the resurrected life

Verse 1:

I’m falling softly into the water,
and I’m trying hard not to drown.

But my tale is one of a lost soul

and I’m reaching the point of no return.

Chorus:

I’m dying to resurrect
all that has disappeared -

this sin is killing me,

digging me a grave I fear,

and I’m drowning 
beneath the soil 

of all I’ve done.

Still the blood runs clean through me,
it’s transfusing all of this;

eating the dirty soiled mess 

out of me.

And I realize that my life
is not mine to save,

but Yours to give

and Yours to take away.

Verse 2:

I do confess, I’ve run away.
The lure of the night, it had beckoned me. 
My hands are stained with innocent life,
and yet my Victory has overcome my vice.

Chorus:

I’m dying to resurrect
all that has disappeared -

this sin is killing me,

digging me a grave I fear,

and I’m drowning
beneath the soil

of all I’ve done.

Still the blood runs clean through me,
it’s transfusing all of this;

eating the dirty soiled mess

out of me.

And I realize that my life
is not mine to save,

but Yours to give

and Yours to take away.

Yeah, it's Yours to give
and Yours to take away.

A song: Autumn Sorrow

things are broken

not like toys

that children left on the floor

after called out to play

but like hearts

built up high

and then let down

not so easily

there sounds the melody

of the bird's

mournful morning song

without its harmony

the dissonance belongs

there sounds the melody

of the wind between the trees

of leaves falling to the ground

so deadly

you've got me crying out now

for freedom

from this autumn sorrow

on hope

In the end we are all merely searching for happiness. We are searching for the places that our hearts can call home; places where our hope will not be broken. Sometimes we catch glimpses of these things. At dusk, when the sun is going down and the red and purple colours touch the horizon and we are reminded of how even the end can be a beautiful thing; when a baby is born and we are reminded that crying out can bring us life; when we sink into the couch beside our best friends and our families and we are reminded of what laughter sounds like.

But our world is constantly pulling us apart and pulling us together. Full of confusing tragedies that cause us to doubt the goodness we used to feel, every day it continues to drive us towards ends and through difficult means. Our humanity often fails us and the earth continues to deteriorate slowly as resources become scarce.

We have been beaten down and we are broken. Others have stolen joyful moments from our lives; violent men have caused us to fear; our children have died inexplicably; war and crime and hate seem to be winning.

We call out to God desperately, asking to see His hand at work. Sometimes we are left confused.

But the things of this world, our experiences here, they are not what we can hold onto. These moments are fleeting. It has become apparent to me that Jesus Christ must be the source of all our hope. Without His love, His forgiveness, and His promises, even the joyful moments of our lives will become void of meaning.

It is for this reason that I have put my hope in Jesus Christ. Mankind is fallen and broken and has failed us; we cannot put our hope in our own humanity, as history shows it has often left us found wanting. We cannot even place our hope in the Church, an institution that has done nearly as much evil as it has good. We can only place our hope in Jesus Christ; the only constant in our lives. With Jesus as the source of all our hope, we will not be left in such a hopeless despair over the state of the world. Instead, we will eagerly wait for the day when all tragedy will be reconciled and the joy that we have caught glimpses of will become the beautiful reality.

In times of tragedy may you remember that the day is coming when pain and mourning and crying will cease. And in times of joy may you be reminded of what hope feels like and realize that with Jesus Christ, our Hope is already here.

What inspires you?

I could tell you without thinking.

Beautiful words. Beautiful sounds. Beautiful scenes.

All of God’s creativity displayed in all of its perfection.

Reading the Psalms while sitting in the park listening to the birds sing.

Nature. Music. Poetry.

i love the red*

Living in Bolivia for four months without a direct internet connection has made me forget how much I love the internet. But today, as I was sitting in a quite cafe downtown after finishing off a cappuccino with a good friend I pulled out my laptop and was reminded of my love for the internet.

Listen here. I hate sitting in internet cafes. They are cold, full of people, and I always feel as though someone is glancing at my screen ever 50 seconds, snooping in my internet business. Internet cafes destroy what I love about the internet.

For the past few years the internet has become my own personal library. I could sit at my desk for hours looking up poetry, photographs, and perusing through blogs. The things I found there were inspiring, interesting, and always made for a good laugh. It’s quite sad that so much of my inspiration is drawn from the things I find on the internet (even this post is inspired as such). I tend to miss the days when I could sit down at my desk after walking around the park with my headphones and have something interesting to write. Now it seems as though my writing is deeply connected with the internet - this my friends is a sad story in the making.

I thought that coming to Bolivia would inspire my writing, but it seems to have stifled it somewhat ( must be the long work days and the lack of internet access.) It’s dissapointing that my writing would be tied to something as trivial as the internet. But alas, we all have our weaknesses.

*red = web in Spanish... aka the internet

What drives a human being to hate his brother so much that he can kill him? What possesses a ruthless dictator to disregard human life for the sake of self preservation? We are no more than the relationships that bind us to this world – can they not see that? Relationship is the only reason for which we are here. Without it, life is meaningless.

But what can I do for those people across the world whose very lives are being stripped from them simply because they were in the way of one man’s thirst for power? What can I do for my brothers and sisters who are being murdered because they were not born into the right ethnic group, caste, or religion? What can I do for my sisters who are being killed because they are not only women, but because they refuse to diminish this fact?

I have no training. I have no skills. I am young and still quite a bit naive I am sure, and I am only one person. And so I humbly surrender myself to the fact that the world is not mine to save. It is not mine to bind its wounds or heal its lands or purify its waters to make it liveable again. It is God’s, and though I am its steward, I am not its Saviour.

The world begins to crumble around me and I wonder: where do I fit into this puzzled mess of life as it now is? I drive to church this morning in a peaceful quite, but the other side of the world is telling a different story. Countries at war, Asian communities in crisis, people’s lives are being lost and yet I am sitting here, still unsure of how I fit into all of this chaos.

This summer I am going to Bolivia to volunteer at a home for young orphaned girls. I will go and look upon their faces and attempt to remind them of the infinite worth that their Creator has given them, the mark that He has imprinted on their hearts. And yet the peace and conflict studies students inside of me tells me that though my heart is geared towards compassion and helping others, I was really created for something much bigger than that.

I am a child of war. I was born into it, and I have continued to be a soldier fighting in this war since I first felt the sting of injustice in my heart. In this universal fight between good and evil I am a warrior, but I will not take up a sword. Instead my weapon is my mind, my heart, and my voice. And so, I submit myself in prayer, and I pray that God will bring justice and that He will bring it swiftly. I pray that I will not contribute to or instigate any more of the hatred that consumes our world. And I pray that I will be prepared for what I know is inevitable, and that I will bear good fruits so that others may prepare themselves as well.

What makes a man hate his brother? Fear, selfishness, pride, indifference? Perhaps all of these things.

What can make a man love his brother? That is the question, for which the answer we should be seeking.