Stop Motion

I moved to Issaquah, WA at the beginning of my third grade year from Redmond, WA.  I was always pudgy.  In a socioeconomic environment where 1/2 the kids worked for Fortune 500 companies and lived in huge houses in one of the most expensive housing markets in the country and the other 1/2 ran the grocery stores for the other kids to shop at, I found myself somewhere in the middle.  I was a natural target.

I sucked at sports and PE was the bane of my existence.  My PE teacher referred to me a few times as butterball in front of all my peers, which only encouraged an already popular form of sport amongst my classmates that consisted in making my life a wretched mess.  When I started in Issaquah, I just wanted to play with the other kids.  By the time I was starting 5th grade, a good day meant just being left alone.

Girls didn't seem to like me, either.  At church and at school, I would try to make friends with my twin sister's friends, but to no avail.  I was a second-class citizen to them, for the most part.  It was hard for me to get along with people since my cultural conditioning in church was making me socially incompatible with my classmates, but my inquisitive and introspective nature didn't make me many friends at church, either.  I had one ally among my peers at school, and he was dealing with the same crap I was.

When fifth grade rolled around, they offered a beginning orchestra program that fed into the orchestra program at the middle school level.  There were limited seats in the program, so all the students who were interested in joining would submit their names for a lottery which would determine membership in the program, and I wanted it.  I didn't know why, but I wanted it bad.

The list was posted at the end of the week, and I went to check if my name was on the list.  I was second place on the waiting list, while Katie had gotten into the viola section straight away.  I was devastated.  I immediately started crying and cried the entire bus ride home.  I had no idea why.

A few days time would create a shuffle in the list which would ensure my entry into the program.  My orchestra teacher, Mr. Townsend, was the only teacher I'd ever had who made a major investment of time into my life outside of what he had to do, and it remained that way until college.  Since then, I have found a significant portion of my identity in music.

It turned out that music was my "in" at church, too.  I started playing guitar for Kid's Church and found a niche there where people (smaller than me) respected me.  I tried to get involved in youth leadership, but I had too soft a heart for the social ladder and I got beat back many times.  Again, I found myself an easy target, and I decided to shift out of the limelight instead of keep taking shots.

I could continue relating this progression to you, the reader, in detail, but I am laying this foundation for you for you to see a theme in my life which I have been dwelling upon recently.  I have been using music as a means to carve a place in society for myself because I have perceived that who I am without music is not generally palatable to the majority of my peers.  When I speak up about an injustice I see in a youth ministry or an inequality I see in the way a person looks at the world, or when I speak about the color of my soul and ask a girl about the color of hers, I find very few people who are willing to suffer me through the process of sorting these things out...much less take my comments as what they're meant to be––a gift of feedback meant with love.

And I understand fully that this makes me an outcast statistically.  I am an INTP according to Myers-Briggs, and there ain't a ton of us out there (3-5%, to be precise).  I am an analyzer and an interpreter and a reviewer.  It is my gift and my curse.  I use my gifts of analysis and interpretation and review to make music, but music is not my passion.  I don't love it for its own sake.  I love it for the acceptance and approval that has been almost my only oasis in this sea of people whom I don't understand and I don't function well with, but whom I am drawn to love and receive love from.

Unemployment has given me a lot of time to think about a lot of things that I haven't thought about before.  Of course, these aren't the best conditions under which to evaluate the scope of my life, I'm sure, since loss of job, having to move, a birth/death in the family, and loneliness in your early twenties are all some pretty big freaking stressors.  But I have come to one firm conclusion in all this mess: God loves me.

I know this because there is no reason for me to still care for the people who have, for the most part, so utterly discarded me.  But I do.  I don't know why.  

It would be a lot easier for me to travel the way of Nietzsche and nihilism as I teeter endlessly toward insanity and alienation, but a still small voice bids me swim upstream.  

I could call myself a super-man and look down upon the people around me who make me feel so small just to feed this starving ego, but the ailing voice of a Jewish peasant dying under the heel of the people for whom he cared so deeply echoes in my brain with the words "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," and I know he was talking about them AND me.  

Or I could whither under all the self-accusation and doubt that accompanies these times and sail into this open sea of human depression, but the living voice of a dead God calls to me from the shore and bids me "feed my sheep".

So this writing, dear friends, is a public confession of God's word in my life.  I may not be the loudest or the coolest or the prettiest shepherd that God ever imagined, but He has called me to devote my life to the care of his sheep and I said 'yes'.  It was a long time ago and I was young and I didn't know what I was doing, but I said 'yes'.  And today I say 'yes' again.  I don't know how or where or when or with whom, but I am publicly devoting myself to this task with the witness of all you, my readers. (Any of you who have gotten this far must truly be good friends or truly bored.)

If you get a chance over the next few days, would you pray for me?  Ask God to continue to help me figure this stuff out?  Pray his provision in the midst of this difficult time?  And ask that he give me the strength and endurance I will need to finish this story well?  I will need as much of your prayer as I can get, I'm sure.

It Is Sad

It is sad when one looks to the individual for that which is only capable of being fulfilled by the church;
It is sad when one looks to the church for that which is only possible because of the state,
     and it is sad when one requires of the state that which can only be provided by the people.

It is sad when people look to alcohol for that which only can be found in success;
It is sad when people look to success for that which can only be found in contentment,
     and it is sad when people look to contentment for that which can only be found in relationship.

It is sad when one looks to mere things for that which only can be found in people;
It is sad when one looks to mere people for that which only can be found in God,
     and it is sad when one looks to God as a way of hiding what only can be found in themselves.

I am it,
     and it is I.
I've wrote these words,
     and now I cry.

Part II: Playing Catch

Walking across all these bridges,
Has graced me with elegant prose,
My passion explodes like a geyser
  growing strong despite frictions below.
Turns out that truth won't fit in baskets,
And life comes from seeds that you sow,
And people have value without my infusions;
  we travel--as equals--this road.

The Manager cut me a deal:
He gave me a seat to the Show.
His Son is the major attraction
  and He speaks with a casual tone.

I got a lot for a little,
  a loan I can't ever pay off.
My soul is a garden, and He's in the middle,
  and nothing He's planted here ever shall rot.

Part I: Trajectory

I want to think about bridges,
I want to think about prose,
I want to think about geysers
  fueled by friction below.
I want to put truth in a basket,
I want to teach sowers to sew,
I want to infuse folks with value
  and prepare them to travel the road.

I want to speak to the Manager, because
I want to speak at the Show, and
I want to speak with a casual voice
  and wear a lapel microphone.

I'd like a lot for a little, but
  I'd like to think it's a lot.
I'd like to garden or whittle, but
  I'd rather just stay here and rot.

My dilemma...

Usually my blogs involve a discussion of some impersonal manipulation of words to get some impersonal point across to whomever cares to listen.  To those of you who like that, be ye not dismayed.  That will not stop coming.  However, this particular blog is different.

This goes out to my peeps.

I'm SO torn.  SOOO torn.  I am trying to figure out what to do with my life, etc.  It seems to me like there are two specific paths that are pulling me--perhaps not specifically in different directions--but to pursue one means putting the other on hold for a significant period of time.

My trajectory prior to a few weeks ago was to try to be a producer/engineer in music.  I love working on good music.  I love collaborating with the vision of an artist and preparing their music for a medium that can be widely distributed and cherished in people's homes and cars to comfort them or make them think.  I don't at all enjoy working on mindless, artless music that serves as nothing more than a placeholder for people who feel a right to be involved in music without a demonstration of merit.  In my particular occupation currently, I often find myself working with the latter.  This is the nature of church music, I suppose.

However, the events of the recent weeks (if you're unaware of them, be assured that you don't have the time for me to tell you about them) have caused me to consider a different course.  It has caused me to wonder if seminary is not a better place for this punk kid to end up.  I have a lot of ideas about God and life and the church that I have developed through a wide variety of reading and experience.  In these recent events, however, my ideas were often discredited as immature, selfish, or undeveloped.

I can understand this critique, and I am open to the thought that my ideas are, in fact, not fully developed or immature.  And, based out of a desire to be considered "qualified" to engage around the table of ideas in the Assemblies of God, I feel a strong desire to pursue an academic degree that would perhaps give me a seat at that table.  Either that, or I want to study out the issues at hand until I can arrive at a conclusion that appeases those above me and doesn't make me weep with the logical inconsistency of it all.

But then, this weekend, I got the opportunity to record, mix, and master a live concert for my friends Hannah Moreno and John Leckenby.  John's songs, in particular, stirred me.  His music is inspired and fresh.  It's raw and artistic.  And it demands an appropriate treatment from a thoughtful engineer to really make it come off well.  Having finished mixing his stuff down at 4AM on Sunday morning, I felt like I had been a part of something important.  Something with mystically more impact than any banter over statements of faith or communion wine.

And here's the other thing.  In the particular denomination that I grew up in, academic degrees don't carry a lot of weight.  There is a lot of room for charisma and pork-barrel preaching (I made that up) to carry the day.  A guy who has a piece of paper that proves that he can use his head okay is often less respected than a guy who reads two books a year but sweats profusely when he preaches.  So, do I really, REALLY want a seat at that table anyways?

All this to say, I haven't got it figured out.  And if you had the patience to read this whole thing, then perhaps you have the patience to help me along in this decision, too.  I'd love to hear from ya.

Cheers,

Utzy

PS - I attempted in this blog to lay out my thoughts and sentiments in as genuine a fashion as I could without intending to offend anyone.  If some of my more melancholy thoughts pitched a curveball your direction, then I do apologize.  Thanks for your understanding!

Reformation

I want to relive that time I was young,
  that time I was silly, that time I was loved.
If I could look back on the day I became,
  the day I grew older, the day I grew "sane",
I think I could listen to hear what He said,
  to hear Him pursue me, to hear him suggest
That I be a beggar-prince, child of the King,
  child of the Servant, a child redeemed.
And how I would love Him!  And how He would shine!
  And how I would marvel at glory divine!

Sadly I've stumbled and built up a throne
  where I alone sit, making my glories known.
All who will listen to what I might say
  can be my "companion", and I'll give them "grace".
But all who defy me and stand in my way
  are tools of the devil, and against them I pray!
For this is my story, and this is my song,
  praising my cravings all the day long.

But gently He woos me and whispers my name
  with tones like a lover and motherly grace,
He calls me his child, He calls me his bride,
  He draws me to His throne to sit at His side.

He shows me the kingdom He plants in my heart,
  He calls me to water it, feed it, and start
To think like a gardener tending a seed,
  watching it grow and rooting out weeds.
With love like a father, He shows me His ways.
  He wants me to join Him as my act of praise.
And, just like He planted His seed in my garden,
  He calls me to sowing, lest my soil become hardened.

Nothing I'd sow could be for my own gain,
  It goes to my Father; it was His anyways.
And all that I'll need is provided by faith
  when all that I want is to give away grace.
It's like I'm a child again, looking to Dad
  and wanting to be like Him, making Him glad.

Functional Savior

I swam from my sink to the ocean,
And drilled through the holes in my head,
Then sank to the top of Manhattan,
With thoughts that I'd see God again.

My heart's taught me lessons that I can't defend,
It runs me in circles that don't have an end,
Love pushed my heart out of comfortable style
and fuels me into the extra mile.

Buy all you can and live like a king,
Try to be happy with purchased things.
Vote with the party or keep with the trends,
Just ask yourself, "Why does this feel like pretends?"

But share in a sorrow, or aid in a strife,
And see if that isn't where God's hidden life.

In The Garden

Never get the feeling you're arriving--
  you can't know what you're missing if you do.

See, if you feel the instinct to survive here,
  instead of living life like it's a truth,
Then hold the tempter's goblet to your temple,
  and let that grail's trigger run you through,
But let the record show you as sad man,
  who never looked and saw the beauty in the moon.

Yet, if you see this life like it's a garden,
  a place where flow'rs and light meet brash manure,
It makes it kinda pleasant just to grow here,
  despite the fact that growing's not the cure
To all this stain and pain-filled devestation,
  to all the cries that in God's ears ring true,
    to any of life's merciless afflictions,
      to any of the haters of His truths.

But now the Wind of Israel is stirring,
  it moves you to the core and makes you new,
He enters like a Child into the garden of your heart,
  and call's you 'fellow man', though you're a fool.

The Discrepancy

To suffer
To share in the sorrow
To help bear the grief of the wounded or widowed
To carry the call of God into the darkness of the world

Difficult to imagine.

Better change the channel.

Ponderings of a Night Owl

Sometimes it makes me angry,
Most times it makes me sad,
Often it leaves me hungry
For having what others had.

And rarely it makes me joyful,
But sometimes it makes me cry,
Yet most times it makes me mindless
And leaves me to wonder why.

This sore of my heart is empty,
but so is the blight-ridden cold,
as the sun takes the day with its vengance,
and plunges me in to so-so.

Isn't it funny how the biggest ideas are most accurately represented with the least number of words?

Two distinct revelations I've had of late concerning the Christian life...

#1: The most obvious and binding points of commonality between the members of a church congregation are the things they're not willing to give up for the cause of Christ.

Think about it. Then, comment. I'd love to open that idea up to discussion. I think I stand on solid experiential ground, but I recognize that there are most assuredly exceptions. So, don't you dare accuse me of making hasty generalizations. I know this principle is not universal--but it surely seems to be a pattern worth observing.

#2: The boldest and most controversial action in the history of mankind was an act of undeserved forgiveness.

Not a mind-blowing discovery, but still a meaningful revelation for me. It hit me at a time where forgiving was the only course of action that people weren't really suggesting for me. But God dropped this 'nugget' on me while I was in the shower--I think God uses showers in my life more than he uses altar calls, now. Anyways, just let that one sink in if it's meant to hit you, or nod your head and move on if it isn't.

Material Witness

I'm reading this book about the history of western music--a topic that's not too overly broad... :) It specifically concerns, however, the progression of our methods for tuning instruments over the years. As it turns out, the greatest obstacles to developing our present tuning system was not placed by musicians or scientists, but by philosophers and theologians. These opponents of our modern system (called equal-temperament) were motivated by a strong adherence to tradition and a sense of mysticism coupled with this pervasive notion that God / nature were required in some way to correspond to each other through the language of mathematics. Anything that did not fit into their predetermined mold was not just considered undesirable, but irrational or completely heretical.

Now, I know you're probably not getting a very good portrait of this whole struggle from my poor summary, but bear with me as it brings me around to an important point. (If you wish to hear more of the struggle, read the book Temperament by Stuart Isacoff.) Why is it that we as humans require that everything fall into our little mold? For generations, humanity has struggled to cope with that which we do not understand. This problem has plagued our churches and our academies, has been the source of endless struggle and war, and has perhaps been one of the most formidable blockades to progress that we have ever encountered.

This problem is the great enemy of both the faithful and the cynic. It has bound the thoughts of both the least and the greatest of the thinkers. And it seeks to destroy me. Even now, as I write, I become that man. It is something that no man desires in times of gentle reflection to be, but does inevitably succumb to upon the challenging of their ideals. My prayer for myself is that I will always have the presence of mind to grasp those things which challenge my ideals and to withstand those blows to my ego that might otherwise crush a lesser man.