Kudos to the Blue Team for getting things going.  Off to Shocco tomorrow and Destin on Tuesday for SL @ the Beach.

It’s weird to have your life revolve around youth events.

I’m tired.

Here’s a Spoke Word thing I wrote for camp this year.  I’m still trying to decide whether or not I’m going to compete in the Southern Fried Poetry Slam in a week and a half.

Enjoy.  Or don’t.  Whatever.

Woman of No Distinction

I’m a woman of no distinction
Of little importance
A woman with no reputation
Save that which is bad
You whisper as I pass by
And cast judgmental glances
Though you don’t take the time to really look at me
Or even get to know me

For to be known is to be loved
And to be loved is to be known

Otherwise, what’s the point in doing either of them
In the first place

I want to be known
I want someone to look at my face
And not just see two eyes
A nose, a mouth and two ears
But to see all that I am and could be
To see my joys, loves, and fears
But that’s too much to hope for
To wish for or to pray for
So, I don’t
Not anymore

Now I keep to myself
By that I mean the pain
That keeps me in my own private jail
The pain that’s brought me here
At midday to this well

To ask for a drink is no big request
But to ask it of me
A woman unclean, ashamed, used and abused
An outcast, a failure, a disappointment
A Sinner
No drink passing from these hands
To your lips could ever be refreshing
Only condemning
As I’m sure you condemn me now

But

You

Don’t

You’re a man of no distinction
Though of the utmost importance
A man with little reputation
At least so far
You whisper and tell me to my face
What all those glances have been about
And you take the time to really look at me
But don’t need to get to know me

For to be known is to be loved
And to be loved is to be known

And you know me
You actually know me
All of me
And everything about me
Every thought inside and hair on top of my head
Every hurt stored up, every hope, every dread
My past and my future, all I am and could be
You tell me everything, You tell me about me
And that which spoken by another
Would mean hate and condemnation
Coming from you brings love
Grace, mercy, hope and salvation
I’ve heard of one to come
Who would save a wretch like me
And here in my presence you say
“I am he”

To be known is to be loved
And to be loved is to be known

And I just met you
But I love you
I don’t know you
But I want to get to

Let me run back to town
Because this is way too much for just me
There are others, sisters and brothers
Lovers and haters
The good and the bad
Sinners and Saints
Who should hear what you’ve told me
Who should see what you’ve shown me
Who should taste what you gave me
Who should feel how you forgave me

For to be known is to be loved
And to be loved is to be known

And they all need this too
We all do
Need it for our own

I started a post but erased it.  I’m about to vomit here.  Literally and metaphorically (or figuratively).

I hurt.  Right now.  This instant.  I can feel it in my chest.  It’s not really physical pain.  Perhaps emotional.  But I do feel it.  Like I can reach into my chest and grip the hurt and tear it out.  Actually, hurt is probably the wrong word.  It’s emptiness.  Nothingness.  How do you feel nothing?  I don’t know.  But I do.  And I’ll tell you this, nothing isn’t nothing.  It’s something.  And it hurts.  Maybe it’s lack of sleep.  Maybe it’s stress.  Maybe.  But many of you have that same stuff.  So what?  So why?  Why?  Why feel hurt?  Why feel restless?  I’m not being vague for any reason.  If there was some specific thing to tell you about, I would.  But there’s not.  I’m sad.  Kinda.  No real reason.  I want to crawl in my bed with my dog and listen to rain outside while pulling the covers up to my chin to shield me from the breeze from my fan.  I want to have a deep conversation with my friends that doesn’t involve work.  I want to be a good husband for Liza and be the father she wants me to be for the children she wants us to have but that she thinks I’m reluctant to.  I want to be okay with the realization that there are people in my life who are going to meet other people and move on and I’ll probably never talk to again.  Actually, that kind of stuff has rarely bothered me.  I realize that I’ve been a person that moves on pretty well from things.  But now… now I’m not so sure.  I’ve been real nostalgic lately (which if you study generations is becoming an increasing phenomenon for the young because of the immediacy of life and information, but that’s for another time).  It’s amazing, the direction your life takes.  The way little tiny decisions affect increasingly bigger decisions that affect the entire direction of your life and that in the midst of it all God is sovereign and in control and directing the whole thing.  “What is man that you are mindful of him?  The son of man that you care for him?”  I’m in love.  I am.  I’m in love with you, and if you think that “you” refers actually to you, then it does.  I love you.  All of you.  I do.  And it’s weird.  As I’ve often discussed that word doesn’t carry with it enough meaning.  I need many words to express to the many individuals what that phrase actually means.  How unifying and polarizing it can be all the same instance.  Healing and hurting.  A few years ago I was at Windermere Conference Center and I asked God to show me more of His love.  I was feeling pretty depressed at the time (if you can’t tell, that’s a constant struggle/battle for me) and honestly prayed that for my own benefit.  What happened was very unusual.  Instead of God doing something to me, loving me, He directed my attention elsewhere.  I saw someone on the back row.  A man.  In his forties.  Fat.  Insecure (you could tell).  He had on a fishing hat, sitting amongst trendy teenagers.  And in that moment, I loved him.  I had no reason to.  But I did.  I love him, extremely, deeply, honestly, truly.  It changed me.  It changed how I feel now.  About you.  All of you.  And it’s made it worse, because that kind of love, agape kind of love, can hurt like hell.  I think that’s why He showed me that.  He loves us so much it hurts like hell.  Literally.  That’s what He endured, after all.  Hell.  I feel a little lightheaded.  Maybe I should eat something.  Or drink some water.  I know I don’t drink enough water.  At any rate, I’m here now.  Thinking.  Hurting.  Loving.  And I miss you.  All of you.  Because you’re not here with me.  Even those of you here right now, literally, as I write this, aren’t really here.  And it’s my fault.  I know that.  I don’t let you be here, here with me.  But I love you and thank you for loving me.  I’m just in a mood.  I don’t think it’s bad, but it’s certainly not good.  And I should expand my vocabulary.  I repeat words and phrases too much.  If I ran away, where would I go?  Home, probably.  Home.  It’s weird.  And it’s vague.  And it doesn’t matter to you.  “It may look to you like nothing much to see, but you should see the way it feels to me.”  The past is a crappy place to dwell and the future is always too far away.  But is the present ever enough?  Should it be?  What if?  “What if” is a horrible question?  It’s paralyzing.  As much as trying to “figure out” God’s will.  Except there’s always fear with “what if.”  Fear or expectation.  And often the two of those shouldn’t be mutually exclusive.  I’m feeling lightheaded again and I’m tired.  I’m just tired.  And I want to go home.  So…

I will.  And I do.

You.

All of you…

Obviously need to update.  Things are crazy.  Life is chaos.  I’m just trying to hold on.  Don’t feel ready for everything that’s happening.  Don’t feel ready for a lot of things.  Blah blah blah.  Vague vague vague.  Thbbbbbbbt!

Production staffs begin arriving today.  Exciting and frightening at the same time.  I’m about to send my child off to kindergarten where she’s going to be ridiculed and tested and examined and beaten up and changed and is going to grow and sing and soar and live her life beyond what I planned for her.  (All this is figurative, by the way, I don’t really have a child)

Went to the Compassion International headquarters last week.  It’s become cliche around here for people to go to something having to do with Compassion and come back talking about how they’re the real deal and being all fired up about their work and ministry and such.  Call me cliche.  Here’s a picture of Luis, the Ecuadorian boy Liza and I sponsor.

He likes to play with cars.  I thought about taking a picture of my collection of Volkswagen paraphanelia and sending it to him.  But then I thought that might seem like bragging.  “Look at all the cool toy cars I have!  Nah nah naboo boo!”  I think I’ll just get him a toy Volkswagen for a gift.

So, what’s going on with me?

Wouldn’t you like to know.

Yeah yeah yeah.  Blah blah blah.  Vague vague vague.  Thbbbbbbt!!