Cold, cold winter

Why am I still at home? I pondered impatiently. I had been standing upright in my gleaming, spotlessly clean kitchen for the past three hours, barely moving as much as a couple of steps in any direction. It was almost midnight. My shoes were still very new, in almost perfect condition, and I needed to leave, to go somewhere that would force them to look old, torn, beat-up. They produced a slightly irksome 'tap' whenever I lifted one and let it come back down to the linoleum, making a step toward a decision ascertaining to my plans for the rest of the evening.

I gazed out of the window of my kitchen, past my yellow picket fence and out to the highway... And then far beyond the highway, to the brilliantly silhouetted trees, plastered over a golden cloud covered night sky. Maybe I should just go, I offered myself. Maybe I should just go and climb one of those trees. I could see a lot. I could sure see a lot if I were way up in one of those trees.

I longed to venture to situations that had not yet changed me, places that would employ an appearance on me, that of a man torn between the meaning of life, and the thrill of living a dangerous one. Perhaps I need both.

My dear friend Zeke was supposed to call me when he was done working. We were talking about going to see that new World War Two movie. He was going to call around nine when he was done working. Zeke always forgets about me.

Primarily, Zeke had been my trouble tonight. But now, my only wish was for my father to be in my life. Somehow, somewhere. I never knew my father, even though there was much debate about him. For the most part, I heard the highest of compliments given to him. Why I didn't just call his number, I still don't understand. I'd very much like to meet him, but I definitely shouldn't be the one doing all the calling. I'm always the one making calls, initiating friendships. If my father really wanted to be my friend, he would let me know.

Another half hour crept by, slower than molasses in the winter. Then it was one a.m. Still I occupied my kitchen, blowing my own mind with how stubborn I was to do anything with my life tonight.

And then it dawned on me.

I had to call my father.

When you sit in silence and solitude, producing absolutely nothing from your life, for as long as I have tonight, you begin to ponder things your mind has not yet considered. And I was considering the history of my life right about now. Even though my father never called my phone, or showed up in my life, physically, I never realized just how much he wanted to be friends with me. To tell me, and show me, just how much he loves me. Come to think of it, he was probably more anxious than I was. So it was decided. I must call him at once. My next thought was to run upstairs, and fish out his number I had written down so very long ago. It was in the bottom drawer of my desk. But before I could do anything else, my emotions took control of me. I made a weird half-step towards the stairs to go to my room, and then I turned to face the window once again, and I couldn't help it -- my back up against the wall, I slid, slowly and surely, to the floor, meeting that hard, flat, and somehow very comforting kitchen floor. What is it about the floor in your house always being there for you during an emotional breakdown?

I was crying harder than I ever had before. I didn't need to find that number. I already knew it by heart, due to all the times I dialed and then hung up.

Several minutes passed. Some of the longest minutes of my life.

Keeping my eyes clear enough to pull out my phone and see the screen clearly, I typed in my father's number. I hesitated for a long, warm minute, and the pressed the green 'dial' button. A few beeps went through, as I sat there with bated breath, in total silence.

What happened next, I still don't really believe one hundred percent. I heard a sound in the living room, just on the other side of the wall I still sat against. It sounded like the swish of water. For the first time in nearly four and a half hours, I left the kitchen to find the source of this noise.

This time, I not only heard it, but I saw it.

There was my father. He was drinking something, and the swish was the sound of him taking a swig from the bottle. He seemed much too indifferent for suddenly appearing in my living room.

"Hello, Son. I was wondering when you were going to call."

The excitement, bewilderment, and ecstatic joy I now felt made up for any emotion he was lacking. I had about a hundred question to ask right off the top of my head.

"Are you drinking a beer?"

"Nah.... This is just a cream soda. Want one?" He grabbed another one out of the darkness behind the chair and handed it to me.

"Would you like to be friends now? Because I've been ready since day one!" He asked me, beginning to show slight signs of excitement.

"Yes" Was all I could muster. I took one swig of my cream soda and hit the ground hard, just like I had done in the kitchen, only I met the ground much sooner. This time, I didn't need the ground to comfort me.

My father was there before another thought could run through my mind.

Sometimes nonsense just makes sense

I just can't do everything the world wants me to do. I refuse to participate in the same activities all my life. People get so confused/upset by things I do and say, but I'm not out to hurt people's feelings and be a jerk. The truth is, inside of me sings a very joyful, god-loving lunatic.

Are people like me really immature? According to the dictionary, immature means 'having or showing emotional or intellectual development appropriate to someone younger in age'. So yes, I suppose I am immature, according to the world, but is that really such a bad thing? The dictionary also tells us about its antonym, mature. It means full-grown physically, mentally at a development of an adult, middle-aged, or even just 'fully developed'. But fully developed in what ways? Alright, so a mature adult doesn't say weird things, climb buildings, join nonsensical, immature thought process, no, they don't do anything that would offend anyone, make people think hard about something important, or shake anyone's lives up at all. But they go out and get drunk, and that's normal, that's mature. They call a woman a 'bitch' because they were yelling at their boyfriend about something dumb, and that's mature. Yeah, that's normal. Things like this are accepted in society, it's just part of the status quoe or whatever you call it. I am not above and beyond the decisions anyone makes, but it annoys me that people point the finger when they're already way in past their head. I know I have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and honestly, look at it logically -- how can we humans, even if we did evolve from nature, know what is okay to do and what is not okay to do in our every day lives? There's someone who can tell us a lot more than just what our moms told us not to do.

In my dictionary, mature is knowing who you are. If you do everything the way everybody else does it, you will never find yourself, and if you are on the pursuit of happiness, you will never be happy. Find your place, what you thrive on, and live in it. It's where we all belong; in our god-given place. It's all about what you have now, and what you do with it, that matters. Love people more than you love yourself. Love God more than anyone. That's mature.

The Truth Will Set You Free

The first time I watched an episode of 24 was sometime about 4 years ago. I got the first season from the library, and I didn't like it much, but like any show, it can grow on you, and it did. The story pulled me in like a stay-at-home mom gets hooked on a soap opera, and many of my friends who loved the show began 'dropping out', saying that the show was becoming too repetitive. True, each season is a day full of terrorist threats and political sub-plots, but I have, and will, always be a die-hard 24 fan. My heart goes out to Jack Bauer, and in a very heterosexual way. He became one of my heroes, and he still is today. I know he has problems just like the rest of us, but sometimes, above my attempts to love each and every person like Jesus does, I just can't help but care about certain people and have such intense compassion for them that it is as if someone else has placed those feelings in my heart.

Even though Jack has 'slept' with so many different women, been addicted to drugs, killed people he didn't have to, had terrible alcohol problems, and exercised more contempt in his heart than a dozen men put together, he is just as lost without the LORD as I am. He is my number one cultural hero because he never seizes standing up not just for what he believes in, but for the truth. He always starts by working with CTU (Counter Terrorist Unit) to save America from nuclear threats and the like, but what's different with Jack than any other character, what makes him the star of the show, is that there always comes a fork in the road. He can either succumb to the demands of the president, the terrorists, or even fellow CTU agents, but he cares to much about what truly is the greater good. And that isn't always what's 'best for this country' (which really means 'most comfortable for this country). It's always the truth. He constantly goes outside of protocol, goes rogue, has been tortured nearly to death countless times, and even killed once or twice, because he believes that the truth must be told every time, no exceptions. And there is nothing more important than the truth.

I watched the last two episodes of season eight tonight, and boy, were they good. This one probably had the best ending yet. However, to my great displeasure, those two episodes may very well have been the last two I will ever see. I won't speak too soon, since all I have heard are rumors arguing two different things, but for a kid who has seen every single episode of 24 ever made, it was like a brief moment of history in my life, captured in the last moments of the last episode. I won't give anything away if you are looking forward to the finale, but I will tell you that I was very impressed. I'll face it, my friends are right, the story is made by some very rushed writers, and the story is not too different from season to season, but seeing what happened between two p.m. and four p.m. meant the world to me. I even came close to tears, which I can assure you is rare.

Former president Charles Logan says in the middle of the last episode, about Jack Bauer, that he will 'never be stopped'. That he 'will crawl his way out of the darkest hole' and that he will 'come after you and find you if he has been exiled to the ends of the earth'. Yes, Jack is a bloodthirsty killer at times, and he desires fruitless things like revenge, but there is something about him that guys like me desire. I think that in some ways, all men are required to be extremely violent. This doesn't necessarily mean killing everyone that gets in your way so that you can implicate a corrupt government, but seeing a man be more violent than any other man is, in some ways, very motivating. Don't we all want to save the world, or at least the damsel in distress, or slay the dragon? The part many people don't realize is that everything we desire most deeply is also the most difficult to achieve. Life is not supposed to be easy, and if it is, maybe it's time for us to ink our pens and start listening for the voice of God, and if he is silent, then we must do his will wherever we are, stopping at nothing to implicate Satan and let everyone at least get a chance at the truth.

It all comes back to the individual stories we are writing right now, even as I am writing this and you are reading it. Don Miller says that in every good story, the protagonist wants something and overcomes an obstacle, or many, to get to what they want. I think he's right, and that's why we like books and movies so much. It's really just that we like story. We like good stories, where amazing things happen, that we could never imagine happening in our lives, and we like stories where a character endures incredible pain and suffering, against all odds and achieves something they wanted.

Even though 24 is over now, my heart will still go out to Jack Bauer. And yes, I am talking about Jack Bauer, not Keifer Sutherland. I think we all know by now that's just a cover-up for his real identity. I pray that he will find the most important truth, more important than any truth he has previously killed people and been tortured for, and project it for all the days of his life, both on-camera and off. I pray that he finds his Father, and listens to what he has to say.

Perhaps things are simpler

Perhaps many 'puzzle pieces of our lives' are really a lot more simple. Just a thought. That's all.

Maybe it's time for something new

I think it is easy to underestimate Satan. His plans are relentless, he will always wreak havoc, rain or shine, sleet or snow. I find it important to watch out not only for myself, but more importantly, to be able to expose, and dispose of his plans, wherever they lie.

Tonight I watched a movie The Machinist. It was rather oblique, yet mesmerizing and very well put together, in my opinion. The protagonist, Trevor, hasn't slept in over a year. He looks like he's been hit by an Amtrak and he wants to sleep, to feel better, comfortable, livid, again, but no matter what, he cannot sleep. This guy Ivan shows up at random, supposedly one of Trevor's co-workers, and after his appearance, strange things begin happening in Trevor's life. Throughout the movie, it is hard to tell what is actually happening to Trevor and what he is seeing because of his insomnia. Nevertheless, he begins to believe that Ivan is the one causing all the ruckus, so he attempts to track him down, eventually losing what little trust he had in his friends (or lack of). Many people have watched this movie and said it was terrible, a sort of random disarray of scenes that are supposed to confuse you. I think there is something more to the story.

You see Trevor going down a road, and it doesn't look like a pretty one. There is even a brief part of dialogue where he says that he 'tried him [Jesus Christ]'. Most of the time, it would seem that Trevor has no choice but to keep living, keep going to work, keep trying to find out what the hell is going on, but there are a few scenes where he is offered a choice. I think that the story is really about Trevor coming to a fork in the road. He can either continue down the road he is on and destroy himself, or get help. Although Trevor's story in The Machinist is more violently and disturbingly illustrated, it's all too similar to our own stories.

We have a choice too. The Enemy can trick us into believing in our actions, or justifying them. He comes in spirit, the same way the Lord does. Do not underestimate him. Because next thing you know, you're going slow and steady down a path of self-righteousness, or a path of contempt, or idolatry, or sexual immorality, or apathy, or even murder. To me, it's like falling asleep at the wheel and inadvertantly exiting off the highway. Remember the part in Dumb and Dumber When Lloyd takes his eyes off the road for two seconds, and he misses the big left turn to Aspen?

I am grateful for thinking this way about the road I travel on. But my heart melts when it comes to people like Trevor. Being Jesus to people is important, but let us take steps of faith, like in The Last Cruscade when Indy steps out from the face of the cliff, not knowing what lies ahead, but trusting instead. Let's hang our lamps up high where everyone can see.

Grab your pen

Ever thought of your life in the third person, as if you were watching a movie? I often think of my life OUTrospectively, meaning that I feel at any given moment, like I am writing my own story, but I am a critic observing the work so far. With just a month or so until I graduate high school, I am starting to give more thought to my future. People have been asking me the question without cease since probably sophomore year. First comes the observation that I graduate whenever it is that I talk to them, and then, what I know I have coming to me... the question. It's almost always the same.

"So... What are you going to do?"

I'd like to ask them the same thing! But I'm not that rude.

So now you, reader, have got me. Now I have to answer the question. The truth is, I don't know what I'm going to do, and that's okay with me. It's okay because I'm going to tell you what I want.

Like what happened to Alice, I want fall down a rabbit hole. I want to launch myself into this big, wide world, and I never want things to be the same. I want to live in a community where I am the change that I want to see happen in church. I want to work hard and be compensated for it. I want to always stay closer with God than with any other human being. I want my convictions to point me in the right direction. I want to visit the places that I picture in my mind when I listen to songs and read books.

I could go on, but I would like to make a point. I think that people are often pressure by society and that question that people keep pounding into their mind, and so they feel they are forced to make a decision. I wouldn't mind if you made a career decision or big decision about your future if it was something God told you he specifically wanted you to do, but don't just pick something because the choice is there, don't just settle for a 9-5 job and a paycheck. Don't even settle for a wife and kids. Why live life like everyone else when you can change it? Why pluck one string when you can strum the guitar?

I'm right, and you're wrong

Fact: we all waste time by arguing with each other about things that don't matter. In fact, we even waste time arguing about things that DO matter. I have decided that there is a difference between arguing and challenging someone's beliefs, perspectives, thought process... their faith. Even if we think we can justify arguing with someone because it's an important subject, the fact remains that we are only satisfying each other's need to argue and be right. I don't even care if you're talking about salvation with a homeless person, because there is a door to get in, you don't have to try to break down the walls.

Have you noticed that if you disagree with somebody, trying to prove that you are the one who is right doesn't work all too well? I feel pretty convicted about this myself. I am learning that there is a way to respond in love, and ask questions that you yourself have, instead of trying to force someone to think the way you do. I don't like to be proved wrong, and neither does anyone else. Let's be open to other voices, take things into consideration, but most importantly, don't make everything people tell you your own beliefs. Unless, perhaps, that person is God. Does that make sense?

I've been thinking a lot about the bible and what it means to each person. I'm quite disappointed that there are so many different denominations of the church, but it's a perfect example of what I am thinking about all the time. It's all about relationship, not religion. We've bantered back and forth our whole lives, arguing over things that appear to be very important, and they are, but my thought is that many topics discussed are relevant only to a small handful of people, or even more often, a single person. Let me explain a little better.

If we read the bible just for the stories, if we just read it like a book, it's a decent book, albeit how confusing and contradictory it is. But when I read the bible, I ask God to provide me with knowledge, with His insight. Insight is, after all, knowledge provided by the Lord. So if I am thinking a lot about how my life is difficult and how to deal with it, and then God brings me to the book of Job, or even a single verse, telling me exactly what I need to hear, my day/life in general are totally illuminated with peace, contentment, and true joy that can only be provided by God. But the thing is, I got a completely different conclusion from what I read than the next guy who reads it. Read my entry entitle 'helicopter ride'. I now believe that God does not control me, but he puts people and 'happenings' in my life, knowing how I will react to it. He creates an effect and cause that is all part of His plan for me.

All this to say that maybe there isn't just one right answer to many questions. Certainly not all of them. Perhaps God has given me this insight and it's only for me, but somehow I doubt it.

Total trust in a total God

For anyone who doesn't know, I spent a week at the Dream Center, a mission in the middle of L.A. that is all about meeting people's physical needs, such as food and water and clothes, as well as spiritual needs... Jesus.

There are more than 200 different outreaches at the Dream Center. I saved up money for months to go there for a week, and I barely put a dent in their weekly activity. We went on two or three missions each day, with as little as five people joining us or as many as forty. Our first mission was evangelizing at a college in Pasadena, and the Holy Spirit took off like a rocket for the rest of the week. From visiting retirement homes and teaching very old people about the fruit of the spirit, to going down to Skid Row, the most poorest and most dangerous part of Los Angeles, the Dream Center kept us pretty busy. I learned pretty quickly that if I wanted to make a difference, I had to let the Holy Spirit do the talking. My own words and wisdom will never be good enough to bring people to the Lord. It amazes me how the people who work at the Dream Center do what we did every single day. Hundreds of people actually live there, and reach out day after day, week after week, letting God pursue people through them. That's something I want.

What I got out of my time at the Dream Center for myself is so much more than I could have possibly offered the city of L.A. Being in such a massive city full of so many broken hearts, so much poverty, and so much lack of God, has given me a real drive for life. I don't want to get a pat on the back and a job well done because I helped lead people to Jesus for a week... I want to go somewhere messed up, and live there. I'm ready to forget my candy-apple life and make all the 'necessities' of life unnecessary luxuries. My car, my job, my money, my food, my room, my music, my new wolf t-shirt... nothing matters anymore. I want to be a fearless warrior that takes risks and does whatever, goes wherever God tells me. And serving the Lord with three awesome guys for a week, and bonding with another church group, made me feel jealous... community is something I want. I see how much better things could be for me, and I keep saying 'that's what I want' over and over in my mind and out loud, like a broken record. If God doesn't speak up soon, I'm going to have to make a change.

Sitting here in my room, typing on my computer, life seems so easy. I can't just walk away from this experience and say, 'that was good'. These next couple of months are going to be a breeze.

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

After dropping Daniel off this morning, I felt so free. The Holy Spirit swept over me like a cloud filled with stale, odorless fruit, and it suddenly hit me: I'm going to L.A. tomorrow. Actually today now. I am going to change people's lives, and especially my own. I rarely feel like I did driving home this morning. I felt as though God had fixed everything for a little while, for a couple of hours. But feelings are not discerned often enough. We have to stop and think about why we feel certain ways. I realized that the way I felt in the car was one of those feelings I get when everything is going exactly the way I want it to. But it's almost as if feelings have flavors... I could practically taste this Holy Ghost in the car, yet I had a sudden revelation that made me feel selfish and lucky. Feelings are one of the most interesting parts of life... they're entertaining and totally underrated. We just have to stop ourselves sometimes when our feelings might get us into trouble, or we are thinking too hard about something. Our minds try to figure things out.

Kid A

A thought raised its hand in the back of my mind today. Why do so many things get to be okay? Boyfriends and girlfriends living with each other, people getting drunk, or worse, and totally screwing up their sense of reality every single weekend, slavery in our own country as well as buying the better part of everything we own from companies that enslave people so that we can pay a minimum price, people getting married without making a covenant with God... the list goes on, like an accountant punching numbers into a calculator all night with bloodshot eyes and tax sheets surrounding him. We have handed our world to The Enemy on a silver platter. It is so full of sin. I'm not setting myself apart from it. But why are all these things just normal? Why do we accept them if we know that they are wrong? Just a thought.

Lately I have been getting lazy with praying for others, and when I first realized this, I was upset with myself, but I believe that as of right now, 'remote prayer' isn't good enough for me. I still encourage myself to do it as much as possible, but if someone is sick, really sick, like they are going to do, or if someone is having something terrible happen to them, or really for any reason that you pray for someone, I want to go to those people and pray for them, find them where they are and pray. Right now it's sort of like the difference between meeting a friend and talking to them in person and talking to them on facebook. I don't know why.

Also I slept for a full nine hours last night so my eyes are totally bloodshot right now and I feel like a video game nerd or something.

The Body

Excuse my absence from the blogging, my story has been fairly boring for the past while, at least, boring enough to not have much to write about. But I have been thinking deeply about the body of Christ -- God's people -- and how I am connected to the body.

It's been a long time since I have been 'plugged in' to a church, but I was thinking about this today, and realized that I never actually was plugged in. Not the way I should have been. I hadn't even begun a real relationship with God when my family and I went to church. I attended various vineyards throughout my life. I visited with my friends, learned about some stories in the bible and forgot it later that day, and I may have even had a chance to help some homeless people for a couple of hours one Sunday... foiled. (Dad, I hope you know what I am talking about and are laughing right now).

So where am I at now? I love God, and am closer with Him now than ever before, and I listen for his voice, and try to learn about him and his nature every single day. Which is great. It's the best. But what about other people? I know that others care about me, however, why is it that I reach out so far to my peers and usually get little or nothing in return? What quality do I lack that makes me unwanted? Or maybe I'm not unwanted? If so, then why do I have to try so hard with people?

Of course, going back to church is the light bulb answer to my problems, but what I am hung up on is that people are the church. It's the people in the church that are the church, not the church establishment. Relying on weekly meetings, like sunday morning service and youth group, for a community of friends, really bothers me. We should spend time with God and have a strong relationship with him, but what about all the people around us? We should not put up these church walls and channel all of our social energy and attention to the people of this box.

My most important question here, the burning question, is how does Nate Fifield live in a community of friends that reach back to him? God must have put me in this place for a reason, and I suspect He is the only one who can answer me. Maybe I'm very, very lost, maybe I'm being a stubborn mule, or maybe I'm not listening hard enough for God's voice, but what I do know for sure, is that things are not right. And the truth is that they haven't been for a long time, and I want to figure it out.

Writing a better story

In case you haven't noticed, I have become exceedingly joyful and content with my life recently. Joyful and content by my standards, I suppose. But that definitely hasn't changed my desire for a less mechanical and routine life. I've been living in the state of Washington for about twelve years now, and it's beautiful and I love it, but I'm ready to 'GRAB THE WORLD, PULL IT DOWN, AND PUT IT IN MY POCKET!!'

Perhaps I should make an appointment with Matt Foley?

I was pondering, over the last couple of days, what I could do to make my life more exciting and eventful. A lot of ideas came to mind; I could do a nearby hike, buy a skateboard and ride it around, start a band with some metalheads from my school, become a homeless person for a while, get into kickboxing, play music on the street corner for money... the full list is much longer. But I realized something today.

I was sitting in the Stevens Pass lodge, perturbed by the fact that I was too sick to snowboard, reading the latest Donald Miller book. I kept shutting the book every ten minutes or so, to think about my life. Or more specifically, to analyze it. I will go wherever God asks me to, but he hasn't asked me to do anything very extraordinary or adventurous -- even though, on the one hand, everything God asks me to do is extraordinary and adventurous. But I think you know what I mean.

And then it hit me.

I got to a part in the book where Miller is relating stories, as in books and movies, to our own lives. He said:

"Humans are designed to seek comfort and order, and so if they have comfort and order, they tend to plant themselves, even if their comfort isn't all that comfortable. And even if they secretly want for something better"

I was crestfallen when I read this. I hate it when this happens to me, when I get so into the 'swing of things' that I don't stop to consider what I am writing in this book called Nate Fifield. I am ready to jump off the cliff into deep unknown waters, and I am an arrow, pulled back a ways, so ready to be released into the world. I want to go everywhere. But more importantly, I'm ready for the more radical, daring, uncanny, unknown adventures that God has in store for me, because I don't want to be comfortable anymore.

Going Somewhere?

When I set that time apart,

when I read the word,

when I read scripture,

when I spend time with the One who created me,

when I meet Him in secret,

when I fast,

when I do it joyfully and for a reason,

when I do it so I can't be distracted,

when I do it so there's no choice but to be closer and spend more time with Him,

when I see a photo that inspires me,

when I receive insight,

when I refuse to go to bed,

when I can stop being a dork for two seconds to be Jesus to somebody,

when someone I care about returns the favor,

when I can return the favor,

when I rejoice,

when I am glad,

when I can't possibly be more content,

when I couldn't be more happy,

when someone is inspired by my carelessness,

and when it's 3:38 A.M.,

that's when my life on earth is the best.

Helicopter Ride

I'll admit that so far, 2010 has not been an easy year for me. I scour the surrounding areas for employment, but no luck. I get my school done, but there isn't much of it. I've been too restless and too upset with myself and my situation for too long. Life goes uphill and downhill, then back uphill... and endless cycle. But what about the hundreds of times in the bible where we are told to rejoice, give thanks, and be happy and content with what we have, even when we are suffering? Especially when we are suffering. Wisdom from the book of Matthew was the blood in my brain, and verses 5:11-12 came to me.

"Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you." And suddenly, it hit me.

I know God.

He is my friend and I know that he created me and has plans for me.

How could a job, money, or better friendships make my life any better?

I'm already friends with the best friend anyone could ask for, and the best part is, I can spend as much time with Him as I want to! So why do I have to be so sullen and why do I have to try so hard to keep my chin up, and conceal my feelings and emotions in front of other people so that I appear to be doing fine? This has to be the best epiphany I've ever had. It was like two giant bottles full of poison fell off of my shoulders, making me a free man. Or a real boy.

From that moment on, it's been almost impossible to look at anything negatively. I went to Bartell Drugs in Snohomish, who is currently hiring, and was told my hours weren't open enough because of school during the week, making me ineligible for the position. I immediately threw made a frown face on my way out, but the second those automatic double doors opened, thrusting the cold, harsh, real world upon my arms and face, my lips miraculously curled into a smile I couldn't turn upside down if I tried. Later on, I was turned down at Red Robin, and the movie theater. When the manager at the movies told me they weren't hiring until May, I turned around and started skipping and singing out of the building, and all the way out to my car. I couldn't stop smiling, but I also couldn't stop wondering why on earth I was this happy.

Life definitely has goes downhill and uphill many times. But this morning, God flew a helicopter down to me, practically spelling everything out for me. I hopped in, and now I'm riding above those ups and downs. I'm not saying I'm above all my problems because of God, I'm just saying that I don't have any problems. My schedule and my own hopes and dreams, my transgressions, my tea, my music, my good, and my bad are no longer mine. I hope I never decide to get out when we fly above the topmost hills.

Curveball

Last week, my mom scored a couple tickets to a Lacrosse game in Everett. They're worth a bit of money, but she was given them by a friend, and uninterested, I inherited them. Some might call it karma, but it's more like a fortunate stroke of serendipity.

So Friday night, I went to my first Lacrosse game; Washington Stealth Vs. Minnesota Swarm. I knew Lacrosse was pretty intense, but this was a sport unlike anything I had ever seen/imagined. I found it seriously entertaining. I just couldn't believe how they could pass that ball at such high speed and the other guy could actually catch it in that little net, and run down the field, passing to and fro with such vigor and intensity that could not be found elsewhere. It's a game of precision and... cardio?

The longer I sat there in the stadium, the more interested I was. By the end of the first quarter, I was completely enthralled. I was intrigued to get in better shape, and play some really fierce sport competitively. Maybe Lacrosse. I really think that would be fun. After I had pondered this idea for a few minutes, I became disappointed with myself for not competing in sports more during high school. But I never did have much confidence in myself when it came to athletics, and after another ten minutes of light, hovering thoughts about it, I decided that whatever I did instead of playing sports was just fine.

The only thing that bothered me about the game was all the aggression. I found it funny at first, opponents hitting each other with their sticks as a form of 'blocking,' but just like in hockey, a bigger fight emerged a couple of times, once giving a guy from Stealth a 7-minute penalty, where he supposedly received a lecture from his coach. They will sometimes let the fight go for a while, just to get everyone excited. If you ask me, that's not only bad sportsmanship, but a complete waste of energy.

Obviously, a lot of thought was involved with my time at the game, sort of sauntering briskly from one end of my mind to the other. But I definitely enjoyed it, and I would recommend a Stealth game if you run out of ideas.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for Pesto!

I don't scream for ice cream because if I do that means I really want it and I'll probably eat too much of it and throw up. But pesto is definitely on of my top favorite foods. I'll scream for pesto whenever.

Pesto

Makes about 1 1/2 cups

Ingredients:

2 cups fresh basil leaves

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano (just parmesan cheese)

1/2 cup pine nuts

Salt and Pepper

2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Method:

In a food processor, combine all the ingredients except the olive oil.

Pulse a few times to chop everything up.

Add the olive oil in a stream through the feed tube.

Blend until thoroughly combined.

Notes from personal experience: if you are doubling this recipe, or tripling it for that matter (which isn't a bad idea at all), DO NOT double or triple the olive oil! If it's too dry with the 2/3 cup, add more until it's enough. Also, don't be afraid to try it on lots of different stuff. Like Tortellini!

Recipe complements of Lisa Crawford

The way these notes strike my ear canal

Isn't it strange, the way music touches our hearts and minds? It doesn't even have to be "good" for me to really like it. Of course, I think all the music I listen to is good, but that's because there's always a handful of artists that somehow get inside my mind, and rattle my brain around, or make me feel cold in a positive way, or just make me feel good for absolutely no reason. The list of things it affects people is endless.

The dictionary definition of music is "the art or science of combining vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion." The expression of emotion is the key aspect of music. If you don't get excited, or really believe in playing an instrument like a guitar, then long can you take lessons before you say something insensitive, like 'my fingers aren't long enough,' and give up? Music is one of the first things you figure out as a child, something you, learn, live, and love. It's like a picture, or a precious moment in your life that you admire for a while.

Talent doesn't play a very important role in whether I like an artist or not, and/or whether I will listen to it more. The same goes for most people, at least, from my own experience. Let me explain.

Bro: Nate, have you ever heard of Seabass and the Fellas?

Me: No, are they good?

Bro: Dude, they're SO good! Listen to this

(I reluctantly insert the ear bud Bro gave me into my ear. The song starts out slow with some guitar and builds slowly into a decent song, especially when it got to the chorus).

(After 42 seconds, Bro can't wait any longer)

Bro: So, what do you think?

Me: Yeah... they're pretty good.

Bro: I know, right?! Ah, I just LOVE this song!

And just because I said I liked it, we got to listen to Seabass and the Fellas for the remainder of the time I was at Bro's house. Was I lying when I said they were good? No, I thought they were decent, but the music didn't touch me in the ways that other music did, and others still will, later on. Some of which probably isn't nearly as 'good.' And since I got to listen to their album twice through with Bro, I never want to listen to Seabass and the Fellas again in my life. Does this situation ring any bells?

The only time I can really say that a form of music is bad is if it is having a negative and dismal effect on somebody's life. Example: Linkin Park. I'd say they are a pretty talented band, and I enjoy hearing one of their songs now and again when my ipod is on shuffle. But when I was 13, Linkin Park messed me up. I definitely listened to them way too much, and their lyrics subdued me and gave me a very negative mind set. Thankfully, most of the people in my life aren't as stupid as me, so I couldn't hinder there for too long. But that's a perfect example of the way music captivates you. Just like Bro with Seabass and the Fellas, there was something about Linkin Park that I just couldn't get enough of. I don't know what exactly, but it wasn't their negative lyrics, or the then-cool screaming... however, the screaming is what made me lose interest in Linkin Park. After finding out that the guy who screamed was really just saying 'aahh,' like at the dentist, into a little voice filter. What a loser.

In essence, what I am trying to say here is that music is a lot more powerful than we realize. And just in case you're wondering, I've been listening to Simon and Garfunkle this entire time. And I never listen to Simon and Garfunkle.

Just wanna see if it really works to blog from my cell phone. I forgot my man bag at ferguson park yesterday and I came back an hour later and it was gone.

The Lovely Bones

I was cleaning the bathroom yesterday when the four o'clock showing of The Lovely Bones squeezed my arm and told me to make my way down to the theater by four o'clock. My wallet contained all my spending money for the next couple of weeks, which was eleven dollars. There was a voice opposing the movies strongly, so I let both sides of my brain battle it out. The one telling me that eleven dollars was enough to buy a carton of milk duds and get into the movie was the victor. It was a fair fight.

I picked up my favorite movie snack at the grocery store and made it to the box office with three minutes to spare. I paid close attention to the time my movie would start, because I am very particular about getting there early, and getting the perfect seat. If I were even seven minutes late, which meant the previews weren't over yet, I would call the whole thing off and go home. But anyways, about the movie.

Probably the reason I wanted to go was because it's based on a very successful book of the same title by Alice Sebold, and also that it's directed, written and produced in part by Peter Jackson, whose movies I am very fond of. Besides King Kong. The Lovely Bones centers around 14-year-old Suzy Salmon, a happy and content girl growing up in a healthy, successful family in early '70s Pennsylvania. Everything is going great, until she is taken advantage of and murdered by middle-aged man George Harvey, her neighbor and stalker.

Thankfully, Jackson chose not to put the actual murder on display for us, but nevertheless, the movie is pretty intense in some parts, as well as having its fare share of disturbing imagery. While it bears the PG-13 rating, and not the R rating that the book it was based on definitely deserved, you may want to think twice before going to see it if you get scared/disturbed easily.

After Suzy dies, she enters the 'in between,' a sort of bridge from earth to heaven, in which she can still spectate the lives that surrounded her. She can even come into contact with earth, to an extent. But the fact remains that she is not coming back to her family and her friends and her life. She struggles between her desire for her family to recover from the tragedy, and her desire for vengeance. It's a very important part of the movie, because what Suzy wants could affect what actually happens.

About halfway through the movie, I became very puzzled and even a little upset, and it wasn't because I didn't understand the plot. I just couldn't decide what I thought about the whole 'in-between' deal. I bet a lot of other christians will be upset and offended with this movie due to its 'false' assumptions of life after death, but who knows? Maybe God puts some people on a bridge like Suzy's, because that's just part of His plan for that person. He does work in mysterious ways.

So on my way out to the car, I pulled away from my need to make a theological conclusion and realized how much I enjoyed the movie. The only actors I recognized were Suzy's parents, played by Mark Wahlberg and Rachel Weisz, but I think every acted their parts really well, and made me care about them and what the outcome would be. It's a very real story about something that happens way too often in real life. And Peter Jackson has done another spectacular job, combining elements of cinematography and very blissful imagery of Suzy's heaven. Maybe we can talk about this movie a little more in-depth after we die?

Zombie Weekend

All week long, I live my life. Some days I spend a bit of time with God, others I devote completely to him. But when the weekend comes, all bets are off. I came to terms with myself for a while during the end of this weekend, around two thirty, Sunday Afternoon.

It got off to a good start... depending on what good is. It was fun at first. I was getting 'important' things done for at least what, five days, now? Friday was upon me at the exact same time it always was. But I didn't begin my weekend until 8 o'clock that morning. I stretched, cooked some eggs, dawdled around as always, and jumped in the car at a quarter to ten for my one and only class, Mammals of the Pacific Northwest. Throughout the only 50 minutes of school I have each week, I was itching with livid anticipation, and waiting impatiently for the big hand to reach the ten. I didn't even have any plans. I love my class, nevertheless, I definitely didn't care about it very much. All I knew was that when that big hand got to where it was supposed to be, I was free. It didn't matter how long. I wouldn't have any rules, anything to get done, I could do what I wanted. Which ended up being going home and cleaning the kitchen. Most of my friends had plans, and the ones I hadn't talked to undoubtedly did.

Except Daniel, Andrew and Bill.

Andrew and Bill arrived at my house shortly after I had finished cleaning every dish and countertop in the house, while taking in the brilliant melodies of Sigur Rós and Anathallo shuffling on my iPod. Andrew had brought the Xbox, and it was time to kill some zombies. I wasn't sure if I wanted in on this... maybe I should make them go home? They only live just down the street. And I could reflect on life and spend time with God and soak in the night after the sun goes away, since I'm not going to do anything productive? This thought zapped my head and it hurt for a moment, but only for a moment. I threw it aside, the poor thing laying there, forgotten in some dark corner of my mind, and invited them right in for tea and strumpets. Daniel arrived sometime between nine and ten p.m., and then the party really got started. Bill and Andrew are sleep hogs, so they hit the hay about midnight, too tired to kill one more zombie... this was much to my delight, seeing as there were only two controllers. With chai tea, an Xbox 360, ice cream, and very bloodshot eyes, Big D and I carried on through the wee hours of the morning, enjoying ourselves thoroughly. We decided to call it a day when we were overrun and killed for the last time at four-fifteen on the dot, and went to bed, falling asleep hard not two minutes later.

After four hours and fifteen minutes of some of the best sleep I've had since 'Nam, all of us were up and at 'em. I felt like Buddy the Elf... only I hadn't built a rocking horse, I had just spent way too much time playing video games. We made ourselves a beautiful breakfast -- eggs, pancakes, bacon, orange juice, coffee -- the works. We even cleaned the place spotless afterward, which is saying something for four 17-year-old guys. But the fun wasn't over yet; I drove us all to Snohomish to a tea shop, and then to my little sister's basketball game, and back home for more zombies. Daniel unfortunately had to leave at a quarter past three, and we all bade him a very fond farewell. "THIS is a good weekend!" He said excitedly, as he opened the back door. I nodded vigorously in agreement.

But why was it good? Because I feel fat, lazy and completely worthless now? The moment Daniel left, that thought crawled back, the one I had so carelessly disregarded earlier. I always have an image in my mind of what the weekend will be like, and unfortunately, it never lives up to my expectations. I resort to badgering my family and driving them up the walls, and at some point, hating myself for a while. I felt like that for most of Sunday, but around two thirty, I couldn't stand it anymore. At just the right time, a swift clutch of wisdom employed me. Even though I ran that 3 miles Saturday evening, and read another 2 chapters in Acts, and went to bed early, and did my laundry, I realized two things; that I definitely have too much time on my hands, and that it drove me crazy on the weekends. I stood frozen in my room, looking myself up and down via the indistinct reflection in my window. It was decidedly time to clean the bathroom, and then... take myself to the movies? Yes, I took myself to the movies. I saw a movie that was all about death, which I will probably write about later.

To make a long story short, I love God and I want Him to be more important than anything else that happens in my life. That's what it all boils down to.

P.S. If you have any questions or any suggestions as to how I can make my life more worthwhile, or if you just want to hang out, feel free to contact me.