|
|
| | Onions; or The Great Occidental Road TripThe following is dedicated to:
Colten: The gentlest, coolest rock of manliness I know, with wisdom far beyond his years.
John: Deeper than I can begin to say or probably even see, and all of that depth is choc full o’ flava.
Paul: The charming cyclone of thought, character, and purpose who makes me think in ways that I never have before.
Jordyn: Viewing the world like few can, speaking always to the heart, and seeking God first and foremost.
Khrystian: A refreshing, bubbling brook of womanhood, always encouraging and never doubting her Source.
Lily: Capable of anything, humble in everything, hilarious as all get out, and challenging to the core.
Lydia: A true woman of too many strengths to name, a free thinker, a leader ;), and as good a sister as a guy could ask for.
Each and every one of you are some of the coolest people I’ve ever met, and caused me to think, grow, laugh, live, and love more than I ever thought possible in ten days. I can’t wait to hear from each of you the new and exciting things God will do in the coming years. A trip like this builds friendships in a different way than almost anything else, but I do hope we’ll all be in touch. I miss you already. Each of you. I really do. It’s like being without family. But I believe with all my heart that this is far from the end. Words will continue to be exchanged, and laughter and life will continue to be shared. ‘Til next time, my occidental companions. :)
_____________________________________________
Digging is a rather interesting sensation..especially when that digging doesn’t involve earth, dirt, or rock. When the boring trough layers and layers of tough and hardened sediment has nothing to do even with the physical at all. It’s quite a bizarre feeling, really. Really really. I know this because for the past eight or nine days, I’ve been cutting, crushing, pushing, slurping, siphoning through all sorts of gunk that I didn’t even realize was there. In fact, I had no idea that I had somehow dug myself to proverbial China..and truly needed to get back to my home. I had pigeonholed myself into such a foreign place that when I became comfortable with it, it was so different that it almost felt right, if that makes any sense. I forgot that I was in a different place. But that all changed during this trip. On this incredible West Coast swing, I’ve found more than new friends and amazing places..probably including my future home. Beyond even all that, I found suffocation and loss. I found that I wasn’t even in China..I was buried.
Usually that discovery happens pretty quickly for me. Once I realize that I’m in a bad place, it’s usually rather easy to climb back to the proper and the truth. The righteousness has typically been relatively easy to find again. With that said, then, it kinda scared me that it was a little harder this time. Have you ever felt like there were so many layers around your spiritual consciousness that each time you pass one, and get that sensation that you’re free, you’re overcome again with that terrible, helpless feeling of sheer horror that comes along with being underwater a couple seconds too long? That’s what it’s been like this past week or so for me. And I think that a large part of that is that I’m in a pretty good place. I’m walking in righteousness for the most part. Others are mostly first in my mind. I’m doing all the right THINGS..and that’s part of the problem. We get to doing all the right things, and forget the life and the fire that should be burning in our bellies. So because I wasn’t living in any major sin, the fact that the blazing life and passion of Christ wasn’t standing out anymore seemed to fade into the background. Ergo, I was quite overwhelmed when I started to see that fire..and it was obscured by SO MUCH.
So because of all that obstruction, it’s been a long climb back. Each step has been obvious and clear, and the end was never doubtful..and never close. And that’s been hard, in a way, but on another very different hand, it brings up a fantastically wonderful truth. When the climb is long and the separation deep and far..the return is all the more glorious and overpowering. On this trip, Paul Shanks was reunited with people that he loves to death..more than almost anything. People that mean the world and more to him, and people whom he hadn’t seen for years. All of this lead up, therefore, to some amazing greetings, heartwrenching hugs, and discussions that shook existences to the core. And watching that made me realize that distance is not always a bad thing. That the reentry can be unbelievably powerful, passionate, and full. His experiences with coming back to a world he loves, but has been separated from for some time, gently but insistently lead my eye to my heart, and to the reality that longings that have been tugging at me all trip had nothing to do with the foils I had given them. It was Christ, calling me softly..and me misinterpreting his voice. But then I looked at Paul and Becky, or Chris, or Ethan..and saw that he knew and loved those voices, and would never forget them. And I finally realized that I can’t forget God’s voice. I won’t. And I began to come back.
Discovery is always attached to road trips. It’s become clichéd and almost cheesy to say that. But I’ve discovered so much, this time around. From Colorado to Oregon to California has been more than 3400 miles..it’s been sifting through my preconceptions, my lackadaisicality. The newness of it all has provided a choice. A choice I’ll relate, if I may, to an onion. On one hand, I had the easier side. I could let it keep growing, gaining more and more layers of protection and dividing, biting earthliness. I could let the people, and places, and experiences make me wonder even more about where I should be, where I want to go...what standards I want to adhere to. And it would have been magnificently easy to do that. But the other choice, the one that lay down a slightly more difficult path..called to my heart too deeply to ignore. On the other hand..I could open the onion. Slice into it. Cry with it, and cry some more with each layer that I allowed to be peeled back. Each new experience not increasing jealousy or longing, but driving in the unbearably beautiful nail that is the unworthiness within me to accept these blessings. To love these friends, to adore their company and experiencing their lives and loves and passions...and just allowing myself to be lead. I hate being lead. I hate being at someone’s mercy. But after watching Paul trust us all so much, and his friends from CA, in a way that was so personal and open...again, I couldn’t look away form God. So I cried. I released, yet again. I allowed my desires to be taken...and I’m asking for new ones.
Starting a growing process over again is hard, even overwhelming. But after watching the hills and the oceans roll by, I realize that the season I’m in now is one of redefinition, of discovery. I hate clichés. But as we muse through the deserts of California on the leg back home...I know that I’m heading back to the folded arms of my Father, who’s been waiting for me, and you, to climb back..to dig back..to peel back..for quite a while. Back from California. The song makes me cry. And now those tears mean something. Something true.
War Eugene, Portland, and San Francisco most of all. Nevermind, war friends who became family most of all. Scratch that..war God and all the incredible stories He writes through our interactions..and that they never really come to an end. War THAT most of all.
Out.
| | | Posted 8/14/2007 8:02 PM - 1 comments
- recommend
  - recs0
- give stars
- votes0
- email
 - sent0
|
|
