longing
[Brief summary of week: I've been an unlikely drummer in jams on jazz standards, Billy Cobham, and Frank Zappa tunes with some killer players, written more poetry, performed poetry, interviewed, applied, heard cello playing that reminded me of how I feel sometimes about our future with God in heaven, and also done the more 'normal' but wonderful things that I tend to take for granted, like cooking.]
“All my longings lie open before you, O Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you.” Psalm 38:9
David writes this feeling the weight of sin and worldly opposition to/misunderstanding of him. Though whatever afflictions I have experienced seem to pale in comparison to those David underwent, as I drank possibly the most wonderful apple cider my mouth has known this evening in our basement, this verse was the resonance of my heart.
What is it to long? Not to want, or think would be cool, or take interest in, or even be “totally down” with…those words are not enough. My heart is longing. Longing for God; for more; for truer, purer love; for magnificence; for the heart-thumping rivers of life patiently waiting in God’s storehouses for those He loves.
Despite what my fervor for mathematics and logic might cause people to assume, I have known myself to be a romantic at times, making the question at hand something I might address more often than some. (or maybe not, I don’t know. I’m only seeing life to the detail I see it from my perspective from my perspective. Limited data leads to shortsighted conclusions…correct me if I’m wrong…right…moving on…) For whatever reason (I say whatever reason, but really, I believe this is God’s plan for us), each new place of fulfillment leads its brother of desire for the ‘immeasurably more’ (paraphrase of an Ale James quote). It’s there. Immeasurably more, that is. God is immeasurably more.
Living more as the person God has made me to be, in the place he has prepared me to live in for this period of time, has been incredible, without a doubt, like organic Washington apple cider from a new friend. But tonight, my grateful mouth and I are up dreaming about orchards in valleys where the rivers run hot. We are longing.
“Truth seems like a table.”
In 1974, Tower of Power released an album called Urban Renewal, which had a groove-tastic song on it called “Only So Much Oil In The Ground”. One stanza reads as follows:
“There’s only so much oil in the ground
Sooner or later there won’t be none around
Alternate sources of power must be found
Cause there’s only so much oil in the ground”
I’m surprised we haven’t seen McCain or Obama throwing this down over the undeniable, face-melting grooves of drummer David Bartlett and bassist Francis Rocco Prestia during their campaigns. Anyway…
The whole non-employment thing is starting to hurt a little more. I know that among other things, God is teaching me to rely on Him, but it is not easy. He has provided healthy, affordable food through Trader Joe’s, wonderful Christian community in my roommates, and avenues to use the God-given gifts of poetry and music. However, without a rhythm or consistency in my day that includes work, it becomes difficult to know how much time I can be devoting to certain activities. The self-imposed schedule is developing, and I know I want to ideally be involved in education, so I am taking steps toward that. Grad school applications, job application, standardized test taking, studying, applying for jobs, applying for jobs, writing, reading, and spending time with people have all been things I do, and do a lot even, but it still feels like I’m running in a hamster cage. While missing some of the essentials, it’s hard to see the non-essentials as worth the time, though it could be that God is giving me this time to invest in those things, providing just enough subbing, etc. to give me what I need, allowing me to not be not bogged down by an 8-9 hour/day schedule. Questions, questions. If you could pray that I’d get a teaching job at the Northwest School next month, I would greatly appreciate it. Secretly, or I guess not so secretly, this is what I hope God has in his reserves.
On a more positive note, I started a Spoken Word writing/performance class on Saturday with Daemond Arrindell, educator and ‘Slam-master’ of the Seattle Poetry Slam. He had a lot of encouraging and constructively critical things to say. It’s so awesome getting feedback from the guy that’s coached the last 5 Seattle National Teams, two of which had National Champions on them. Looking forward to more of that, for sure. The title of this post was a free-writing practice prompt we had. A side note about free writing: much like freestyle rapping, the words that end up being produced are a truer reflection of what is actually going on in your mind at the subconscious level, without the analytical part of your brain a.k.a. moral P.C. filter kicking in. It’s difficult looking at what I’m actually the quickest to say or write, like taking liquid Robitussin, or smelling mold. Praise the Lord for His grace. That’s all I’ll say about that.
I miss you Denton dwellers. It’s alright almost all the time, I mean, it needs to be stated that God’s given me awesome friends up here, but recent phone conversations have gotten me, and it’s no fun to get got. It seems natural that we could end it with “hey wanna go to Waffle House later?” and meet up around 11 for waffles and hash browns, but I know that it will not be. I don’t even think Waffle House has any stores up here. Nope, checked the website, they don’t. I suppose that’s best for the collective Northwest’s health’s sake.
Recent happenings:
1. Saw friends Kim and Blake. Blake, Kim, and I went to high school together. Blake then went to UNT and now lives in Portland. Kim was visiting for the weekend. It was a grand time.
2. Hiking in the Cascades on a beautiful sunny day.
(that’s Puget Sound in the distance)
3. Getting involved with church music ministry. Super rad.
4. Roommate tennis-court dodge ball after a day of rain.
5. The random run-ins with people I know around the city have begun. They make it feel a little more like home.
Truth seems like a table
People sewing their holy books into table cloths to cover it,
spilling their juices and ales on it,
resting their feet.
I slept on a table last night
It was the best sleep I’ve had since my post-op hospital beds
the gentle warmth of grace and sedatives loosing their hold
Tables have four legs, like sheep and lions
but those are always going places
My father built the first table we ever had at home.
Over time it became worn, broken, and chipped, but it was still there
like truth
Peace in Christ and Christ alone,
Steven
