Quest for the Swing (or Tim the Trailblazer)

It was a hot day in Milton, so hot in fact that I opted for shorts...when I should have worn pants. With but few delays Tim, Cassandra, Sam, Grace, Isaiah, Strider, Scooter, and I trotted gleefully through the front yard toward adventures unknown, although certainly imagined. So began our quasi-hike to find the "watering hole," as Tim called it. Through the dust and gravel we made our way, e'er so slowly (as I said, it was a hot day). It took nigh a minute for the young ones to trek off course, as this trip was a very difficult "Follow the Leader" expedition. I myself found it an arduous task, as we rounded the first bend and took off into a former construction site. "Where are they putting the house?" a genuinely curious Isaiah asked. A question that rang too true. According to Tim (again), they had run out of money, a sad story that I fear inside we shan't dive at the present moment. We came upon our first dead end (one of oh-so-many), as our fearless leader Tim attempted to scale a pile of logs, with the children close behind. A snap of a branch and down went our stumbling trailblazer. Was he hurt?

No, Tim was just resting for a bit, although the path selected was one of folly. We would have to find another way. Fighting through the spider webs and various underbrush, we made our way down the hill to find a dried-up creek bed. No tears were shed, friends, for our troop's steadfast resolve held in the spirit of our courageous forefathers who had once traveled this lonely creek. My confidence began to wane soon after, though. As I watched, helpless at the time, Tim hopped back and forth from one shore to the other, trying to lead us along this forgotten stream. I watched as each young face melted into agony as the poorly chosen steps of our leader occured, sealing each of our own fates. Alas, we trudged ahead, through water, boulder, mud, trees, poison ivy, fern and the thousands of ticks that eagerly awaited a new flap of skin of which they took hold (just ask Cassandra...).

As we made our way through the woods, blazing new trails (as Tim would have us believe) for those to come later, we were forced by the thick foliage to finally cross (for the seventeenth time) to the other side of the creek bed. At this point friends, one wee little tear did begin to form as I looked upon the steep embankment as Tim fumbled his way up. Grace was right behind and as Tim tried to help her along, the ground gave way. Screams erupted from all around and in a slow-motion manner I saw the blood drain from Grace's face as she looked upon her doom. Both she and Tim began to slide down, down, down, into the creek. I now look back, and I don't know if it was shock or some twisted reverence or awe for the power of nature, but we looked upon Tim as he came crashing down. The dust and mud finally settled, and so did my thoughts of Tim as our leader. I would follow this joker no more. I would blaze my own trail.

Cassandra sought out my counsel and wisdom as we kept Tim in sight but followed a much easier, much more accessible and timely path. After what seemed like hours, we finally came upon the end of our journey at long last. The tears now openly flowed as we looked upon a five by five foot long and three feet deep section of the creek that contained approximately ten tadpoles and one very small fish. "Welcome to the Watering Hole," muttered Tim in a smug, condescending tone. "You can see the remnants of the dam here, but somehow the tree for our swing is now bent in the opposite direction." What supernatural forces must be at work here, thought I, to have set the tree not only upright, but bent in the exact opposite direction from the creek. There was no swing, there was no swimming, there was no joy. Oh, the dogs had a good time. I hope you had fun, Scooter. I hope you had tons of fun.

In short, I blame Tim. Next time, I'm in charge. Because when I am in charge, I create laughter and glee, not shame and tears.

(We all had a really good time and it was neat to run around in the woods for awhile. We were sad we didn't get to swing, but Sam got to sit on a bench that belonged to the neighbors. Other than that, nobody got bitten by snakes, and that in itself is reason to celebrate.)

The American Dream

I've always been a big believer in capitalism. I've always thought hard work was a great thing. I still think it is. I think capitalism, for the most part, tends to work in large societies where the consumer is smart enough to take control of the free enterprise system. Here is what I'm coming to realize: desire and ambition are not bad things, but without these pointed toward God they can create much evil. I used to get upset thinking about the future. I have so many dreams, so many ambitious yearnings for success that I thought that there were many, many good things that could get in the way of an American dream. In my college education, my professors have posed a very realistic question: children or career? Professional musician or teacher? Open to music or open to my quack religious beliefs?

I made a decision several years back (now I know I didn't know what I was getting into, and I probably still don't) to follow Christ, to take up His cross and follow Him. I'm sitting at work right now, and some things are starting to creep into my mind and my heart. When I made that decision, I laid down my life. It's no longer mine to live. What a freedom I have now. I can go out and fail multiple times over and not become a great composer and not become a great conductor and maybe only touch a few lives with the music in which I'm involved. It's up to me to make wise decisions, to align my life with Christ's, to follow Him. He carries the burden of my "successful" life. I don't have to be scared in the future or now. I don't have to worry about my professors' narrow-minded, absolute statements of fear. God has ordained my days, and nothing can get in the way of plans for me. Whatever may come, be it a life of poverty and suffering or fame, or even both, I trust in my God to define the idea of success. I no longer want to pursue the American dream. I want something so much bigger. I want to pursue a heavenly dream, one that God counts as worthy.

Psalm 139

"O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and rise up; You understand my thought from afar. You scrutinize my path and my lying down, And are intimately acquainted with all my ways. Even before there is a word on my tongue, Behold, O Lord, You know it all. You have enclosed me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is too high, I cannot attain to it. Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the dawn, If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, Even there Your hand will lead me, And Your right hand will lay hold of me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, And the light around me will be night,' Even the darkness is not dark to You, And the night is as bright as the day Darkness and light are alike to You. For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You, When I was made in secret, And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth; Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; And in Your book were all written The days that were ordained for me, When as yet there was not one of them. How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand When I awake, I am still with You. O that You would slay the wicked, O God; Depart from me, therefore, men of bloodshed. For they speak against You wickedly, And Your enemies take Your name in vain. Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord? And do I not loathe those who rise up against You? I hate them with the utmost hatred; They have become my enemies. Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there be any hurtful way in me, And lead me in the everlasting way." (NASB)

This is one of my very favorite psalms and passages of Scripture. I led a discussion last week in a Bible Study on how this psalm speaks to the nature of God and the nature of man. The name of this blog is based on verse 14, which most manuscripts say that I, a human, am fearfully and wonderfully made. Finding my identity, which we as beings strive so hard to do, emanates from the idea that I am one of God's wonderful works, that I am a creation, some may go so far as to say a piece of art, that God has woven. Unlike creations that we aspire to, unlike the art we know, man is not entirely separate from his Creator. We are never alone. We cannot run from God, no matter if we accept His invitation or deny His existence. He is omnipresent and although I admit that sometimes this scares me, it is quite comforting to know that He never leaves me. That like a sheep or a young child, my Shepherd and Father continues to watch and mold me. Not only that, but God has my ordained days written to His knowledge. This is one of those things that I can't grasp. I think this falls under the "knowledge" that the psalmist claims to high for [us] such as we cannot attain to it.

I've been going to an Associate Reformed Presbyterian church for almost a year and a half now, and unlike my Baptist background, to my knowledge their theology focuses on the "elect" and some ideas of predestination. I have no problem with this; this psalm in particular confirms such knowledge as do other Scriptures. I am reluctant to go as far as many of my trusted and authoritative Christian brothers and sisters in these ideas as to blend God's omniscient wisdom and understanding with human reasoning to come with absolute statements. I'm still traveling on this journey and I hope to grow into more understanding of all these things.

The language of darkness and light, the ideas of the two being the same to God, and the knowledge that justice will be done ultimately, totally, in the end are more traits of God's character. The psalmist's vow of "utmost hatred" toward the enemies of God is a more difficult passage. Some translations read "perfect hatred" and create an interesting debate in our PC world about what righteous indignation may look like. I'm not totally sure, and as a friend suggested, the last two verses may suggest that the previous passage of hate and enemies could be a fleshly writing. In any circumstance, I pray that God would search me and know me and inform me of my wayward longings and journeys.

I'm going to attempt this psalm to music. Most likely it will be acapella, SATB choir and more tonal than some works in the past have been. I was going to finish it by the end of this month and enter into a competition, but that's going to happen. Financial circumstances have found me without a membership into the ACDA (American Choral Directors Association), so it will have to be another time. I want so badly to communicate through the composition process, and it's such an overwhelming feeling to see that communication through performance (it's only happened once), but it's so difficult and such a draining process. I only hope that it can bring me closer to my family and my God. I pray that He would empty me of my unrighteous desires and create a new Spirit in me.

Very First Post

I don't care for Xanga a'tall. That is why I'm posting here now, and I hope to do such posting more regularly. I really can't stand people who post all their problems online, so I hope to just share with some family and friends some honest sharing and questions about my walk with Christ. I may share some musical thoughts now and again as well.