In Retrospect;

You know, I just read over my blog again, from post the first, to post the last. I don’t know why, but after reading it all, I think I don’t need to worry about my life as much.

It’s like seeing the progression of all the little quirks and idiosyncrasies, and loves and irritations, and soliloquies on life–I guess that’s just the way life is. I’m a different person now than I was when I started writing my blog, and I’ll be a different person four years from now, after many more blog posts.

Anyway, I think everything’s going to be ok. I really do.

Go in peace, and know that all will be well, yes all will be well in the world. Amen and amen.

Hybrids or Hypermiling?

The picture above is of my beloved car, Skittles. It was named Skittles because on a roadtrip, I spilled a bag of the aforementioned candy all over the floor of said car, and when my friends rode in my car, they found a lot of Skittles. Hence the name.

ANYWAY, Skittles is a wonderful little inline four-cylinder car. In a car the size of Skittles (pretty small), that generally means fuel efficient. Skittles is rated for 22 miles per gallon in the city, and 29 for the highway. I’ve been able to coax Skittles into giving me 34 miles per gallon on a trip once. For a long time, I thought that was pretty good stuff.

Until I read this.

After reading the numbers, and being broke because of the price at the pump myself, I decided to give it a try. Here’s what I found:

Yesterday, I had to drive from Monument, CO, to north of downtown Denver. The drive today included a small pass (a climb from 7000-8000 ft.), so several long hills. There was also a lot of stop and go traffic in Denver. I took note of what I’d read, so I cut down on AC usage, coasted on hills, and accelerated slowly. I also slowed down my average speed by about 5-10 mph.

I filled up back home when I had 119.9 miles on the trip ticker. I topped off my tank with 2.5 gallons of gas. You can do the math, but that’s nearly 48 mpg.

And yes, the all hallowed Prius hybrid is rated for 45 mpg on the highway by the EPA, so I’m now comfortably in hybrid territory. Take that, hybrid!

I’m very excited about this discovery. Admittedly, perhaps not the most accurate measurement, but I’m guessing it was within a couple mpg’s, which is still great for me. I will say that it was a bit tiresome being so intentional about driving, and because of the lack of AC it did get a bit balmy inside (something I don’t plan on making a permanent habit, since studies show it doesn’t make too much difference), but I think overall it was definitely worth it.

So, my thoughtful readers, do you think that you’d cut down on some driving habits to save several hundred dollars a year? I’m still trying to decide if I have the patience for it. The race car driver in me says no; the wallet in my pocket says yes. I suppose I’ll find out.

The Post

I think it’s high time that this blog had a mailbag. I don’t doubt that I’ll only occasionally get one good, meaningful letter in that mailbag, and in the meantime, a million, billion spam. That’s the way it always is. But the truth remains nonetheless.

And that truth is that I’d like to hear what my readers think.

Maybe I’ll open my mail one day, and read a beautiful story about long lost lovers in the swiss alps, who became lost and stranded on the mountain, and took their last breath in each other’s arms.

Or perhaps you’ll send me an informational letter about groundhog day.

Then again, maybe you’ll just have something snarky to say about my blog, like, “your blog is too colorful”, or “you look weird in your photos”, or something like that. I like those letters too.

Then again, maybe I’ll just keep getting spam. But I hope not.

Anyway, the address is: eucharisto@gmail.com.

Here’s to parchment and pens (and computers with working keyboards).

Sliver of Silver (Stargazing Siblings)

And the moon was a sliver of silver

Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a carpenter’s shop

Every house must have it’s builder

And I awoke in the house of God

With the windows of morning and evening

Stretched from the sun across the sky north to south

On my way to early meeting

I heard the rocks crying out

~Rich Mullins

I love that song. It’s very possibly one of my favorite songs. Rich Mullins wasn’t a normal person. I don’t think he ever had his feet on the ground; he seemed to leave as fast as he came. But he sure did leave us with so much hope and grace before he went. He lived a life alive, saw God in everything. I want to have a soul like that.

Tonight, I also saw the moon. It wasn’t a sliver of silver. It was a beautiful white marble, sliced into what looked like monochrome stained glass window panes by the tree branches. I saw the moon from my yard. Tonight, I felt like my feet weren’t totally on the ground; I felt my something in my soul that I don’t always feel, and I decided against my better judgment to follow that urge.

I laid a blanket out on the lawn, and wrangled half my family to come and lie out on the soft grass, and stare up at the stars with me.

You see, I used to be afraid of the dark. I used to hate being alone in a dark room, or having to walk across a pitch-black yard, where sinister figures could emerge from a thousand different shadows. But something has changed, or is changing. I’m learning to love the nighttime.

I’ve learned that when the day is harsh and relentless, and the sun shines down ceaselessly, the night is alluring and subtle, enticing me in gently. During the day, I shield myself from the heat of the noonday sun. At night, I look at the sky, and the sky stares back with a thousand silver eyes, neither unbearable or repulsive, but simply pensive, curious. They’ve been up there looking down ions longer than I’ve been down here looking up.

So I gathered my family together for a reverent moment. My two sisters and I stargazed pensively for a long period of time (and my Mom for a short bit), only occasionally to break the silence with a remark of awed wonder.

Actually, that’s completely not true. I’m making it sound somber and solemn. It wasn’t. It was about as irreverent and silly as siblings could get. Maybe stargazing releases the joy inside people, because for about an hour straight, we stared up at the stars, and made a bunch of ridiculous jokes that only we would get, and laughed for a long time. (We even brought Kelsey along, but that was short-lived, because she squirms and wiggles and perks her nose up at all the nightly noises, like all good dogs should do.)

We talked about satellites in the sky, and names for our family house (one of the top picks was “starlight gables”, which was meant to be an allusion to the L.M. Montgomery book, but sounds rather like a retirement home to me), and clouds that look like rottweilers, and driving the truck up to the top of the mountain tomorrow night to watch the stars, because you can see them better up there above the city lights. We made a great memory.

Sometimes, I’m afraid that life will slip by too fast, and then it’ll be too late to enshrine those beautiful memories. It’s why I want to experience life fully aware, and fully awake.

I’m wide awake

I’m wide awake

I’m wide awake

I’m not sleeping

~Bono

As a side note to this, I’m now sure the neighbors think we’re certified. Well, it’s about time; don’t know what took them so long.

Stay awake and aware friends.

Summer, Gardening, and Global Warming

I love summer. Especially here in Colorado; it never really gets as hot as the rest of the country, so we’re able to enjoy a lot of outdoors activities without any of the drawbacks. I’ve been walking nearly every day. Sometimes I walk around our neighborhood, but if I can, I love to drive across the highway and walk up by the mountain. We used to live on the west side, up against the mountains, and our house used to back up to Pike National forest. It’s a prime place for hiking. There are many great paths, some of which are tiring of course, because many of the best trails go straight up the mountain, with very short switchbacks, but so worth it to be able to stand at 8500 feet and look out over miles and miles of beautiful Colorado mountaintops one way, and the fertile plains the other. I haven’t had the time yet this year to do anything but a small walk around the base of the mountain, so I’m a bit overripe for a challenging trek. Perhaps I’ll write about it here when I get around to it.

Today, I helped a couple family members plant some flowers, and till flowerbeds in anticipation of summer blooms and beautiful beds. I wasn’t super excited about it, but as soon as I got on my hands and knees and started getting dirty and grimy and messing around in the soil, I began to really enjoy it. It’s an odd thing, working the earth; it shouldn’t be fun, but it is. It’s so fulfilling to begin to see the work of your hands come to fruition. There is so much complexity to the natural world. I love the process that goes into planting; watering, loosening up the soil, cleaning away weeds and unwanted plants, cutting back some of the stems yet to bloom, carefully, laying down new topsoil. Strangely enough, I found that the more I worked, and the dirtier I got, the more I felt like I was doing something useful and meaningful. I think there’s a real beauty in cultivating the earth. It’s one of God’s first commandments; “subdue the earth”. I’m beginning to realize what an interesting process that is.

Onto my final point. I’ve heard a lot of discussion lately about this one topic that you all have heard (and if you haven’t, you need to get out more). It’s called global warming; a lot of people think it’s rather important, but it is an issue which for some people, seems to be quite stigmatizing. I mean, who can blame them? When everyone first started to get all excited about it a few years ago, Al Gore wrote a book about it, and won the Nobel Peace Prize for it (bah. Ridiculous; but I guess being a celebrity is worth more nowadays). Hollywood put out the movie, ‘The Day After Tomorrow’, a movie about how humans cause the world to go into a chaotic massive worldwide natural disaster, because of their waste and their consumption of natural resources. Well what am I supposed to get from that? Since I’m using a refrigerator and I drive a car, I’m going to cause New York to ice over, and Hollywood to be destroyed by tornadoes? There is good reason that this is a polarized issue. Our culture is good at finding things to feel guilty about, and this is one that the pundits are spinning like crazy (not to mention ex-vice president celebrities).

Unfortunately, it is true. We probably are exorbitant and indulgent, and we really ought to be more aware of our world of which we’ve been given stewardship by God.

However, to help make my point, am I going to tell you to go out and watch ‘The Day After Tomorrow’? No. Unless you want to see a meaningless popcorn flick. And please, I beg you, don’t give in by buying ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ (unless you truly feel it is meaningful beyond the celebrity and hype attached to it). However, in light of the greater meaning of this post, I’d like to suggest a way to become excited about the environment without reading a picture book on pollution and greenhouse gasses: Go on a hike, or a long walk in a wild place near where you live. Or if not that, start a garden and plant some flowers. It’ll amaze you how much God’s beauty in nature will endear you to itself. It’s a work of art, and in respecting that art of God, we add to the beauty of our lives, and protect what God has given to us as a stewardship. I think personal involvement will help anyone in any situation; guilt about environmentalism hasn’t made me any more interested in it; going out into nature and feasting on the richness of wildlife and the growing world makes me so desire to protect and defend such a beautiful masterpiece.

So go out and enjoy what is all around us; and see if you don’t fall in love with the natural world that God has given us.

An Interlude Born Again

“This is what it means to be born again: to fully and completely disengage with the preconceptions and preoccupations of the adult world and its religions, to dismantle all laws - of physics and society - and yield yourself to the birth canal, and what comes after, in which everything begins to shake and tremble with all senses fully turned to the centre of the universe, the creator, God the Father, in whose cultivation we begin to know and understand our true selves, our real selves, as a reflection of God’s image, his creation, like newborn babies, full, fresh, suckling, elated and laughing at everything. “

~Sufjan Stevens

We Never Change

Coldplay is coming out with their next album on the 17th of June. I wish I were cold and calculated, and could say something really snarky about the songs I’ve heard so far. I wish that I wasn’t a gushing fanboy who looks like a fool to all the smart music people in the world.

But I can’t. I love them. I adore Coldplay songs. If I could figure out how to make my stupid phone work, ‘Violet Hill’ would be my new ringtone. As a matter of fact, if there were theme music in life, ‘Viva La Vida’ would perpetually play behind me.

I’ve always tried to appear rather erudite with my indie-elitist friends, who love to say that Coldplay is a poser band with cheap lyrics. I’ll say, “why yes, you’re right. Down with Coldplay!”. And then I’ll go home and sit at the piano, and get myself all emotional and inspired playing ‘The Scientist’ or ‘Fix You’. What’s wrong with me?

Maybe I like them, because as a slightly geeky home schooler (don’t laugh), Coldplay’s ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head’ was my first “Secular” Album. I thought it was pretty radical that it was called ‘A Rush of Blood to the Head’ (though now I know it wasn’t); actually, I also thought that saying “radical” was pretty radical (though now I know it wasn’t).

Of course, time changes all, and now I’m a uber-hip early 20something, and not only do I wear the coolest clothes and have a stylish hair cut, I’m also so well-informed of the latest indie albums that I literally emit an aura of nose-snubbery wherever I go (no, not really. I’m actually quite nice). I’m quite versed in the ‘Oh-that-coldplay-they’re-such-a-poser-band’ lingo. Really though, in the back of my mind, I always hope with all my heart that their next album will be a wonderful album; and it always is. Maybe I’m to easily given to emotionalism to be uber-hip-cool-elitist-indie. Coolness was overrated as a teen geek home schooler, and it’s overrated as a hip 20something. Oh well. It’s always fun to be insufferably smug once in a while. : )

So anyway, don’t be smug, don’t give into peer pressure. Go out and buy the Coldplay album when it releases. Be bold, friends.

Oh and by the way indie friends, I’m just joshin’ you. ‘Cause it’s fun.

The Shadow Of the Almighty

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust!”
For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper
And from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with His pinions,
And under His wings you may seek refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
~Psalm 91:1-4

I edited my about page today. It’s strange, coming to my “about me” section, and not having a word come to mind. I don’t know if that’s because there’s not much to say about me, or if it’s that I’m afraid of what I am, or don’t like what I am. I am struggling to make my way in the world, to finish with school; to make it financially month to month; to love people, and then mess up, and try again. I so desire to be meaningful as a person. I try to find my identity in God; but as Jacob and Jabez and a whole ream of people in the Bible found out, God likes to play hide and seek, and it seems that one of the ways of coming to Him and being blessed by him is through struggle.

So sometimes, I’m not sure exactly what to say about myself, or if I can come to any firm conclusions regarding my existence and value as a person, apart from a knowledge that God is my father. But sometimes I feel like an orphan to the world. Mark Heard said it best:

We are soot-covered urchins running wild and unshod
We will always be remembered as the orphans of God
They will dig up these ruins and make flutes of our bones
And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God

It’s an odd thing to try and explain, because of course I find deep joy in my family, which is a stalwart sanctuary in my life. But sometimes, when I look at the world, and I see what I am, and what it is, I sometimes get a feeling of deep loneliness and sadness.

I used to not really understand Romans 8:15, as a kid. There’s a joy in not understanding verses regarding redemption and sanctification as a kid, because it means you are too innocent and gentle and kind to understand why anyone would need a father to adopt them. But I understand now. It’s because I am orphaned. I am a “soot-covered urchin”, exposed and lost in a strange and hostile place.

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. ~Ernest Hemingway

This is a beautiful, and sad truth. It is true for most people out there. I think what I’m starting to realize is that we’re all orphans, every one of us. Some of us just do a better job hiding it than others.

But that’s why I finally love Romans 8:15. God wants to adopt the whole world. That is such an encouraging thought. There is an adoptive father who has infinite love, and is willing to give us His name.

That is very encouraging. But it’s still difficult, because even though I have a new name, I’m still stranded in this place, and I’ve still got miles to go before I rest.

The other day, we had one of those incredible magnificent, supercell thunderstorms pass through. They are very dangerous for people out east on the plains, with tornadoes and such, but for us in Colorado, it’s just a beautiful display. I watched the storm pass through, and then saw the brilliant dance of yellow and red that the storm had left in it’s wake. Of course, like any good Coloradoan, I immediately leashed up the dog (because it’s that time of year to be wary of bears and cougars), jumped in my car, and headed across the highway to the foothills to take a hike. As soon as I got out, and walked out of the woods in which I parked, the sky came alive with the most dazzling array of colours and patterns.

It’s hard to describe a spring walk in the mountains after a storm; the best I can idea I can conjure is to say that everything is alive, and everything is singing. The whole earth moves with color and sound; wildlife is everywhere. The trees sway, and the thunder crackles in the distant storm. On this night, the mountain rose up like a great, protective figure, watching over the dog and me. It was me in a world away from trouble and struggle and all the complications of my life.

And I realized suddenly that I wasn’t alone; I realized in a tangible and present way that God was with me. I felt His presence around me. I felt Him in the watchful eye of the mountain, and I could see his spirit in the shadow that the mountain cast across the valley. It was like seeing the spirit of God resting on thousands of homes and families, the thousands of people living and breathing and struggling and trying to hold onto life and truth. He was there waiting to be a father to the huddled masses of orphans that we all are. I could see Him there in the background, of each and every life, and I knew that he was in the background of my life too. Beneath that great mound of rock and earth I knew for certain that I was abiding in the shadow of the almighty.

In that moment, in the midst of a creation where the rock was literally crying out, I knew who I was, and I knew where I belong. It was only for a fleeting moment, when all of creation moved and swayed to some divine melody for a small instant in time, but it was enough for me to be reassured that I am not meaningless, but that I am a person with a name and an identity; and the shadow that I see in front of me is that of a tender father walking behind me, covering me in the shadow of His wings.

Keep me as the apple of the eye; Hide me in the shadow of Your wings. ~Psalm 17:8

How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God! The children of men take refuge in the shadow of Your wings. ~Psalm 36:7

Be gracious to me, O God, be gracious to me, For my soul takes refuge in You; And in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge Until destruction passes by. ~Psalm 57:1

Let me dwell in Your tent forever; Let me take refuge in the shelter of Your wings. Selah. ~Psalm 61:4

You have been my help, And in the shadow of Your wings I sing for joy. ~Psalm 63:7

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the ALMIGHTY.

The Night as Bright as Day

It’s rather amazing, but in the northern hemisphere, the earth is at such a strange angle to the sun, that days and nights take on different meanings that most of us on the continental United States wouldn’t understand. During the winter, it’s unusually dark for most of the day, with only a bit of light for a few short hours; conversely, in the summer, it’s light for the majority of the day, with night only being a bit of darkness in the midst of an abundance of light.

My sister and I were privileged to be able to experience this phenomenon last summer, while in England. It’s really great; in England, a lot of the land is public trust, so people are allowed to trespass with care and caution. The Itinerant Idealist and myself would sneak out of our country manor house where we were staying, and wander the fields in the dark of night. But I do the night no justice, because they truly were nights as bright as day. You could sit in a field and look up, and see thousands upon thousands of stars, all lighting the way to some unknown, not yet trodden path. It was awe inspiring to be in such beauty; I am so used to being acclimated to a suburban lifestyle, with all of it’s modern amenities. But it was glorious to be privy to such a grand display of the art of God. It felt so detached from modern convenience; it felt wild and free, untamed, and I was simply a small witness to a heavenly dance. The grass in the fields singing in a hushed whisper, the trees clapping their hands, the stars singing a glorious melody to the heavens. The whole earth stopped to listen, or so it felt.

I’ll never forget such a moment, but sometimes I am afraid that the rapturous beauty of the moment will be lost over time; so I wrote two songs to capture the emotions I felt. The first is in fact titled, ‘The Night as Bright as Day’, which focuses on the heavens. The second is entitled ‘The Fields of Greatham’, which focuses on the living soul of the grass, trees, and wildlife. I hope you’ll enjoy both, and glimpse a meaningful and beautiful revelation I felt.

The North Country on Virb.

While on this subject, there is a new development in my music. I’m in the beginning stages of writing music for, and potentially producing a full-length musical instrumental project. It’s still pretty much in the ideas phase, and I’m still working to see if it’s a feasible possibility; but watch this space. I’ll be updating as I have more information.

Secret Shadows and House Guests

Yesterday I read Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird. Anne Lamott is irreverent, quirky, politically incorrect, and painfully honest, and I love reading her books for that very reason. I cherish every scornful jab and self-deprecating joke, I commiserate with her cynicism, and her angst. I can relate to the way she feels about some people, and love that she says in her books what I often feel, but am afraid to admit in larger social circles.

She’s also pretty smart when it comes to writing advice. In my own busy life, the only genuine writing outlet that I can pursue with any amount of frequency is here on my blog, excepting of course songwriting, which is it’s own unique animal. Of course, if you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you’re aware of the fact that I am a hit-and-run blogger. I tend to write long existential essays about life and all it’s complications, and then that pretty much drains me for weeks or months, and you won’t see me around again for quite a while. I tend to get sidetracked by life.

It’s not that I don’t love writing, it’s more that I’m starting to realize that writing is a difficult friend; it is a house guest whom I can’t decide if I want to stay or want to kick out. It’s the kind of friend who you know will commiserate with everything you are, and will understand your deepest, darkest secrets and desires. It feels for your soul; unfortunately, it also won’t leave without taking all those secrets and angst with it. Writing knows the truth about us, sometimes in ways we can’t even consciously understand. It can dig deeper than our courteous facades, and find out what’s going on beneath the surface. I know that when I invest in time writing, it will both encourage me in who I am, and, at the same time, demands my soul from me.

Sometimes it reveals great truth to me about life, and I love it then. Other times, it opens up an old wound or finds a darkness I didn’t know was there; and then I feel uncomfortable and restless to leave. But that’s the risk you take when you interact with writing. It’s unpredictable, a restless wind that blows where it will. For those of us who are driven to write, we know that writing is a friend that you can’t politely ask to leave. And the thing you begin to realize over time, is that once it’s in the door, it never leaves. When it comes to your home, it sets up camp, and won’t give you peace until you feed it and give it something of substance.

It is the greatest difficulty as an artist; knowing that no matter how I feel about my art and writing, and especially song-writing for me, this little bug is there in the back of my mind, saying “feed me, feed me”. It’s frustrating, because it’s the most wonderful collaborator, and can yield a great harvest of find truth; but even when it’s not inspired, it still wants and desires. It can use up hours of my life without giving me anything in return.

And yet I know it is what I’ve got to do as an artist. And I know it’s what God has created me to do. And thankfully there are other artists out there who have their own artistic house guests in their subconscious that also desire interaction and attention. It’s how all of us artists are, and it’s why we get moody sometimes.

Anyway, just some fleeting thoughts on my mind since reading Bird by Bird. In some ways, I’m just reiterating what Anne Lamott said in her book. But I think (and Anne Lamott hit on this) that reiteration is the way we humans come to understand things, by repetition and example. It helps us to feel like we’re hitting upon some truth greater than ourselves, that other people are in some way connected to the greater whole. In the C.S. Lewis biopic Shadowlands, a character remarks that “We read to know we’re not alone”. I think this is very true. I think for me, and I am very sure for others as well, we write to know we’re not alone. When I write, I participate in a great piece of art, that I intrinsically know is being worked on by thousands of unseen minds the world over. It’s really rather encouraging.

I guess I’ll keep my writing house guest, at least until I go crazy. All artists and writers do eventually, you know.