Unfortunately, in modern times, it seems that ignorance prevails. Not because it is right, but because it is louder and immeasurably more proud.

Tuesday, January 19 2010

- 11:00 -

I was on some sort of trip/retreat with RUF. The group going was pretty small — maybe just seven or eight of us. And I’m not sure what town we were in, but at the time the dream started it was sunset, and the building around us seemed to glow orange with the light.

Anyway, I’m not sure what we were doing there other than walking the streets (Kevin, the group leader, wasn’t with us) but we ran into Steph Jones walking around. I went up and gave her a hug and explained that I was there with a church group. She cracked some of her usual Christian jokes that made me laugh and probably offended some of the group members. We talked for a while and finally she told me that she had her own brand of church that she attended. I asked her about it, and she said that just a few of her friends would get together occasionally and talk about God. That, in fact, was where she was headed when she ran into us. One of the RUF guys asked if we could come with her — she said “sure,” and I started to feel a bit uncomfortable (I was sure they all thought Steph’s group was a perfect evangelism opportunity). But we went anyway.

Steph said they usually met at the local high school, in the theater. Today, however, the theater was in use and her group (about six or seven people as well) decided to meet in a lounge/storage room behind the stage. There was one couch, which all the RUF members sat along, and Steph and her group sat on the floor opposite. The space was fairly crowded — a large portable television on a metal rack stood between our two groups, making it rather hard to see each other. The room had a single dusty light bulb, which gave the room a very relaxing air or a sort of horror movie feel depending on how you looked at it.

They started with Steph taking out some notes about who that had agreed God might be — their “creed” if you will. They decided to read it off to us, and I thought that very daring of them considering they were in a room full of evangelistic Christians ready to tear their whole theology apart. Anyway, the list had your normal list of pretty standard Theistic/Weak Agnostic phrases — “If there was a God, I think he would be good,” etc. In other words, it was a list of phrases that, for Steph’s group, defined God in very broad, pluralistic terms — terms that served Christianity, and would also serve the gods of many other religions as well.

As soon as they were finished, a girl (I think maybe Mary Lauren or Rebekah) said, “I like your list, but it doesn’t seem to include all the fun little details about God.”

As I heard that squeaky can opener take to the worm can, I began to think desperately of ways to change the subject. Steph’s group seemed anxious to keep discussing the subject, though, so I waited. They talked back and forth about the degree and ways in which we can or cannot know God. Mostly what it boiled down to was this — RUF said that the Bible was proof of God’s relationship to man, and that that relationship was a very intimate one. Steph’s group said that they thought an intimate relationship with God would be a very cool thing, but that there was no objective evidence to prove such a thing. Eventually, they really just reached a stalemate that left everyone feeling sort of awkward and judged. I was just about to open my mouth to change the subject when something awesome happened (and is the reason I decided to post this dream).

A guy in RUF (it might have been Brandon) proposed that we rap about it. Since we had come to a place where we really didn’t feel safe to share how we felt about the argument, he thought we should try to share it in song. (Now, obviously this would never work in the real world, but in Blake’s dream land, it was phenomenal). Donny had his box and started this slow waltz beat, which really didn’t seem conducive to rapping until a guy in Steph’s group just started freeflowing, saying something like, “Is it true/is it true/that I can know God like I can know you” and then all sorts of people broke in, not necessarily rapping — some singing little back up phrases that created a haunting back up track to whoever had taken on the main rapping. One girl from Steph’s group was shaking a can of rice she had found. It was completely amazing. Suddenly people from RUF were singing out doubts, people from Steph’s group were singing out thank-you’s, everyone was just expressing whatever emotion they could find within them that they had ever felt towards God — we were ALL on the same stage.

I remember not singing — just listening at first — for a long time. Finally, I remember just opening up and busting out, “One day/one day/one day/all our tears will wash away,” and then woke up.

Song Clippets

Just thought I’d share some bits and pieces of the songs I’ve been working on lately. I happen to be especially fond of them. Here are a few of my favorite hand-me-downs. (Side note — have I been a list freak lately or what?)

• “You said ‘Father please forgive them / they know not what they do.’ / But I knew good and well / I knew good and well / and drove deeper the nail.”
• “You wouldn’t hide ‘em / from your spouses. / You wouldn’t lock ‘em / out of your houses. / You wouldn’t forget ‘em / if they had a bit of your blood in ‘em.”
• “Maybe I’ve been racing the Red Queen. / Maybe I’ve been waging all my wars on entropy.”
• “Where there’s disaster / I don’t have the answer / but where there’s a mystery / there’s gotta be love.”
• “Living on a brushstroke / little part of the masterpiece / too small to notice / but loved enough to be… / complete.”
• “In a perfect world / you still got razor fences…”
• “There’s an old family graveyard / in the middle of the plains / where a newborn baby  had been laid / And now the parents lay on either side / both nestled in their graves / And the stone / in the middle / bears no name… / no, it never bore a name.”
• “Lord, when our hope is failing / it’s hard to show You some at all. / ‘Cause the higher that we build it up / the harder that it seems to fall.”

And the first couple verses to a hymn I’m working on –

“How sweet the name of Jesus Christ / though seldom speaks my tongue so fair. / How hard the Name flows from my lips sometimes / and so easily a lie. / How hard the Name flows from my lips sometimes!

How great the bond that’s been remade. / I now a holy friendship share! / And what friend delays to speak another’s name / through all pleasure and all pain? / What friend delays to speak another’s name?”

Resolutions

Welp . . . here’s an absolutely cliché post — my new year’s resolutions. I thought I’d do this simply for “digital retention,” as a good friend of mine puts it. From most important to least:

1. Finish editing and completely wrap up “A Walk Under Trees” (preferably early in the year). Look at a possible publisher?
2. Graduate college in the top ten percent of my class.
3. Come up with some solid plans for the real world.
4. Form some lasting, meaningful friendships in Nashville.
5. Record another full-length album.
6. Become more outgoing and involved in both school and church activities/communities.
7. Get a passport.
8. Travel outside the country.
9. Find a nice rental house close to campus.
10. Come up with ten more resolutions by July 1.

Future Blake, I will be holding you accountable for the above resolutions, and when the time comes, I will be grading you on how well you did or did not accomplish them. Thank you.

P.S. – Do NOT drink the coffee today. Someone has poisoned it.

Wednesday, December 30 2009

- 10:45 -

Yes, I know — I’ve really been slacking in the Dream Journal department. This is not to say that I haven’t had some pretty awesome dreams since August, but simply that I’ve been too lazy or (probably more accurately) forgetful to write them down.

However, the one I had last night seemed to demand that I resurrect this old WordPress category and put it back into good use. Here it goes –

Ash and I were in Lamar, at the playground at Washington Elementary. It was summertime — maybe early Spring — and there was a parade starting  to get lined up on Parmenter. (I am not sure why a parade in Lamar would line up there, though  ) As far as the timeline is concerned, I believe we were about the same ages in the dream that we are in reality — very early twenties, newly married, one or both students.

We had perched ourselves on top of the eagle’s nest in order to watch the general chaos along the street. While we were there, a dark-skinned woman and child made their way over to us through the sparse crowd of other parents and children watching. The woman was dressed rather raggedly in middle-eastern garb; the child, a boy about four or five years old, had on a plain shirt and bright red shorts.

In broken English she asked if we wouldn’t mind watching the boy for a bit while she ran an errand. Ashleigh, as is her custom, turned to me to make a decision. I nodded and the woman disappeared back into the clamor. The boy didn’t seem to mind us at all, but went into the center of eagle’s nest to play in the dirt.

We waited there until the parade had made it (more or less) fully onto Main street and out of view. With the playground now empty except for us, there was no sign of the mother of the boy digging around in the sand below us. We waited until dark, and then reluctantly called the police.

Long story short, the mother never showed up, and somehow or another, we ended up keeping the kid to raise on our own. I finished up school online and became a teacher, and moved back to Lamar. Ash ended up doing the same, and it was admittedly a struggle to give up chasing our dreams because this new responsibility had been dumped on us.

The boy didn’t speak much. When we had asked him what his name was, he had said something in his native tongue that we couldn’t really make out. But it sounded something like “Louie,” and that stuck.

Eventually, we became closer with Louie, but realized quickly that he lacked a lot of the proper education many kids his age have already started. We enrolled him in school, and he did terrible. A few years down the road, he was diagnosed with Williams Syndrome, which is in it’s simplest definition the very opposite of autism. Louie was very socially adept and could speak more poetically that many kids his age, but had a very low IQ and had problems performing daily tasks.

Eventually, once Louie reached high school, he had grown to be very tall. He had also acquired the habit of giving out extra-long hugs to just about everyone who wasn’t feeling their best (he also had an incredible affinity for noticing these people in a crowd).

We had two more kids, a girl and then a boy, and moved into a large house on the edge of town, where we could own some land. Louie had the bedroom at the very top of the house, where there was a large window he liked to sit in front of and wave at the occasional car that passed by. He became pretty well-known through town about brightening up peoples’ days just by waving from his window.

Once Louie was nearing the end of his education, an incident happened at school. Apparently he had spotted a girl in the hall who had been feeling bad and wrapped his big arms around her in a hug. After she ordered him to let go, and he didn’t, she wrestled her way from his embrace, went home sick, and by the next day had convinced her parents she had been sexually harassed.

The charges, in the end, were dropped because of the town’s understanding for Louie’s condition, but that didn’t satisfy the girl’s father, who was a well-known….well….redneck in town who insisted that he see justice served, if not by the court’s hand, then by his own.

I was downstairs in the kitchen one day after school, and just happened to be looking out the window as a big red truck streaked down the road outside. A shotgun was pointed towards the house out the half-open window on the driver’s side. I was frozen in place long enough to see the truck squeal to a stop down the road, flip around, and head back toward the house, the gun now out the passenger’s side and aimed no doubt at the top-most window in the house, where Louie surely sat waving at his doom.

I remember running up the stairs in a panic, hearing a dreadful shot fired, and waking up.

It takes much more courage to be ministered to than to be a minister.

Confessions and Comments about Friendship (and lack thereof)

1. At this point in my life, I am not sure if I have any good friends.
2. But how do I know what a good friend is anymore? Every good friend I’ve had, I’ve grown up with, and known since early childhood. The very definition has changed for me — any potential good friends I might make now must listen to my story to understand me. The good friends I used to have lived my story with me.
3. Following from that, I haven’t had to “tell my story” or “share about my life” with friends before, as they’ve lived it with me. I have realized I’m not very comfortable at all about sharing about myself, and am not sure of the right ways to do it.
4. Also, having known the same people all my life, it seems that I’ve never learned how to make friends, and that my social skills in that area are especially lacking.
5. Having spent most of the days of my youth participating in different school activities with my good friends (which usually ran from 7:00 am to 9:00 pm), I have never learned what kind of effort needs to be put forth outside of classes to maintain a friendship, like telephone calls? and hanging out?
6. It seems the more I try not to be the kind of friend someone might not like (ie: the annoying tagalong, the quiet creeper, the awkward story-teller) the more I start acting like it.
7. I am married. That makes finding friends exponentially harder, trust me.
8. My wife doesn’t seem to share the same longing for social interaction.
9. It seems to me that everyone in a social setting is either normal and aware of others’ awkwardness, or awkward and completely unaware of it. Why the Hell am I socially awkward and know it? I think either of the first two roads would be better than the last.
10. I realize that for most people, this process is hardly less than instinctual, and I would have agreed four years ago — I never would have thought I’d one day be searching for advice on how to have friends. But here I am…got any?

Susan and Me

When I was a kid, I spent a ton of my time wanting to grow up, to escape childhood. I realize that this is probably the case for most young people, however I do believe after discussing it with some friends that I was just abnormally obsessed with the prospect of becoming an adult.

For instance, I began reading books off my parents’ bookshelf in 2nd and 3rd grade. These included a lot of Stephen King, other horror books and books with some adult situations that I was probably not at all ready to be exposed to. But I exposed myself to them nonetheless, mostly out of the desperate longing to do what grownups did — to know what grownups know. I also remember trying at all times to act more mature than my classmates, to be very lofty around my younger sister, to speak with grade-school teachers on their own level.

Now don’t get me wrong — I had a wonderful childhood when I wasn’t trying to act twenty years older. I also read tons of kids books like Harry Potter and my personal favorite back then, The Chronicles of Narnia (I’ll come back to them in a minute).

It seems nearly comical to me now, after leaving home and spending a few years introducing myself to what will one day become the “grownup world,” if it hasn’t already, that I desire nothing more than to have my youth back again. I long to return to that place prior to the “veil” being lifted from my eyes, before the discovery of the tainted world — to Narnia, if you will. I listen now to the songs I listened to as a child and experience tremendous heartache! I wonder if all pure imagination has since gone.

All of this can be summed up easily enough: I spent my childhood hopelessly longing for a certain period in my life to come, and once I passed it, I became just as obsessed as ever in trying to get it back.

Now here’s the kicker: in the Chronicles of Narnia, those awesome books I’ve read over and over throughout my life, there is a character who does exactly the very same thing I’ve done. It’s Susan — the eldest sister — who leaves Narnia for the last time doubting whether all of the “magic” was real. She instead focuses her energy on growing up, on forgetting her childhood fantasies and “maturing” into a respectable woman. And after she’s reached that point in her life, she clings to it desperately as Time sweeps her away from it. And you know, when the rest of the children (then grown up) return to Narnia permanently at the end of the series, Susan is not with them.

Now, I don’t think Lewis is trying to make the point that it’s wrong to have nostalgic feelings — even longings — for the innocence of childhood. I think this whole series works to induce readers to long for something more — something like innocence found in childhood. But obviously it does me no good trying to return to some previous existence or jump ahead to some future one. First of all, it’s not possible, and second of all, worrying about it wastes time, which seems a bit ironic as its time you’re trying desperately to get back.

Crossroads, and How They Suck

Alright, it’s time for a serious re-evaluation of my future: here are the facts:

1. I am a Songwriting Major, and a Creative Writing Minor

2. I love writing and performing songs

3. I love writing novels

4. I think I can get a job doing either if I try

5. I have a limited amount of creative energy

6. Ash and I want to raise our kids in Lamar, CO

7. I think it would be nice to begin having kids within the next 5 years

8. I might like to teach Writing at LHS and/or coach and/or run a youth or music program at a church and/or head up some high school organizations in my spare time

9. I have high ambitions, and don’t plan on leaving Nashville until they are accomplished

10. I will graduate from college in approximately 1 year

I’m sure you can already see some problems with these statements. I’m sure if I really tried, I could write both songs and stories, and make a living doing both. But not in Lamar. In fact, the truth is, if I plan on returning to Lamar, the Music Business is almost out of the question. I guess that now, after being married and considering the prospect of children as an actual reality, I have finally opened my eyes to the blaring contradictions staring in my fact the whole time. Curse naivete! — Even despite how naive I shall seem to myself a year from now. It just might be my undoing.

So after considering all these options, I realize with a sinking stomach I am now facing that which people have long told me I would one day face — a decision, a polite decline to one of these things. Since I obviously cannot have all of them, I must decide carefully which one(s) to give up–presuming that with the least amount of statements I have to give up, the easier my decision will be and, hopefully, the more fulfilling my life will be.

I realize straight away the obvious choice (especially for people like my grandmother). Scratch number 9. With number 9 out of the way, I can return to Lamar, get a job teaching, write on my own, and raise kids and live happily ever after. But the truth is this–going back to Lamar is the same as admitting defeat with my writing. Nothing will come of it there. And although I do desire to live a simple life one day, I do not want to return to such a life without living out my ambitions first.

Another option is to scratch number 6. Why must I raise my kids in Lamar? Or scratch number 7. Why in 5 years? Firstly, I absolutely refuse to raise my kids in a big city. I do not need to explain why, as I have been around many people raised in both rural areas and large cities, and I have formulated my own opinions on such matters. It comes down to the idea of what I deem is absolutely best for my future kids, and that subject is of great importance to me. Scratching number 7 is a bit more valid–it only deals with a certain amount of longing and homesickness, which are easier dealt with than strong convictions about how to raise kids. Still, I would like my parents to be alive when my future son or daughter is playing high school sports (or acting in plays, or singing in choir, or whatever). And on top of that, I am not sure if Ashleigh really enjoys being here, and I know her parents are pressuring her go back also — which makes me wonder if there was ever any faith put into my writing abilities at all…

Another one might be scratching number 2–forgetting about songwriting and focusing on novels (as I can write those from any place I like). To tell you the truth, if I were to turn in my most recent manuscript and a publisher picked it up and it gained a lot of momentum that earned me a reputation, I would probably start looking for houses in Lamar immediately, and write songs from then on only as a hobby. But how long would that take? How would I know when to go? And would my craft of songwriting (the very subject I’m earning a COLLEGE DEGREE in) go to waste, unused?

It seems I have a big problem indeed. Out of all possibilities, the ones listed above are the only ones I could really imagine in which only one of the statements must be crossed out for the rest to work. Perhaps, in the end, a way will open up, but right now it looks a lot like a big sloppy mess–one that I’ve no doubt constructed with my own ambitions. I have nothing left to do but to wait and see.

What the World Needs Now is Tolerance, Sweet Tolerance

Well, not exactly…

I really do hate to sound like some radical fundamentalist, but the sight of those blue-and-white “Coexist” bumper stickers really put knots in my gut every time I see one.

Obviously, I get message, and I definitely understand the intended affect a person with a Coexist sticker hopes to have on someone else who might be intolerant to another person’s beliefs. But are we really teaching the right lesson, here?

I think I can safely say that these stickers are, for the most part, worn in response to fundamentalist Christian groups that speak out against, make judgements upon, or even persecute followers of other faith traditions. The stickers are a message to these groups that those types of practices are not acceptable. They call fundamentalists to tolerate people of other faith systems, to co-exist, to “live and let live.”

Now, initially, I would say that I agree wholeheartedly with this cause. Tolerance is essential. So when I first saw these stickers popping up everywhere, I had to ask myself why I suddenly felt so conflicted when one turned up in the road in front of me.

The answer was this — what kind of call to action is tolerance, really? How much effort does it take to co-exist with another human being? I’m sure it probably takes expends less energy than picketing graves or making public statements. If I were to “live and let live,” that simply means that I take you off my radar — I leave you to go about things your own way and become apathetic towards you altogether.

Now, that seems a bit ironic — I might venture to say that one of the biggest problems within Christian churches today is their overall attitude of apathy. Apathy is why Pastors choose to bash other religions, because studying up on them takes too much effort. Apathy is why “Christ followers” don’t dig deeper into their own faith, and in turn don’t discover some of the revolutionary teachings Christ shared about love. And then, what do they see in those stickers? “Coexist” … more apathy.

Unfortunately, I just don’t think an act of tolerance gets the job done… If I may, I’m going to quote Derek Webb — “Time looks the same at the ones who hate, and the ones that do nothing.”

I’m afraid that tolerance, co-existence, apathy, will not bring any permanent change to the close-mindedness people are faced with every day.

What we need instead, as you might have already guessed, is love. Sure, it may be a bit ambitious, but at least it’s active. Love is in pursuit of understanding, not only to grasp deeper truths within one’s own faith, but to recognize slivers of it in someone else’s. Love tends to build bridges — it reforms broken bonds. While apathy — the lack of feeling or emotion — is only self-serving and idle, love serves others, and remains in a cycle of perpetual motion and is therefore eternal.

That sounds like something we can all believe in.