I’ve made it my maxim.
It wasn’t a conscious choice; the concept from the words read in passing just imprinted onto my mind (funny how that happens sometimes).

"I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry.  You have always written before and you will write now.  All you have to do is write one true sentence.  Write the truest sentence that you know.'  So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there” (Ernst Hemingway).

Words are a reality to me.
I love them (a lot).
I seem to loathe them (just as often).

I’ve started at blank pages (more like screens), and haven’t felt so much daunted at trying to transfer this multi-colored, thick flow of a cool stream into comprehensible words and thoughts on paper.  I’ve just felt at a loss of how to do it effectively.

True.

That’s what I always seem to unconsciously come back to.

Write the truest words you know how.

And, well, the truest words I know how to write at this moment is that I don’t exactly know this true.

I feel kind of incapable.

You see, when you’ve been told that you have a gift or that you’re good at something or have simply held a desire to do something (and by golly maybe even harbor a hope of success), you can start to doubt.  You can fear losing your talent (or sometimes even more deadly) losing the desire.

You see, I’m a little afraid to fail.  Cause if I fail at this which I decided should be such a big part of my life, what then?

What if my words fail?
What if I fail?

Are my words apart of my core or an expression of my core?
If I fail at them am I stripped of part of the essence of me?

What if I put them out there and they are rejected or just ignored?  They seems to be a very outpouring of the essence of me - and what would it be like to have that essence found faulty or invaluable?

You see, I don’t know how to proceed if my dreams are constantly out of reach and never actually fulfilled.
But you see, I can simply avoid facing the fact that they might never be in reach if I never actually try.
And this is also what I see: when you’re good at something, you don’t necessarily have to try.  You can get by without ever exerting that much of an effort.

It is safe to stay within those bounds of easy and never really branch out into the realms where the dreams will either be found to be in reach or found to be essentially out for the long term.

I haven’t wanted to admit the truth of this.
I haven’t wanted to have to actually buckle down and do the hard.

But I say oh well.

Yes, oh. well.

You see, I’ve tasted a piece of freedom: where you believe that you are in the land of the King of freedom and that you must simply step out into this land while letting go of insecurities, doubts, and questions by taking hold of His hand and trusting.

You cannot choose to keep thinking and rationalizing until everything seems right to step out.
You cannot even focus on the fact that you’re not as ready as you want to be or that you are simply inadequate - inadequately skilled and even inadequately full of pride and stubbornness.

And you cannot hold on to the fact that you’ve had it wrong in the past and done it with hands tinted by failure when you’ve tried before.

You must simply say oh well. because (oh well!) we’ve got a good God who has more grace than we can even fathom for our inadequacies and failures and simple imperfections.

You see, history has been written, and the story of our lives is being written.
Each day past is another one in the books, and the book (truth be told) is only so long.

So I’m committing to truth on a whole new level, for He is truth.

And it’s ultimately a commitment to Him
where truth (Jn. 14:6), life (Jn. 14:6), and freedom (Jn. 10:10) are unleashed in honestly inexpressible ways.

He’s true.  He’s good.

It’s true; true life is found in abandoning to Him.
Oh? Well, I’m living for that.

 This post was written in November of 2015.
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Let me take you back three months.
Let me paint you a picture of hope.

When all ones sees is possibilities and endless opportunities, the world is full of light and happiness. When the future is so uncertain, you are certain that it must be good, and it remains bright.

That's the spot I was in three months ago.  Yes, I did not know what the future would hold, but I held onto the hope that it would be good.

Well, I've had a bit of a reality check these three months.

I've seen that there's a lot more that I have left to see.
I've seen that I haven't always seen myself clearly.
I've seen that I haven't always seen others clearly.
I've seen that I haven't always seen life clearly.

Here I sit, three months forward, and I see the depths of my broken, flawed, unhappy state. God's been working in my heart.  I've seen ugly parts of myself.  I've felt things that I would rather not.

Here I sit, and I sit alone.

I sit. alone.

I am in a new place, surrounded by endless faces of new and semi-familiar people, in an environment where I'm supposed to be having the time of my life and soaking in crazy, endless fun.

Here I sit, and I sit down to try and be faithful and keep following God and choosing the right and being frustrated why my life doesn't feel right.

Here I sit, and I think of how nothing's going how it was supposed to go. 

I feel more alone now on a deeper level than I ever have in my life || I was supposed to feel more connected and full of friends than ever before.
I feel my deficit of love and affirmation more than I ever have in my life || I was supposed to feel the most loved and affirmed and supported than I ever have before.
I feel like my life is one constant stress  || I was supposed to be having the most fun than ever before.

Here I sit, and I sit alone. Yet alone, I see:

What's it going to take fore me to realize that it's you alone?

I just want someone to come up to me and tell me that I'm valuable - that they see me.  I just want to do life together and laugh.  I just want to be surrounded by community.

but even if I had that, then it would be something else.

I just wanted to get into that elite academic society (and didn't). I just wanted to get that senator position (and didn't). I just wanted to get that job (and didn't).

my own chasings after fulfillment and happiness keep being frustrated.

In a deeper way than ever before, I feel like my plans for success and happiness and plan to derive my strength to keep carrying on are failing.

My plan that I wanted fulfilled in order to find happiness, purpose, and strength to carry on has been stripped away.

It hasn't turned out how I wanted it to, and this has shown me that I am not always who I wanted to be, my dreams might not be what I always wanted them to be, and my fears might be harder to conquer than I thought.

My plan I wanted fulfilled in order to find (ultimately) satisfaction failed, and I am left, left staring the fact in the face that (ultimately) it's You alone.  

I can never (no, never - no matter what the season) be filled by anything other than You.

I have hopes. dreams. feelings. desires. expectations.  but what do they really matter?  do i have to have some of them fulfilled in the way that i think is best in order to be satisfied, finally filled with purpose, excited about life?

that's ridiculous.

that's proud.  that's demanding my way in stubbornness.  it's where i continue to hold onto my will. it's a refusal, a refusal to surrender.

i've had to get close to You because all i have is You.
and maybe that's a good thing.
(no) maybe that's the best thing.

cause how can i know You in the good times when i've never had to learn to see Your face even in the dark? how can i hope to share the light when i've never needed the light myself?

how can i submit to your will in "the big things" when i don't know what it means to live with you in the small things? when i haven't wrestled with my own emotions and desires and expectations?

cause that's what you're doing.
You're teaching me
how to live:
how to be satisfied with you.

You're teaching me who You are
and what that means about who i am.

yeah, it is hard at times. it's like "really, God?"

i've got to surrender my expectations to you
and everything that i’m looking to for happiness, purpose, and fulfillment outside of You.

sometimes, my selfishness can be so strong as I sulk, sick of it all.  i don't want God to be dealing with me anymore.
but that means i would be lost to myself.

what better place to be than lost in the hands of a good God?

5.  If We Met || It's Me

4.  Because I'm Coming Back || For Perpetual Starters

3.  Perpetual Tomorrows

2.  Where Christ Actually Means Something {Come on, My Generation}

1.  The How

It was a string of messages.

“7-8. Sunday.  The Billy.”
“Wait, make that 6:30 for setup.” 
“No, 6:20 to pick up you, one camera bag, one shotgun mic, one audio recorder, and one Arri light kit.” 
“Wait, make that my sister picking you up.” 
“I’ve got to get the rest of the supplies.”

It was a string of messages, and one message rang clear: things are moving so fast, and I feel like I can hardly keep up.

It was a string of messages just as the past three months had simply felt like a string of rather long days that, when pulled through your hands, goes so fast that (sometimes) you all you can feel is the burn.

Is the burn a good thing or a bad thing?
Well, that I don’t know.

You see, feeling a burn means that you have to have motion.
In order to feel anything at all, you had to have been doing something.

(and doing things? yeah. that’s often a good thing.)

But feeling the burn means that you are doing things that tend to have a chance of pain.
Maybe it’s the deeper pains that i’m most deeply afraid of.

The pain of rejection.
The pain of underwhelmingly meeting expectations.
The pain of constant pressure.

“7-8.  Sunday.  The Billy”

I had sent a message; made a choice; taken an action.

The rope is speedily sliding through my hands.
And feel the pain? (oh) I do.

It was 8:45.  Sunday.  The Billy.  And there we sat.

One director of photography, one commuting high schooler, one obliging sister, and one rope-burned instigator.
We sat, and the white breakfast plates sat in front of us.
The half-eaten waffles, remaining cheerios, opened yogurt, and boiled eggs rested on top of those.

And our hungry stomachs were resting in the delight of being filled with breakfast food - filled while sitting in an office hallway. with dinner plates. and half eaten breakfast food.

We ate the floored waffles.  We sat in silence.

We - those who move so fast that they know the rope burn - rested.

We sat and let the moment be all that the moment could be — a time to be thankful for the moments that are so passing, so strange, yet so passingly strangely glorious.

Feeling my rope-burn acutely, I ate the floored waffles.

You see, maybe it’s not so much about gripping the rope so tight.  Maybe it’s not even so much about wishing that the rope wouldn’t go so fast.  Maybe, it’s about learning that the rope seems to be going fast, but you really need to learn how to move more quickly with the rope at times and more slowly at others.  Maybe it’s about learning how to handle the rope so that you are no longer at its mercies but can determine its speed. 

And (maybe) it’s about learning to enjoy the wind from the speed of the rope in the meantime.
And (maybe) it might just mean learning to live with the burn when the burn is particularly intense.

For life is good.
Life is simple.

Sometimes Sunday nights bring strings and floors and waffles, but (really) maybe they’re bringing a deeper satisfaction at the simple joy of simply being alive and living.

Ropes and all.