Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.
Actually. I want to be like Pete.
I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.
First, today is my grandmother’s 92nd birthday. Since I couldn’t be with her today, I sent her a card with one underlined word. G-mama always underlines special words in the cards she sends, so I wanted to do the same. There were only four words in the card, so I figured one was enough. Usually, we send each other a dollar or two in our cards. I chose not to send any money in today’s card, though, because I’m going to do what she tends to do for me on my birthday and give her one dollar for every year of her life. $92 dollars is a lot of dollars to send through the mail. So I will wait to give it to her when I visit her soon. Then hopefully I’ll get to drive her 1980’s Crown Victoria to the old lady hair salon and be with her when she uses part of her $92 for her weekly hair styling. I am grateful for G-mama. And I love her very much.
Second, I wrote last week about how I would be willing to hold my people’s sh*t if they needed it. And I would be. But I was reminded this week that that willingness is not necessarily mutual for many people in my life. Truth be known, I was reminded this week that I’m really not that important at all to some people—and the reminder hurt—and caused me to revisit feelings of loss and betrayal that are overwhelming and leave me feeling a bit lost and lonely and missing parts of a life that I used to know.
Third, I cried on the last day of school. And I realized that I’d finished my first year of teaching (part two) during the same week that I would have traveled to my organization’s annual meeting had I remained in my former job. Two years ago this week, I was in New Orleans riding pedi-cabs, laughing, and sharing delicious meals and beignets with my coworkers when we weren’t sitting in meetings. I led a workshop at the national meeting and spoke to nationally renowned leader and authors. My parents were in town for the meeting, too, so we hung out in a city far from home and I remember thinking that they’d driven a long way to be with me when it would be much closer to go to the annual meeting in years to come. I had no idea that that would be my last annual meeting and that my life would change so drastically in just three months. Fast forward two years and I’m standing in a decades-old gym in a school that is barely locally known, congratulating 5th graders that it took me most of the year to like, and I am crying. I am crying because I am proud of my students, and I am crying because I am certain that I am doing more missions now than I did in my three years of full-time vocational ministry. I am certain that I am exactly where I need to be…and yet…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being with my former staff at their annual meeting.
Fourth, Bullet stinks. When I got home from work yesterday, he was dirty and wet from running through a storm to get to the house, so I washed him in my tub, and he got mad at me, and he’s now soft and fluffy, and he was super cute when he fell asleep in my lap during a thunderstorm last night, but he still stinks. Yet I love him so much. And I’m thankful that he’s been my little alarm clock this week—waking me up before 6 each morning to play—reminding me that there is joy and excitement in each new day.
Fifth, I brought Pete the Plant home from work today. He’ll stay here for the summer. I spoke at a church a few years ago and my thank you gift was Pete the Plant. He stayed in my office at my former job. He moved home with me when I didn’t have a job. Then he moved to school with me when I finally got my classroom set up. I love Pete. He adds life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold.
Actually. I want to be like Pete.
I want to add life and warmth to spaces that otherwise could feel cold…
to dirty dog coats and gyms and pedi-cabs and birthday cards…
to human hearts and minds and bodies and souls…
even when they aren’t willing to hold my sh*t…
especially when they’ve been around a long time and are 92 years old.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Waiting With Open Arms
Today’s question of the day: If you could live the life of any Bible character for one week, then who would you choose? Do you have a particular week in mind?
My answer: The father in the story of the prodigal son…the week that the prodigal son comes home.
Other than Jesus himself, the father in this story is probably the most influential Bible character in my life. His love let his son go, realizing that he couldn’t keep him there, but never let him wander far from his heart or the hope of reconciliation and redemption. The father continued with his life. He took care of his responsibilities and remaining family yet looked down the road each day, praying for his son “to come to himself” and realize that he could come home. His father only wanted his son to come home. He only wanted to hold him in his arms and let him know that he was loved.
I want my love to be like the father’s. Steady. Hopeful. Believing. Forgiving. Unwavering. Always.
You came into my life and gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts
But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we’re meant to win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the Father of the son, waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt
So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t
If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts
But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
It won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt
So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Until I can
My answer: The father in the story of the prodigal son…the week that the prodigal son comes home.
Other than Jesus himself, the father in this story is probably the most influential Bible character in my life. His love let his son go, realizing that he couldn’t keep him there, but never let him wander far from his heart or the hope of reconciliation and redemption. The father continued with his life. He took care of his responsibilities and remaining family yet looked down the road each day, praying for his son “to come to himself” and realize that he could come home. His father only wanted his son to come home. He only wanted to hold him in his arms and let him know that he was loved.
I want my love to be like the father’s. Steady. Hopeful. Believing. Forgiving. Unwavering. Always.
You came into my life and gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts
But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we’re meant to win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the Father of the son, waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt
So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t
If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts
But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
It won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt
So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in anger, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and I bless your name
I give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust his hand, to take your hand
Until I can
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