It All Started With a Red Stripe...

I’ve decided to take another prolonged break from studying to do some other types of research. I know I’m already doing research but in all honesty I care much more about the kind I am about to embark on over the next ten minutes.

It has occurred to me over the past few years that when I listen to music it ignites something inside me, something deep, something substantial. This something is hard to find words for, as you I’m sure may have already noticed. But it’s a dynamic part of who I am. It’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to commit to playing the guitar because there is a part of me, an earnest and sincere part of me, that can no longer express what my heart longs to scream on the end of a pen. I love writing and during different times it is the only outlet for my thoughts and prayers that will do. But there is some sort of mystery that music contains that I can’t explain…

For example, how do I explain the times when a certain song about nothing and everything can poetically put into sound my exact feeling, thoughts, and even my actions?

How can a song that is so openly devoted to a love for another person somehow captivate a piece of my heart for my Lord?

How can a story about a drummer from a particular band’s last performance bring me to tears when I heard that the band turned around and played the last song facing him, looking into his eyes as they held memories open during that euphoric last few notes?

How is it that when I find myself alone in my room with a pair of white plastic discs over my ears, I feel as though I can fly. I feel as though I am invincible. I feel as though I never want to leave.

How is it that when I hear a twenty second clip of a certain song I get motivated to the point of running until collapse. I don’t even know what they are saying in the song, but I do know what it does to my insides. They speak the same language.

I recently went on a trip to Portland to watch my new friend Tom Delong play some notes on his guitar. It was fantastic in a whole assortment of ways. But over the twenty-hour trip there, I was crammed in a vehicle with four other guys who understood what I am talking about above. We laughed, we cried, we screamed, we whispered, and we most certainly played a mean air guitar.

Music was our mode of transportation.

I ask my folks all the time if they “hear” that when I play them a song. They return blank empty looks and reply politely, “yes”. They miss it. It’s not their fault and it’s not a bad thing either. It’s just something that’s not inside them.

I’m tempted to quote the sports drink commercial here and ask my question in a way that will be parallel to shameless promotions, but instead I’ll end off in a slow, tapered like way and ask…

Do you hear what I hear?

No Mr. Mcgough I Will Not Answer the Phone!

After a long and torturous Statistics exam, I had it in my mind to start studying for my next exam; Economics. Why would anyone think that! On second thought, why not curl up next to my guitar, learn a few things about it – like how to make it sing - and watch a movie! In honor of Cloverfield, I think I will take the latter.

Over the past few days I found myself in a number of precarious positions, all which occurred at different moments and all internally. How easily I find myself floating on a cloud being cavalier only to be followed moments later by strangling doubt about who I am. It has become fascinating to me how faithful the Lord is in lifting us up. Every time I’m attacked by this ridiculous anxiety, I ask myself when the last time I made purposeful room for Him in my life was.

It seems I always allow the Lord to find me, when my life seems to be moving along at a decent clip. I am oh so thankful for all He does for me, and for who He is, and I most certainly thank Him for the good times and the fantastic sunshine – which is nowhere in sight in this moment – but I never actively seek Him out to spend time with Him.

It’s like those friendships - which I know none of us have - that involve one friend doing all the work, one friend pulling the weight of two people. I would go so far – it’s not really that far – to say that those sort of friendships are not that, but mere acquaintances.
A perfect example of that can be found in my house at around 5 pm most weekdays when the phone rings. And when I don’t answer it, it rings again two minutes later. And then again, two minutes later. And then again two minutes later. You’re wondering why I am not answering the phone, and it’s because I don’t have the energy to answer once again, that I don’t have Nathan’s cell phone number. If you’ve been to my house in the past year you know what I’m talking about.

But how often do we live in a one-way relationship with the Lord? How often do we find ourselves in a wonderful state giving glory to the Lord with our words, but never take time to thank Him intimately, giving Him more than a moment in our colorful lives.

I for one will admit I do not give Him enough time, especially when my life seems to be going well. But I do want to remedy that. And how do I go about doing that? By simply doing it. By being conscious that He deserves more of my day. By cutting out perhaps one period of a playoff game, start with the second, and go spend that twenty minutes giving purposeful praise, thanks, and honor to the Lord.

So what am I waiting for? Another whistle? Nope, I think I’m going to try and start this habit now…

Kenny Always Said...

I sit here restless.

Looking over pictures, reading notes, and waiting for more videos to be uploaded, I’m soothed by the words Mr. Kensrue that have found their way to repeat, “fly over me.”

He’s right you know, months do fly by. As I reflect over even the past four months of my own life I am looking at many different people from start to finish. I mean I - or he for the sake of clarity – is the same person, but he’s a little different same person.

I look back and find different life changing moments, some hard some easy, but all of them necessary.

Four months.

How many more times am I allowed to look back and reflect over four months?

If I could lay out my dreams, my goals, and most of all my perspective on life, there would be a dramatic difference between what was then, and what is now.

And yet the roots never change.

Hope. Dreams. Restoration. Belief.

It’s interesting how in four months I feel the most human I have ever felt, and that is the most relieving feeling. I think it feels like home. Home; a place where we love to invite friends, forget to clean, am blessed to have, and is forever moving.

No need to hide. No forced smile. Honest responses. Not that those things were plagues in my life prior, but they definitely found themselves as retro buttons on my black velvet jacket.

"You will spread your wings one day. Fly over me."

Dustin really does now how to express himself.

"Fly over me."

Let’s learn to fly.

I want to fly forever.

Meet me there?