Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Departed From Glory

He knelt next to the fire, hands outstretched, as he peered into the dancing flames. The smoke billowed into the sky, and disappeared into the black night. The stars shone with the utmost sincerity, as there was no other light to diminish their glory. The galaxy in all its brilliance had fully revealed itself to illuminate the night, but the fields were soulless for miles. There were none to admire the beauty of the sky.


None except Ichabod.


He grabbed the stick next to him, and prodded the fire, sending sparks cascading into the wind. The breeze was gentle; a zephyr that guided the flares into the unknown dark. The flowers and grass of the field danced at the kiss of the gust, and rippled as if a pebble had been dropped into water. It was as if the world itself was sleeping. The wild was begging to be explored in the beauty of the stillness.


(Ending 1)


Ichabod didn’t notice.


He was enthralled by the warmth and light of the fire. Leaving such a comfort was inconceivable to him. He tried looking into the sky, but the smoke blotted out the stars from where he was. The wind stirred the fire, causing Ichabod to pay special attention to it so that it would not go out. It was all he knew; there was nothing for him beyond the heat. The tongues of fire lapped at his flesh, begging him to stay. But the flames started to lessen in intensity. Ichabod bravely stepped away from his safe haven to venture into the dark. He came to a lilac tree in full bloom, perched directly by the waters of the lake. The moon revealed the glory of the scene, as the soft pink petals gently floated to the ground, swirling around Ichabod. The scene was one that could calm the blackest of souls; therapeutic in every manner. Until Ichabod reached out and grabbed a branch, snapping it from the tree. The sharp crack broke the perfect tranquility of the night. Anyone else would have heard the tree scream in pain as part of itself was removed from its existence.


Ichabod didn’t care.

He had one goal on his mind: to feed the fire. He took his forcefully-claimed prize and fed his companion without hesitating. The devouring inferno thanked him by growing in size and strength. The branch cried out as it was swallowed mercilessly and charred. The only memory of Ichabod’s actions disappeared into the night sky, and were swept away by the wind. Around him, the world was waking. The stars hid themselves, the moon’s gaze was cast elsewhere. The sun was now coming out, revealing the world for what it was. While the world was the same as it was in the night, it held a special kind of beauty that could only be revealed by the elements of the night’s glory.


Ichabod had missed it all.


With the day now breaking, there was no reason for him to stay at his fire. The warmth from the sun was greater than that of the fire, and gave off much more light. Since the world was now plain to him, Ichabod ventured away from his fire, and into the day. He wandered, seeking another suitable rest, should night choose to descend upon him again.


(Ending 2)


Ichabod suddenly admired the simplistic elegance of his surroundings.


Leaving the comfort of the fire was no problem for him, because he knew the spectacle of the wilderness was infinitely more valuable than that of the small fire. The crisp night nipped at his flesh, but he carried on, because there were sights to behold. He looked up at the stars, and could not count the vastness of the numbers. Ichabod looked at the flowers of the field, and admired the simple elegance. He looked at the perfectly still waters, noticing how the light of the moon was caught perfectly to illustrate a painting. He turned to the lilac tree by the waters, watching as the pink petals swirled in the wind, and gently hit the water.


Ichabod forgot who he was.


He forgot his fire.


He simply adored the creation.

All his life, he had known of the splendor of the night, but he had simply glanced over it time after time. The craftsmanship of the nature left Ichabod stunned. As the sun started to crack through the night sky, the darkness gave way to light, and the world was basked in a gorgeous orange glow. Eager to discover the scenery that left him breathless, he ran with a vigor he thought impossible. He had become giddy with excitement, and intended to learn about the world he had neglected so badly. As Ichabod ran off into the distance, the fire that had once captivated his interest slowly died down, until the final spark was gently lifted into the air, and was forgotten.

Originally written 1/27/15

Crossroad: Explained

This entire poem is founded upon a single quote:

“The safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.” -C.S. Lewis

With that being said, I don't really know how more explaining I have to do. But I'll elaborate anyways.

The poem focuses on a man, who's traveling a very simple, easy road. He feels that the road is just a little too easy. And for some reason, the things of his past are coming back to haunt him. But at one point, he comes to a crossroad, and is given a choice: take the hard road, with tough rocks and an incline, or continue down the easy road. He chooses the hard road, and while the path may be more difficult to traverse, he comes to realize that it's actually easier on his soul. Therefore, "the easy road was hard, and the hard road was easy."

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Crossroad

The road may be easy, but it’s just too easy.
The road is smooth, but it’s not what I bargained for.
The road never bends, never curves, never breaks from downward.
But I feel it is breaking me.
I can’t say why. I don’t know how.
But there’s no question now.
The road I am traveling has been unraveling
The things of my past, coming back like a nightmare.
The things I’ve done, weighing heavier than the pack on my back
So why is it so easy to walk?

As I talk, I come to a crossroad.
The choice for myself is one of two
Continue the path, or diverge from the path
I’m on the verge of leaving my path, but then I compare and contrast.
One road rocky, one road easy.
One road high, one road low
One road curved, one road straight.
One road light, one road dark.

This road doesn’t seem to bode well
I have nowhere to rest my weary head
No one to comfort me as the creatures prowl at night
Things don’t seem bright for me
I don't know if this is right for me
But there is no more than this
The fork in the road cuts like a knife
This strife in the road breaks my soul
Do I leave the easy road to travel the harder road?
The choice to leave has me relieved
The rocks underfoot tear through my soles
Rough travels are what await me
The road inclines and curves,
but this I have learned; a sudden realization leaves me frozen

The path I have chosen
Proves that there will be pain
But somehow I know
None of it is in vain
As I look back on my choice, I saw it was clear all along.
The easy road was hard, and the hard road was easy.

-B.D.

Originally Written 5/2/15

Monday, February 22, 2016

Equilibrium: Explained

I don't really remember if I was finished with this story or not. But this is how I found it, so that's how I posted it. Also I don't know how much explaining this actually needs, since it's pretty self explanatory. So instead I'll briefly talk about why I think love is so important.

I believe love to be a quintessential quality of humans and God alike. I saw a quote a while back that goes like this:

Know God, Know Love
No God, No Love

Without love, we cannot know God. Without God, we cannot know love, because God is love. Love is the entire reason for our existence, and if that's the case, then love should be a really big deal. But for some reason, it's not really. Love is yet another thing that's taken for granted in our society. And I might go as far as to say that lust has taken more importance to our culture. But no matter how dominant lust becomes, it can never be stronger than love.

Love is something that will never lose purpose, meaning, or relevance. Because without it, the world becomes gray. I feel the need to reiterate the fact that if the Bible says that God is love, then how important must that be to us? Love is not just a feeling, but more like an action, or a decision. God calls us, as Christians, to love. And that doesn't just mean loving that unbeliever in our life. That means loving as Jesus did. He was a holy man among the sinners, the poor, the beggars, the the sick, and the tax collectors. That was a conscious choice on His part. To love those people was not just to be around them, but to help them and to serve them. True love says "You before me" and that is exactly what Jesus did.

I could keep going. There's so much to say about such a vast topic. But I'll stop there.

Love as Jesus did. Because when we know love, we know God.

Equilibrium

Equalibrum

Love is why the universe was created. Love is why the stars gleam so brightly. Love is with us, every day of our lives, whether we know it or not. Love is among some of the poorest souls, and defines the character of our lives. Love is what makes the world tick, and what keeps the earth spinning around the sun without fail. Love is in the rain, love is in the storm. The lightning displays his power, as it crashes to the earth. The resounding roar of thunder illuminating the night leaves us awestruck. Waves throw themselves violently over the waters, and the moon pierces the clouds of the subsiding storm. The cosmos reflect the sheer beauty of his majesty, and reveal to us his brushstrokes.  For the world is God’s canvas, and he made the perfect masterpiece. From the way the stars gleam, to the way the comets race across the night, true beauty is found in His craftsmanship. The thorns on a rose remind us of the choice that was made, as blood trickles down our finger. This blood was never meant to be spilled, but man sinned, and we paid the price. No matter. God’s will was carried out in the most masterful plan ever made. God used the fall of man to bring about the rise of the son.


Originally Written 3/17/14

Saturday, February 20, 2016

Double Life: Explained

This poem is largely about the fact that most Christians are only Christian on Sunday. Where we talk the talk, but don't walk the walk.  Know the facts, but can't keep up the act. When we are actually faced with a situation that tests our faith, do we respond in a way that's in accordance with the scriptures? 

Who has the power to win wars;
a stranger knocking at our doors
To floor us when we atone
Who says we’ll never be alone
but is less important than our phone

God is omnipotent, but somehow unfamiliar to us. His grace and his mercy is constantly outpouring, and yet we run away with our problems, instead of running to Him with them. God says "I will never leave you nor forsake you" but still takes the backseat when it comes to spending time with Him or with our phone.

Who brought us back from the dark
bought with the currency of blood
and currently not important enough to mention
not to mention the way we talk
when do we really walk?
once a week?
we’ve become weak

We were redeemed with grace, but somehow it's not important enough to bring up to others. What do we actually say about Him when we're in the company of nonbelievers? Do we only walk with God on Sundays? Our faith has become weak.

if the world had begun again
could we ever hope to gain a name?
it’s no longer a game when the king dines with the poor
would we be fine to be among the poor?

If all of our knowledge of God wiped out, would we be Christians? Would someone else witness to us? If The King of Kings can dine among the poor, would we be able to do the same?
we were poured into
but it's still about ‘me’

God constantly pours his love, grace, kindness, and mercy into us, and yet we use him like a crutch; only when we need to. We've come to think of God as someone who grants our wishes for selfish gain.

in the still, do you see his face?
can we face the facts?
we were a disgrace
but redeemed with grace
deemed fit for the kingdom
now let the king come
for it was said that it was done

In the quiet nights, or the busy days, do you see God? We we once in the darkness, but now we're children of light, made new again in order to be with God in heaven. So let Jesus come, for he had said upon the cross that "it is finished"

no matter how far we run
the son meets us there
burning brighter than the sun
for action can’t earn us what we already have
turning to ourselves to save
living for the grave?
the way we behave brings death

Jesus is there to help us with our problems when we run from God. Actions can't earn us grace. We're too prideful to turn to someone else to save us so we turn to ourselves. And if death is certain, then how are we living? We live sinfully, and sin breeds death.

the things of this world will rest
you know the story, he will do the rest.
its best to live like he died
because there is no “you tried”
so join the cause, march to the drum
the war has already begun.

Everything in this lifetime will eventually perish. Except what is eternal. If you've grown up a Christian, then you probably know the story of Revelation. If Jesus is truly raised to life, then the news should change your life. Because at the end, when you stand before God, there is no "I tried to be a Christian." It's either you lived your life a Christian, or you didn't. The spiritual war has already started; war doesn't wait for people. So join in the fight against the devil. You combat him by growing in your relationship with God. And part of that means that you can't live a double life. No more being a Christian on Sundays only.

So the idea remains as this: Christianity is an everyday thing, and often something we take for granted. But if you really think about how big of a gift it really is to be a Christian, then perhaps we can stop living as if nothing is really different in our lives. The fact is, someone died for us. And yet we don't really behave as if that's the case. Your life was so precious and valuable to someone, that someone gave their life, so that you could keep yours. So what are you going to do with your life?

Double Life

Double Life

Who has the power to win wars;
a stranger knocking at our doors
To floor us when we atone
Who says we’ll never be alone
but is less important than our phone
Who brought us back from the dark
bought with the currency of blood
and currently not important enough to mention
not to mention the way we talk
when do we really walk?
once a week?
we’ve become weak
if the world had begun again
could we ever hope to gain a name?
it’s no longer a game when the king dines with the poor
would we be fine to be among the poor?
we were poured into
but it's still about ‘me’
in the still, do you see his face?
can we face the facts?
we were a disgrace
but redeemed with grace
deemed fit for the kingdom
now let the king come
for it was said that it was done
no matter how far we run
the son meets us there
burning brighter than the sun
for action can’t earn us what we already have
turning to ourselves to save
living for the grave?
the way we behave brings death
the things of this world will rest
you know the story, he will do the rest.
its best to live like he died
because there is no “you tried”
so join the cause, march to the drum

the war has already begun.

Originally written 3/21/15

Thursday, February 18, 2016

The White Train: Explained

The first thing you should know about this story is that it's largely inspired by the song Piano Man, by Billy Joel.  So that's essentially where the setting and premise of the story comes from. I wrote this because after hearing the song, I stumbled upon a quote that really resonated with me. "Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about." I decided to illustrate that picture. What does it look like when everyone is fighting a battle that you know nothing about?

When people are hurting they generally go to a safe place. That's what the The Darkest Pit represents. People who are at their lowest, coping with the pain. The first man, with the trenchcoat and shady appearance, was someone who was real with his pain, but hid in the shadows. The second man, the one among friends, was someone who lived in the light, but concealed his pain. And finally, the piano man represented compassion. Our character noticed that the characteristics of the piano player didn't quite match up with his music. He had compassion on the piano man and helped with his problems. 

In the next part, the character comes running out of the pub, shocked at his realization, and takes shelter at the train station. The conductor, of course, is Jesus. The train station is life from a timeline perspective. This is why I got specific when the man in the story asked Jesus to see his baggage; because the platforms and compartments represented specific times in this man's life. However, the numbers of the boarding platform relate to a specific verse:

2 Corinthans 5:17
"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has past away, the new has come!"

And the same goes for the ticket:


Matthew 11:28-30
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

When the man received the ticket, he received an invitation to follow Jesus. When he boarded that train, he committed his life to following Him. And the seat that the man took represented what we think we deserve when we come to Christ vs. what we really get. Not the average seat, but the best. Jesus only offers us His best when we come to him. And when the train departed: I ended with a simple thought:

"
I knew that wherever the train went, it would take me somewhere better. Because for once in my life, Someone was guiding me there."

Finally, the destination, meant walking a blessed life with God. The moral here is that faith doesn't make things easy, it makes things possible. Life with Jesus doesn't automatically make things easy. In fact, it makes some things harder. But the promise is that none of our pain is ever in vain.

The White Train

The White Train

I entered into the pub at dusk and took in the sights and sounds around me. The Darkest Pit was regarded as one of the best pubs in town, so it happened to attract many people. The dimly-lit bar was rich with sounds of boisterous laughter, clanging mugs, and ragtime piano music. I stood at the threshold, surveying the scene. Everyone seemed to be having fun and yet, something seemed rather off about the whole situation. The coughing of someone in the back shifted my gaze to a particular gentleman, with a black trenchcoat and a rugged beard. He wore scars on his face and a tall hat to mask them. He wasn’t laughing like the rest of them, but simply staring into his drink, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around him. The fact that this man behaved this way intrigued me, but I decided not to pry. I moved my gaze to the front of the room, where three laughing people at the bar were clashing their mugs and spilling their drinks. The bar was best lit of the small establishment, with the electric lights clearly illuminating the numerous bottles of liquor, but especially the people being tended to. Each had let out a bellowing laugh at the crack of a joke, but one man hesitated with chuckle until he noticed his company roaring in delight. He took a small sip of his drink, gazing into the cabinet of spirits, and ordered a whisky. The fact that this man seemed to be somewhere else was slightly troublesome, but who was I to judge him? Then the crescendo of the piano stole my attention, and I looked to the piano man. He was was disheveled, untidy, and dirty. His hair was matted down and greasy, his fully grown beard was filthy, covered with bits and pieces of previous meals, and his clothes were ripped in numerous places. I crossed the room in order to get a better look at him, making my way through the thick crowd. On top of his piano, was a tip jar. Usually I would not give much thought to such an ordinary item, but the fact that the man looked the way he did spoke volumes about such a common item. As I approached closer, a pungent odor assaulted my nostrils. This man clearly had not bathed for quite sometime. And while the ragtime song he played was upbeat and cheerful, his eyes had sunken deep into his skull, and he started at me with a vacant expression, as if no one occupied this husk of a man. I reached into my wallet and placed five dollars into his jar. He looked at me with the most expectant, wondrous expression, as if he was a child staring at a sizeable lollipop. I felt pity on the man, and placed ten more into his jar. At this, he started openly sobbing in front of me, all the while still playing the ragtime tune that contradicted his emotional state. I stared at him in bewilderment, feeling guilt well up in my stomach. What had happened to this man? I backed away slowly, not knowing what to do for the man. I turned and stumbled toward the door, my head spinning into a mix of sorrow, shock, and rage. How could something like this happen to someone? As I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder and surveyed the room one last time before. In my encounter with each person, I sensed something was amiss with them. My initial assessment of this place had told me that it was a place of cheer and high spirits. But as I was leaving, I knew that not one person sitting in that pub was there for the cheer and music, but rather the alcohol, as a means to cope with the pain. I threw open the door and ran out in the now-pouring rain, distraught at what I had discovered. As I darted through the empty streets, I could only think about each person, and what their story might be. I took cover at the nearest place I could find, which happened to be the train station. I stopped when the platform roof covered my head, and fell to my knees crying. My whole world had been flipped upside-down in a matter of mere minutes. I heard the sound of footsteps approach me, but wept still, broken at the sight in the pub. “Pardon me sir, but are you waiting for the train?” I looked up. Before me stood a Conductor, dressed from head-to-toe in a white tuxedo, even complete with white shoes and a white conductor's hat. “I’ve already taken care of your baggage” he said. I looked at Him, puzzled. “What do you mean?” He held out His hand, fitted with a white glove. “Come with me” He said. As I was helped to my feet, I suddenly noticed the train sitting in the station. As I looked upon this fascinating contraption, the rain tapered to a halt. The train was also white, polished, and glimmering in moonlight, as the beads of rain that clung to the machine reflected the fractals of light brightly. We came to a halt at platform 5, then the Man turned to me and pointed at compartment on the lower of the train marked with a 17. “What’s in there?” I asked. “I have already told you: I have taken your baggage.” I became even more confused now. “But I didn’t bring any baggage here. I came straight from The Darkest Pit.” He tilted his head and maintained his gaze. “Would you like to see?” He asked. Still not knowing what he meant, I took on his offer. “Yes.” He took a set of keys from his belt, and unlocked the compartment. Lined from wall-to-wall, were suitcases and bags, just as he had said. The compartment was completely filled, as each bag had been meticulously placed to maximize storage. “But which one is mine?” Again, He looked at me with the intense gaze that he always bestowed. “All of them” He said. I staggered backward, unable to believe what I was seeing. “Who else have you taken the baggage of?” I asked, stunned at this statement. “I have a compartment for anyone who chooses to ride my train.” From the inside pocket of his jacket, He pulled out a ticket and handed it to me. “Whether or not you wish to ride is up to you, but we will depart as soon as you take the seat prepared for you is taken” At this, He walked away, presumably to the operating booth. I watched Him walk away, still with a million question in my mind, then looked at the ticket in my hand. “Car 11, Row 28, Seat 30.” I looked up at the train and asked myself: was I ready to just leave everything behind and ride this train to wherever it might take me? But after the brief exchange of words with the Mysterious Man in white, how could I not? There was nothing left for me here anyways. So I boarded the train and followed the ticket to my seat. When I found my seat, it was not as I was expecting. I thought it would have been a normal train seat, but it was a plush recliner; the very best seat on the train. Amazed, I walked over to it as if in a trance, and took my seat. As I peered out the window, the landscape started to move. Where we were bound, I could not say. But somehow I knew that wherever the train went, it would take me somewhere better. Because for once in my life, Someone was guiding me there.

Originally Written 8/13/14

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Soul Chasm: Explained

If you didn't already guess, the thing I'm talking about in this poem is sin. I named the poem "soul chasm" because sin separates us from God. A spiritual chasm, if you will. Here's a simple breakdown of the thought process:

Everyone has what no one wants

Everyone is born with sin. There's no escaping that fact.

Once attained it cannot be forgotten


Sin isn't exactly the kind of thing you can forget about.

It gnaws away at our existence

Our existence was originally meant to be perfect, a simple union between man and God. But then Adam sinned, and everything changed. Now, sin runs completely rampant in our society. The more we sin, the more our existence becomes rooted in our sin. We become so fixated on the temporal, that we forget about what is eternal.

And hides below the surface,
Waiting

The people who seem happy? They're really hurting underneath. It's just a facade.
I put the word "Waiting" at the end, because sin loves to wait for its next opportunity to ensare.

We store it away
And bury it with a shovel
But it delights in this
And dances with the darkness
In a midnight nocturne
Rejoicing

Now that I've said the meaning behind the poem, this part should be fairly obvious. And in fact, it kinda ties in with the last part. No one wants their sins to be known, so they hide them away from sight. But of course, sin thrives in the dark. The word "Rejoicing" at the end depicts how sin feels when hidden away.

Because we do not realize who it is
We welcome it into our home.
The stranger lies to enter in
And hides in many masks.
Deception

Sin takes a lot of different forms, and because of this, we don't always recognize sin when we see it. So we invite it into our life, and there it lives. Until too late, we see it for what it really is. "Deception" is the game sin played to get into our life.

Time passes, and it laughs
We trick ourselves into thinking it left
But we realize how wrong we actually were.
When our complacency sends us spiraling.
Despairing

Again, this part ties into the last. Only after it's too late do we see the severity of the sin. It's grown in our life. It's deeply rooted, hard to remove. And just when things start going well for us, and things seem normal again, we realize that the sin never really left in the first place. When we grow complacent is when sin creeps back into our life. "Despairing" is how the host of the sin feels at this point.

Once apparent
It reveals who we really are
Others will see it
And some will take the one way street
To exit stage right
Hoping

Even though we hate our sin, we keep committing the same crimes over and over again. Why? It's a reflection of our selfishness. Our sin exposes that selfish nature. Others will see that sin, and leave, scared by what they see. It destroys relationships. "Hoping" is at the end here, because the victim of the sin is hoping for a way out. Pleading, almost.

There are many roads.
The roads are worn and beaten
And they are easy to travel.
When we think we are alone
is when we see the many footprints in the dirt

Wondering

Essentially, all this passage is saying is that you're not alone in your struggles. It might feel like that at times, but that's exactly what the enemy wants you to think. The "footprints in the dirt" are the numerous people who have walked through the same sin. But, every path has an end. "Wondering" because this is when the host starts to wonder if they were actually alone this whole time.

The day has come for us to face it
testing the might of our soul
Some fail, but others succeed
And we when it is defeated
We make it as part of us
Rather than a mercurial counterpart
Liberation

I hold fast to the phrase "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". Instead of pushing our struggles away, we learn from it, and allow it to grow us. "Liberation" should be pretty self explanatory here. The victim of sin is finally free. 

So let me make one thing clear here: I wrote this poem as a narrative of one man's struggle with sin, so it kinda sounds like that a solo effort is a tangible feat. But without God, nothing is possible. You can hold on longer by yourself. You can try harder by yourself. But you can never defeat sin without God. Not fully. Just because God wasn't mentioned in this poem, that doesn't mean I don't recognize his vital role in defeating sin. Here's what I did mean:

In our struggles with sin, we have a part, and God has a part. This poem was written from the perspective of our part.  I'm going to use the analogy of a farmer here. Picture a farmer out in the fields, planting his crops. He plows his fields. He sows his seeds. Then he waits. Because there is nothing he can do about the weather. He must trust in God, and leave everything up to him, because there is nothing more he can do for his crops at this point. The farmer cannot control the wind, or the rain, or the sun. Only God can do this. In the same way, there are many elements of our sin that we cannot overcome. Only God can do that. 

Tomorrow: The White Train