Journeys of a Wandering Wordsmith
Journey with me on my blog!
Journey of No Distractions: An Intro to BiGTRiP V
This year for BiGTRiP V, I flew to Las Vegas to rent a car and drive all over Utah and eastern Nevada to visit six national parks — a new personal record for park visits in such a span of time. I booked this trip several months ago without giving much thought to some logistics – namely, that mid-August temperatures in this region would top out at 105 Fahrenheit. Oops. No matter, I reassured myself; I'd just treat this year's BiGTRiP as a literal wilderness journey. This year, more than any other, I would escape to the undistracted wilderness and return to civilization a different man.
The Cost of New Creation (2024 Will Hurt)
Sometimes we speak things out, and they become true. Like we're wizards spinning magic into this world; our wands as our pens and mouths, created by a Creator with the same capacity to write and speak and do. Create. And then other times we declare bold things for our stories that do not come true. These goals, these new stories, these fuller versions of ourselves – well, they don't form as we hoped, if even they form at all.
The Year I Don't Wanna Look Back On (Again)
I don't want to look back on this year. Who would? This year was awful. This year made no sense. Much like its evil stepsister year before, this year isn't one I want to relive. Like, ever. And yet we are doomed to repeat history if we do not learn from it. It's true of societies, and it's true of individuals. As much as I want to forget most of 2021, I also want to learn from 2021 – desperately. The missteps. The failures. The doom. The gloom. What a tragedy for me – for you, for all of us – to enter 2022 or 2023 or 2087 and not learn a thing from 2021.
2021: Wasted
I look back on this year and can't help but feel the wince of apparent wasted time. The lethargy of a lingering pandemic, the apathy of my creative soul, and the heavy, sometimes brutal work of ministry. Of holding less and less tightly to relationships – even if it means letting some go. My 34 years of life feels increasingly like a bell curve. Isolation and worthlessness filling the lowly cracks of my adolescence; a rising wave of optimism for my twenties, filled with new friends and adventures aplenty; and a steady decline of ambition into my mid-thirties.
Older Than Jesus
Growing up, Jesus always seemed so much older than me. Not like eighty or ninety or a hundred "old," but when you're only eight or nine, thirty years old feels a hundred years away. But now to have lived the ages of 30 to 33, I have a new perspective on the life of Jesus. Turns out he was way younger – and way stronger – than I'd thought. I've had a tumultuous three years; perhaps the most shaping three years of my life. Again, as a storyteller, I can't help drawing parallels with Jesus' thirties.
5 Years With a Blue Ridge Home
Come whimsy or mayhem, for five years running the road keeps leading me back here to the Blue Ridge. However many nights I've actually slept in a bedroom here, it is indeed starting to feel something like home. I stared at the hills the other day and prayed, "God, please don't let it ever grow old."
To Watch the Storms of My Sadness
Gluggavedur, "window-weather," is the notion of watching a storm from afar. Of being safely indoors, warm and secure, while the storm brews on the horizon. Lightning, swirling clouds, and rain – all seen through a pane of glass. The concept can be taken metaphorically, too, to separate yourself from your swirling emotions within. Of creating a space between you and the storms: sadness, anger, stress, fear, etc. Of not ignoring these hard feelings, but being aware of them, watching them from the other side of the glass...until they eventually pass.
I (Still) Love You, Camp Ridgecrest
I'm only twenty miles away from Camp Ridgecrest, but it might as well be twenty dimensions. A bunch of foggy memories along with a million unformed, never-to-be ones. It's a fog I can't shake, follows my footsteps within and beyond the Blue Ridge. Am I crazy? Obsessed? Why does a camp have such a grip on me after all these years? It was one summer. One effing brutal beautiful summer. Why do I feel so much? Why do I hurt with a longing for what was and what wasn't? And why do a bunch of entitled white southern Gen X Christian moms rake me to the core?
What Will I Have Done This Year?
Instead of saying, "What do I want to do this year?" try saying, "What will I have done this year?" It's a productivity tip I learned from Donald Miller, and I've never been more eager to implement this subtle mental tweak for 2021.
Prodigal Father
The plot twist of the book is Nouwen's charge that we aren't merely to identify with the lost younger son or the lost older son. But we are to identify with the founding father. Becoming more like him as we walk this road. We are to be ones who create home for other people. Ones who keep them safe and warm. Ones who always welcome them in. Even – especially – after they leave.
Am I Worthy of Your Giving?
Am I really worth your hard-earned dollars? Am I worth your kindness? You say I am, but am I really? I don't want to waste my money – your money. I don't want to buy things I don't "need." But I also "need" some amount of pleasure and joy. Can I buy a milkshake with your money? What about a new lamp for my studio? I want to make you proud of my journey, however much you've contributed to it. I want to be worthy of every cent.
This Monster Needs to Die
"The Social Dilemma" has some cheesy, dramatic elements to it, sure. A little overkill at times. But I do recommend everyone see the film. After watching it, I don't necessarily want to delete all my social media accounts, as I do view social media as part of my "job," so to speak. However, I do significantly want to change my approach to social media: how much I use it, when I use it, etc. Especially in relation to my "real-life" relationships without screens attached.
'Twas the Night Before Treatment
Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I set out on a new quest. A new quest within an already new journey of the last couple months – this unforeseen journey with an autoimmune disease. Tomorrow begins this new quest for healing and recovery. Remission. Or so I hope.
Teach Me How to Live
Of course, I want to travel again one day, set loose to wander once more. I want it badly. But for now, I do have this strange desire to be settled. To stay home and enjoy safety and solitude. And I don't necessarily feel relegated to this reality, forced into it against my wandering will. For all this restless angst I've had since childhood, perhaps I'm finally stumbling onto the cure?
A Time to Refrain from Embracing
Looking down at my precious niece in my arms, I realized it's really something, how we need physical touch to survive. Need to be swaddled. Need to be held. Need to feel the warmth of another human emanating against us, if only to affirm to one another we are not alone in this desert. To embrace for my soul or not to embrace for my body? Life with an autoimmune disease during the pandemic of the century: one calculated risk after another.
I Am Not in Control
I have control issues. I have known this about myself for a little while now. Counseling has helped me see it more clearly, though I feel I've known this for many years prior. I don't like being at the mercy of my circumstances. Especially the mercy of another human.
Give Us Tomorrow's Barabbas
Our entire lives we have wanted to be more present. And now that we've been given nothing but buckets upon buckets of the present, we are kicking away the pails and saying, "Give us back our precious longings." The savior we have anticipated through countless yesterdays is finally here in our midst, and we cry for Barabbas.
Thank You for Being Brave
I'm writing this blog from home. And I never blog from home. Like ever. I have no other choice. Nothing is open. No late-night coffee shops and no early-night coffee shops either, for that matter. Coronavirus has violently disrupted every facet of normalcy. Society's. My own. Normal Monday evenings aren't normal Monday evenings anymore. And for God only knows how much longer.
Broken Belonging
Looking back on the last 16 years, I see that "takes too much effort" excuse as an easy out. Digging deeper, I see something else blocking my pursuit of church membership: my self-worth. Surprise, surprise; it's my single biggest struggle. Am I worthy of church membership? What do I even have to offer the church?
Mortality
It's there in my consciousness, a shadow sitting in the corner, unmoving. My mortality. Just . . . there. I will die one day, and this is how it's always been ordained. This is nothing new. Why has it taken me 30+ years to realize this – really realize this? More than ever, I want to make every moment matter. I want to live every day I've been given to live. It's such a crime for anyone to stay settled and never venture out. I cannot bear the thought for myself.