The Hidden Lifesong

By Chrissy Zschomler

-

I was born into the musical kingdom.

My parents made me play every morning after waking up and every night before I went to bed. Piano and singing were the two elements they focused on, separately and together. They told me that these two elements would be the thriving factors on which I would learn many other musical techniques and instruments. They explained to me often that I would learn many instruments one day, such as they had, and I would even get to play in an orchestra or band. They would encourage me as we went through robotic scales on the piano, day after day, that what I was learning then would branch off into many more beautiful aspects of the musical world. When I was old enough, I would find my place and role in the kingdom we lived in. Every citizen of our kingdom played a multitude of instruments well, but primarily focused on one instrument they played the best. This was our language.

At the age of 12 my parents took me to my first symphony orchestra, an orchestra they were a part of. They seemed so excited as we drove up to the huge arena, parked, and walked almost a mile across the parking lot into the concert hall. They walked me to my seat and told me they would come get me after the show, and that I just needed to wait right there. They challenged me to watch closely and pay attention.

Once they had left to enter backstage, I sat quietly, taking in the arena around me. There were so many seats, so many chairs; but they were so empty right now. I pictured the crowds chanting and throwing their hands up in response to the music they had heard. Music was so emotional, something I developed within playing outside of my parents' instructive lessons. I didn't feel the passion when I was playing scales. I remember a feeling come upon me at the age of 9, strumming the first guitar chords I had ever played (I taught myself guitar, without my parents' knowing. They generally knew how to play guitar, but preferred to focus on piano while I was still young. They thought guitar was "too advanced"- not precise enough to teach, really- therefore, not constructive enough to learn). I was playing outside on my front lawn. It was the beginning of fall. As I played my first song, something seemed different about the air around me. More crisp and vivid, maybe.

A half hour passed. I knew we had gotten there early for preparations, but I looked down at my watch- only 10 minutes until the show started. Shouldn't there be more people here? I guess I assumed the arena would be packed.

10 minutes came and went, and soon enough my parents were on stage performing with their symphony. I took in all the notes, all the key changes, all the pitch bending, all the chord progressions- but I became very unfocused as I dozed off into that feeling I felt out on my front lawn, in the fall air, playing my guitar. It happened as I matched the music with the facial expressions of the musicians before me. Even my parents, I had never seen them involved or engaged in their instruments in this way. And now that I had come to think of it, I had never watched them play instruments outside of teaching me how to.

My doze was suddenly interrupted when an old and hardened voice huffed into my ear, "Aren't ya a little young to be attendin' a symphony?"

I jumped a little and glanced at the man sitting next to me. When did he get here? I could have sworn no one was around me this whole time-

"My parents brought me here to listen."

He grinned and chuckled. "Ah. That's what it always seems to be. Either to memorize the numbers theyz playin' or cos your parents made ya come." He shook his head.

I blinked. Maybe that's why no one was here.

"No one comes just to enjoy the show?"

He chuckled again. "Are you kiddin'? Everyone's seen this show before. Everyone's heard these songs already. Everyone's enjoyed them, so much to the point that they just can play it themselves. You'll probably be able to play these songs one day too, kid."

I had already picked up some of the violin parts, my heart pounded fast when I had heard them; I took it as a sign that was my next instrument I should teach myself.

I sunk in my chair.

"Well then why are you here, sir?"

And suddenly, he looked face-forward at me. I collected the image of his face: scruffy, wrinkled, dirty. His rotten clothes matched his face. So did the smell. His hair was gray and out of control, bleeding into a bald spot right on top of his head. He had a slash from the side of his mouth to the bottom of his chin. I regretted my question.

"I live here," he pressed. "This is MY house."

"Oh," was all I could reply.

"Yeah. I make it pretty good here." He crossed his legs, threw his arms behind his head, and leaned back like he owned the place. "It's my kingdom here, you know? I have my own kingdom, within this so-called 'musical kingdom' we live in."

"That's good, sir," I replied. I was trying to think of polite ways to get away from him; to keep myself out of danger.

"What kind of music are ya?"

I wasn't sure what he meant by that question. We all played music, and sure there were different styles but we each played a major variety. I wasn't just one. Maybe he meant what instruments I liked to play.

"I like guitar," I told him. I thought I had made a mistake after telling him that. Guitar was not a common instrument in our kingdom, from the impression I had received from my parents it was actually pretty looked down upon. Then again, everything I knew about the kingdom I had learned from my parents.

His eyes widened. He looked straight at me. "Guitar. Wow, kid. Thas a good one."

He left the comfort of his previous haughty position and leaned in close to my face. Was I beginning to sweat?  "Look. I'm about to tell you something that might save your life. Listen here. Everyone here knows music. Especially this music that they're playin." He pointed his finger at me. We were still whispering, in attempts to be courteous to the concert happening before us, I guess. But they way he began to whisper was as if someone was listening, that we didn't want to listen. "You take that guitar. You learn it. You keep learnin' it. Teach yourself. And don't stick around."

Don't stick around? What did that mean?

"Don't stick around, sir?"

"No. Kid, I can't say much, it's too dangerous. But don't confine to just stickin' around. You gotta get out. You gotta teach others about that feeling you have in the pit of your stomach when you're playing your guitar."

How did he know about that feeling?

"This kingdom is way too stuck together. We never break out. We have something really beautiful goin' here, somethin everyone needs to know. Do you know there are people out there that don't know about music? They've never even heard of it."

I couldn't fathom what he meant. People who had never heard of music? Wasn't everyone around the world taught the same way I was?

"Then why don't you go out and teach others the music you know, sir?"

He grinned. "Because, my days of music are coming to an end soon. Kid, I lived long before this kingdom existed. I was a music teacher in my youth. And the way those kids faces lit up when we played... I taught them theory, but I never forget to let them play open freestyle. Man," he paused for a reflective moment. "I'll never forget their faces. And I taught for a long time, too. Many years, many different developing styles I saw. Then I heard about the development of the music kingdom. Thought it'd be a great opportunity. And it is- when we explore and use it for the right purpose. Now everyone just lives in it's luxury, and comfort; only teaching their own kind the beauty of music. Kid, music heals. Music understands. The world needs music. And only the kingdom has it. But we've been keeping it under a bowl, in a sound proof room where no one can hear it- cos thas' what's comfortable for us-"

He suddenly took his eyes off of me and leaned over just an inch, his eyes tracing a figure of something behind me. I heard footsteps approaching swiftly through our aisle of seats.

"I've said too much. Kid, I'm here to tell kids like you to go out and teach others about the gift you've been given. Trust me, kid. This world needs you."

He placed his hand on my shoulder, and then rushed out of his seat.

I stood, attempting to assemble what had just happened. I tried to take it all in, remember it, information to meditate on. But my thoughts were shattered when a stern voice behind me chanted, "Was that man bothering you?" He was whispering, yet he still seemed so loud.

"Uh, no sir," I looked up, still sitting in my seat, while he was standing. An arena guard.

"Hm. Well, let me know if he approaches you again. He's just a poor homeless man. He is nothing but danger toward you, son." It seemed like he wasn't even paying attention to me, but just reminding himself of the authority he had with his words. Only then did he look at me when said, "And remember. No talking when the symphony is playing."

"Yessir" I addressed him.

-

"How did you enjoy the concert?" my mother asked me as we crossed the parking lot, mother holding one hand and father holding the other.

I enjoyed what I heard. But the concert was not the least of my concert, with the information the homeless man had given me during it.

"It was good," I replied.

I saw my mother and father exchange looks of concern, they probably expected or wanted a stronger answer than that, but it was the best I could do for now. I had other things to think about. Things my parents had never bothered to tell me.

"Oh no!" my father gasped.

"What?" Replied mother.

"I forgot my sheet music in the theater. And I have to practice for the next show, I need my sheets!" He looked back at the theater. "Honey, why don't you get the car started? I'll take him with me to grab the sheets."

We parted ways with mother and headed back to the arena. After walking quite a ways through the parking lot we finally met the sidewalk, and suddenly I head a ringing melody in the air. A buzzing and crisp melody, with chords in an order that was nothing like the regular chord progressions I was used to hearing around the house and playing through the speakers of school. It was different, eclectic, ecstatic. It churned out emotion instead of just dictating it as I felt my parents taught me music was. I felt the same feeling again, the same feeling I had playing my guitar. I turned my head sharply in the direction of the melody.

Two small buildings greeted the side of the arena, a ticket booth and an abandoned merchandise shop. In between these buildings was a small sliver, an alley; where the melody was coming from. There was the homeless man, playing on some sort of instrument I had never heard or seen before. It started in his mouth and blew out like a waterfall; his hands multitasking by holding the instrument in them and playing buttons on the instrument at the same time to determine the next note. It was crazy. It was surreal.

He was surrounded by 3 or 4 other men who looked a lot like him; dirty, torn up, old- homeless. They were cheering and clapping for his melody. This was the reaction I thought the audience inside the arena would have had.

"Poor guys," my dad chimed in. "See son, these are outsiders. They don't belong in the kingdom. They're not from the kingdom. They're just little ants seeking a place to stay- they usually sneak into the arena." He shook his head. "These parts can really be unsafe."

"But dad, that man is playing music. What he is playing is music. So he's a part of the kingdom," I explained.

"Well, maybe he is. But the others are reacting because they've never heard of music. We don't associate with those people, son."

I was astounded. "How do we teach the world about music if we don't associate with people who don't know about it?"

He stopped us on our way back into the arena. "Son. People like those are dangerous. They are unsafe."

"That's because they don't know about music," I huffed under my breath.

"What was that, son?" I could tell my dad was beginning to become frustrated with me.

"Nothing," I lied.

"We have children to teach them music. Then we remain safe in our kingdom, prospering on our music; our children growing up to do the same." He surprisingly began to smile. "I guess I'm glad those men were there, so I could teach you this lesson. You're getting older and it's time you learned."

We both remained quiet. His quietness was probably a way of him waiting for me to reply, "Sure thing, dad" or "Yeah, you're right father" but I couldn't find it in me to do it.

"Are we hiding from those men?" I asked him.

"What? No," he said.

"Then why can't we associate with them?"

"Because they are dangerous to our kingdom," he said.

"Why?"

"Son, if you ask one more question, I am grounding you." He got down to my level and whipped out his finger. He looked me in the eye. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. I saw you playing guitar outside our house. I saw you talking to someone during the symphony. I'm not oblivious. I can't let you do anything that is dangerous to yourself or the kingdom." He sighed and looked down. "The truth is, if you hang out with people who don't know about music, then you will forget about it. You will not practice it. You will let music go. And we can't let that happen." He looked up at me again and touched my face. "Music is your life, son."

I knew the last statement was true. But I couldn't and didn't believe the first half.

-


"Dad?"

My 11-year-old daughter unlocked her gaze from outside the car window and look forward to the back of my head in front of her. She then asked, "How did you learn about music?"

The car grew quiet. My wife looked at me and smiled. She placed her hand on top of mine.

This was the question I had been waiting my daughter to ask me. This was the moment I was waiting for.

"Sweetie, that's a great question.

I first learned music from my parents. They taught me the dynamics, normal everyday musical scales of voice and piano you are first taught when you are born in the Kingdom- very great and crucial things to learn when you are first practicing and mastering music.

But I don't think I really learned music and what it really is until I sat outside my house and strummed an old guitar one day.

And I learned how to properly use music when an old man told me that I needed to go out and teach others about it. That there were people in the world who didn't know what music was, who had never heard of it. Later that day I saw him playing in an alley to some men who had never heard music before. I will never forget the looks on their faces.

I knew then I couldn't stay in the kingdom forever. I stayed to finish studying and learning music in it's full- well, at least until I graduated high school. Then I traveled the entire kingdom, learning about different styles of music I had never heard before. So many people had so many different perspectives. I did this for two years. Then I left the kingdom, to teach others about music who didn't know about it; who have never heard of it.

I didn't just play it to them, though. I became friends with these people. We built relationships and bonds that I'll have forever. It was then, when I became invested in them, and them in me; I shared my heart about music to them. Then they just had to hear it. So I play. And they listen. And they immediately ask me to teach them.

I should also say, it's not that they want to learn about me. They genuinely want to learn about the music, how to play; and how to let it into your heart.

That's also how I met your mother. I had first met her, living among a nation of people who knew nothing about music. But when I first met her, I just knew- I felt it- that she had already known how to play music, and beautifully she did.

So we fell in love, learned more about music together, and married. And that's where you came in."

Although I couldn't see her because I was driving, I felt my daughter smile behind me.

"You didn't learn about music until you left the music kingdom, it sounds like," she suggested to me.

"Honey, I'm still learning about music. I learn about music everyday," I replied.

-

Luke 11:33 "No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light."

Earth's Lullaby

The gray stretches over the sky, as if
God is bending over the heavens, protecting the Earth.
We are sheltered in the safety of His shadow,
the Earth is resting; it sighs with relief

And thousands of leaves dance
With the Earth's breath of rest.
The rain drums a quiet but steady beat
And who is here to sing the melody?

We all turn back to school and learning,
we all return to a cycle of life
But when we get the chance to rest
in the portions in between the cycle segments

That's when we remember and reflect
on the hope we have.
We become aware of
His shadow among and around us.

In this, life doesn't seem so spread out anymore.
Your age's length doesn't seem so elderly after all.
Problems still exist, but with purpose
and while they circulate we are still able to live with sanity.

It won't always be this way. It can be
but take in the rest while it is here.
Pause a moment to breath
And fall silent as the Earth transitions to rest around you.

Genuine

Once upon a time in a far away royal, wealthy, and largely standing kingdom called Sunnzar there once was a young girl who was none of these things. She was born into a poor family who had given her up for adoption because of her parent's incapability to afford raising her. After years of not yet being adopted she was transferred into a foster system, growing up with a sweet old woman in a tiny & humble home on the edge of the kingdom (often passed by newcomers and tourists on their way into the kingdom). Her and the old woman's niece were about the same age. In her home and at a very old age the old woman died a peaceful death. She lived a good, long life and Amatha truly appreciated her for who she was- but lived in fear of how she could continue to live in the house and lifestyle the old woman left behind.

Amatha fended to live on her own at the youngest adult age of 18. Amatha struggled to get a job and convinced herself she was going to live out on the streets, just before she was hired at a restaurant on a surrounding street of the main castle of the kingdom because of their desperate need for kitchen workers.

As she tied her apron before her first day she thought to herself about how she certainly didn't plan on working in a kitchen. She thought, if she was going to be hired at this restaurant, she would at least work as a servant, a waitress, even a cleaning maid. But she had no complaints because money was money- she had no other options it seemed. 

It was also beneficial because she got one free meal from there working more than 4 hours, and working 8 hours she got two. On her first day after they explained this system to her, she decided to have her employee meal before working- she hadn't eaten more than crackers in the past 1 or 2 days, she couldn't remember.

She felt very royally treated as they brought out her food to her with a smile and the question of if she needed anything else, kindly replying "no thank you". She hadn't remembered eating as good of a meal as this served with as much warmth since her foster mother passed. 

She didn't remember eating a meal that looked so nicely made either. It was assorted beautifully on her plate, so colorful and so tasteful to the eyes. It made her excited to work behind-the-scenes of such seemingly gourmet food. She finished her food with 5 minutes to spare, then began work.

They quickly trained her in one area of the kitchen where they were lacking staff the most, and then left her be to began picking up on their cooking system for herself; as it was also where they placed their beginning kitchen workers. She felt good and confident about what she was doing- something made her sense that she was meant to be here.

She heard her stomach growl as she was preparing raw chicken to be made, a few hours within working. She thought of it as nothing; she hadn't eaten in possibly a few days- of course she was hungry, even after that wonderful meal. But suddenly it growled again, and this time she felt it in the pit of her stomach. She still tried to shake it off and kept trying to prepare the raw chicken. But only a few minutes later her vision began to blur slowly as she became more and more nauseous. She tried to balance herself, as someone in the station beside her asked if she was alright. In her attempt to nod, she staggered. "Someone get her help," she heard as she blurred out of consciousness.

****

"I am so sorry about yesterday. I don't know what overcame me," Amatha tried to explain to her boss. "Everything just started to fade as I felt piercing pain in my stomach. I won't let it happen again."

"How will you do that?" the boss questioned her. "Did you at least see a doctor?"

She couldn't even think about how expensive a doctor would cost. How could she ever afford one? But she didn't want to tell him that. "No. I was fine when I got home."

"Alright. Well, if you're well enough, we need you back in there today. Are you up for it?"

"Yes yes, most definitely," she assured him.

And into the kitchen she went. She felt hungry as she prepared the chicken, but simply forgot to get her meal before work that day. 

A few hours into her shift she took a break to use the restroom. After stepping out of the public restroom, she nearly bumped into a woman who looked wound up and ready to attack.
"Excuse me, do you work in this establishment?!" She enraged.

"Yes," the young girl responded.

"Well. I am certainly not here to buy any of your food today. I just came to say your food poisoned my child!!" She sternly pointed toward the kitchen and continued. "Whatever is coming out of there caused my child to black out. We were in the hospital all night!! And guess what the doctors diagnosed?"

The young girl stood silently, mouth slightly open from shock.

"Food poisoning!" She shook her head as her face almost began to glisten with sweat from rage. "I don't know what you all are doing back there. But you better start thinking about what you're serving. My babies need food to live. If you serve this kind of rummage as food, how do you expect anyone to live fully?" She whipped herself to the door and slammed it behind her.

The young woman didn't know what to say at all. "...how do you expect anyone to live fully?" rung through her head. She began to look around at the guests surrounding her, trying to figure out what was in the food that was causing this to happen; making it apparent what caused her blacking out the previous day.

She watched a young family eat food she helped prepare. They said grace before their food and smiled in excitement of eating it. They all dug in, laughing over shared stories and comfort from the necessity of hunger being satisfied with food that not only looked good, and smelled good, but tasted good- so oblivious and ignorant to what they were possibly contaminating themselves with.

She couldn't believe it. She remembered the feeling of amazement as she studied her colorfully arrayed plate of food the previous day. How could food that looked, smelled, and tasted so delightful caused such pain, misery, and illness? 

She marched to the kitchen. Something wasn't right, and she had to get to the bottom of it.

****

The young woman tied up her hair in the restaurant bathroom while holding a bobby pin in her teeth. After quickly pinching them into her hair, she dashed to the kitchen where her coworker tossed her a hairnet.

"I'm surprised, Amatha-" her coworker chuckled, "-even after being promoted to manager for a year now, you still barely make it to work on time." 

"You think I'd learn by now," Amatha laughed along. 

"Well, at least you're good at everything else." She smiled and returned to the station Amatha had once started at preparing chicken. 

Amatha grinned and decided to help her new coworker at the station for beginners. She reflected on how far she had come since then- after giving out food poisoning and receiving food poisoning herself, Amatha went on to research and spend long nights seeing what could possibly being causing food that looked, smelled, and tasted so good to be causing such a terrible reaction. She eventually saw different elements happening such as cross-contamination and other various unsanitary practices occurring within the kitchen. After bringing these to the attention of her boss, new safety and cleanliness rules as well as cooking practices were established. And when this happened, the restaurant buzzed with new customers; even though nothing was revealed about the uncleanliness of the kitchen previously to the public. They just seemed to appear and keep appearing. Her boss eventually promoted her and glorified her for taking action to bring the customers the best quality food she could to the table-to make the food looking, smelling, and tasting good- but all as a result of actually being good, not just because they were able to make it seem so within the kitchen.

Amatha smiled as she walked through dining room feeling purpose- to bring something into these people's lives that was more than just nice looking, but was genuine; and gave them a necessity that was vital to life. Amatha went on to become a personal cook for the royal members of the governing kingdom of Sunnzar.

***

How can we serve others and give God's love and word in a way that is completely genuine, not just making ourselves look like good people or act like our lives are perfect- but living in joy, comfort, and complete confidence as a result of what God has done for us? It's okay to have brokenness in our lives. It's okay to be imperfect and to mess up everyday. God still loves us. I think God would rather us live messy looking lives while in a relationship with Him then living a life that looks perfect but is actually fake and lacking what is vital for us to live- God. Like the food previously cooked in the story, if we allow our lives to be masked by images that we are fine and that nothing is wrong- we will only poison ourselves. But if we live genuinely for the Lord, and genuinely serve others and genuinely interpret and live out His word- we will be filled with what is necessary to live, like food is necessary for us to live- God's love.

And a special thanks to a coworker of mine from work who provided a different version of the metaphor for this story!

The Freedom Massacre

My pen dropped on the floor while I was sketching a pair of eyes in my history notes. I was bored out of my mind, disciplining myself to not look at the clock unless I wanted to be seriously disappointed. It was my last class of the day, and we were taking notes. It doesn't entail very much, I just had to endure this last half hour and then I'd be hurrying out to the parking lot to beat the rush hour traffic.

I picked up my pen and glanced at the overhead. There were some strange pictures my professor placed in the powerpoint that didn't really make sense to me; maybe because I wasn't paying much attention anyway. It was some kind of propaganda for the rights of a people group I've never really heard of that went along with the lesson plan.

This was one of the pictures shown. I was so confused... we were learning about "the Banana Massacre," but I was completely tuned out when we were so I really didn't know what it was about or why it was controversial (to be honest I still don't...).

After explaining the "contradictory" pictures (which I still didn't understand), professor turned to us and posed the question: "Do any of you have any thoughts on the matter?"

I heard a pin drop in the echoing silence of everyone not caring (or not understanding... like me).

Her expression evolved into one of disappointment as she shook her head. "I can't believe it. None of you have anything to say?"

Silence.

"Do you understand," she started, as she crossed her arms and gawked at us in amazement, "that there are people who died, so you could freely speak your mind. People died so you could openly voice your opinion, so you could freely express what you're thinking." She threw her head and hands up as if she were motioning to God asking Him why He allowed our generation to get this way.

And after she gave a mini-lecture on how the technology of this era is frying our brains to numbness of individual and unique thought processes, she boldly asked a question but secretly mapped a challenge in front of us.

"What are you going to do with your freedom that they died for you to have?"

~~~

That question stuck with me, and I actually ended up writing it down in my notes. We have so much amazing freedom that people have struggled beyond our understanding to have. People have endured hell on earth so I could freely use God-given words to express how I feel about our government, about our generation, about the world; and not be afraid of anyone coming after me for any opinions I have.

And somewhere between driving home letting my worship-mix cd narrate my thoughts in my car and hearing and taking in what my pastor was teaching on, I realized something I should have realized this past Easter Sunday- actually, I should have realized it a very long time before that.

Jesus died so I could be free from my sins. Jesus died so that I don't have to worry about the weight of my own mistakes, the weight of guilt, and the weight that human brokenness places on my shoulders and heart. Jesus died because he loves me. Jesus died because He loves you.

He died for me. And what have I done with it? Jesus has graced me with freedom and confidence to live in love. What am I going to do with this information, this invitation, this grace, this opportunity? Love should compel people to action. If God is love, and we take time to think and meditate on what He has done for us everyday; what are we going to do? God has given us His own power through His son. We have the power to call on His name, to present our requests to Him, to cast away evil and fear. What are we going to do with what Jesus has died for us over and with what God has empowered us with and called us to?

If we are all students, and Jesus is our teacher; I don't want to just hear what He says and become distracted with doodling pictures of things other than Him, watching the clock tick in anticipation for Heaven; and then looking back up at His teachings and not understand or care. Jesus gives us a classroom to learn about Him and His love. I want to be the best student I can be.

But the best part of all is, Jesus calls us more than students. He calls us friends. He calls us His children.

John 15:15b "Instead, I (Jesus) have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you."

Don't Love Later, read this Love Letter.

The Bible to me has almost become homework. There, I admit it. I feel like it's homework that I keep putting off, again and again. And many of you have probably been in that small group where someone's pray requests rings, "my prayer request is that I need to read my Bible more." My college youth pastor is someone I really look up to, and is a man whose often has these really profound quotes that are so full of meaning yet are so simple. One thing I will always remember him saying is... that's not really a prayer request. If you need to read your Bible more, then do it. Not in a harsh way at all, maybe You need prayer for motivation to read your Bible more. But I just don't know what God thinks when we ask Him for motivation to read it, as if it's not entertaining enough. And again, I hope this doesn't come across as harsh or judgmental. I only say these things because, I do this all the time!
I'm that Christian who doesn't make time to read my Bible. I hate that it's true, and I am ready to make a change. I feel this way especially having a great conversation with my friend Audrey today. I went to my favorite coffee shop with the purpose of doing homework. And for an amount of time, I was the only one there. Then Audrey walked in, and unplanned we talked for hours. Our conversation about how important God's word is, and how granted we all take it, made me realize something.

When you go to school to get educated, the teachers are not there for their own benefit. If they are, they are doing it wrong. Teachers teach others. Often teachers will add, "I took the time and unpaid effort to grade your papers and to write what you did wrong and need to improve on, not for my own benefit. So don't take those markings for granted." And after our conversation, I realized... God didn't make the Bible for his pleasure. For His benefit. For His gain. If you think about it, God doesn't need the Bible. God knows everything in it, and around it, and everything in general. God solely formed the Bible through others for our benefit. For our purpose. For us.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know I'm not alone in often shrugging off the Bible for reading it another time, and for putting it off at the bottom of my mental to-do list. But God gave this special gift to me, to us. It's not homework we have to turn in. It's not business papers we need to read because our job titles are "Christian". It's a lifestyle. It's life, itself. It's love. It's vital.

A sidenote: This blog has immensely blessed me and allowed me to confess my thousands of shortcomings, and make the most out of them. I think God challenges us to do that constantly, and confess to others our shortcomings as well. Thank you for being a part of my healing process as a reader of this post/blog :)

The Difference

Infatuation is unreal
Infatuation lasts for a moment
Infatuation lies to you
And tells you you're in love

Infatuation starts by manipulating
Your heart and then your mind
Infatuation makes you think
A spark is just enough

Infatuation is an interest
We believe is love
Infatuation intercedes
And makes you feel blinded

Love is strong, love is true
Love hangs on through pain
Love remains and then love guides
When the road is winded

Love gives you hope and permanent laughter
Love has no inch of doubt
Love drenches every part of who you are
Even beyond your mind and heart

Now I know these things are certainly true
But when I see them in direct contact
I panic, I worry, I tear my hair out
Because Icant seem to tell them apart

A King's Hiding Place

He didn't think anyone would find out about what he did. He figured, it would be our little secret. Just between me and her. But he could still feel a cold breeze over his shoulder... someone, or something, was watching him when he did it. When he committed the action, and then the next action that followed. When he took that first glance, that was so much more than just a glance... it was just a look, no big deal. At least that was what he thought to himself.

All I did was look, and try to erase the evidence. But now with the news she brought forth, it was impossible. He shivered at the thought of what the future held. Just a glance. That was all...

There was a knock, knock at the door. He almost jumped, he was so deep in thought- like listening to music being interrupted by a loud clang. "Yes, who goes there?" he hesitantly replied.

"Sir Nathan, my lord," his doorman replied.

"Nathan...?" he replied.

"He says he has an urgent story to tell you."

He had no idea the spectrum of good or bad the story could bring, but he had to find out. "Let him in," he called out.

The giant door perched open, and Nathan walked in, a disappointed look on his face- more frustrated than saddened. "Hello King," Nathan greeted.

"Hello. What is this story I hear you have for me?"

Nathan sighed and corrected him. "It's much more than just a story.

"You see, there was a rich man and a poor man. The rich man had many animals, sheep and cattle. The poor man had one small lamb he was only able to buy on pure luck. This lamb grew up with the poor man's children, and he held this lamb in his arms like his own daughter. The rich man invited a traveler over for dinner, and prepared the poor man's little sheep instead of one of his many animals. He took the poor man's only property to his name, when he all as much sheep and cattle to last him his life."

The king was enraged. His heart beat fast with anger. He felt revenge heating the tips of his fingers. "Who is this man you speak of?! Where is he?!" He almost completely forgot about the guilt he was attempting to resolve before Nathan walked in.

That was, until Nathan replied:

"King, the rich man is in this very room." Nathan huffed and his face tightened. "You are he."

The king threw himself out of his chair. "What are these false claims you make!? Lying is forbidden in my kingdom and in the eyes of the Lord, especially to your king! What do you have to say for yourself?"


"My lord, listen. You are the rich man. You have a beautiful kingdom, and anything you'd like at the snap of your fingers. Everything is yours. But the one thing that wasn't fully yours, the one thing that Uriah could call his own. You had to take it away. You had to let your eyes dwell on the one thing that was his. You had to call upon his wife, to be yours. And then, to make matters worse, you had the negligence to attempt to erase the evidence. And when that didn't work, you decided to erase the person the evidence mattered to the most. You erased Uriah.

Well, you can't erase the Lord's will or consequences on you for what you've done. You killed Uriah with a sword. And now, the sword will never depart from your house- it will never leave your sight."

Tears blurred the king's vision as rapid thoughts blurred the king's focus. His heart beat at the pace his thoughts were circulating. What had he done?

"I have sinned against the Lord," the king choked.

_____________________________________________________

The king had been hunched over in the same position from the time Nathan had left. He couldn't believe he had been discovered.

Then he thought to himself, of course he had been. That chill he had felt over his shoulder wasn't anyone physically watching him. And it wasn't Nathan telling him this parable which he lived as reality. God was speaking, Himself, through this things.

His face buried in his hands. He could already feel the burden of the pain of his consequences he was to face. He realized he committed so many sins at once- theft, murder, deception. How could the Lord ever forgive him? He had to ask. But in a sense, he already knew the answer.

The king was very special in how he prayed, though. He often felt God in strumming his harp and found God by wording his heart into lines of poetry. He had to ask in this same way.

He didn't want a scribe to write this for him. This was between him and God only this time. He searched around for the nearest writing utensil, and the cleanest thing to write on. And he began.

"1 

Have mercy on me, O God,
    according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
    blot out my transgressions.
2 Wash away all my iniquity
    and cleanse me from my sin.

3 For I know my transgressions,
    and my sin is always before me.
4 Against you, you only, have I sinned
    and done what is evil in your sight;
so you are right in your verdict
    and justified when you judge.
5 Surely I was sinful at birth,
    sinful from the time my mother conceived me.
6 Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb;
    you taught me wisdom in that secret place.

7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
    wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
8 Let me hear joy and gladness;
    let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
9 Hide your face from my sins
    and blot out all my iniquity.

10 Create in me a pure heart, O God,
    and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
11 Do not cast me from your presence
    or take your Holy Spirit from me.
12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation
    and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

13 Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
    so that sinners will turn back to you.
14 Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God,
    you who are God my Savior,
    and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
15 Open my lips, Lord,
    and my mouth will declare your praise.
16 You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
    you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
17 My sacrifice, O God, is[b] a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart
    you, God, will not despise.

18 May it please you to prosper Zion,
    to build up the walls of Jerusalem.
19 Then you will delight in the sacrifices of the righteous,
    in burnt offerings offered whole;
    then bulls will be offered on your altar."

And at the bottom he wrote,

A Psalm of David. 

TO himself he thought,

"A prayer, question, light of hope beyond the walls of guilt and misery... of David"

Biblical references: 2 Samuel 12, Psalm 51

Here's to the Memories

I found the letter that you never read
The birthday card you never signed
The laughter, hope, friendship, GOOD
all of those that you left behind

The approval that I never felt
The efforts that you didn't see
The cold stares that would never melt
The heart that you once gave to me

Opinions that would never match
The relationship that never became
Yet somehow I can't dis-attach
Yet somehow I'm the one to blame

I feel shut down, closed off, when you're near
Yet I just can't seem to stay away
I'll let you speak your views oh dear
But of course mine are just child's play

I am too innocent, don't know as much
Praise to your dear wisdom and knowledge, right?
Then tell me, even though I feel closed off by you
why I have cared about you for 5 years tonight?

And why is it that my attempts now
Are about as bullet proof as I am to your gun?
I guess you're more appealing than me,
I guess you just seem more fun

My whole heart is entangled for you all.
I love you with a love I can't explain.
I sit here and get beaten for being myself,
and still this love I can't contain.

Maybe it's time to close up shop.
Maybe it's time I move out of town.
Hope on a plane, out of state of of mind
Find new stars to watch and be around.

So I still haven't told you where all these things are
That never happened, that you never did.
I have to admit, it was hard to see them
It's a pretty dark place, where they all hid.

But once I held them to the light,
and saw what worth and value they were-
I saw there wasn't any, not to my heart-
I saw it was time to mature.

What I value and need is love and encouragement,
which I understand everyone gives in different ways.
But I need to know and believe in our love
and I need to know it for all my days.

There are people out there who really love me
people who really do care
I would like to think you're all in that same group
But if I'm not sure, than I won't dare.

i KNOW you do. I really do.
I guess it can often be blurred
By the constant shutdowns and shoos and more
I'm surprised this heart has endured...

I am grateful for you, and you and you
and I will always love you so.
But unless I FEEL love come this way
I don't think our friendships will grow.

Please call me if you want to hang out.
Please write, or talk, or respond.
I'll be on a boat, sailing afloat
My God-blessed friendships pond.

It's a beautiful place where I feel very loved
by friends who encourage and engage.
I never feel undermined, unwanted, or such;
I never feel pushed or enraged.

God has your heart, and He has mine.
I always pray the best for you all.
I love you all with my entire heart.
If you ever want a piece of it, just call.