tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47656180877250197222024-03-13T15:18:43.660-05:00The Battle Cry of the UninspiredLucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-61156875377559009772010-10-20T15:47:00.003-05:002010-10-20T15:58:21.052-05:00Stages of Being at Home: GriefTo grieve is to reconcile a sense of loss, re-evaluating yourself in terms of now being without whatever it is you have outlived. But we do so selectively, and surely we have to in the face of all that we could grieve.<div><br /></div><div>Each moment is lost time, lost opportunities or possibilities or potentialities. If one chooses to view it that way, each passing second is the removal of branching potential tracks that life could take, a narrowing of options, or perhaps a fatalistic focusing that approaches something like binding destiny. </div><div><br /></div><div>But to see things as such is maddening.</div><div><br /></div><div>So instead we grieve the near-concrete. When I was a child, I understood my great-grandmother's death as not the loss of her, per se (for I have memories! and photos! and heaven to look to!) but rather I understood it as the loss of being able to hug her, to feel her love for as long as I would choose to hold on. That was the threat of death.</div><div><br /></div><div>While I was at home, I grieved and shared in my family's grief. It hurts to lose and there is a lot of loss we could hurt over. But mainly my family shared the time that is rushing past us, and we love as we choose to hold on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Grief was just one part of the trip home, and grief is always a part of life going on.</div>Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-33598709977624713662010-10-03T15:33:00.003-05:002010-10-03T15:56:27.442-05:00Stages of Being at Home: RestLouisville is an amazing city, especially when you visit. There was no work, no commitments, and no deadlines save the flight out. Everything is familiar, comfortable, and pregnant with memories. The same books yet to be read, the same scholarly articles waiting to be filed, the same guitars to be rejoined with the others I brought to CO, all of this makes me feel like I haven't left this life completely behind.<div><br /></div><div>As I travel more and see the sadly homogenized cityscapes (the same Wal-Marts, same fast food joints, same hotels becoming faux-familiarity-inducing landmarks), it is good to see my home not in stasis but rather following a known path. <br /><div><div><br /></div><div>Even though friends have grown and changed, they are there and we pick up exactly where we left off. I find myself shocked that their love has not waned, and we exult in time passed and time shared. It feels natural but precious still.</div><div><br /></div><div>Old love letters, ridiculous photos, awards from school, presents and inside jokes, these all just wait there in my room in no hurry to be found. Friends, familiar trees and birdcalls, old bookstores and coffee shops, my family, they all have kept a spot reserved for me still. </div><div><br /></div><div>And so I sink into them all, thrill to find that I still fit, and I rest.</div></div></div>Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-60751610324191028562010-10-02T13:58:00.004-05:002010-10-02T14:18:31.963-05:00Ch-ch-ch-ch-changesRemember when I used to write on here? Me neither.<div><br /></div><div>I am in the middle of creating and cultivating new habits to make my life more like I want it to be (thus the Bowie-referencing title, because who doesn't feel inspired to be a better man from listening to David Bowie?). And this is good. </div><div><br /></div><div>So updates, then! For one: I am now gainfully employed by the city of Grand Junction as a 911 Dispatcher, and my training is going rather well. Also, I have moved into my own apartment and furnished it with such essentials as an 88-key keyboard and a percolator. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I went home this past week to Louisville, KY and was reminded of how wonderful it is. Not quite home, but something quite like it. Its depth, its eccentricity, its history, its ongoing attempts at rebuilding and renovating, these qualities make my steps seem an echo to its heartbeat. Wishing for something more, always. </div><div><br /></div><div>Returning to Colorado, I decided to take a trip and clear my head (but of course the opposite always results). I went to the Great Sand Dunes National Park and camped in a quickly sand-filled tent that was flattened against me throughout the night by the strong winds. It really was one of the more incredible places I've been in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>During my travels, I was with my family, saw old friends, and even made a couple new ones. I listened to some very moving sermons on the road, and see certain things in a new light. What more could one ask from a week and a half of traveling? (well, maybe a razor. I've kinda let that go)</div><div><br /></div><div>Ha, I don't know if anyone would still bother to read this dumb blog, but if you do I hope I get the chance to catch up with you soon, at the very least over the phone. I think I'm gonna pick this thing back up, and see where it goes. </div><div><br /></div><div>What an inauspicious return!</div>Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-90753652583521942592010-02-09T23:28:00.002-06:002010-02-09T23:45:52.090-06:00Part 1: SolipsismI wonder: what is the functional purpose behind keeping a blog? Is it narcissism? Solipsism? A desire for attention, a staking of undefined claims, or perhaps just digital graffiti?<br /><br />Those who followed my blog while I was in Spain know that I wrote most consistently when going through one of the less-enjoyable times of my life. You all learned far more about my insecurities than you did about cathedrals and castles and the constant questioning of my sandals in winter. My blog came to mirror the Spanish buildings I walked past that still bore bulletholes and broken beams from their civil war, a confusing testament to already-aged injuries.<br /><br />What was I holding on to? What was I memorializing and making permanent that was worth the effort? How terribly embarrassing!<br /><br />All this to say: I confuse myself. Perhaps this all came to mind after seeing "Julie and Julia," and finding Amy Adams's self-centered blogging and fame-grubbing nothing short of insufferable. So naturally I am trying to sort it out on a public forum, in some odd confluence of meta and irony.<br /><br />Maybe this will make more sense in Part 2: Solipsism and Stoicism. Maybe.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-26049364887780940802010-01-25T17:40:00.006-06:002010-01-25T18:04:33.589-06:00ClaritySome of you know this and some of you gathered this from my last post, and some of you don't care but the truth is: I am applying to be a 911 Telecommunicator (or dispatcher, if you like) and have been for some time (PHEW what a relief to get that off my chest). I put in my first application when I moved here in June, and have been going to tests and interviews since September, back when I was a wee lad of just 23 years.<br /><br />Some of you know this, too: I am very ready to have a decent job, and to earn a living. Now that I'm a fully mature man of 24, this seems to be right and proper. I have not written much about this "decent job" that I am seeking because it would be embarrassing not to get hired and then to have this failure memorialized in digital form.<br /><br />This job really would be a dream come true, though. The job description is "helping people." I would get to talk to a lot of strangers each day, probably often in Spanish. The pay is respectable and more than sufficient. And frankly, it would be a nice end to this losing streak I can't seem to shake.<br /><br />And so. I had a moment of clarity last Wednesday when we opened 1 Peter (written to a bunch of people stuck in one big losing streak) to read, "set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed." It hit me then that I have been putting a bit too much hope into this job, and indeed into a lot of things that are all, simply put, beside the point.<br /><br />While I still very much want this job and the chance to help people (not to mention the chance to pay my rent consistently), there are better things ahead. It would be easy to become very stressed about this and whether or not I get hired, but when put in perspective of heaven I know it is a want and not a need.<br /><br />But I DO need a decent job; I will allow that. Hopefully it will come sooner than later, just like heaven.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-24516448128398850882010-01-16T17:14:00.002-06:002010-01-16T17:32:54.903-06:00HonestySo I am kicking myself.<br /><br />Yesterday was going to be a triumphant and productive day. It certainly wasn't the former and possibly wasn't the latter. <br /><br />First the minor buoy that kept the day from going completely under: I changed my library card into a permanent one after using a "Guest" card for three years. It became clear that I needed to do this when I tried to use my card recently, only to find it again expired. The lady asked if I had a permanent address yet, and I said I did but didn't have a local Driver's License to prove it. That day I happened to be unshaven and wearing an oversized, green flannel jacket that is very warm but not flattering in the slightest, and this combined with my seemingly transient status led the lady to lean in and ask, "This address we have for you. . .is it a shelter?" <br /><br />I deflated a bit and informed her that I am not homeless. I just don't have a license. So now I have a license and a library card, and I am shaving regularly.<br /><br />After the library, I had a follow-up interview with a potential employer for a great job. We went to lunch and had a great talk about work, life, and spiritual matters like theodicy and fate. He spoke very highly of me and my credentials, and we got on very well. So he gave me the job, and I was very excited to work for him. But then I felt inclined to be honest (hence the title of this post) and told him that I might, in the future, be offered a job with the city as a 911 Telecommunicator. At this, he decided to reconsider hiring me. <br /><br />So a job that I don't have and that I may not ever have might keep me from getting a decent job in the meantime. <br /><br />Then I went to get Colorado license plates. They asked when I first entered the state, and so I told them the truth. Based on my honesty, they charged me an extra hundred dollars in late fees.<br /><br />Can you put a price on integrity? Because at this rate I may truly be homeless soon.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-13390003560527475222010-01-07T18:08:00.002-06:002010-01-07T18:14:29.305-06:00AmplifyRecently I've received a few emails with new, encouraging comments that have been posted here on my blog. Whether these are real or merely the well-meaning and unimaginative attempts of my sister to goad me into posting more, they are appreciated.<br /><br />I've been sick or sick-ish for a few days now which is frustrating for me to reconcile with my typically indomitable immune system. <br /><br />It is also frustrating in how illness has the odd effect of amplifying all the trivialities and minor impulses that a stronger man would ignore. Be they the unglamorous banality of bachelor life (cue me eating a piece of toast, leaning over the sink so as not to have a plate to wash), the ache for family over holidays, or the bruise of a freshly broken trust covered over by excuses.<br /><br />And how it amplifies my impatience. I am anxious for a better job that will fulfill, enrich and contribute to Creation (not to mention justify the four years of college). I am anxious to be able to support myself and to be able to support and help others. I am anxious for change in my church, an end to the laziness I see around me and in me. I am anxious.<br /><br />But at least being sick offers a convenient excuse for all these feelings, which I still will feel when well. Oh, how we all love excuses.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-70812014609793582792009-10-18T17:30:00.002-05:002009-10-18T17:48:14.901-05:00Old Habits Die HardAnd so this marks my inauspicious return to the world of writing on my blog. <br /><br />(holds for applause, hides dismay to find none)<br /><br />The circumstances of my life are rather different from the last time I wrote. A lot has changed, within and without. For example, I now live in Grand Junction, CO and am employed. I am making salads with my college diploma part-time, and pretending not to be embarrassed by that full-time. Also keeping me busy: working with my dear youth group and other plans for the church. Oh, yes. I have plans.<br /><br />But for now, something bigger: this past weekend I went home to Kentucky for the first time since I moved in late May. My big sister Callie got married and I wanted to see this, so I took a whirlwind trip to be a part of it.<br /><br />It is beautiful to be a part of things. To witness and to affirm, to join in and share. If only you could have seen how many people were there, all experiencing the same thing and passing around the same joy. Even before the reception I enjoyed stringing Christmas lights and a few other decorations, excited for people to arrive and celebrate my sister and new brother-in-law. <br /><br />Well, my first return to blogging has left me tired and frustrated at how hackneyed I sound. So until next time!Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-23002925712067752202009-05-02T00:10:00.003-05:002009-05-02T00:38:49.334-05:00One Last Thing Before I GoAnd now the final installment of ruminations on the subject of "remembering."<br /><br />In the Church we speak optimistically of putting our former ways behind us and "pressing on" to a new life. We love Philippians 3, when Paul says that he forgets "what is behind." We love it! We eat it up and pledge to forget, too. It is a believer's duty!<br /><br />Once long ago I spoke with a believing friend who had sinned and hurt someone, in spite of being a New Creation. He acknowledged the mistake but was largely unrepentant. Rather than make things right or even apologize to the hurt friend, he told me a very ugly thing: "God has forgiven me, and that is enough."<br /><br />But. . .it is enough for what?<br /><br />The answer, of course, was "enough" to ease his guilty conscience. It was not "enough," though, to comfort our wounded friend. Or "enough" to repair a breach between believers. So can we really say God is not "enough" to do those things as well? Can we limit the purpose of Grace to relieving regret, and to let us forget?<br /><br />When <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Zacchaeus</span> was welcomed by the man Jesus despite being shunned by his fellow villagers, did he ignore this shameful past and embrace a self-justifying theology? By all means no! He immediately swore to right the many wrongs in his life, despite this being "what is behind." And we usually fail to mention that immediately before Paul mentions "pressing on," he talked of his Christian-persecuting past. Apparently Paul had a different definition of "forgetting" than we do.<br /><br />All to say this: we are not to dwell on our past, but neither can we ignore it. To pretend it never happened does a disservice to the grace that cleansed it. We are freed from our guilt-debt, but what of others that were hurt? Is there some way we can make right what was ruined? At the very least, we are freed from self-righteousness and free to share our past like Paul did, saying, "THIS is what my God is capable of saving. THIS is what my God can do."<br /><br />(This was a dense post. It may become a sermon one day. But not today, because I am leaving for St. Louis in seven hours.)Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-6628698323565303482009-04-28T17:56:00.002-05:002009-04-28T18:04:25.825-05:00More Moments of BeautyThe days pass quickly as of late, but here are a few joys that left a trace as they flew by.<br /><br />This past Saturday my parents, grandmother, and I went to Ohio for my aunt and uncle's joint 50th-birthday party. There I saw family that I have missed for too long, as well as friends from my annual visits to Ohio when I was in Elementary School. It had been a decade since I last saw my cousin's friend Amy, but I instantly remembered her as well as the crush I had on her when I was eleven. My relatives asked me cautiously about Spain, and I saw in their eyes that they already knew but asked to show they care.<br /><br />Sunday morning a husband and wife both decided to be baptized, and I was surprised that more did not weep at the sight. Neither of them knew what to do with their glasses, and the woman began holding her nose even before our preacher asked her confession. Their nervous anxiety and awkward joy were touching.<br /><br />That afternoon I talked to my friend Meghan for a good while on the telephone. We once dated seriously (but I don't want to call her "my ex," because she is more than that) and I feared after it had ended that we would never be friends again. Now we joke and ramble easily, and freely talk of When We Were Together. We talk with an understanding and care that speaks well of what we once were, and I am honored that she would share with me what we are today.<br /><br />And yesterday I dug through way too much Kentucky clay so that my father would not hurt his back. My entire body aches as a result but finishing projects gives my father peace of mind. So it is worth it.<br /><br />These are good for the soul.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-62811864948067144052009-04-24T14:47:00.003-05:002009-04-24T14:58:54.671-05:00FurthermoreTherefore, in summation. . .nevermind.<br /><br />Returning to the provisional thesis of my last post, I wonder if it would be better said "to remember is to love." But it is true as it is. To remember is an essential element of love. So what does doing so entail, or even look like?<br /><br />Deuteronomy 6 shows God instructing the Israelites not merely to know the covenant, but rather to have it "upon your hearts." He goes on to say (paraphrasing): "tell your children! Talk about these commandments wherever you are, whatever you're doing! Let the city, your house, your very body be painted with this Law."<br /><br />And so to remember is to take your love with you, wherever you go. Within or without a temple, with or without a Bible in your hand, it is to remember. In doing so you take not just your love with you, but also WHAT you love with you.<br /><br />With the Old Testament prophets, God used memories of past blessing to woo and lure the Israelites back into covenant. "Remember how I showed my love to you?" he would insist. "Remember Egypt and how I freed you, then personally led you for forty years in spite of your unfaithfulness? Will you refuse to remember?<br /><br />We are a culture that relies on being reminded rather than remembering (like cell phone alerts, palm-piloted schedules, and etc. not-that-there's-anything-wrong-with-that). How often, at Sunday lunch, do people mention they have already forgotten the day's sermon? And how poorly most of us know the stories of the kingdom we are heirs to. So let us look back as we press on. Let us remember, and let us love.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-11417706243592249182009-04-20T19:29:00.002-05:002009-04-20T19:36:33.520-05:00What Love IsI have taken two trips to Searcy since returning to the country and there still wasn't enough time to see everyone I wanted. Surely there are worse problems to have, but what I want to share on here is the latest life lesson learned after seeing many, many dear friends.<br /><br />Much of what love is, is simply to remember.<br /><br />This a truth most know instinctively, but one that I came to understand fully when sitting with friends I hadn't seen in years (they graduated before I did) who still laugh at old inside jokes and tell me they missed receiving "Lucas-hugs." I understand more when former say-hi-while-passing friends asked me about Spain and remembered my plan of moving to Colorado. And I understand even more at the fact that so many people smiled and addressed me by name (it would have secretly wounded me if they had asked, "It's Lucas, right?") in spite of time.<br /><br />Every inch of Searcy is covered in memories for me, and sometimes I fear that thinking back to them is at best embarrassing romanticism or at worst dressed-up denial. But I am comforted when Shelby shows me pictures of us from three years past, of when Jen talks of "the orange barrel incident," or when one of my dearest friends puts my arm around her for me and speaks soothingly of better times.<br /><br />On my way home I stopped by my grandmother's house and we revisited many of the same stories and memories as always, but then she inquired of my visit, "Dare I ask if you saw Mary?" This took me aback, as it had been a long time since I told Mawmaw all about her. But she remembered.<br /><br />To love is to remember.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-72788396430337325902009-04-08T14:17:00.006-05:002009-04-08T14:43:02.076-05:00Pictures from Spain, Vol. 1I needed to do something with these or I will never do anything with them, so here are some unedited pictures I took in Spain. First an archetypal windmill, found in the town of Mora:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz47h83G1I/AAAAAAAAAE4/Y85zPGqSOiQ/s1600-h/Copy+-+DSC_5218.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz47h83G1I/AAAAAAAAAE4/Y85zPGqSOiQ/s200/Copy+-+DSC_5218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322402561254693714" border="0" /></a>And this is one side of the cathedral in Toledo. It is older than the United States. I was going to meet my friends Greg and Marie in front of it just before leaving for England over Christmas break, but they missed a train and it didn't work out. Another time I went with another professor who had some friends in town. They had never been to Toledo and were taking pictures of the cathedral on their cell phones and I enjoyed seeing Spaniards act more touristy than I did.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz7bUPfdVI/AAAAAAAAAFA/1Z1Z3PXK80k/s1600-h/Copy+-+_DSC5468.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz7bUPfdVI/AAAAAAAAAFA/1Z1Z3PXK80k/s200/Copy+-+_DSC5468.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322405306353808722" border="0" /></a>Finally here is a picture that kind of makes me laugh? It is me, in front of my city (Toledo) for my very first trip there. It was a good day, and sunny, and I remember the feeling of being somewhere I had read about for years. It is an odd thing, to fulfill a Life's Dream, and I would occasionally laugh for no reason at the feeling in my stomach at being a part of something beautiful. I also remember being impatient to share this feeling, this joy, and to somehow send it to the States.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz9eeYwiVI/AAAAAAAAAFI/W44sE5Dg1T4/s1600-h/_DSC5487.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9_Z-oRChm1Y/Sdz9eeYwiVI/AAAAAAAAAFI/W44sE5Dg1T4/s200/_DSC5487.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322407559639894354" border="0" /></a><br />Judging from my face, this was three or four days into my ill-fated decision to grow a beard. <br /><br />But I suppose there is no other type of decision to grow a beard.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-81354834533625213442009-04-04T20:23:00.002-05:002009-04-04T20:57:44.658-05:00Moments of BeautyLately things have been improving, albeit slowly. I visited Harding this past weekend and it did me a lot of good despite being so stressful. There are still very many people there that I love, and spending time with them was a blessing. While there, my dear friend Bethany told me that she believed that I would be getting better soon, and that slowly but surely beauty would be easier and easier to find in the world. So here are a few that I have felt.<br /><br />One. Today was a beautiful sunny day that ended with me coated in sawdust. My father and I cut an entire felled tree into manageable pieces, and worked very hard. We talked about my grandfather and his father-in-law, and we talked about our old dog, Rascal. Sometimes my father feels overwhelmed by all of the "projects" around the house, and so days like today help him feel better. <br /><br />Two. While at Harding, my friend Hannah asked me to play guitar for her. It was touching when I sang some songs I wrote and she knew the words better than I did.<br /><br />Three. I was very nervous to be at Harding. It has been nearly a year since I graduated, and I am always afraid of being easily forgotten. In fact I did not have enough time to see everyone I love (which speaks volumes of the people there that would still care about me), and so I am returning for Spring Sing. <br /><br />Four. I applied for a job in town and was delighted by a question in the accompanying personality test which asked: "Have you noticed any sudden changes in your body lately?" I wanted to explain in painful detail the wonderful process of becoming a man, but it was only a Yes/No prompt. If I get called for an interview, perhaps I will ask why hair is growing on my chest. It's a mystery!<br /><br />Feel free to share some beauty you have noticed, eh?Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-919208584801321742009-04-02T19:26:00.002-05:002009-04-02T19:30:54.317-05:00Catch-UpI think it has been long enough since I last wrote on this thing.<br /><br />I would apologize but you all weren't missing out on anything (see my last hundred-or-so entries for proof, haha). In truth, I just like writing and I can tell myself that updating about my life on here slightly makes up for getting behind on writing friends via Facebook. Also, I am going to post pictures on here from my travels that I always meant to share.<br /><br />It is a few weeks now that I've been home, and I've been trying to keep busy. That has been accomplished through cleaning my room, playing my guitars and other instruments, seeing friends, and learning to play the drums. Storms in Kentucky left plenty of downed trees and so I cut and carry lumber on our property, which sounds manly. I may begin working soon, or I may move out to Colorado sooner than expected and work out there.<br /><br />I am doing a bit better, little by little.<br /><br />More to come.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-74805381749254487912009-03-05T12:06:00.004-06:002009-03-05T14:19:55.215-06:00My Last Day in SonsecaThis is the last entry I will write on here from Spain. In two days (God and RyanAir willing) I will be home in the United States.<br /><br />This is hard to wrap my mind around, in truth.<br /><br />Today was my last day of work and my students surprised me. I entered the first classroom to see the blackboard covered in goodbye scribbles and inside jokes. My students presented me with cards and presents, and I was very touched. They gave me a watch and a bracelet, as well as a package of warm socks. We spent the rest of the time just talking, and they told me to come back to Spain and work as an actor, because I would always pretend to cry or get angry when they teased me.<br /><br />I went to 2nd A's class, which has always been my favorite. They gave me a silver bracelet with my name on one side, and the other side engraved with "Your students in 2nd A." Next was a picture of the whole class in a very nice and heavy frame. They asked me to read aloud the accompanying letter, and I got choked up (which secretly they had all been hoping for). They were pleased with the proof that I would miss them, and we said goodbye.<br /><br />Now it is all memories. Or something like a memory.<br /><br />This has been a very hard five months, as you know. It hit me yesterday that I really feel like myself for the first time in a long time. For so long, my identity couldn't really progress past "wounded," and that was all I felt. It hit me that it must have been incredibly hard to be my friend the past few months, as I was not just far away but also far from who I am. But you all have been here for me.<br /><br />I received letters. And packages. There was never one day where I hadn't received new messages on Facebook. You listened to me ask questions that no one could answer. You prayed for me over Skype. You wept with me and for me. You wrote to tell me that you liked my songs. You wrote to say that you thought of me when you heard "Great is Thy Faithfulness" at church. You wrote to say that you thought you saw me on Harding campus. You wrote to say that you thought you saw me at church. You wrote to ask when I was coming home, so that we can hang out. You wrote to say (in different words) that you haven't forgotten me. You wrote to say that you love me.<br /><br />Thank you all. Thank you. Thank you. I was hurting over not being shown love, but you all were doing just that all this time. My life is full of beautiful people. My heart is full of gratitude. And it is healing, slowly but surely.<br /><br />Thank you.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-12467304920257551072009-03-03T14:14:00.003-06:002009-03-03T14:57:44.363-06:00More Things About Spain, or "Peter Paul and Mary Jesus"6) Names are very important to Spaniards. They take them very seriously, in spite of the fact that I have friends named "Mary Jesus" and "Conception." <br /><br />There are beautiful names here. Some examples from my students include Rocio, Alba, Helena, and Julia. The boys' names are short and punchy, like Sergio, Oscar, Javier, and Manuel. <br /><br />Others, however, lack such charm and only leave you with questions. Why would any parent name their child "Macarena?" Especially when she was born AFTER the dance craze?<br /><br />Some names are smooshed together, like "Luis Miguel" becoming "LuisMi." I learned a new name when a man flipped his bike in the middle of the street. We ran into each other a week later at the grocery, and he thanked me for helping him and introduced himself as "JuanJo," which I'm pretty sure is "Juan Jose."<br /><br />Many names are conjoined religious references, like the two mentioned in the title of this post. Pedro Pablo ("Peter Paul") is a teacher here at the school, but he is not well liked by all. To explain, one day he sat down next to me as I was writing an email. Replace the words "next to" with "practically on top of" in that last sentence to imagine the proximity of our faces as he leaned in to talk. He asked how I was and I managed not to recoil while I answered, "Fine. And you?" As I counted the pores on his nose he replied, "Eh, I'm sick." <br /><br />I laughed for at least five minutes when the students told me their nickname for this same teacher: Pedo Pavo. This rhymes, and translates literally to "Fart Turkey."<br /><br />See what we are missing? There is no name in English that can so effortlessly be turned into such a wonderful taunt. <br /><br />I will end this post with a plea that we not think about the words my name rhymes with. Let's just make fun of Spaniards, okay?Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-70747765818938861302009-03-02T14:16:00.003-06:002009-03-02T14:31:54.427-06:00Things You Might Not Know About Spain, Volume 1This is my last week here. There are many, many things that I have wanted to write on here but I tend to get distracted by metaphysics and navel-gazing, so this is a catch-all list to inform you on things that you couldn't know without spending a few months here.<br /><br />1) The art of hairstyles has been perfected here in Spain. The boys wear mullets, and girls have curly bangs. <span style="font-style: italic;">No one thinks anything is wrong with this.</span><br /><br />2) Dryers do not exist. Clotheslines do. Draping wet underwear over radiators throughout the house is also an option.<br /><br />3) Carpet does not exist. This is the one that gets me the most. Every house floor is tile, and thus cold, and thus incredibly depressing when it is the first thing you feel in the morning. If I were Spider-Man I would totally walk on the ceiling and this would not be a problem.<br /><br />4) In the United States, Chinese restaurants cook cat and dog meat since chickens are so dang hard to come by, right? Well, here they serve the remains of their dead family members. When asked about this, one clever Spaniard responded, "Have you ever seen a Chinese graveyard? Didn't think so."<br /><br />5) Swear words are not uncommon, nor anything to take note of. In one class of professors, I said a difficult word to pronounce ("this," for crying out loud) and one man was discouraged and said the f-word equivalent. He was sitting next to the town's priest, who did not bat an eyelash.<br /><br />I hope this has been enlightening for you. More to come, if you like them.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-7876029490284384172009-02-26T12:52:00.003-06:002009-02-26T13:11:35.556-06:00Sun Rise, Sun Rex, Sun Set, Sun SpentIt takes a while to travel to Portugal, as I decided to do last weekend with my friend Caroline. I was to meet her in Badajoz first, so I had plenty of time to think throughout the day.<br /><br />I woke early to catch buses and was rewarded with seeing the sun rise, illuminating fog that had crept over and peacefully lay like a blanket on the low mountains of Castilla-La Mancha.<br /><br />The afternoon I spent waiting on a train in Madrid. I walked through the expansive parks while the sky was overcast, covered only by a thin mask of cloud through which the sun dimly shone. It was a bright white perfect circle without detail, like a hole punched out of heaven. I looked directly into it, as if confidently meeting another's gaze.<br /><br />As the sun fell that evening I watched, from the train, herds of deer running between the rocky hills of Extremadura. Storks preened in their nests high atop old smokestacks and sheep mated, apparently feeling no shame in the numbers painted blue on their backsides. Some interesting animals later got on the train as well, as wild Spaniards flock to Badajoz for Carnaval. All talked loudly and none was disheartened by the fading light.<br /><br />In fact, evenings in winter are the sun failing and succumbing to the night, with a deep chill taking over in victory. But lately the evenings are the sun melting into a languid dark, in no hurry to leave behind dying embers of day and content that tomorrow will prove to be even more time to share warmth. The earth is ready for this change.<br /><br />The sun dipped below the horizon causing the landscape in the window to give way to reflections of the inside of the cabin. My own face came into view, looking foreign. I saw blue blinking back at me and noted that it was the first time in a while that I looked directly in my own eyes, that I had confidence to do so. I saw myself clearly as the dark increased.<br /><br />I'm ready for change.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-55705498707877748062009-02-19T13:33:00.002-06:002009-02-19T14:58:54.894-06:00ChangeI have seen many things change in the time I've been here. Trees have grown, vines have flowered and faded, construction has ended, buildings have been razed, stores have gone out of business and been replaced, Alberto and Cristina have a new baby, and the United States have a new president.<br /><br />At the same time, many things have stayed the same. I am reading Genesis once more. My prayers have changed only slightly in wording, although slightly more in strength and in hope. I am still a foreigner. I am still alone. I am still wondering if God will ever get around to making me a good person. I am still hurting for being easy to forget.<br /><br />It is simple and beautiful to stop hating, for me. An apology ends much bitterness and anger so fast that you do not even remember them, blushed with hope and eagerly expecting new, lovely memories to replace the wounds. What a lovely change.<br /><br />But to stop loving? How can I? Even when I am the only one in the world who wanted that? (and what a lonely thought that is) Even when I see now that it was never as good as I imagined it?<br /><br />Why can't I change this? When will this change?Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-10221977921583164042009-02-17T14:54:00.002-06:002009-02-17T15:06:38.770-06:00For the Love of GodOne sad thing here that is in no way unique to Spain is beggars. Few things create such a continuous re-evaluation of my faith and how to practically show it as do beggars.<br /><br />In a huge city like Madrid there are so many. It is a wonder they aren't trampled, as some sit in the middle of huge sidewalks with just a sign and a cup in front of them. Once I saw important people in expensive suits taking large steps over the prosthetic legs of a dour man in dirty clothes, seated in the Puerta del Sol. And others hold in front of them a picture of family to whom they wish to be rejoined but cannot afford to. Others sit in the entryways of cathedrals with their whole body wrapped up in blankets yet shivering furiously nonetheless.<br /><br />You see no flesh. You only see a cup.<br /><br />In the bus station I am asked for money by teens covered in piercings or by Romanian men, their nationality recognizable by their characteristic grammatical errors and sadly by the alcohol on their breath. Regardless of if I give them money or not, they ask the next person, too. <br /><br />I hate the feeling I fet then. The same feeling as when I see the same beggar with the prosthetic legs talking uproariously on his cell phone the next time I pass. The same feeling as when I see one beggar dump her cup of coins into a larger, hidden on almost full of money.<br /><br />It is insulting to be taken advantage of, but did that ever stop Jesus? He healed and loved people that never confessed him as Lord and God. When did he pass the needy by? <br /><br />When did he look at a man and see no flesh? When did he see only a cup?Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-10343356072403141192009-02-12T13:48:00.004-06:002009-02-12T15:32:43.956-06:00"Great is Thy Faithfulness," and Someone Please Let Me Out of Here<a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?imtyyzgeyi4">Here is a song I recorded the other day</a>. I didn't write it.<br /><br />I have been missing church a lot lately. So I'm singing hymns. This song is very hard to sing some days, but other days it gives me great hope. I sincerely hope this doesn't offend anyone.<br /><br />Also, two quickies:<br />1) I shaved my beard last night.<br /><br />2) I am currently locked inside of my school. I was talking to a friend on Skype and thinking about the test she had to get to instead of the fact that my school was about to close for the night. There are two doors and they are locked. The gate is locked outside, too. <br /><br />I don't have money on my cell phone to call my roommate, so I am going to climb out of a window. But I might as well post this song before I go.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-49151707239882051792009-02-11T12:37:00.005-06:002009-02-13T14:35:51.308-06:00Unyielding as the GraveTwo years ago today, my grandfather was dying.<br /><br />There at the house I sat on the love seat and stared at the hospital bed that had replaced Grandaddy's recliner. Grandaddy would fall asleep and wake back up, over and over to no particular rhythm, and I would try to do my homework for Advanced Intro to the New Testament. Mom and Mamaw talked on the couch, and we took turns getting things that he needed when he woke up. But there wasn't much for us to do. He hardly ate. I played my guitar for him and he fell asleep. When he was awake, he asked me to comb his hair for him.<br /><br />There wasn't much for us to do.<br /><br />One day Mamaw brought him a Valentine's Day dinner: a small steak and a baked potato from Tumbleweed, their favorite restaurant in town. He was pleased, ate all of it, and the family was encouraged. Our hopes had fallen with his weight, but this was different. My prayers changed in tone and I was grateful, even allowing myself a few guilty daydreams of a full recovery and a triumph over cancer.<br /><br />But we knew.<br /><br />Through it all I watched my grandmother take care of her husband and marveled at her strength. I didn't understand how she wasn't a complete emotional wreck, angry at God and lamenting the ruin that her once-vibrant love had become. She asked no questions about the existence of cancer, or how it could be visited on and take host in a man so beautiful. Rather she humbly, quietly, and lovingly served. Rather she stayed by his side and waited until he left.<br /><br />I have never seen true "until death do us part" before, and I am only beginning to understand it. This was a love stronger than death. This was true love.<br /><br />I can't believe it's been two years alreadyLucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-85484694577800858462009-02-05T02:34:00.009-06:002009-02-05T10:32:30.246-06:00Subject Matter Not Objective MatterI am not going to write about her anymore on here.<br /><br />I woke up this morning from a simple dream, recounting the time she came to see me in Colorado. We watched shooting stars, and she stepped on a cactus. I was stuck and slightly hurt by the needles I pulled from her razor-thin flip-flop, but I was very glad to be there.<br /><br />Returning to the present: In fairness, the goal in describing my feelings on this blog was never libel. I hoped that she could read my thoughts here when convenient instead of me having to wait for it to be convenient to be listened to. And then she would see how very, very deeply she hurt me. And then she would do something about it. And then it would be healed. And then it all would be over.<br /><br />But either she doesn't care, or she cares but doesn't want to do anything about it because it would be difficult. In my mind (and in that dream) it is worth being stuck and slightly hurt to fix the injury of another, and how much more so when responsible for it.<br /><br />This wasn't just a normal break-up. I loved her more strongly than I have ever before, and she was more hurtful than anyone before. But we had made promises and pledges that went beyond words. Union and communions, made and shared. But now there is only sin and guilt to regret, and insults and contempt to forget. And it seems like it means nothing to her. And so it seems like I meant nothing to her. I wish she wanted to correct that assumption, if it is false.<br /><br />But I suppose I wish a great many things.<br /><br />I will keep praying for her. Most likely I will keep writing songs about this. But I won't write about her on here anymore.Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4765618087725019722.post-75428806463797435252009-02-04T11:31:00.004-06:002009-02-04T11:34:35.129-06:00Te Amas?Last night I had another class with the second-year students (14-ish in age) and despite my plans we just talked. They asked later to hear one of the songs I wrote and to see some photos I've taken, so I showed them a bit of what Colorado looks like. We marveled together at Hanging Lake and Mt. Redcloud and jokingly made plans for a class trip there.<br /><br />A picture of my ex-girlfriend came on the screen and I immediately closed the program. I became quiet and let the students talk for a while before Amaya asked me an incredibly insightful question: "Te amas?"<br /><br />"Do you love yourself?"<br /><br />I paused for a second because I had never heard the verb "amar" with agreeing subject and object. It is always "I love her" or "she loves him," never "you love you." I realized what she meant, and then took pause at the question itself. I changed the subject, then thought about it the rest of the night and into the morning.<br /><br />Yes, is the answer. But it is hard to feel like much of anything these days after being treated like I'm nothing for quite some time. There are echoes of Things She Said that follow me, but these are not true besides being wrong. And there is guilt that she and I share that could have dealt with, but it only went ignored and denied. And there is the simple fact that now it is only too easy to pretend that the entire relationship never existed, just like all those mistakes.<br /><br />Is this what it takes for some people to say "me amo"?Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01582427691625118366noreply@blogger.com2