11/01/2004, Charlottesville, VA.

"I think the calm days are going to be very rare, if any at all.  I think the Lord is coming soon and we need to prepare the way" - good ole friend of mine.

It has once again been three months since I've last posted any entry on this website.  God has embroidered my past three months with much delight.  I have seen the wonders of his beauty and had numerous opportunities to witness it.  Oftentimes it was only a yard and a half away: sometimes even less.  It made me blush in silence; even the words written were desperately finding places to jumble up and hide.  And once again blush.

Sometimes words are simply not enough to describe such beauty.  Words were made for communicative purposes, I believe.  Therefore, there is a certain deficiency in description as I, in desperation, attempt to retrace the glorious days of my September and October into writing.  And fail.  So I pray over and over to have those graphic memories engraved and sternly etched into my soul so that I may not forget.  How she smiles and how it so wonderfully blends in with the red, yellow, green, and blue of this fleeting October.  Or how it accentuates the hues of autumn.  So these are moments that my words fail and I become stupified and upset.  And I lay on my back attempting to recapture those images as if hanging onto a phantom.

These are the days that my legs become weaker in its stride.  I want to tell my love that my path will be filled with tearful bitterness, strifes, and kneeled outbursts of pain.  I wish to tell my love that this road that I decided to walk will never be that of the peaceful, endless days of Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  And I'm inclined to dash to my love and scream with intense sorrow, "go away."  "Go away..."

"... There will be no happiness this way.  You will go to places that you've never been and you never wanted to be."

But this is my mission.  If happy days are indeed suppose to be few, then, I will spit on it, trample on it.  But I will do so with tears stinging the edges of my eyes.  And I will hold onto its broken pieces in my palms and I will soak it with my trembling voice, bathed in tears.

Someone asked me a while ago, "on a trip, if you had to take one animal, what would you take?"  Back then, I said, "I would take a horse.  If my car dies and I can no longer carry the message, I will ride on it until I reach the destination." 

If she asked me again, without any doubt, I'd say, "I would take a lioness."  A lioness.

I have nothing to offer.  My heart aches today.  And I pray to God to help me give up today.  Though so often, I have let go of my love in surrender, today I pray that I may be able to turn my back on it once and for all.

But I know this is a lie.  God knows these prayers aren't even half true.  I have never been more certain than ever.  It is not the destination that I doubt, but this discouraging narrow road.  I'm being a coward temporarily.  So I declare right now:

May my love even frighten God.

For Your people,
David

Another month has passed.  And I would have never imagined that a predetermined dull summer in the town of Charlottesville, Virginia, would have introduced into my life such a broad spectrum of experiences.  There were constant realizations of the the existence of the opposite ends of the polar such as maturity vs. immaturity, love vs. hate, and fear vs. expectation.  However, I shouldn't label such existence as an constant alternation of the two ends; instead, the word, "coexistence," would perfect the beauty of the months of July and August of the year 2004.

I will name my feeling, "cosmos."  These are the nicknames of the wildflowers that grow on the side of the road whenever one decides to drive outside on a summer day.  These are perhaps the most unadorned type of flowers that I've ever seen.  With one root, they have one stem.  With one stem, they have one flower.  On one flower, there is one color.  However, in such simplicity and humility, men rather erroneously call this flower, "cosmos" - the microcosm of the universe.

As I gaze into this slender, silent entity, billowing in the refreshing, almost cold late summer breeze, my restrained groan aches to burst and gush forth the feeling of joy.  Among the millions of the cosmos in this universe, there was one that drew my heart; one that decided to return my curious look whereas all the others were dancing to the wind.  And as I approach this one upright flower amongst the many, each step that I take transforms the sound of the wind that hisses past my ears into the recollection of the childhood dares, the night before the moving of one's family, and the very deep breath one takes before he murmurs an undistinct, alien form of language to the girl who longs for any type of syllable from the daunted heart of a young knight.  With each step, the boy slowly becomes a man and with each step, his heart is filled with pride and honor, precious gifts that are deeply engrained in his heart from the beginning of time.  With each step, his smile beams with the color of the cosmos, that one cosmos that seems to reflect all the light, all the beauty from the refulgent Creator.  It is the reminder of the frequently overlooked portion of the portrait of our Lord - the beauty and the perfection of a single color.

However, I am not accustomed to such joy of knowing the beauty of the "cosmos."  Such joy is foreign to me, so much to the point that it seems to be a lie.  To me, the comforting, unobtrusive pastel crimson color of the cosmos is a luxury that I cannot learn.  I detest the reflection of it in my face for it so often illuminates the frown on the edge of my lips, the loops that are not tightened on my chestplate, and the sword that is not quite fastened in its right place.  Then I realize what it means to fear.  The fear of the lack of preparation, the fear that perhaps I'll never be a heroic tale in this life.  That all I'm trying to do is to uproot the cosmos and tuck it between my armor and my chest rather than building my house around the place where the cosmos grows the best.  I'm fond of war and my heart is bloodthirsty.  Perhaps I fear that my hands are too rugged to gently brush the side of the pearl neck of the cosmos with the tip of my fingers.

So "cosmos" is indeed the embodiement of my feelings.  I love as one dreadfully holds onto the outskirts of his fading dream; I love as if one doubts that such heavenly honor can possibly be endowed upon men. But I fear of taking the next step, I fear that my love cannot protect.  And the tragedy lies in the uncertainty of knowing where my heart sways more - fear or expectation.

This is the mark of a man.  The moment that makes a man's arm grow stronger.  He can give up and walk away.  Yet greater men take time to sit down to quietly and carefully fix their weapons of war against the enemy.  And in doing so, his walk to reach the "cosmos" indeed becomes the microcosm of his very own universe, the prologue to the life ahead of him.  The three or four years of this arduous walk to the wildflower will soon amplify into the air of 30 or 40 years ahead of him.  And it will resound in eternity in the form of the courage of the man of God.

So though I'm tired, I say, "I will not give up."  For I run this race with Him.

For Your people,

David

Once again, I'm updating after a 1/3 year hiatus.  For those 4 months, my words became few.  Poetry has long become obsolete and parsimonious to express the delicate work and details of His claywork.  The way that I look at this foreign land called Earth has become increasingly detached or perhaps, even reserved. 

As I lay in my bed, in my quiet and oversized room, I travel through the past four months, past year, and the past three years.  And I ask a question to myself and knowing that it is unfair to ask myself such question, I ask the one person that I wish would stay before my eyes, even as my mind, body, and soul wanders through different spectrums of inferno, purgatorio, and paradiso: "Am I a good man?"  I ask this person again, "am I a good man?"

Yesterday, a little girl came to me and leaned her head against my chest.  And then she turns around and asks me this question: "your heart beats so slowly."  So I said, "they say when you're a baby, your heart beats the fastest.  But as you grow, your heart gets slower and slower, until you meet the Lord."  She asks, "does that mean you'll die soon?"  "No," I said.  "It just means I haven't ran fast enough." 

But I have, I know have.  I tried to walk this narrow road the past couple of months, even when it seems the broad road came so much closer to my road until it seemed as if 10 more yards would make those two converge with each other.  All I needed was a timely hop, but a gentle voice draws me back to this thorn-filled, desolate road.  I beseeched and entreated my helpless, unruly, and even relentless legs to let me quit.  When the other road is so much more glamorous, more reasonable, more easy, I am slowly dragging my legs behind for a love that is unrequited, uncertain, and heartaching.  And even today I obey, obey, obey.  Even if in my heart I know such repetitious words are at best a half-truth, I know that I have already died once and this life that I live does not belong to me anymore.  And this love that seems antediluvian, this love that I so often confuse with my rustic hometown, is still alive.  It burns my arms as I carry it in my arms as I embrace it with the whole of my chest.  Despite the heat that runs chills through my fingers and toes, I hug it even harder so as to think it will grow cold someday.  But if it ever grows cold, then I will fall with it, silently carassing it in my arms as I fall sideways on this narrow road.  Because it has already became a part of my body.  I may die as a beggar on this narrow road, but I will never walk as a rich man on that paved boardwalk.  For what I hold in my arms is a promise; and this promise is worth dying for, and better yet, living for.

So, no, girl, my heartbeat is not slow.  Perhaps its accustomed to running so fast that it needs an even more fast, more passionate pursuit to beat harder.  Or perhaps, I am just walking slowly to catch up with my breath.  But rest assure that this is not a dying man's decrepit heart, but a heart that is expanding so that it may become big enough to contain the worries, sorrows, but even greater, the hope of His people.  Of a nation.

For Your people,

David

This is the song that I've been singing for the past couple of months.  I hope you enjoy the lyrics.  It has a very simple truth that for some people, is called "foolishness."  But for me, the simplicity of the truth has opened my eyes.

Knowing You - Graham Kendrick

All I once held dear, built my life upon,
All this world reveres and wars to own.
All I once thought gain, I have counted loss,
Spent and worthless now compared to this.

(Chorus)
Knowing You, Jesus, knowing You,
There is no greater thing.
You're my all, You're the best,
You're my joy, my righteousness,
And I love You Lord.

Now my heart's desire is to know You more,
To be found in You, and know as Your's,
To possess by faith what I could not earn
All surpassing gift of righteousness.

(Chorus)

Oh to know the power of Your risen life,
And to know You in Your sufferings;
To become like You in Your death, my Lord,
So with You to live and never die.

(Chorus)

Wherever You say,
David