My wound goes deeper than the skin; there's no hiding it, so I'm not trying it.

Well, here I am, sitting in a Starbucks in Tyler (Texas) on Thanksgiving day, trying to articulate my rapidly flowing emotions. I was born in this city, though this is the first time I have ever had to really look at it. It's a town filled with music stores and donut shops, with beautiful old trees and colorful leaves (seeing as it's November). I can tell that it's normally got flowing gardens in these neighborhoods, and it's no wonder it got it's reputation as the Rose Capitol. It's very thought-provoking to be here. It feels like I kept hearing the Lord whispering as I drove in, "This is where I brought you into the world, and oh, how I rejoiced on that day!"

Ever since starting this trip to Texas, my heart has been experiencing a variety of emotions. I had several fights with my mother on the way up here, and in the midst of it all something flew out of my mouth before I even knew where it came from.

"You don't believe Jesus makes whole. And I don't believe he does. None of us do, or we wouldn't be having these fights."

That hit me like a bullet when I realized what I said. Not because it wasn't true, but because it really WAS true. It kept dwelling in my mind, and a soberness took me over.  Forget everyone else for a minute. If I, Alec Burnett, believed in the cleansing of Jesus' blood, then I would not hold so much offense in my heart. I would not get stuck in these cycles of frustration with my parents over and over again, but I would rest easy knowing that Jesus has already cleaned them, he has made them whole. I would have no reason to get mad, because they are a new creation, and not the old flesh.

It struck me hard, and it's stayed between my lungs. I NEED to believe that Jesus makes clean. He has extended mercy, he has extended grace. He's so unbelievably beautiful, how can I help but try and do the same?

And on another note, I'm with my extended family - well, not at the moment - and I'm learning more about them. I'm going to be honest, it always gave me a great deal of grief that I didn't know who they were almost at all. I would see some of them occasionally (I come from a very, very large family), but only in bits and pieces, here and there. And now I feel almost overwhelmed at the thought of meeting and seeing so many of them. I feel tired, like I want to give up, the task is so great. But I am determined that by the end of this trip, I will have forged some fond memories to keep of those with whom I share blood.

I'm such a deep feeler; I was struggling with feeling some despair about my life. Even now I am, sitting here at this little table, listening to the baristas banter back and forth. Yet I can't help but let Jesus remind me that it's not over. Ten days from now I will experience a tremendous shift, from minor to "legal adult." My life is just beginning. I'm emerging, I'm changing, I'm growing. I'm going to choose, no matter how hard it is right now, to just believe that I was born into the world, right here in this city, for a reason. You can call it cheesy, irrational, or clichéd. But I'd rather live with hope that God formed me with intent than despair that I have no purpose. 

Happy Thanksgiving everybody. I'm thankful that I was born. And I'm thankful for parents that truly love me. And I'm also thankful that you care enough about me that you took the time to read this.

My Love Goes Free

The open road stood before me like an old, weathered, greatly cherished friend. I'd been using the freeway my whole life. We'd become quite fond of one another. The sun had set an hour or so before, leaving the lingering warmth in the humid air thick and somehow comforting. It was oddly warm for mid-October. Normally I would be frustrated, as I love feeling the cold on my face, but tonight I bestowed upon it a half smile. I let the windows roll down and lazily draped my arm out the window.

The taillights ahead of me were blinking on and off, on and off as the drivers would occasionally brake to accommodate another vehicle, sometimes by choice and sometimes by instinct. Some drivers were purely reckless. I sighed contentedly, Jon Foreman playing at a low volume. I wasn't quite sure when I had turned it down, yet I did remember that I had wanted to hear the freeway breathe, if only for a little bit. I was headed back to my roots, to see the places I came from. I wanted to remember and cherish and discover again. Texas is a country of its own, my Texan pride will tell you that much. Acres and acres of rolling land for you to tumble out of your cars and spin into fields of blue bonnets, smiling up at the millions of stars.

Yes, Texas was a place of supreme beauty. I had not spent the majority of my life there, but it's where I was born, and where my parents were born. I had a copy of the journal of one of my direct ancestors kept when he came to Texas from Germany, translated into English from the original German. It was deeply embedded in my heritage, the genetics of my being. I had Texas dust in my very cells. It was calling me to return and familiarize myself with it's nuances once again.

I think a great part of me wanted answers. Why did I turn out this way? Why do I prefer this certain food? This flavor? What was the land whispering when I was born? Where are the places my story began? Do I still carry pieces of my homeland in the way I walk? Talk? Carry myself? Or has age, grief, and distance washed it all from me, leaving muddied canvas where they had once been a picture? I knew in my heart that this trip could not answer all of these questions. Some were asked in a way the land could not pretend or even hope to know. But simply being there would satisfy the unanswered feelings within me, feelings ignored and hushed like a curious child scorned, only because the adult the child had asked did not know the answers requested of them.

There were fireflies dancing outside. I only caught glimpses of them now and again, but they were beautiful. Lighting up against a dark, musky background, almost as if to say that just because there was darkness didn't mean you couldn't find your way. I turned the Jon Foreman CD back up, one of my favorite song's lyrics slowly drifting through the speakers and embracing me as if I was a delicate little girl, bound to break if not cared for.

"And the words are new
But I recognize the tone
'If you love her let her go'
She's beautifully composed
A tune that only caged birds know"

It was so beautiful. The thought of loving someone so much, but willingly releasing them to make their own choices. I think there's nothing more loving than true sacrifice in the name of another. I picked up my cup of tea, only a few drops remaining, and put it down again absentmindedly. My mind was wandering over summers past and forgotten evenings. Shaking it all off, I set my face forward. I was on a journey of discovery, and as each mile would pass, each piece of land being set behind me, I knew I would be driving through the night, and in the morning I would find myself the closest place I could call ever home.

Outer Limits

Well, I could never say that to you, dear
If only for a moment, the lines would clear
To tell you who you are
And who you're not 
From the outer limits of your heart


Well, there is something else going, on you see
The dark and the light are calling me
You got your homemade weapons that you bought at the store
And a cup of cold coffee on your bedroom floor


Inside, outside, we tried 
Getting up at sunset
I bet they thought we were going crazy 
Maybe we were heading down the wrong road 
Who knows, maybe so
You talked about God like I had dreamed him
I was flying blind, I could not see then


But you run 
Through the fields
Bringing hope 
And cheer 
And you are like a star 
That flew straight into my heart 


Well there is a song that I'd like to sing
It's about the dark and the light 
And the in between
But there's the same old numbers 
On the telephone 
And you can't hear it playing 
On the radio


The call of the wild is calling me
If I'm gonna live, I better live free
So if you're coming up empty
You're coming up short
Push the outer limits
Of your heart

Inside, outside, we tried 

Getting up at sunset

I bet they thought we were going crazy 

Maybe we were heading down the wrong road 

Who knows, maybe so

You talked about God like I had dreamed him

I was flying blind, I could not see then

But you run 

Through the fields

Bringing hope 

And cheer 

And you are like a star 

That flew straight into my heart 

- Outer Limits by Public Radio

Sweet Child

I was talking with a friend of mine 
About the end of the world as we know it
Yeah, and we all know it
Sunday bloody Sunday 
Come again as you are, as you were 
As a train wreck falling from your eyes 


Everybody hurts 
Sometimes, the radio got bought  
By some big TV network 
Oh my, I think I'm gonna cry 


And it was all yellow, we were all stained 
By some clown throwing biscuits from a stage 
Now we tune in every week 
To see some cockney cowboy 
Columbine little kid's hopes, and little kid's dreams


You were home and I was alone
And I wasn't afraid of being 
The best part of waking up
But I got lost and I scrubbed myself clean 
I was clean, I was OC, but Babe
I lost my anatomy 
Then I woke up to find that I wasted my whole day


Everybody hurts 
Sometimes, the radio got bought
By some big TV network. 
Oh my, I think I'm gonna cry 


The camera lies  
The camera lies 
You and I were meant for more than 
Hovering around these TV screens 
Taking in everything 


Turn your eyes 
Turn your eyes 
Come and fly the friendly skies 
Take a good look and walk away


Do you get it? 
'Cause I got it
I sing it 
You shout it
We stand 
United 
We've got to fight it all


We've got to fight it all
Sweet child o' mine


- Sweet Child by Public Radio

Seriously....get off the roof.

I have a friend. And he likes to do things in an effort to take my life by sheer fright. Like jumping off roofs and throwing and catching knives. I keep telling him to stop, but he's a boy, so he doesn't listen. In all honesty, he's such a good friend, even if he is determined to die in a high-speed chase, running down the enemies of the state. He's really been here for me this whole time, offering a listening ear and a sympathetic heart. What would I do without him? Full of promise, all I can see for him is a bright future, should he choose to accept it.

I think he should be a rock star. But not just any rock star. He's got too much potential for another stud in leather pants, spitting on the stage and trashing his tour bus. I think he should be the kind of rock star that stands in integrity, stands for something meaningful. Besides the fact that he's a musical genius, he's a pretty stellar writer too. I've already told him to write about how I'm an alien in one of his books, because I really feel that way. And I think he'd portray it in a fair light, unlike the journalists knocking on my door, asking if all my species is so petite.

To put it bluntly, I'm so glad he's my friend. After all, if I wasn't being scared to death on a regular basis, my reflexes might wear down. Can't have that, now can we?

Keep it up, friend. If anyone's going to make it, it's you.

P.S. Car.

"But oh father, it is you that has called them, and has redeemed them all by name."

"Can their shame turn to sorrow, 'till forgiveness and grace unfold?" -Mark Mathis.

The raindrops echoed in the seemingly deserted monastery. An eerie feeling settled over me, as I realized that each raindrop sounded like a foot step. The ceiling leak dropping in the bucket was slow and rhythmic.


Plink, plink, plink.

I settled back with my hot chocolate and watched the window, fog rising and obscuring the view outside. I thought about turning on music, seeing as music was my sanctuary. Always safe, always comforting, always there. A universal language. Everyone can understand music.

Something was holding me back, however. I could only sit and listen to the sounds of the falling night, breathe in the humid air around me. I was held back in deep thought, the consequence being a great deal of consonants and vowels banging around in my head. The real struggle was my slowly articulating emotions. The language of the heart is very hard to put into words.

Plink, plink, plink.


I stripped myself of jewelry, my scarf, a jacket, and my shoes and stepped outside into the cascade of drops. It felt comforting, somehow. I could see the rain's endless tirade leaving it's mark, washing away the impurities of the earth. I could feel the slickness as it ran down my arms and off of my hands. I was being washed with the world. But it was only an outer cleansing.

As I slowly moved through the pooling water beneath me, shoes in my right hand, I was remembering. No matter the feeling, no matter the discomfort, I knew. I knew everything would work out as it's supposed to. I had been called clean and redeemed by name. I had been given purpose. The world will always try to knock whatever hope I have inside of me out onto the sidewalk, broken and bleeding. It will try and bring me to my knees and keep me there. But if I can manage to stay alive....if I can manage to remain standing when the bell rings, then I have been victorious.

I headed back into shelter, dripping wet on the outside, yet somehow feeling cleaner on the inside.

Plink, plink, plink.


As I returned to my now-not-so-hot chocolate, I couldn't help but smile when I sank into my favorite sanctuary in the form of the gentle melodies of Mark Mathis. As long as I was standing....

As long as I was alive.

But give me to a rambling man, and let it always be known that I was who I am.

My parents were welcomed with open arms, like long awaited heroes. My older brother was quickly brought into the worker's home, and given a place of honour at their table. My two younger siblings were treated with kindness, hospitality, and often bemusement by the workers gathered around them.

But as for me, it has taken me much time to become used to my surrounding. Even now it's strange. I was one who didn't find her place, and though treated with a great deal of warmth and sincerity, I was looked at as though they suddenly had found a sparrow in their kitchen, and weren't quite sure what to do with it or how it could be of use. Sparrows aren't common in places of human habitation, you see.

With each passing day I am reminded of desires I had buried to rid me of pain, dreams I had all but forgotten in my misery, and tears I cried as I would fall into a restless sleep as a child. Living here has been quiet, each day bleeding into the next, the church bells tolling out the passing of each hour. I'm given time to remember that I had been denied elsewhere.

As a young child I would imagine grand adventures with bravery and sacrifice, unconditional friendship and devotion, tragedy and celebration, tears and smiles. I would see myself moving forward with my friends, the ones that I never quite found. No one that I had met saw the world the same as me. But now that I'm older and reflect on this, I realize that in reality, they could not see the world that I saw at all, for I was not living in it, and neither were they. It was I who was an alien here. I was a sparrow. And sparrows aren't common in places of human habitation.

I used to fight with my parents everyday. I was selfish, as children often are, and couldn't see why I could not have things as I wanted them. I was stubborn and opinionated, something that has followed me as I approach adulthood. I was young and wild and often untidy. I was loyal and devoted. I was full of passion and I was a truly romantic child, in the full definition of what romantic is.
"Characterized by strangeness or variety; suggestive of adventure; suited to romance; wild; picturesque;"
I was not any parents idea of a perfect child.


Sometimes I wonder what might have been if I was a simple and contented child. Certainly it would have been easier. It's quite painful to realize they might have traded a sparrow for a kitten, precious and compliant and vulnerable, pleasing to the eye, and a welcome addition to any family's kitchen. My sister is a kitten. Kittens are common in places of human habitation.

I grew up musical and fearful of failure. I took any rejection or criticism hard and personally. It was difficult for me because I could read people like billboards on the side of the freeway, and often what I learned would overwhelm me. I spent my days outside in trees or running through creeks, hiding in books, or creating something in my mind or with my hands. I would get frustrated because no matter I would do, I had critics waiting to tear it down. I longed for unconditionally loyalty like I would show to my friends to be shown back to me, and freedom to create on my own, away from watchful eyes and judgmental spirits. I was dreaming of learning to fly.

These days pass me by, and I find myself wanting very much to fly away again. Open the cage door and let the sparrow free. I need to have adventure. How can I find that in a world as cold as this one? Is there no more magic to be found? Must I give up my romantic ways completely, so that I drop them even from the deepest chasms of my heart and mind, in order to survive with people such as these? I pray not. I pray I find my trail and blaze it. I pray I not only dream, but live.

I will say this. Sparrows may not be common in places of human habitation, that much is true. But they are common in the sky. And soon I might join my brethren and brush the heavenly places with my fingers, proving I'm without a single doubt, alive.

The QC and me.

Charlotte was a beautiful, trying, much appreciated season in my life. Yet for some reason, I haven't cried yet. Maybe I won't. Maybe this change will inspire me. I have this feeling I'll probably find my way back one day. But until then, with so much love, goodbye my beloved city. I'll miss your sounds and lights and movements. I'll see you soon.

I'll see you all again soon.

There will be a feast.

The day is coming soon where I'll be able to sit under that oak tree, on a swing attached to a very high branch. And there will be setting sunlight all around, and we'll all sit around drinking new wine and ginger-ale and grapefruit Blue Sky. There will be large fields of waist high grass, and everyone who has influenced me in some way for the better will be there. Jesus, of course, and Jon Foreman and King David and C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, George Muller and George Washington, Mark Mathis and John Mark McMillan and Aswan North. Gianna Jessen and Jamie Tworkowski and Luke and Molly Skaggs, Leonard Jones and Kirk Bennet and Cory Asbury and Matt Gilman. Cory Russell and Mike Bickle, along so many others who have impacted and will continue to impact me. Some that I know and hold close, and others that I have yet to meet, and still others I will never meet here at all.

But we will join together, and laugh and swap stories and be merry, and enjoy the sun that's always setting, but never sets. And then we realize that it's not the sun. It's God himself. And as we're all enjoying each others company, we enjoy the fact that there's no pain. There never will be pain. No more tears ever again. And the best part is, there will be a feast. A wedding feast, because the bridegroom has returned for his bride. It will be the most beautiful feast there ever was, because it's the most beautiful love there ever was. The world has never seen a love like this. We'll be perfectly happy, and we'll know we're not dreaming. We'll know it's real. We'll know it always will be.

My path is full of birds.

When you are dealing with adversity or the let downs that come across your path, but you also know that that's where you're supposed to be, then all the terrible things that come along have a place in it. As opposed to when you know you're not where you're supposed to be. Then, even the good things in life can seem meaningless. - Jon Foreman.

Just a very rough draft...

It was quiet in the outside world, aside from the slight pattering of rain on the window. I watch as the headlights of an old SUV illuminated the droplets on the streetlights, making a familiar sound as it wound through the flooded streets. The sound of tires through water always comforted me. I've never been quite sure why. I think on occasion that it might be that the sounds echo through my memories to times with my older brother and parents, and eventually my younger siblings as the years went by. I remember going to see Christmas lights with my whole family in our car, a thermos of hot chocolate and blankets to share. It was so cold, and the melting slush on the streets made that sound as we slid on through. Winter rain and snow is my favorite.

As the headlights shrank away outside, and the noise faded until I could hear it no more, I bit my lip to keep from crying. I was wishing that it was winter now...winter we were always so close. And now I feel helpless, hopeless even. I wish I knew my parents, wish I knew how to love them. But time has passed, and I feel so aged despite my naivety. Will we ever know each other as we were meant to? Mother and daughter, a bond that should never be tread upon. Father and daughter, such an important connection to have and to cherish, to strengthen and care for. What am I, that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep our relationship secure? My parents are beautiful and loving people. How I long that I could have been compliant, so as not to pain them.

And God...I cannot help but feel as though he has forsaken me. I know his words to be true, he has told me he is here. Yet the feeling of abandonment sinks through the air around me. I turn to my iPod, music is a comfort, a safety. I press the power button, the screen lighting up, welcoming, the same sight I'm greeted with daily. The sound escapes through the speakers...I listen in deep thought. One of my favorite songwriters serenades my soul. The comforting words sink deep into my heart.

You thought you lost it and that I left you, stand up and face it, you know that that just isn't true.
Your name is always on my mind.

Musing over the words, I think about what I want my story to be like. I always wanted to matter, in my childhood I had dreams of grandeur and promise, hope and ecstasy. Through the years, tears, and many fights and fears, I have sunken into something very dark, very hopeless, a muddle of welcoming nights and bothersome days. What happened to the smiling little girl with the untamed hair, shinning as she told everyone she was going to be a pilot-author-missionary-musician-artist? Who said she wanted to speak to the homeless because everyone deserves to know they're loved? Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I feel like I catch glimpses of her. She's familiar and friendly, and I've known her since I was very young. And other times, all I see is an alarmed, dark-eyed young adult, not sure who she is or what she's doing.

Give us life again

Lately, I have had such a hard time writing here. It's ridiculous. I feel like it's impossible to verbalize my feelings into words. But I'll do what I can.


What if a person had lived their whole life without ever opening their eyes? Not even once?
What if they had lived years without seeing anything? No sunsets, no waterfalls, no magazine models, no commercials, no shooting stars, no celebrities, nothing?
What if they opened their eyes one day? For the first time ever?
What what they find beautiful?

Would it be the bleach blonde, plump-lipped, full chested movie stars? The display of colors in the sky when the sun is starting to rise? Or maybe the newborn baby, wrapped in a fresh blanket and sleeping peacefully?

We think things are beautiful because we are told to. From the day we first open our eyes, it's shoved into our faces. Television, billboards, the radio, magazines, even storybooks. "The beautiful princess had long golden hair and big blue eyes and a size zero waist." From the barbies and G.I. Joes we're given when we are young to the movies and the songs we listen to when we are growing up...we have been given an image of what beauty is, and been forced, unconsciously, to conform.

I can't help but think that the person who never opened their eyes, having no sense of sight and what things look like or appear to be, would see things completely different than us. Having no past experiences with vision, I'd think that they would think the kindest, cheerfullest, friendliest people the most beautiful. If they had a little extra weight, or crooked teeth, or acne on their face, or a disproportionate nose, I am convinced that this person would believe from the bottom of their heart that were stunningly beautiful. Their appearance wouldn't even play a card in their opinion.

Why are we so lied to? We've forgotten. And I'm tired of it.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

From Don Miller, an excerpt from one of the best chapters on marriage I have ever read.:




I’ve been working on a play called Polaroid’s that year…In the scene I had written a few nights before, I had the man fighting with his wife. They were experiencing unbearable tension after losing a son in a car accident the year before. I knew in my heart they were not going to make it, that Polaroid’s would include a painful divorce that showed the ugliness of separation. But I changed my mind…I wondered what it would look like to have the couple stick it out…I had the lead character in my play walk into the bedroom where his wife was sleeping. I had him kneel down by her and whisper some lines:
What great gravity is this that drew my soul towards yours? What great force, that though went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we are not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were cleaver, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only on able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretend to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come to the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break though into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and become a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

What great gravity is this that drew my heart towards yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands, and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chambers where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to the death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.

"I know you're lost and need to be found, just take my hand and we'll shake the ground."

"You wake up, You wake up, another day, you wake up, you wake up, traffic still moving at the same speed, our eyes looking at the same speed, our minds thinking at the same speed, I wanna see movement, I wanna see change. I wanna wake up for real. I wanna wake up. I wanna wake up. We were meant to live."

 - Jon Foreman

I am not so lonely knowing someone who sees things as I see them. Jonathan Foreman, you never cease to amaze me with the way you seem to speak from the deepest chambers of my very own soul. I could read your words for hours because you put things the exact way I can understand...and relate to.

Life is...strange. I can't say that it's bad. It's really not. It's just strange right now. I'm having vivid, vivid dreams that leave me with questions and desires. I am so ready to travel.

"I yearn to live and love and burn, and yet so much of my time is spent faking and forgetting, faking and forgetting... I carry out my disbelief with uninspired hands, my eyes shut, my emotions dulled, my spirit numb. in times like these I am in desperate need of truth to come to me like a blinding light, like a splinter in my soul, reminding me of the brevity of my time here on earth."
- Jon Foreman

For lately, I have shed many a tear. Thoughts have come and gone...resolutions I have uttered and prayed for the strength to see through. God, help me. I am ready to move forward. I am ready for peace.

"There are tears that shine like a smile, sobbing like a sunrise for the truth."

- Jon Foreman.

'Cause we belong together like bop-bobba-loo-ba sha-walla, sha-bang, sha-bang!

I've been watching a lot of That '70s show lately. I don't know what it is, but it's really been making me laugh hard lately. I almost never laugh outloud at what I'm watching even if I think it's really funny, unless I'm with people (sometimes).

Besides watching That '70s Show, I've also been listening to some older music. Bob Dylan, Journey, The Beatles, Elvis, Johnny Cash, June Carter, U2, Simon and Garfunkel, Belle and Sebastian, The Rolling Stones, etc. It's just so...satisfying. Really, a lot of these people played because they loved music or they wanted to make a statement. They had a message and they put themselves in their music, for good or bad. And how genuine they are really hits deep and satisfies. It touches something. It might be my heart, maybe my soul, maybe my mind. I don't know. But it's real, real good.

Nowadays I turn on the radio and I hear coins jangling and record deals...oh it kills my soul, that lifeless music with empty words and plastic beats...nothing real about it. I'm a big fan of organic music. If you put yourself, your heart, your story, your vision into your music....you can bet I'll listen. If it's from the heart, it's sure to be messy. And oh, that's definitely what I love. A big, beautiful, wondrous mess.

My dear friend Sarah Eve has been making some beautiful from-the-heart music. I highly suggest you go check it out and let it bless you. She's pretty kick butt.

"And I'll sing you to me."

Half-Written Love Song

I see you on the horizon,
walking towards where I stand.
I hope to greet you at the door as
you enter my promised land.
So far from me, yet I still reach to grasp
a thread of who you are.
I dance alone with silent melodies,
to the rhythm of dreams not far.

And I’ll sing you to me,
I’ll sing you to me.
If love has set you free,
I’ll still sing you to me.

And it's worth the tears of ink I've cried,
forming letters on my page;
Trying to explain my feelings
that don't fit into any phrase.
Now I sing you my half-written love song,
forgetting I'm afraid.
And picture in my sweetest dreams
the night you'll be here to stay.

And I’ll sing you to me,
I’ll sing you to me.
If love has set you free,
I’ll still sing you to me.

"When you feel embarrassed, then I'll be your pride; When you need directions, then I'll be the guide. For all time."

I honestly don't know what to blog about.

I'm angry about multiple things, upset about quite a few other things, sad about a couple of things, and frustrated with all things.

I just seem to be coming up against adversity everywhere I go, but I'm tired of running from it. I'm really ready to get on the freeway and drive and drive and drive....

It's like...all these doors of opportunity are opening up for me, and here comes the issues to deal with as well.

Ever wanted to just throw things against the wall? I do.

The Story Behind The Name

Friends,

I think it's time I explain "Ember Eyes."

A friend of mine once looked into my eyes during a passionate conversation, took on an expression of shock, and then slowly smiled.

"You know, you've got eyes like embers," she explained to me.

I promptly replied with a shocked expression of my own.

"Like embers? What do you mean?"

"Yes, embers. Your eyes have a smoldering, burning passion in them when you talk about things that you care deeply about, things that you love. Your eyes just light up and it's such an intense feeling to look inside of them. I think it's a reflection of your heart."

I smiled back at her and thanked her, and we continued our conversation, but that remark really got me thinking.

Over the next week or so I thought about it. I've always felt like there was a fire in me, burning beneath the surface, only surfacing every once in awhile when stirred up. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was a desire of mine. I wanted to have a strong, steady fire in my heart, passionate for the Lord. I began to pray for more of this in my life, even more than I already felt. I wanted my love of God to be so great that you could always see it flaring up in my eyes when I talked about all things having to do with him, and when I targeted righteousness it would carry me through.

And that is how"Ember Eyes" was born, a desire destined to become a reality.

Every moment was so precious, I only want to hear you sing!

Friends,

So I'm partially writing this blog because of my resolution to blog more, and partially by a request. (Shoutout to Clay! You're one cool guy to want to actually read my random thoughts.)

I had an adventure getting to Taco Bell and the store today. I left and found out that the car was running on empty, so I ran into a gas station as quick as possible and got stuck waiting to get out because the oncoming traffic was steady and wouldn't let me by. It was awful. I felt like a little kid waiting to cross the street.

But needless to say, I made it through and got to both places in time. Even though by the time I got to my chalupa, which is sitting in front of me half eaten, it was cold. Darn.

My blog is split into two parts today. The good and the bad, in that order.

Well, this is my last year in the Carolinas. Even if I wasn't leaving by myself, my family would eventually and that would mean me too. I'm going to FMA after Christmas this year, which is the Forerunner Music Academy in Kansas City at IHOP-KC. I had thought about it for years, and now am decided. I felt the Lord tug on my heart to go, and even though it's painful and I know I'll get cold feet near the end of my time here and not want to go, I know it will be good.

I love the song Strawberry Swing by Coldplay. It's one of the sweetest, most beautiful songs ever written. Usually it's a summertime song, meaning that's when I listen to it (yes, I have seasonal songs), but today it's been going through my head. I guess I really want something like that to happen in my life one day. And it probably has a deeper, more significant meaning to me than people will pick up. I think I see it differently. Something about music, lyrics in particular, is that I SEE it play out before my eyes. I've studied it a little bit and it's something a very small amount of people have, where they SEE music and the stories within it come to life. So I see a story in Strawberry Swing that is absolutely lovely as it plays out in front of me. I think it's a lot of why I love music, and why I'm a lyrics person. I don't really know very many people at all who get into lyrics nearly as much as I do. They may like them, but for me lyrics really make a song.

Last night I was under great spiritual and emotional oppression, I felt tormented and I just couldn't shake it off. It was AWFUL. At about 1:30 I went downstairs to see if eating something would help, and while I was down there I found myself saying outloud, "You're name is stronger than any oppression!" and just saying Jesus' name over and over again. I felt a lot of relief after that.

On another note, I'm beginning to think I'm not created for close friendships with people, period. I just don't see the world the same as most people, simple as that. I don't usually vent personal problems with people to the public, but I'm going to make an exception today.

I have a friend that is frustrating the heck out of me. It's not the fact that we aren't agreeing that's making me think he's disloyal, it's the fact that he's simple SEARCHING for ways to fight with me, annoy me, anger me, make me mad, fluster and frustrate me. You don't freaking do that to your friends. I've had enough of that and I don't need it from another person, I get that enough from my unsaved friends AND my enemies. Don't just try and pick at me the way you are. And don't rub in times that something I did failed, or someone I rooted for lost, or really just try and make me feel bad.

Maybe you don't get this, maybe it somehow escaped your notice, but I'm a FEELER. I feel your jabs strongly. And THAT, sir, is disloyalty. The fact you try and hurt me. Have your disagreements with me. But don't push stuff into my face.

If stuff from my enemies, like the kids that call me faggot every time they see me both to my face and behind my back, hurts me, it's gonna hurt a heck of a lot more from those I trust and love. I've invested my time, heart, and energy into you, and if this was just a one time or two time thing, I wouldn't be so indignant. But it's happened too much, too close together. Just because I'm willing to let you into my life, you shouldn't take me for granted, because I am indeed a living person with my own heart and emotions that you're trampling on.

Oh, and by the way, the thing about the snow? That was HOW long ago and you're STILL bringing it up? It was a disagreement forever ago and it shouldn't be on your mind now, it has nothing to do with our current situation. It was a small thing, you're right, so why the heck are you still bringing it up? I'm VERY mad at you right now, and I'm gonna try not to say stuff I'll really regret later on.

Ah that felt good to get out, and that isn't even all of what I'm thinking. I feel relieved after letting all that bottled up stuff out. I really don't like exposing personal business to the world. And I'll try and keep this a one time thing on my side. I just felt like I really needed to say it.

"You don't know how lovely you are..."

I'm not the same person I was even a few days ago. And life is not what I thought it was 24 hours ago...

Some New Years Resolutions:

1. Dig more into my passions. Deeper development of my art, music, photography, writing, and more.

2. Keep my face set forward.

3. I'm going to try really, really hard not to get so offended with ignorant and immature people.

4. Operate more in the prophetic than lately.

5. SERVE

6. I will go lower.

7. Travel as much as my limited budget for this year will allow (which isn't much, but I'll use the few trips as ministry and photography opportunities too so I can get multiple uses from them.)

8. I'll leave this one to a quote I'm trying to live by: "When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can love them for who they are."

9. Thoroughly study the whole New Testament again, in depth look at all the Psalms, Song of Solomon, and my favorite: The Life of David. Plus much more reading of Revelation.

10. I need to SMILE more, and laugh more too.

11. Thank the Lord for simple, smaller things than usual.

12. Keep the Loux's in prayer.

13. Blog more. Haha. (I hate the word blog)

14. Start eating breakfast. Ugh.

15. Get up earlier and get a head start on these next months. It's important to get the most out of this next year.

16. Devote myself to my schoolwork and finish it all up.

17. Cook for my family more. My mom could really use the help while I'm still here.

18. Keep my room clean :) (wish me luck)

19. Get a job ASAP

20. Buy a better camera, a laptop, and a car.