Open Mic Night

It was the weirdest experience I've had in a long while, and I have had some pretty weird ones. I went for a night out on the town, which in Tulsa on a Tuesday night means going to a local coffee house's open mic night. I had no idea what to expect, but I followed my friend inside a dimly lit coffee house (mood lighting for good feelings), and nearly every table and couch was filled with interesting characters all here to share their thoughts and songs, supporting the arts. So, without knowing how this was going to go down, I got myself a mocha and a cinnamon crumb cupcake and sat down with my friend at the only available table, spitting distance from the mic itself.

Things then started, beginning with a boy who wrote a poem about love and the sadness of losing the girl. Touching, but it seemed a little extreme. Maybe it reminded me of my angst-filled poems from high school about unrequited love, which we all know was not love at all. Then there were several musicians, some pitchy, some playing weird instruments that they really didn't seem to know how to play, and it ranged from a young man trying to be Elvis, to a country artist, to a guy who seemed to be going for an old school rocker, but really was just singing in a gravely voice way too loudly (while his guitar skills were fairly impressive to say the least).

So what is this supposed to mean? I recently finished a novel by John Green called An Abundance of Kathrines, which all you need to know is that the main character, Collin, just wants to matter. Collin was a child prodigy, but fears he won't grow up to become a genius now that he's graduated high school. I feel perhaps I have this same fear. I am by no means a prodigy at anything, but I just want to find some way to matter. I have this constant fear that I am simply mediocre at everything, and will never be wonderful at anything. I fear I am nothing but average.

Then I go to this open mic night, and have to hide a few laughs at what was sometimes being performed, and I thought, with the wretchedness that is humanity, that at least I am not that. But even the fact that these people, while maybe not close at all to being prodigies in music or comedy or poetry, are at least trying. They put themselves out there in a way that strikes me with so much fear. I am the person who will literally strive to be second at something, vice-president of a club or class instead of president, doing backstage work instead of being onstage during shows.

Maybe I can learn a lesson from the kid with dreadlocks and a weird, green, metal thing that looked like a ufo, but he called a drum. I had no idea what he was talking about, and his poems reminded me of a version of myself from ninth grade, who was trying to figure out who I was in this new pool in life known a high school. Even he, who baffled me so much, was a traveller and lover of things, and was doing exactly what he loves, and sharing it with people who were very receptive of that kind of love. This guy, one of the most outrageous, was at least working towards something I would be too afraid of doing. In John Green's novel, Collin believes he was a prodigy, but also admits that it is only through handwork that he is able to do the things he is able to do.

So what all of this means is not to be obsoletely crazy, but at the same time fear should not be so crippling. If you want to do something, then what the heck, go for it. Be Troy Bolton from High School Musical, and sing at karaoke night, and then get the lead for the musical (or, you know, be ambitious enough to at least try to get it). We live in a world that is so concerned with safety and social expectations that we are losing the drive to be more. Even the Beatles were rejected and had to work for an extremely long time, singing in local bars and what not, before they were even recognized as being something more than just a band of guys with a hopeful wish. So, be the kid with dreadlocks, or Troy Bolton,  or The Beatles. Just pick something you love and just do it (after all, if Nike says it it must have some worth to it). If you are going to matter to the world, or anyone at all, you have to first matter to yourself. Take the time and energy to make an investment in what you can do and what you will do. Maybe writing poetry full of angst is the first step to writing poetry like Frost. Only time will tell, and only if you put your time into it.

Laughter

When I was in high school I spent a lot of time at a friends house where her parents seemed to argue fairly often. This was not too new to me because I had had friends before who lived in homes a bit loud and crazy, so we would just hang out in my friend's room and talk about the pressing problems of the life of a high schooler. Yet, I can remember quite vividly one day in that house when we were just talking in my friend's room, as we usually did, and her parents were watching something together in the living room. It was nothing unusual until I heard the sound of both of her parents laughing together at whatever it was they were watching. To a normal person this may not mean much, but to me it became one of the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard.

I find that laughter is very underestimated in society. We all know it as a positive thing, but I can guarantee there is that one person in your life whose laugh is far from pleasing to the ears. We rarely talk about laughter in any other context than that of obnoxious levels. Yet, I have found myself facing some kind of weird phenomenon. Yes, there are people who can make me cringe with their laugh, but strangely enough it doesn't seem quite right when I have gone a long time without hearing it. The thing about obnoxious laughter is that it still express this idea of joy and happiness, and even though it may not be a cute laugh, it has the same amount of importance in life. So, after a long absence of the sound, when I hear that laugh again, I find I may roll my eyes a little, but there is also this small smile that I find on my face. Joy is joy, no matter what sound expresses it.

Sometimes I hit rough patches in life. It is not too much of a secret that I will occasionally struggle with feeling depressed. When this happens, at the end of the day, I force myself to step back and look at my day. I find I must ask myself, "Did you laugh today?" and most of the time I will say, "Yes." To which I then have to tell myself. "Then it was worth it." No matter how small it was, there was something in my day that made me laugh, and if I can still find something to make me laugh I have to keep going.  There is a quote by Robert Frost that says, "Happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length." I do believe he was onto something here, because while we may find spurts of happiness and laughter few and far between they are good and worth living for.

So, maybe it's something you read that makes you laugh, or maybe it's the sound of another person's laughter that you never even thought to listen for. Either way it is something beautiful and worthy of being treasured. God pretty much ensured that life was going to be hard, but we are also blessed with the gift of laughter. I cannot fully express how beautiful laughter truly is, and maybe I shouldn't try. Perhaps it isn't even something you can look for. But, oh how great is it when you stumble upon it! So be blessed, friends, and never underestimate the power of laughter.

Daddy's Song

(Listen to the full song before reading this. I know it looks long, but honestly it's worth your time.)

When I was little, as I have previously written about in another post, I was plagued by nightmares. One of the things that would calm me down at night was when my dad would play this song for me. The song is so powerful it could probably speak for itself. The words and actions of the father are so precious and touching. I was always comforted, thinking not only was my earthly father here to comfort me, but so is my Heavenly Father.

I distinctly remember one night when I was awoken by my own crying. I had dreamed that I could not find my father, no matter how hard I looked. For a child, not being able to find your parent is so distressing, I thought I would never be okay again. Yet, I woke up to find my dad at my bedside, and the relief of reality washed over me.

Now that I am older, I find myself occasionally stumbling into the role of the son. Whether it be my own selfish ambitions, or the chains of my insecurity, I will find myself wondering where I am and where my Father has gone. Yet, I find the words of the Father crying out to me as He does in the song, "Come here my precious, I know you are hurting, and though you have left me, I welcome you home."

There is something powerful in our God. After all the pains we put him through, throwing our own sinful lashes and weights upon him, He still wants us and adores us dearly. "I love you, oh how I love you." The Father sings in the song. I am always humbled greatly by this song. I think terrible thoughts in the day, I complain that God has not given me the life I deserve, or that I just think I'm broken, that God did not make me the way He should have. Terrible, terrible thoughts, and His response to me is He loves me, and is waiting for me to just give it all to Him and let Him love me; God alone can unravel my fears and cut away the pain of my life. Just as the boy does in the song, I then find myself filled with grief, grief that I am so ungrateful for such a loving God who died for me.

Yet, I then find myself revived, as I recall my Father's triumph of death. Just as He died for me, I die to my old self and start anew, singing the song of the boy and Father "I'll have no other, for I love you only. I'll never forsake you, or leave you alone." "Here in your arms, i'll always be, at rest in the precious love you have for me. I love you, oh how I love you." I have been faced with depression several times in my life, and I truly believe it is God's love that carries me through it, and I hope you know how much you are truly and undoubtedly loved.

The Beast

It is pretty well known that my dog is constantly referred to as beastly or demonic. Most people would think this is a dramatization, which is partly true, but anyone who has encountered my dog may feel tempted to agree. The moment someone walks through our front door you can hear the horror music play as the dog rips across the front room and launches her 60 lb self at the poor innocent guest. Needless to say, I have had more than one friend complain about having my dog stick its head in their mouth after ambushing them on the couch.

There was also a time where I could claim she was eating us out of house and home. It was about six months after owning her that, after letting her in from outside, we noticed she had brought something in with her. After a little chasing, we found that Padme (my dog) had brought in a chunk of cement. She was literally eating our house. She has also attacked our blinds that cover the sliding glass door and tugged up carpet in the front room. Needless to say she can be quite the hassle. Beast-like if you will.

Yet, there's this part of her, late at night, where she settles down and curls up next to you on the couch. It's sweet and, while most don't see this side of her, it makes everything else worth it.

Now, i'm sure you're wondering why the heck i'm writing about my dog. Well, in a lot of ways we are like my dog, Padme, Destroyer of Worlds.

There's a C.S. Lewis quote that says, "Let's pray that the human race never escapes Earth to spread its iniquity elsewhere." Most may agree with Lewis when we read all the sad stories and see all the depressing news on television. Yet, my first response was, "What about our potential for good?"

Because, you see, we are so accustomed to noticing the beastly part of humanity that we hardly take notice of the good qualities of man. Yes, we should be aware of all of the bad things going on, but we should not stop there. And, if for some reason you can't see any good, then be the good, and shortly it should follow you. God will never completely abandon you. There's always something out there, even if it happens to be a beastly dog with a secretive loving side late at night.

My Love Story

When I was little I was in a constant state of fear. This was most likely due to my extremely active imagination combined with all of my friends being obsessed with the supernatural. I was even really good friends with a girl whose mother worked as a ghost hunter. No joke, she did it. So, needless to say I feared that time of night when the sun went down and the parents sent me to the dark chamber that was my bedroom. I was very well known to have several nightmares and night-terrors (which involved crying and screaming without waking up, and sometimes sleepwalking as well), so sleep was a frightening thing for me for a very long time.

In my upper elementary years, My mom bought me a wall hanging that had all of the different names of Jesus on it. My personal favorite was, of course, Prince of Peace. I would pray each night to my Prince of Peace in hope that my dreams would be soothing and that I wouldn't feel the need to rush next door to my parents room like I tended to do so often. Eventually, I was calmed through several years of prayer and spiritual growth.

Yet, I still hold dear the name Prince of Peace. About a month or so ago, I had been severely struggling with being content. One night in my passion group we admitted our biggest fears to one another. I thought about it for a little bit, and I realized my biggest fear was that I would never be content relationally. I have always had this drive to find 'the one,' which sounds a bit odd, but I did. It grew hard for me as I began to feel unwanted or unlovable, and even though I have wonderful friends sometimes I just wanted more than that.

It was a selfish ambition and it did not take long before God began to pull the brakes. A dear friend of mine prayed for me that night, and while I may not remember the words exactly I remember the picture they delivered, that my Prince had already been here. My Prince of Peace already came for me long ago, and He loved me so much He died for me. I have been told that so many times, sadly it became a bit routine, but I had never realized how romantic it was, or that the Prince of Peace was my Prince all along. He was there when I shuddered in my bed at night, and He has continued His courting of me through friendships i've made, and the classes and chapels at JBU. He wanted me so much more than I have ever longed for another human being, which is such a powerful concept, because human drive can be quite something.

The Bible is now no longer a text full of do this and don't do that. No, instead the Gospel is how Jesus and I began our relationship. He came for me, and even though I did not yet exist He fought for me. He fought so hard that He died, and then beat death. That is how strong His love is for me. The rest of the words of the New Testament became His love letters to me. They guide me in how to grow closer to Him, and it is sustaining. The fact that the books are not written by Jesus Himself does not matter, because it simply means there was a messenger, like when a woman receives word from another man sent from her significant other who is off in war. The words may have been given by someone else, but it does not refute the love behind them. He is my Prince of Peace, and it brings me so much joy to know that. I cannot say whether or not singleness is my calling, but I can say, in this moment, I am content, and that makes all the difference.

The Cross

This past summer i went with my youth group to a summer camp during middle school week as a sponsor. We did some really cool stuff and i was so blessed by the kids that i was surrounded with, but boy was in for a big surprise. I was almost instantly told that i would be responsible for fourteen middle-schoolers. Well, i was eighteen, an adult, i figured maybe i could do it, and let God take control.

One of the things we did is we would all go off in our groups for certain tasks. The first task my kids received was a big one... the cross. So we hiked down this trail with this guy who carried a gun to shoot snakes if need be, which was a little weird, but it's what we had to do. My kids then had to pick a tree. Once the tree was chosen it was then made into a cross. The cross was decently sized and when stood up was probably about a couple inches taller than i was. But it didn't stop there. Our guide then had each of my kids take a turn carrying the cross while describing the horrific condition Jesus was in with His intestines hanging out and he would say things like, "You think Jesus did this for your video games?!" I kind of wanted to slap the guy, he was already forcing them to go beyond their physical limit in the humid summer heat, but to attack them orally as well just seemed terrible.

Yet there was one sweet girl. She, earlier when the cross was being made, had started feeling sick because she was getting dehydrated and the day was so hot. She waited a while to carry the cross, but when she did it blew my mind. She wasn't super strong or anything like that, she was even struggling quite a bit, trying to drag the cross up a big rocky hill. The man in charge asked if she wanted to stop, but she said, "I can go a little longer." This poor sweet girl wanted to push on after feeling like she couldn't even stand just half an hour earlier! The man loved that she said this saying, "Did you hear what she said!?" And he also did something else which hit my heart. He called the kids to look at their shadows as they dragged the cross over the various hills and declines, and he would softly mention "Jesus did that for you."

This girl was probably around twelve years old, and she made more of an impact on me than i ever could on the fourteen of them. Sometimes i have these doubts in my life, but i will recall her words, "I can go a little longer." And God always pulls through for me and the realization that Satan was underlining all of my insecurities and doubts, whispering things to make me feel worthless because he thinks, "Oh! I almost have her!" But i never let go of God. So many things have happened, and without Him i know none of theme would have gone right. I would like to laugh in the Devil's face, because the moment he thinks he's got me i go running to my Father.

I hope if you're reading this you know of God's love for you. Jesus came for the sick, the broken, the untouchable. Satan constantly attacks my insecurities, but in God i know i have rest. Jesus died one of the most cruel and inhumane deaths, and then He rose again! No human love could ever compare to that love, a love that conquers death! I wish everyone could realize the power of God's love, and that no matter how many times we mess up He never gives up on us. Just thinking about it leaves me breathless. Surely i can push on just a little bit longer.

Plastic Bag

"Did my maker exists, or had I created her in my mind? Why were my mountains of joy so brief? And yet, like a fool, I still have hope I will meet her again, and if I do I will tell her just one thing: I wish you had created me so that I could die."

These were the words of a plastic bag from an 18 minute creative "documentary" on YouTube by IndiesLab. It goes through the life of a plastic bag, which never dies. This video was more than likely created as a statement against littering and was supposed to get you to start caring for the environment, but to me it said so much more.

Like us, the bag had a "creator." Once the bag was opened at the store it was given life and its creator would be the person getting groceries. Even though these are different kind of creators I found the bag to echo questions that I have asked myself.

The first one is about the bag's doubt of his creator. Does God exists or am I just making this whole thing up? Just like the bag we tend to lose our way from God, and after a while we start to doubt. When the bag was first lost from his creator he said, "I imagined her crying, 'where is he, where is he.'" But perhaps the bag's imagination of his creator crying these words is really just an image of his own fear of where she is. God does not have to wonder where we are, He knows, but when we've gone farther than we should have we have to wonder... where is He? Yet, He's been there all along! Unlike the bag our Creator will not leave our side and leave us wandering.

The second question the bag asks is why its mountains of joy were so brief. The places the bag found its happiness was with his creator and with another bag he had found. He had spent a long time looking for his creator, the one that never came. He was broken over this, but when he met this other bag he said, "I didn't need a maker anymore, I only needed her." His happiness was dependent upon others. Just like that bag I have struggled greatly with this concept. If other people hurt, I hurt for them, and after a while I become more conscious and aware of that person than I ever was with God, and I will feel drained all the time because I can't do this without Him. During the last half of my senior year i was acquiring a lot of friends in high school, and some really needed me to be there for them in ways that just drained me. I loved them all dearly, but i remember quite vividly lying in my bed and saying to God, "I just want it to be me and You." I was depriving God of the time He deserved from me, and my happiness was beginning to diminish. I know we will never be truly happy all the time, but I also know it is better to hurt with God then hurt alone.

The final thing the bag expresses is its desire to die. Obviously we don't have the issue of living forever, but I like that it shows the bag's desire for something more. After the bag gives up on his maker he looks for paradise. Lucky for use we don't have to go looking for Paradise. But others do. There are a lot of other bags out there looking for something... and they're confused about makers, paradise, and other bags. Be on the look out for plastic bags drifting in the wind, and show them our Maker, and I'll try to do the same.

I'll leave you with one last quote from our bag friend, "I had holes, but over time I learned to use them to navigate the wind and I could fly."

With love,
Alisha