munkymufin's Xanga

Monday, June 09, 2008

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 19:46:37 GMT

This is a nothing-post so that my blog is not deleted.

I got an email warning of deletion.

One day I will copy my old writings, so I don't want them deleted yet.

Fare thee well, fare thee well

Tue, 23 Oct 2007 23:29:46 GMT

My school has blocked Xanga, as I mentioned a month ago, and so I have begun a blogspot.

lucasmatthews.blogspot.com

If you go there, you can read what I write. I am trying to write more often, and with a different focus than what I used to have. I am trying to be less depressing, at the very least.

I will miss you, xanga.

Not really. Because you're not a person, silly!

I will miss the friends I made because of xanga. Feel free to stop by my new place, though. Or my facebook.

Fare thee well! Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Sat, 22 Sep 2007 02:33:24 GMT

Sorry it's been so long. Harding has blocked Xanga from on-campus computers, as it can be used for "Dating/Personals" purposes. God forbid! Anyhow, here is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago. My birthday is monday.

9-9-07

This morning I was running late for church. Then I hit every red light possible. Before I left the town, I gave up and pulled into a cemetery instead.

When my ex and I broke up, I would often hop on my bike and find myself at a cemetery. I was thinking of her today, also.

I walked and avoided puddles and was still as confused by cemeteries as I have always been. To look around you see lush grass that has no signs of ever being disturbed, as if the bodies had been born and always lived in the ground next to their ornate nametags. The decorations are cold stone and beautiful, fragrant dead flowers. To bypass the irony entirely (but in the end creating their own) most people now leave artificial flowers.

I found a sign that read, "No Admittance After Dark." I laughed and decided that I had better die in the daytime.

I found a fresh grave, belonging to Eugene Harris. He died on Wednesday. The dirt on top of him was uneven, and a small trench formed around the edge of the casket, where the rain stole his dirt. The wind, though, knocked all of his flowers, real and fake, and his wreaths on top of him, covering him once more. It seemed reverent.

I thought about the time I drove to that cemetery with a girl and cuddled. I felt passionate and awkward and alive.

I thought about driving past the cemetery a few days before, seeing what I now know to be Eugene's procession.

I thought about driving in my Grandfather's procession in February.

I thought about Grandaddy dying, and being so alone in spite of the fact that I was with my now-ex-girlfriend.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 22:40:09 GMT

Ever since last summer, the youth group here and I have been visiting a nursing home not too far from us. We sing, read some Bible passages that teenagers don't want to read and the elderly can't hear, pray awkward prayers (one time I almost thanked God for getting to see "old friends," but thought better of it, considering our company), and make small-talk.

I've mentioned this before, of course. It's one of my favorite things that we do as a group. I hear interesting stories (walking down the hall yesterday, I heard an orderly asking one of the residents, "You dated a MIDGET???") and get to see that look in the old folks' eyes where they think back to beautiful times when they ran, danced, and had a spouse.

Last year, there were three ladies that I never got the chance to meet. In fact, I never spoke a word to them or even put my hand on their shoulders. Every week, they were wheeled into the room and fell asleep as soon as we started singing. And they stayed asleep.

I found this, well, not offensive but more bemusing. On bad days I thought it was rude, but most of the time I just shrugged it off and looked at the other people while I sang. I never gave it much thought.

This past February, I visited my Grandfather just before he died. We knew his time was close, so I rushed home. I brought my guitar after years of "forgetting" it when I'd visit, as I get shy about playing for people. I even offered to play for him, because I wouldn't have the chance soon. I showed him a short piece I had written, and ten seconds into it he fell asleep. I finished, and he woke up. He asked me to play it again, so I did, and he replied in kind. He woke up again at the end of the song and asked me to play another one. I started into "Tears In Heaven," my grandma's favorite, and he fell asleep yet again.

I was a little sad until my Mom explained that Grandaddy had a lot of trouble falling asleep, as he had lost so much weight that there was hardly any fat left to cushion his old bones. His death was a slow and painful fight with leukemia, and it kept him up often. He slept intermittently through each night, and it was never restful sleep.

I played for him, and he was able to sleep. It was an honor.

I miss my grandfather so much. I think about him often, and what a good man he was. If only you could have met him, my friend who is reading this.

This year at the nursing home, there are about half as many people as last summer. Most of the sleeping ladies are gone, now. They've gone to be with God. Although I never met them, I miss them. But most of all, I'm so glad that the youth group lulled them into a little bit of comfort in their last days.

This year, whenever an old lady nods off, it is an honor.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 07:47:20 GMT

Tonight I fulfilled a dream that I have had since Freshman year of High School: I saw the Newsboys in concert.

But back to that in a minute.

Today has been a lovely day. I read comic books. I cleaned the house a bit. I got to the church building BEFORE the scheduled time of departure for our outing. All this and I got to go to a free concert with 12 of the youths.

On the way down, I tried my best to get them amped, listening to some good ol' fashioned rock 'n' roll, but lackluster car-dancing was all that I achieved. We got there, hugged random people (it's a Christian outdoor concert, so sweaty hugs are a must) and laughed quite a bit. I enjoyed it oh-so-much (especially after being sick and indoors for a week and a half or so). It all reminded me of the simple glory days of being in a youth group, of trying to cause minor trouble and hoping that random girls notice you, of looking around and feeling happy simply to know that you are surrounded by believers.

But now I organize things for a youth group; I don't want girls to notice me; and sometimes I tire of being around "believers." Billy Joel says that the sinners are much more fun, after all. Oh, to be back in the youth group. Oh, to be known as "righteous boy" and to love leading singing or giving lessons. Oh, to be unconcerned with insufficiencies and deficiencies.

I took a walk the last time it rained here in Grand Junction, and my sandals began to collect more and more mud on them with each slogging step. The longer I walked, the more difficult it became. Sometimes I feel like that overall, where the more time I spend on this earth the more I am weighed down with guilt and memories. With age and loneliness. With failures. With old dreams.

But for a while tonight, I was free. Free to run. Free to dance. Free to live for God. I jumped up and down like an excited teenager, I heard decade-old songs that remind me of those simple times and I was free to sing louder than I ever have around people:

"Glory, glory. Hallelujah, He reigns."

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 22:17:17 GMT

I am out here in Colorado, working again with the youth group that let me come last year. So far, things have been a bit slow, and I am feeling less capable as a teacher than I used to. But we are having fun, so that counts for something, right?

I've gone to a few nursing homes since arriving. The kids come and we sing, and the old people sit slumped over and scowling. We are often off-key, typically off-tempo, and rarely do we seem glad to be there. But we keep going, and Ms. Blanche keeps telling me about her 80-200 great-grandchildren.

Every week, though, this odd, magical thing happens:

We sing "Amazing Grace."

It's the darndest thing, as heads perk up, eyes open, and every person in the room sings along, as if unable to stop oneself from joining the hymn. The crabbiest people, the least-functioning, they all at least mouth the words. Some people even seem to be singing along in their sleep. It's amazing that, no matter who it is, people identify with the simple hymn. The words are such that the preschool kids at church know the song, but it holds people in this bizarre temporary spell that not even paralysis can deter.

I started to wonder what song I will be singing when I am an old man, if I get that far. I bet it'll still be "Amazing Grace."

Because I bet I'll still be a wretch.

I wrote this a few days ago. . .

Wed, 23 May 2007 23:49:24 GMT

Cleaning your room is a dangerous thing. I guess that's why I do it so rarely.

Just about every thing I touch is pregnant with significance. Prom tickets, bouncy balls, silly string, hastily written-down directions to places I don't go anymore. I found my faithful "little black book" that served me from grades 6-10, full of names that I would rather ignore than admit that I forgot.

I found my class schedule from three years ago, my first year of college. The paper was folded over several times but was as thin as a single sheet, pressed from all the days in my pocket and being sat upon. The paper is a soft as a dollar bill after accompanying me so many nervous freshman days, being constantly folded and unfolded to make sure that I was going in the right direction. I took higher-level classes than most Freshman do, because I wanted to be impressive. I wanted to be impressive. Oh, the goals and dreams I used to have.

Shifting around so much detritus, I was and am surprised at how many knick-knacks and receipts and trinkets I have packratted away simply because they remind me of someone. I still have a hard time parting with most of it. It is surprisingly difficult to bring oneself to throw away a hoodie's removed drawstring, a note, or stamps for the letters I was going to write her this summer.

Oh, well.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Thu, 17 May 2007 03:32:41 GMT

It is Wednesday, I'm pretty sure. I'm leaving on Sunday, after having arrived last Friday. This can hardly be considered a break, as I feel overwhelmed by all of the people that I want to see but cannot. So I run around and I worry, and I see those whom I can.

I don't know how I feel about the summer right now. I'm pretty scared, at least. I want to do a good job, and I want to be Jesus to these kiddos. But I'm not very good at being Jesus, to be honest. He did a much better job himself.

Random memory: on the plane back from Venezuela, I was feeling energized and wonderful and proud. I was embraced by another people and I felt good. In the rush, I talked to just about any stranger that entered my path. I talked to the lady seated next to me for a long time, and upon leaving, she called me "kiddo." I liked it quite a bit.

Part of me wants to leave. Maybe it's most of me. I am considering going to Spain for a year when I graduate. Some friends told me to go to Thailand, and I'm thinking about it. I don't know if the Chicago team is still together, but I wouldn't mind there.

Sigh.

Oh, I'm running for sure.

I have discovered what true love really is.

Sun, 06 May 2007 19:40:09 GMT

But first I'll tell you about how much beauty was contained in the past two days.

Friday was a day of moping and stressing and worries. I am not doing well in my Spanish class. I love Spanish. But I treat it poorly.

Anyhoo, I went to Little Rock on a whim and an invite from my dear friends Susanna, Kacey, and James. I had planned on studying, but decided to be irresponsible. I didn't even know what we were going to do there, and we wound up going Wedding Registry-shopping. Kacey and James are an enviably beautiful couple, and being in that group made shopping quite less painful than it normally is. It was a lovely time, although I was surrounded by things that remind me of someone (but I guess I always am reminded of her). We returned to Searcy and went our different ways. I intended to study.

So instead I decided to climb the gym with a few friends, but one was a new, nervous, and girly friend and she was very loud. Someone flagged down a security SUV and they told us to stop. Then we ran into the same officers two more times that night. We ended the night by sitting on a fountain and laughing.

Saturday morning I woke up at 8 to go back to West Little Rock to climb a mountain, Pinnacle. I was sweaty and happy. Jen, Carole and I hardly stopped laughing all morning, and then I went dress-shopping with them. We ate ice cream, discussed the physics of mannequin-poses, and laughed.

I returned about 5 and, upon being unable to reach a friend, decided to go watch Country-Western dancing with some friends. This was where I found love.

When we walked into the room, it looked like it could have been a church's activity center, narrow and long with pews pushed to the sides. There was a band of five men playing songs that my grandmother would love, and perhaps thirty elderly couples two-stepping on a dance floor. It was beautiful. The couples moved in perfect time, lifting the same leg and moving the same distance to an inch. The old men's hands were confidently leading the women, and the women followed. They looked like they had been dancing together forever. They never even had to look down at their feet; they just knew.

So that's what love is.

I apologized profusely to the matronly, big-hairdo-ed women with whom I attempted to cut a rug. They were sweet and unoffended by my inexpertise, sometimes counting the beat for me, and I was happy. I forgot myself when I was dancing. I forgot the world. But I saw love.

Oh, it is a beautiful world sometimes.

Two Random Memories

Thu, 03 May 2007 16:36:44 GMT

I have been having a lot of flashbacks lately. Here are two.

Just a moment ago, I was lying on my bed right in front of the open window. I was reading my Bible when the damp wind blew in my face an odd combination of smells: newly cleaned air mixed with damp binding glue that holds the book together. I felt that I was, for a second, lying on my old bed at my old house, right in front of the open window, reading my Bible. I used to lie there for hours when it would rain, if for no other reason than to hear the "whooosh" sound that cars made when they drove by. That sound was the only thing missing, just a moment ago.

I used to read the Bible so much.

Another memory:

The other day it rained very hard and I wanted to go for a drive. I didn't, but instead thought of February of my Junior year of high school. I was driving to my girlfriend's house for Valentine's Day, and the road was dusted with ice-slush. As she lived a half-hour away, I took the interstate. A semi truck almost clipped me when he began to weave, so I threw the car into the other lane. My back end began to fishtail and before I knew it my car had swung around 180 degrees. I threw the car into reverse and cuddled up to the wall with just barely enough room to not get hit by oncoming traffic. When traffic was less heavy a few minutes later, I hurried to turn around and went the rest of the way. Upon relating the story to my girlfriend, she told me that she loved me for the first time.