waking up

New song:

The Disciple

There’s a war that has been raging on and on
and it’s deep within my soul
One side tells me, “You are the master,”
the other, “You are not your own.”

There’s a hill that I can’t climb
a mountain in my way

The mystery is beyond you
but you can’t leave all you know
For years it’s been no way but your own
and the stubbornness shows

There’s a call to something better–
but you must let go–
“Stretch out your hands,
you’ll be led where you don’t want to go.”

We worry ‘bout what we’ll wear tomorrow
and how to finely dine today
But if our eyes are opened to see the sorrow
we would change the way we pray–

***
No more, “Bless me! Bless me! Bless me, Father!”
***

The mountain is your self!
The hill is nothing else.
So we ask for love, ask for love.
Would you ask for love, ask for love?

Love is greater than faith or hope
without it we’re on a slippery slope
It’s the best gift you can receive for yourself
and what you get you can give somebody else

Come on love, come on love
Won’t You take me up and over?

I had my first flying dream this morning. It was wonderful.

I went to the beach this weekend. It was supposed to be a nice little barbecue, but I found out, when I arrived, that I didn’t know most of the people there. I decided to wander to the shore alone.

For some reason I just love it when the tide comes in right over my feet, and then pulls away. For a few minutes, I just stood there, wading around, trying not to get my shorts wet. Then, I noticed a small girl, probably about 4 years old, when she started laughing. As I looked, she played gleefully in the water, delighted by the same thing I was. Her joy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile. And some kind of revelation started to hit me.

I was once her age, playing in the water, delighted by the tide coming in, and pulling away. Years have passed… I have aged. I’ve seen many more things in life since then. And these things have changed how I see myself. Yet the tide was the same. It always was. Before the tide, we were both young. In fifty years, it will be the same.

They say the ocean has no memory. How could it? No matter how many infinitesimal specks that choose to tread its expanse, it is still the Great Deep. Even though humanity has come to explore its secrets, through murky and mysterious darkness, it is more vast than any could fathom.

Then I came back to think some more. I sat on some big rocks, staring out at the horizon. It was sunset. I wondered, if I were to grow up in some city far away from the ocean, without ever having seen this kind of sight, would I care? Would I be anxious at all to know what it’s like? Or would I utterly concern myself with the smaller things, the things of my life? Would I even think of the glory of the sun and other unsearchable things? Or would I marvel more at the planes flying through that sky and the great ships sailing hundreds of miles out? It’s hard to tell.

When you can figure things out, you suddenly become more important.

When you stand in awe of Creation, the glory is all there is, and you are no more.

Who will I be? Who will you be?

Sometimes, speaking is selfish. I need a quiet heart.