Is that alright...

if i give my gun away
when its loaded
is that alright
if you don't shoot it
how am i supposed to hold it
is that alright

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

my loaded gun...all the hurtful words i want to thrust at you
if i give it away...i disarm myself knowing that you could use it against me
if you don't shoot it...
how am i supposed to hold it...

FRIENDS ... a lesson learned.

Ever have those things in life that are just less incrimating when explained through a less threatning mutual story. that's what this is; a less incrimating version of an experience shared through a mutually understood story.

In the episode I'm thinking of Chandler is upset and slightly unsure how to confront the situation. His boss had been slapping his butt as he walked by and he felt it inappropriate and somewhat awkward. Finally Chandler faced his boss and let him know how he felt about it. His boss was somewhat confused, but respected Chandler's space and agreed to stop. And stop he did, until after a meeting one day. As every member filed out they recieved the very same slap which had origionally made Chandler feel so uncomfortable. Once again he was singled out. This time however due to lack and not to special attention paid. Sensing this left.outed.ness the boss offered a slap and made Chandler's day.

Somehow that action which once caused him so much grief was the very thing he desired. Interesting how situations and others can influence us so greatly.

I was done with being told no; so I went. I woke up, stretched my muscles and suited up. It was past time for a run. Off I went; tennies, two shirts and sunglasses; staples for a sunny 30 degree afternoon. Those first 3 blocks felt so great! It was the 4th block however that put a smile on my face as wide as the Mississippi River is long. In that one block I gave it my best. Perfect form. Loose fingers, on toes, perfectly bent elbows and high knees. The wind in my hair and speed beneath my feet; it was invigorating.

16 blocks later I had returned home. However before I could complete my final 12 steps to the front door I was stopped by the car behind me. Thinking it could be someone who was lost in the neighborhood and looking for directions I turned around. His name was Brian. He was not looking for directions, he knew exactly where he was. He was forward, but had the sincere awkwardness of a 14 year old boy asking the prettiest girl in school to the prom. Sorry Brian.

The wind in my hair and blurs of concrete beneath my feet, you just can't buy a feeling like that. Feels like freedom. No chains around my feet or blindfold covering my vision. Just the wind on my face and the sun at my back.

as i read through a few friend's blogs this afternoon i've come to the realization of just how real pain is in our lives. Be it pain in the lives around us as challenging circumstances threaten the safety and happiness of our loved ones or the brokeness and hurt that surfaces in our own lives.

Here I am; two challenges set before me. The first is to trust past what I feel, the second is to feel and to trust.

My first lesson and challenge came from the chest I painted this weekend. It didn't turn out how I initially desired, so I had two choices, I could continue to make adaptions and add layers until it yielded a desirable or acceptable product, or I could whitewash it and start over. In retrospect I wonder, could this be how our hearts are to the Lord. Sometimes the artist can adjust and realign, (and as life is a process I would imagine this to be a highly utilized option). Somtimes however, the coats of pain are so piled up that we need to be stripped down. Although from this side of the artistry we see brokeness and pain, the good artist understands the work ahead of him when he sets out and only strips a piece as far as is good and when it is beneficial. We must learn to trust, not to understand. and no, brokeness isn't usually convientently timed. Feeling hurt doesn't weaken my character, or defile who I am. Its okay to feel hurt.

My second challenge comes from what started as a confession. A boy telling an audience that he doesn't pray for his painfully dying sister. Praying would mean identifying and feeling her pain. Her pain was too great, however in that audience he was compelled. Compelled to feel her pain, and the pain of others. He was compelled to feel that he would be more compassionate and pray with an effectiveness only achieved in intercession (praying on behalf of another).

Through brokeness our pain could lead to the effectivesness that could change more than just our prayers.



To trust in a way that I cannon see; that's what faith must be