Roach, Missouri—I tell you the truth in saying that I would not expect to find myself here in a town named after an insect that can survive up to three weeks without it’s head (or after one of the judicial members of the state judicial system). However, I find myself in the midst of college students and adults alike, wondering what exactly is going on inside their head. Curiosity is overwhelming in so many instances, perpha that also includes moments like this.
It was a long time. College students from my home church and myself worked literally from 900 a.m. to 400 p.m. in the rain and the clouds and the wind, and for what? For others to be able to enjoy God’s gifts that He has given them. We are currently at a camp called Windemere. It is a large camp, designed for large groups. These past few days we’ve been blessed with middle school students from the St. Louis area. To give you an idea of where I am, think of where Lake of Ozarks is. Yes, right there is where I am located, but enough about location, more about the moment.
I’ve come to meet many individual. New strangers, you know how it goes. Can’t resist a new face. They come from all over there area just to be able to enjoy themselves, to be able to work for God in order to inspire others to strive to be like Him.
I’m in the middle of worship at the moment.
A lone guitar and roughly 17 people in a single room singing whatever song is placed upon their hearts. As for myself, my worship comes many times in the form of words. Such as this, it allows me to express the joy of the situations that God places me in each day of my life. It’s been interesting, I’m very sore, I even re-dislocated my shoulder last night, very sore to say that least. However, for the moment I’m going to sit back, put my own life aside, and try to describe to you, the reader, the moment of which I am sitting in.
“Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts, let us not lift our souls to another…” the words echo the room as the young, the next generation to be in charge of the world lift up their offering, a offering of worship to their Creator. Some off key, some with voices that could find themselves on recording contract, all are together as they offer what their God has given them, in show of appreciation and thankfulness.
The Lone Guitarist
A semi-circle of people surround the lone guitarist. In a small room, on the edge of the camp in general, almost giving the feeling of the underground churches that are dotted throughout the world. In this corner of the world they are safe in the darkness that surrounds them on this quiet evening.
As the lone guitarist transitions into another song, a moment of silence fills the room. The reminder to those who dwell in it, what exactly dwells in them. In a moment that may feel like that of the Pentecost, the silence falls over the crowd, allowing them to meditate on the things they have been given, and the trials they have faced. The group continues to sing throughout the night, a stranger sits back behind the group; quiet, not saying a thing, in his hand his own “Good Book”, flipping through pages as if he was searching for answers, comfort, or words of wisdom to better himself.
The writer makes a note for the evening, a note of the different types of ways in which one may “worship”. Some by singing, and through the raising of hands, others through reading from what they believe will set them free, and yet some, such as the writer, sit back and analyze the crowds and meditate on what God has opened their eyes to see in His own creation.
One young girl, sits on the side of the room, not singing, but instead searching through a book, though it may not be the “Good Book”, it is in turn a book. A book of songs, a book of psalms, a book of hymns, a book of praise, she diligently searches through the pages, such as that of a man searching his flocks for the perfect sacrifice. In these pages, she finds written the hearts of many, praising and pleading with their Creator. Her finger marks the page of “the song”, waiting for it to be played by the long guitarist. She sits back, a sign of relief on her face as she has uncovered the face of her God.
A laugh here and there breaks the silence of the crowd as the lone guitarist switches keys and songs. And as he begins to play, the young girls face lights up with joy. Knowing it is her song she picked out, it’s the perfect offering.
And where many would say it’s just to her the “perfect song”, the writer makes a startling discovery. The group, the semi-circle of the next generation begins to sing this song, and it’s not just a low tone of music, instead it is a raise of volume, of pitch, the whole group in unison begins to sing. And where many may say it’s just them “singing”, the writer understands finally. It is their prayer, it’s the desire, it’s their plead with their Creator.
“Halleluiah, grace like rain, falls down on me, halleluiah, all my sins are washed away, their washed away…” The rain of the day had ceased to be, however the pouring of another rain, a type of water that will make one to be no longer thirsty, falls inside. Inside this lone room, this small corner of the campus, this place with four plain walls, with the semi-circle of what is to come, and the lone guitarist sitting among them. It is there that the rain falls, it is there that many are reigned down upon, not by the physical realm of rain, but the eternal water of life.
Finally, as the night draws to an end, the pinnacle of the evening has come and gone, but the lasting affects are still felt. As if it was a staged timeline, in a finally move to pray (the writer has chosen to believe that singing to a Heavenly Host is indeed a prayer and not just song).
“My heart will sing, how great is our God, how great is our God…” The final praise, and with those voices a final promise is made to the still night and to the world that desires to experience what they have been shown tonight.
“…and all will see, how great is our God…”
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Troubles of People
It's late.
I should be asleep.
It's been a long day.
Yet the eyes of those who hurt lay deep in my mind.
Throughout these past few months I've really come to enjoy praying for others. It seems refreshing, it is a great way for me to sit back and watch God do, what God does.
Then I had class today...
I'm usually not big on putting things out there for others to look at and say, "Can you pray for this person." But I saw someone today and their pain broke me apart.
They've kind of had it rough lately. I'm not going into details because I don't know all the details. What I can tell you is this:
A person in my class asked them a question about something that they enjoy. Through the conversation a sharp note was hit during the discussion. Now, this person we are discussing at the moment tends to be alert and on the ball of their life. Not a lot of emotion shown in the class, except laughter. I tell you the truth, when that note was hit. The moisture increased in her eyes, the voice got really soft, and for a moment I actually thought they were going to cry.
It broke my heart.
Something that their life had been all about, gone. Once again, I don't know all the details, I'm just calling them as I see them. May I ask for some help though? Can I do that? Can you pray for them, and their hurting heart?
I should be asleep.
It's been a long day.
Yet the eyes of those who hurt lay deep in my mind.
Throughout these past few months I've really come to enjoy praying for others. It seems refreshing, it is a great way for me to sit back and watch God do, what God does.
Then I had class today...
I'm usually not big on putting things out there for others to look at and say, "Can you pray for this person." But I saw someone today and their pain broke me apart.
They've kind of had it rough lately. I'm not going into details because I don't know all the details. What I can tell you is this:
A person in my class asked them a question about something that they enjoy. Through the conversation a sharp note was hit during the discussion. Now, this person we are discussing at the moment tends to be alert and on the ball of their life. Not a lot of emotion shown in the class, except laughter. I tell you the truth, when that note was hit. The moisture increased in her eyes, the voice got really soft, and for a moment I actually thought they were going to cry.
It broke my heart.
Something that their life had been all about, gone. Once again, I don't know all the details, I'm just calling them as I see them. May I ask for some help though? Can I do that? Can you pray for them, and their hurting heart?
Sunday, March 9, 2008
People Watching
I am someone deemed as a “people watcher”. My favorite people to watch are young couples in love. For one I can never stop laughing at the quirks that they have to offer, and at the same time I can be fascinated by the ability of humans to engage in “love”. What that may mean exactly, I have no idea. I digress however to talk of two “cute couples” I saw of this past week.
Remember of course that I would never use their names on this, because they may not realized that I was actually watching them. Keeps me safe at least.
I walk in between my classes throughout the day. Granite they are in the same building, in fact the same hallway. However, so I don’t get bored during the day I walk among the people, mainly to see what trouble I can cause. In the case of this week though, love was in the air so I could watch that instead.
Hands Behind the Table
The young woman sat behind the table, staring down the long passageway. Classrooms on both sides, and she sat in front of the offices that directed the classrooms. It was her job to ensure that papers were taken care of, and the professors did not have a mental breakdown; during working hours at least. It was usually very lax, and every so often the writer would come in and have a seat across from the young woman on a bench.
Eventually, as timed past on another person would join the young woman and the writer. He would come in and grab her laptop and begin to search within the internet. This took place for some weeks, and on occasion she would show that man photos of her home, far away from the location that the were currently located sitting behind the table. For weeks the writer would be entertained by their company, and the time at which the young woman would have to work seemed to past by quicker and quicker each time.
As time moved on, the chair that the man sat in next to the table seemed to move closer to table; or even more importantly, closer to the table. It finally came to in this past week as the writer was sitting on his bench, laptop on…lap, typing his thoughts away; he noticed the table grew quiet. The noises that are associated with the life of a college one grows used to, it’s when it becomes quiet that someone believes something is up. This strange phenomenon took place with the writer. He raised his head in alert to quietness, and there they sat. The young woman and the man sat closer to each other then ever before, and in the midst of them growing closer, his hand came to rest on her leg, her eyes rested in his, and with the gentle movement of one arm her hand came to lay in his. The quietness came as the two realized the common ground they shared, the interest they both knew, the love that they had for each other. The writer made no noise, almost as if watching deer in the pasture, just made mental notes and thought of what to write for the next day, while the couple held onto each other from behind the table.
Thoughts of the End
Love surrounds us. I was blessed this week by watching 2 ½ relationships form. The ½ will be discussed at a later date when it becomes a full. Though myself, the writer, finds himself alone in the evenings, knowing that those around him are happy. Sometimes that feels better then being the only one with someone else. I chose to think of it this way. The more people around me that fall in love, the more I have to write. Remember this though, the time that these writings grow cold and quiet. The writer has no more say because his stories have finally hit home.
Remember of course that I would never use their names on this, because they may not realized that I was actually watching them. Keeps me safe at least.
I walk in between my classes throughout the day. Granite they are in the same building, in fact the same hallway. However, so I don’t get bored during the day I walk among the people, mainly to see what trouble I can cause. In the case of this week though, love was in the air so I could watch that instead.
Triangle Stairwell
They were a floor below, the building divided in two. The top of the political science majors and the bottom of the computer information science majors; the business majors floated between the two. The unique thing was the one indoor stairwell that led from top to bottom; it was in the form of a triangle. There was a hole that formed from the downward spiraling stairwell. At the base floor was three chairs that students could sit in and “study”. Sometimes one could find an athlete fast asleep in the chair, other times it would be the professors engaging in “intelligent conversations”, also known as talking about the latest episode of “Lost”, and of course you could find the couple holding close to each other dreaming of the future as the world passed them by through the doors outside.
Today the athlete was at an athletic event, the professors were actually teaching while their TiVo’s saved their life, and all that was let was the couple down on the chairs. The three chairs themselves formed the shape of a triangle also. One would come to believe that this building was actually designed for the mathematic majors and not so much the political geeks. In the chair on the right sat the man, leaned back breathing in the oxygen his life had blessed him with, if you followed the leg that laid upon his own you would find his, “significant other” leaning back against her chair. There was a hole in her pants, close to the knee. It’s the new rage these days, a time warp into the ‘80’s and the “grunge thing”. The young man enjoyed placing his hand, which was soon gathered to be cold, on her kneecap, just to see her squirm and smack him, while laughing of course. For a while, they sat in that said style.
After a while, one would come to believe that poor woman’s leg had grown tired as she curled it back up to her body. He leaned forward as if to engage in a conversation, she began to pick at the hole in her jeans. In a sign of commitment and love, perhaps the ritual that humans take for the passage of marriage, she placed her torn pieces of jeans on his hair. She laughed, he blushed, eyes met, and the writer nearly puked. They sat in this style for a while, both leaning forward, feet on the ground, her left hand embraced by his right hand. There is something to be said about young adults who enjoy holding hands with the one that desire, things get awfully quiet. Therefore, the writer sat back waiting for a said move, but nothing took place. And for a moment, you would believe that the couple did not breathe as they looked into each others eyes, his fingers walking the length of her palm. It was quiet, yet the love for each other screamed through the halls, and up the stairs, so that everyone knew they were together and they were in love.
Sadly, yet surely she looked at her watch and moved to stand. He followed suit. They arose and she explained the plans for the day. With a gentle, yet passionate kiss, she walked out the doors into the rushing world. He walked up the stairwell triangle and sat down next to the writer.
They were a floor below, the building divided in two. The top of the political science majors and the bottom of the computer information science majors; the business majors floated between the two. The unique thing was the one indoor stairwell that led from top to bottom; it was in the form of a triangle. There was a hole that formed from the downward spiraling stairwell. At the base floor was three chairs that students could sit in and “study”. Sometimes one could find an athlete fast asleep in the chair, other times it would be the professors engaging in “intelligent conversations”, also known as talking about the latest episode of “Lost”, and of course you could find the couple holding close to each other dreaming of the future as the world passed them by through the doors outside.
Today the athlete was at an athletic event, the professors were actually teaching while their TiVo’s saved their life, and all that was let was the couple down on the chairs. The three chairs themselves formed the shape of a triangle also. One would come to believe that this building was actually designed for the mathematic majors and not so much the political geeks. In the chair on the right sat the man, leaned back breathing in the oxygen his life had blessed him with, if you followed the leg that laid upon his own you would find his, “significant other” leaning back against her chair. There was a hole in her pants, close to the knee. It’s the new rage these days, a time warp into the ‘80’s and the “grunge thing”. The young man enjoyed placing his hand, which was soon gathered to be cold, on her kneecap, just to see her squirm and smack him, while laughing of course. For a while, they sat in that said style.
After a while, one would come to believe that poor woman’s leg had grown tired as she curled it back up to her body. He leaned forward as if to engage in a conversation, she began to pick at the hole in her jeans. In a sign of commitment and love, perhaps the ritual that humans take for the passage of marriage, she placed her torn pieces of jeans on his hair. She laughed, he blushed, eyes met, and the writer nearly puked. They sat in this style for a while, both leaning forward, feet on the ground, her left hand embraced by his right hand. There is something to be said about young adults who enjoy holding hands with the one that desire, things get awfully quiet. Therefore, the writer sat back waiting for a said move, but nothing took place. And for a moment, you would believe that the couple did not breathe as they looked into each others eyes, his fingers walking the length of her palm. It was quiet, yet the love for each other screamed through the halls, and up the stairs, so that everyone knew they were together and they were in love.
Sadly, yet surely she looked at her watch and moved to stand. He followed suit. They arose and she explained the plans for the day. With a gentle, yet passionate kiss, she walked out the doors into the rushing world. He walked up the stairwell triangle and sat down next to the writer.
Hands Behind the Table
The young woman sat behind the table, staring down the long passageway. Classrooms on both sides, and she sat in front of the offices that directed the classrooms. It was her job to ensure that papers were taken care of, and the professors did not have a mental breakdown; during working hours at least. It was usually very lax, and every so often the writer would come in and have a seat across from the young woman on a bench.
Eventually, as timed past on another person would join the young woman and the writer. He would come in and grab her laptop and begin to search within the internet. This took place for some weeks, and on occasion she would show that man photos of her home, far away from the location that the were currently located sitting behind the table. For weeks the writer would be entertained by their company, and the time at which the young woman would have to work seemed to past by quicker and quicker each time.
As time moved on, the chair that the man sat in next to the table seemed to move closer to table; or even more importantly, closer to the table. It finally came to in this past week as the writer was sitting on his bench, laptop on…lap, typing his thoughts away; he noticed the table grew quiet. The noises that are associated with the life of a college one grows used to, it’s when it becomes quiet that someone believes something is up. This strange phenomenon took place with the writer. He raised his head in alert to quietness, and there they sat. The young woman and the man sat closer to each other then ever before, and in the midst of them growing closer, his hand came to rest on her leg, her eyes rested in his, and with the gentle movement of one arm her hand came to lay in his. The quietness came as the two realized the common ground they shared, the interest they both knew, the love that they had for each other. The writer made no noise, almost as if watching deer in the pasture, just made mental notes and thought of what to write for the next day, while the couple held onto each other from behind the table.
Thoughts of the End
Love surrounds us. I was blessed this week by watching 2 ½ relationships form. The ½ will be discussed at a later date when it becomes a full. Though myself, the writer, finds himself alone in the evenings, knowing that those around him are happy. Sometimes that feels better then being the only one with someone else. I chose to think of it this way. The more people around me that fall in love, the more I have to write. Remember this though, the time that these writings grow cold and quiet. The writer has no more say because his stories have finally hit home.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Weekend to Myself
TGIF,
I can say for a change in my life, at least from the past two years, that I am busy. I am tired because I've been running around so much, I am sore from being outside half of that time, and even though it doesn't always feel the greatest, it feels wonderful to me.
I think it really hit me Wednesday, we had just ended practice and the last girl had left, I sat in my truck to leave, and it hit me, "If I had continued to live the life I had been living prior to these past few months. I would not have Pleasant Hope, High Street, new friends, the Truth Project." None of it would of existed because at the time I was settling for less then what I was capable of doing.
It's never felt so good to be truly worn out.
I've got the weekend to myself. Study some tomorrow, work on a research paper tomorrow, clean my room, and that's about it. Sunday I'm going to High Street (I wasn't there last week so I'm anxious to get back), after church I'm either going to my aunt and uncles house or Panera (whichever will take me...haha). That way I'll be in Springfield for The Truth Project and not have to drive between here and Springfield multiple times. Sunday should be a relaxing day for me, either place of where I go.
I want to say that God answers prayers. A few days ago Coach M and myself were worried that we weren't going to have enough girls to have a team this season. We were dealing with 10 girls, we need at LEAST 11. Well, that day, while in class, I wrote down a simple prayer, "God here my voice, send us players." That was on Wednesday. By next Monday we're looking at about 17, and that doesn't include two of our players already that'll be gone with show choir. That was a huge sigh of relief for both of us. That was something huge that stuck out to me.
I want to type more, but my eyes aren't wanting to stay open. Warm bed, cold air, John Mayer, setting up perfectly to ship me off the sleep. Don't worry, those 2 or 3 of you that actually read this, the "mushy-gushy" stories are coming back. However, let me get my feet planted and all, and figuring out what is going on with life for the moment.
I can say for a change in my life, at least from the past two years, that I am busy. I am tired because I've been running around so much, I am sore from being outside half of that time, and even though it doesn't always feel the greatest, it feels wonderful to me.
I think it really hit me Wednesday, we had just ended practice and the last girl had left, I sat in my truck to leave, and it hit me, "If I had continued to live the life I had been living prior to these past few months. I would not have Pleasant Hope, High Street, new friends, the Truth Project." None of it would of existed because at the time I was settling for less then what I was capable of doing.
It's never felt so good to be truly worn out.
I've got the weekend to myself. Study some tomorrow, work on a research paper tomorrow, clean my room, and that's about it. Sunday I'm going to High Street (I wasn't there last week so I'm anxious to get back), after church I'm either going to my aunt and uncles house or Panera (whichever will take me...haha). That way I'll be in Springfield for The Truth Project and not have to drive between here and Springfield multiple times. Sunday should be a relaxing day for me, either place of where I go.
I want to say that God answers prayers. A few days ago Coach M and myself were worried that we weren't going to have enough girls to have a team this season. We were dealing with 10 girls, we need at LEAST 11. Well, that day, while in class, I wrote down a simple prayer, "God here my voice, send us players." That was on Wednesday. By next Monday we're looking at about 17, and that doesn't include two of our players already that'll be gone with show choir. That was a huge sigh of relief for both of us. That was something huge that stuck out to me.
I want to type more, but my eyes aren't wanting to stay open. Warm bed, cold air, John Mayer, setting up perfectly to ship me off the sleep. Don't worry, those 2 or 3 of you that actually read this, the "mushy-gushy" stories are coming back. However, let me get my feet planted and all, and figuring out what is going on with life for the moment.
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