Not sure how this will work its way out from my brain to fingertips... This blog post, I mean.

It's one of those instances when most things I hold with confidence in lucid moments become murky--not depressingly so, but just in a jumbled, silly way. It likely has something to do with the fact that I'm tired. And it's late. Yes. But I still want to write. Darned foggy emotions and all. This could perhaps be a less than stellar choice: tomorrow morning might bite me fiercely for the decision to linger over this drivel at midnight. But who gives a rat's patootie? I want to write. So I will write. And I will make whatever inane, awkward, and/or nonsensical observations I please. Oy. Such is the nature of creative inspiration with the written word. One can't pick and choose when one receives the inspiration to write. It simply comes.

The presence of that inspiration, however, means nothing in the way of quality. So I may be inspired, but said inspiration might still be paired with extraordinarly scattered and pointless writing. In fact, I think that may be the case currently ;)

One brief note: I've spent the past two hours reading a specific author. And I am darn-straight copying said writer's style right now... Can you tell who? If you know me, you'll know who. Then again, why am I asking this? As if someone is reading this post, and possesses the requisite interest necessary to respond with an answer to such a banal question.

What if I ended this post here and now?

Swell idea.

Nighty.

Consider this:

"Hope is hearing the music of the future. Faith is having the courage to dance to it."

Some might find this quote slightly saccharin. But not me. Not freaking me.

I adore its poetic encapsulation of living life passionately, purposefully, and with joy-infused abandon. That is the stuff right there. The goods. My soul burns to live like that. Intensely.

Honestly, though, I'm exhausted. Sleep-deprived? Yes. But primarily exhausted with myself -- my hyper-analytical, slow-to-believe, skeptical, pessimistic, self-condemning, sluggish-on-the-uptake-of-truth, perpetually comparing self. Why do I sit in this slum running my hands through mud? I long to permanently dump this 'me' that lives like I hate to live and does what I loathe to do and is what I no longer can stand to be. I'm painfully serious. The 'me' that I just described is doing a masterful job of siphoning the life out of me.

I feel like a muddled mess. What can I say to this? I am weary of my personal, persistent failures; frustrated at my lack of passionate, love-saturated living; agitated at my scattered attempts to collect myself... What can I say?

Not a word. I've attempted to cage this problem of my self-condemning yet pride-stained thoughts and lingering struggles from every conceivable angle. I've talked, shared, strategized, planned, scheduled, over-thought, fumed, and wept.

I haven't the words to say. I haven't a solitary remaining plan. Zilch. Nada.

And it's in this wordless, speechless weariness that He has once again captured my attention with His embrace. I could burst with raw desire for Jesus in this moment -- a moment in which I'm also wrenchingly aware of my flaws and weaknesses.

I'm speechless. So His words must do the speaking... "What then shall we say? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things? Who will bring a charge against God's elect? God is the one who justifies; who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril , or sword?" ... or my own pride/insecurity/self-loathing, et cetera?

No.

Nothing.

My tomorrow is in Jesus' eyes. The music of that tomorrow is sated with peace and freedom and explosive power and redemptive work and satisfying joy. That is truth. My mind may attempt to analyze that away... to doubt it... to fear it's derailment... to name myself as an exception to the promise. But it will stand, nonetheless, as the truth for my future. That's the music I hear today.

Jesus sings the song. He sings it over me. And I hear it.

And I will dance to it.

Jesus... I'm overcome by desires so heavy that they paralyze me. Specific things. Their mention tenses me. You know them.

Yet even in my rampant desires for a thousand other things, all I'm really wanting is You. I know it--If I dig to the bottom of those longings... down to their foundation... they're cravings for a satisfaction, a passionate love, an intimate embrace that will only find fulfillment in You.

I know that the things I so fervently want are foolishly inadequate. They have no power to satiate the depths of this desire. At their failing, the longing will remain-- gaping and yawning... unsatisfied. I'm a tangled mess of want. I want a relationship, deep friendships, prestige, unconditional acceptance from others, achievement, recognition, favor, glory, the satisfaction of my flesh, the praise of man, entertainment, comfort... I know it. I drown in it.

Like a fool, I turn to these things and make them my dumb, mute idols.

But there is tonight. Tonight those wants have become transparent. I can see through their slick exterior... see past them... to the thing that I want so badly that I can feel it in my throat. A pull. My body is full of desire for it. It's You.

All I want is You. You are the treasure hidden beneath dust and dirt and chaff. You are the water-- 200 feet down the well-- whose taste is life. You are my glory. My pleasure. My hope.

Finding myself in You is discovering the intimate Love for which I've wept, fought, waited, longed and grasped.

You are my joy.

All I want is You.

Darn. Rain. Stereotypical western Washington weather, unfortunately. Gosh, I miss the sun. Meanwhile, I've been pondering my two energizing creative passions: writing and photo-shooting. I'm toying with the idea of coalescing them in some way. Just for the pleasure of it.

You see (Don't you think it's swell when people begin their sentences with "You see?" Gag.) I'm fairly certain that I'm a romantic. Don't be fooled, I mean "romantic" in the semi-literary sense of enjoying heart-stopping vistas and grand things and sweeping emotion and climactic epic-ness, etc. The alternate use of the word conjures up images of romance novels, hopeless love shmucks, and B-rated romantic comedies. I don't dig that ("dig." Did I really just write that?).

Yes, I'm an epic/scenic/grand/sweeping/climactic sort of romantic. At times I'm overcome by a severe longing for something deeply and profoundly 'more'... something that sweeps me up into itself with power and finality and passion. The shell of this longing exists for me in great music, breath-taking scenery, good art, and moving films.

C.S. Lewis is my mentor in this territory. Consider his description of this longing that I've poorly termed being a "romantic" (which he finds an inadequate label)...

In The Weight of Glory, he calls it "The secret we cannot hide and cannot tell though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter... But this is a cheat... The books and music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things are good images of what we really desire... But they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."

That's what I mean by romantic. A deep-set longing for fullfilment and beauty that will never be tasted in its intoxicating entirety until I meet Jesus face-to-face. For now, it takes the form of an unsatisfied yearning--kindled each time I taste beauty in nature, film, art, and music.

Here enters photography. Words articulate emotion and feeling in sequential revelation. But a picture sweeps me up into itself in a swift moment. It seizes my desire for beauty and 'more' and intensifies it. Lately, I've been thinking in photos rather than words alone. A picture instantly imparts a feeling. I like that. I also like the thought of using words to articulate the sense that washes over me.

So... Why not marry my two creative outlets for the heck of it? I think I will. I'll describe as best I can a few of my photos--the framed world that they create in my mind. Let me know your thoughts about each or any of the photos. What senses and emotions invade you? I'm also curious if you can relate a smidge (I like that word ;) to any of my talk about this "longing."

Enjoy. And keep chasing and desiring more ;)

I savor capturing the smaller worlds within our 'big' world. This little fella likely wandered the yellow rose for a significant portion of his life. He probably didn't venture beyond the specific garden in which this flower is rooted. But his world was still vast to him, and we shared this moment. Whimsical :)

The overwhelming sense that floods me is "December." A finality and conclusion of things. Of a day. Of a year. Of a life. This photo induces a pensive introspection in me. I want to be still in it... Be still and reflect. Be still and know.

The 'longing' gains uber intensity here. I feel the urgent desire to be part of something grand and majestic... Or to just tacitly soak it in. Greatness lures me in this photo with high-flying, richly colored glory. Don't you itch a little to see what's at the end of that horizon?

I see fertile soil for daydreams :) An afternoon of barefoot, care-free exploration. This makes me happy. Silly happy.

This photo delivers fragments. I feel in parts: silent struggle, earnest desire, a touch of sadness, and quiet reflection.

Your turn, if you please ;)

Me and a blog. Why the heck not? Yes, everyone and their cousin seems to be blogging... and I suppose it feels a smidge like riding the bandwagon. But it's a comfortable bandwagon that allows me to indulge in two things I relish: creative writing and photography. So... Away we go.

Speaking of "Away We Go," loved the film. Thoroughly. John Krasinski plays a deliciously genial fella.

Speaking of "delicious," I highly recommend ordering the green curry at Indochine in Tacoma. Or, simply be adventurous at your own local Thai haunt and order some incarnation of curry (if Tacoma, Washington isn't on your travel itinerary).

Speaking of travel itineraries, I'm eager for the day that I'll travel to New Zealand. Seriously. The accents, breath-stealing vistas, lavish beaches, rustic mountains, and faraway nostalgia make it so darn appealing. Oh, for the love of a plane ticket.

Speaking of plane tickets, if anyone happens to know of an extra ticket lying around (destination anywhere), let me know. I'll do you the favor of using it ;)

That should do the trick for the time being--my first post has now been an utterly random, "free association" style masterpiece. If you've made it this far, I applaud you. Wowzers. My thanks ;)

Here's one of my random photographs... It gives me the warm fuzzies.