Forgetting the Face

This may be the most important blog i've posted yet.

I'm finding more and more that the way God speaks to me is never the way I expect. I find myself dying to hear a word from him in the midst of situations and not realizing until later, until now, that the situation was the word i needed. Most times there's no voice. There's no booming epiphany until after when it creeps up like your own thought... "Oh... that's why that happened..."

Again, this blog has nothing to do with my past relationships but this is an example that's key to my point. I, pretty recently, went through a break up with someone i loved very much. When it was happening, she told me it was like there were two Davids. The one in front of her, that she could see and feel. The one she fell in love with. And the one she knew via text and email when she went back to school each semester in Tennessee. The one who's words she couldn't quite put to a face. She went on to tell me that every time she saw me, when we were living life together, it seemed to fit. It just seemed right. But she had trouble remembering that boy she loved and the face that went with his words when her other worlds crowded in. That's how it ended.

We'll come back to that.

A very close friend of my family recently had been going through her own hell. She became pregnant again by the father of her first child whom abandoned her the first time around and was incredibly abusive. When she revealed this to her mother, she got a response she probably expected and definitely feared. Her mother began to hurl insults and names, horrible things at her, while her 4 year old son sat crying on the floor with his hands over his ears curled up strangely like someone was holding him. 

Later that year she told me about a counseling session she went through with a woman in her church. 

"You're obviously angry aren't you?'

"Yes"

"I need you to close your eyes and picture the scene in your mind when you're mother said those things to you"

"I don't want to"

"I need you to do this and tell me where you see Jesus in all of this"

"He's not there"

"You're not looking"

"You don't understand He wasn't there, i know it"

"Please, look around the room. Look closer."

She gasps a beautiful gasp of revelation. 

"I see Him. He's standing in the room holding my son and looking at my mother. And He does NOT approve.

I listened to her tell me about this in tears. And she didn't sound angry in the slightest. Because when she looked closely, she saw His face. I hear people so often say things anger about how a God who loves us could let these things happen. But never have i ever heard someone honestly say they have seen the face of God in situations that hurt like hell, and they were angry. 

When you see His face you understand.

Maybe not why this is happening. Maybe not why He allows it. But it's enough just to know He's there. It's something that cannot be explained but MUST be experienced. The biggest difference for me between the hard times and the unbearable, is whether or not I'm remembering to seek His face and remember it.

That girl i loved so much gave me a big part of her life and heart but the problem was that she wasn't willing to do what it took to remember who was on the other end of the messages that i sent her. She couldn't remember my face... wouldn't seek it out. And that's fine she'll move on and find someone hopefully who she is willing to do that for. But as for me, i don't want to find myself in a situation of hopelessness. Pain I can handle. Fear I can get past. But hopelessness, is just that, when and only when i forget to stand back and see that He's there. 

I wish i could explain it to those who haven't experienced it. But i hope so badly that one day You'll see it and be as blown away as i am.

A Good Set Up

The neck was crooked; a little warped. Some of the frets were a bit rusted and the strings sat just a bit too high above the fretboard to play comfortably. Chips of wood were missing on the back of the neck warning against the idea of committing to a scale and sliding your hand against the splinters. The name that had been painted carefully on the head was one that most would pass over. It didn't have that high dollar ring to it...

But no one stopped to listen to the song it could let out if you paid enough attention to the signs to tell that it wasn't crap... just used a bit. No one else stopped to think that maybe there's more of a sense of ownership in something when bits and pieces of yourself and your time go in to the restoration that brings it back to life. After all strings only cost so much, and there's plenty of money out there. They print more every day. And the time and effort would pay you back two fold what you could put into it.

Now it's hanging on my wall, with a fresh polished coat and strong untarnished strings that sit above the neck and just the right height. The frets have been oiled down and shined, the neck has been tightened and straightened a bit and the splinters have been smoothed down and filled. I'd take that guitar out and play it in front of the Queen with more confidence than any thousand dollar boring no-work-involved bit.... because i know it. I've invested my time and care into it.

Restoration.

I remember being asked.. "Can i take care of you...?" by an angel with eyes the size of the moon. It was flattering and of course I said yes, but some how it seems like i've ended up a little worse for the wear since then... A few more splinters, a bit more rust. I can still hold a tune though... i'm not ruined. I'm just waiting for someone to invest the time it would take to smooth out the rough areas. I never asked the old thing in that shop if i could set it up and try and bring the best out of it, I just did it. Being asked was sweet and I won't forget it, but I think right about now I could use a good set up. 

Creatures of Habit/Creatures of Love

Disclaimer: This is not a blog about dating or lovers lost. Stick with it please because i believe there's something here for all of us.

I'm discovering more and more that i am a creature of habit in day to day life. I always set two alarms, one two hours before i have to get up, and one at the appropriate time. I always make my tuna with just a bit of mayonnaise and a lot of avocado. I always tear up when i play "Clean" live.

But in conversation with three different people from three very different parts of my life these past weeks I'm discovering, more importantly, that we're all creatures of habit emotionally. I don't know why but that brought me some comfort. Seeing those same tendencies to love someone too much in others wasn't necessarily a happy feeling but it was ridiculously reassuring. 

To sit down and explain to someone that you hardly know just how badly you were hurt. 

To explain to some that you're standing in detergent aisle of HEB with an absent look on your face because it was the first time you'd smelled her scent since last summer when we were all crammed in the van. I had never been able place that scent until that moment.

To explain to an acquaintance the meaning behind album titles like "The Fix is Fading" and "The Background and the Aftermath", and see that they, not only understand completely, but appreciate you putting into words what they've been trying to.

To explain your silly reasons for regretting the smallest of details. "I would've ordered a pizza to share if i'd known that's what she wanted... that would've made her birthday better."

SERIOUSLY?! We say some pretty ridiculous things and act all sorts of crazy when it comes to love. When it comes to my failed attempts i like to think that i fought for it every step of the way until she left me nothing to fight for... i'd still probably fight for it if i had the option.  

But suddenly, and without a shred of warning this week the idea crept up on me that we're hurting because we're crazy enough to limit our love to romance. I'm not just talking about the need to love a partner through "unromantic times". I'm talking about a completely different kind of love. We all crave it. We're mostly starved of it. But there seems to be such a shortage of willingness to love the people around you.. all of them.

I want to be able to say that i'd fight to make sure that people around me understood love and felt it with the same fervor that i did in romantic relationships. I think there's a much stronger community laying dormant under the one we have here now. But we're all waiting for someone else to make the first move and make themselves available... willing. That's all it would take in any relationship to make it work. Willingness. 

I want to carry myself in light of that vision.

Holding Hands With Old People

I've come to the conclusion that we miss out on a lot of really incredible moments for stupid reasons. Call it ignorance wearing the mask of preference. I come from a background of upbringing in what many call the "emergent church". There are a lot of ideologies that are common among churches like these but the really crippling characteristic i've found i learned in places like this is in the presentation. Now i'm NOT saying there's anything wrong with it. What i am saying is i've let my inclination towards one way of doing things keep me from really experiencing God in other settings. 

I stood in a congregation full of suits and graying hair, Singing hymns and wishing that the drum kit wasn't electric or at least that it was audible. Extremely tired from an early morning service that almost seems to take place at an ungodly hour.... afternoon service please? Kidding. And as the service drew to an end, everyone stretched across the teal pews and held hands for the last song, "Be Thou My Vision". I had to stifle laughter. Holding hands? Really? Not in my comfort zone. But as the hymn drew to and end these words kicked me in the teeth...

"Heart of mine own heart, whatever befall. Be Thou my vision oh Lord God of all."

Be Thou my vision... WHATEVER befall. Man, as a servant of God that hurt to hear. Because i realized that my vision was not God's. 

ouch.

I began to sing those words throughout my day when i was alone. "Heart of mine own heart..." If we could sing those words and mean them with all of our hearts - sincerely pray them in a spirit of honesty and longing to see His vision made a reality - then details like style and and presentation wouldn't interfere in encounters with the living God. If my vision had been in line with His, then my standing there in there in the sanctuary holding hands with people three times my age and singing songs written in my Grandmother's youth would've been a part of it. Because when He is our vision, age, style, presentation and preference fall to the wayside and there aren't sub groups of believers. The body of Christ operates as a whole.

"Heart of mine own heart, whatever befall. Be Thou my vision oh Lord God of all." 

Something's ready to happens in this city and every bit of me is dying to be a part of it.

This City

Broken in the ally, kin to a rusty drain

With thimble full of heartache, and handbag to match the pain

I can hear her coming, in high heels, to wreck my day

This city is screaming and i can't seem to ease it's pain

This city screams

Bathsheba's in the shower, been in there for days and days

Can't seem to get clean now, but she's tried everything

And i can hear her crying 'cause everybody knows her name

More than a story, a brokenhearted legacy

This city screams

This city screams

There's a man in glasses reading America to hopeful few

Dylan is still singing lies that carry bitter truth

But the widow is still selling drink to a drunken youth

The Father's raising judges but his people still wonder who

And this city screams

This city screams

Beautiful Truth.

I'm not sure why we do the things we do. Why we keep things to ourselves that don't need to be kept. Why we pour ourselves into words that are backed by silly emotions. Why we fall apart at the thought of a future that isn't under our control entirely.... 

Why we bother.

I didn't really make any new year resolutions this year. By that, i mean, i didn't write them out ahead of time and if you asked me point blank i wouldn't be able to answer in one sentence. But i will say that something needs to change. I want to carry myself differently. With more certainty. And i feel like the only way to do that is to embrace the fact that i don't know jack. hmmmm. the only way to be certain is to embrace the questions that can't be answered and let them reveal themselves the way they have for the past... well, since minute one.

Man fell, but this gave him the chance to prove and validate His love by choice instead of default.

Hearts break, but find the beauty in the elegant and creative process of redemption and rebuilding.

Beauty rusts, life counts down, love hurts like hell, and life teaches fear, but for every valid tear there are ten thousand reason to fall in love with creation. Even more so the creator. 

I want to forever be reminded of why this world is beautiful. I want it to be reflected in my words, my songs, my interactions and in the continuation of the creative process that we've inherited. "I believe in the poetic genius of a creator", and i refuse to forget it. I'll question it, sure. I'll question it most definitely, but never doubtfully dispute it.. And i'm positive that my searching, and thirst will only be answered and reinforced by more beautiful truth.

We've found hope.

Floodgates

I was this close. Inches away from it. moments. 

Just say it David. Say it out loud so that you can move on.... "I can't because...."

Nothing comes out. It's like suddenly i feel like i don't have a right to even mention it. I finally have those big brown eyes staring back at me and the chance to say what i feel and maybe hear that it wasn't all my fault. That i'm not completely incapable of not being "the ex" for once. Nothing comes out.

"It was good to see you too" I rushed here tonight and hated every minute of it. "You look great" ugh "I'm glad you're happy." ok maybe that one's true... maybe it's not.

On the bright side though, even though my hands were numb and my mouth was dry, i've never meant a song onstage more than i did tonight. "Now most days i spend like a child who's afraid of ghosts in the night. I know there ain't nothing out there, but i'm still afraid to turn on the light... I am at ease in the arms of a woman. Although, now, most of my days are spent alone." 

I'd convinced myself that this January would fix my situation like the past three have. Always the same cycle. November = broken. December = the pain giving way to a dull throb. January = Some sort of miracle. 

... Silly coincidences fueling a silly boys superstition.

It's ok. No one there tonight will know that i left out the back to yell up at a grey sky and tell God that i need some proof. That i need to know if January comes again. No one will no that i didn't get any answers and choose to believe still. And no one, especially not her, will have a clue what it felt like on the outside looking in on what was suppose to be my perfect world.

I was seconds away from saying what i've been dying to say. Nothing came out. Even now i can't bring myself to type it. I'm still not sure why.

"Time stood still for a month or six while everything was right. Then caught up to leave me in a world that changed while i was high... enough to see how i could dream, but still forget how dreams can die"

I'm not as depressed as i sound. I just feel like giving into it completely at least once is the only way to understand what we're really feeling and forget why we were afraid to feel it. 

I can't wait for my January to come again.