Definition

Rob Bell had probably the perfect answer to the question of how he faces critics.

"There's over a billion people in this world without clean drinking water, and 46 million americans don't have health care. That means if they get sick, they don't have anywhere to go. Half of the world, 3 billion people, live on less than 2 dollars a day, so the world is an emergency. When followers of jesus can think of nothing better to do with their time than pick apart and shred to peices the work of other followers of Jesus who are trying to do something about the world, that's tragic and I don't owe those people anything."

I love this answer. To me, the Church has become largely concerned with definition. We seem to want to define ourselves as one thing or another, Progressive or Fundamentalist, Liberal-Christian or Conservative, Evangelical-Free or Non-denominational. We're always looking to define ourselves by labels.

The problem with this preoccupation though, is that definition exists to separate one thing from another. We define a word, give it a meaning so that it means one thing and only one thing. We define things so that other things cannot assume their identity. This is necessary, for say, underwear at summer camp, but not for Christianity.

Even "Christianity," in all its ubiquity has lately become taboo. Apparently "follower of Christ" has replaced the antiquated "Christianity" as the label of choice for the progressively serious disciple. I will agree that the term has been diluted so much that it probably resembles G.W. more than it resembles a loving and amazing Jesus.

But this is not a call to walk away. Rather, it's a call to take back the name that once meant "Christ-like" and extinguish our rampant feelings of entitlement.

We are called to humility and peace. I agree with Rob Bell, I feel like too much time is spent pondering the great intricacies of eschatology, when our brothers and sisters are dying from preventable diseases, in preventable situations.

I want to live a life of redemption. Let's fix the world and then argue. I have a feeling the lines of our differences will begin to blur.

"Once" was an amazing movie. I bought the soundtrack already, good call Jesse.

I'm moving to Canada

Now, I know that it was a horrible tragedy. Over 1,400 people lost their lives, buildings/families/businesses/homes were destroyed, but honestly, what the hell kind of hurricane inflicts over THREE QUADRILLION DOLLARS IN DAMAGE?

According to this article, one of New Orleans proud residents is suing the US government for over $3,000,000,000,000,000. This fantastic piece of work feels entitled to reimbursement of about 220x the entire US 2007 GROSS DOMESTIC PRODUCT. This person wants over 220 times the value of ALL of the goods and services produced in the US during an entire year.

How does one settle on this amount?

"well my house is flooded... lost about $20,000 there... can't work much anymore... lost about $20,000 a year there... things sucked for awhile, this year was pretty much shot, a few friends died... 3 quadrillion ought to do it."

Times like this I really hate the American way. I probably seem insensitive, and I'm sure FEMA /Dubya dropped the ball, but oh my God, really? 3 quadrillion dollars?

What's ALMOST as worse, apparently over 250 people filed claims for over a billion dollars. This means over 250 people thought that what they lost was worth over $1,000,000,000 dollars. Now, I'm don't mean to demean any of the New Orleans residents, nor do I want to put a monetary value on their lives (isn't that exactly what they are doing?) but I'd like to see some financial statements reflecting 250 different people with over a billion dollar net worth. According to my limited research, there is only about 320 billionaires in the entire US. And I highly doubt they were all visiting their summer homes in the low-rent district of New Orleans during the hurricane.

This is the ultimate welfare system and the ultimate in human opportunism. Seeking some irrational comeuppance by exploiting a very real tragedy.

Last Night's Bullet

For a month or two now, a few friends and I have been meeting together over beer and discussion. We read through a book and discuss the chapters after having read them each week. The books have been great so far (the one and a quarter that we've been through) each of them inspiring, refreshing and poetic in their own ways. We call it the BBC, beer book club for lack of a better name. I would say it's been a charging force in my spiritual renaissance.

Tonight though, BBC was terrible. Brady said something so terrible and true that it kind of hit before I knew what I had heard. It felt like what I would assume a gunshot would feel like. I kind of think (speaking in complete ignorance) that a gunshot probably hurts.

I'm guessing it really hurts. I think when it happens, it aches and stings at the same time, with equal force. I guess it to be a strange dulling feeling that aches like a broken bone, but stings like a burn.

What he said felt this way, what he said was probably the single most convicting thing I've ever been told. Hearing that someone thought you were a certain way, only to realize you were just like every one else is sobering, it's painful, and it's only the beginning.

The problem with gunshots though, is not really how it feels when it happens, or really how it ever feels.

The problem with gunshots is fixing them, repairing the wound, saving your life. You have to essentially reverse the entire process by which you were shot, the bullet needs to come out, things need reattaching, skin needs closing. It's like pausing the scene at the worst possible part and rewinding it slowly, frame by painful frame.

But the beauty is in the repair. I'm learning that.

The hardest parts of Brady's words were that they were true. It hurts like hell but I'm glad it happened. We talked last night about using these tragedies, thanking God for them that we have a new platform from which we can change and inspire.

Today's a new day. Today was harder than yesterday and I suspect it's going to keep hurting.

Taking the hard way

"If you are a really, really good teacher, in your second year you'll be paid the same as any other second-year teacher and less than a really bad teacher with 10 years' experience."

This is so true. I've always been hesitant to join the teachers' money-gripe association, both because I like what I do, and I feel like it's a tired, trite, self-defeatist thing to do.

I'm starting to make adult-sized decisions, both in scope and (hopefully) in wisdom and it feels good. I love so much about teaching, it's a shame that the kids are not really one of them.

OK, I take that back. My Journo class is great. I truly do feel like we're doing something bigger than us, something that really might make a difference. But other than that, It's a struggle. I don't connect with the rich kids, and I don't feel like there's enough of an age difference between myself and the seniors to really earn their respect.

I completely enjoy working in the company of intelligent people. Literally every teacher at the school has been welcoming and supportive.

I love my parents, I love my father, but I can't be him. I'm absolutely terrified of living a life of safety. I want the struggle and I want the growth.

I keep hearing the phrase "the easy way is seldom the right way"

Warm Bed

You're in a warm bed.

If you're like the majority of privileged Americans, you begin each day in a warm bed. Sometimes you are alone in the bed, sometimes not, but you're safe, you're secure and you are warm.

No matter what your bosses or teachers or parents tell you, you have a choice when the alarm clock rings. It's decision time. Most of us make this decision in an instant, either to hit the snooze button and delay the inevitable rousing by a few minutes, or to turn the alarm off, and get out of bed. Most of us make this decision daily, and, depending upon the time we went to bed the night before, we toggle between the two.

What about the third choice? What about not waking up, not leaving your bed at all. Again, no matter what your teachers say, no matter what your bosses say, no matter what your parents say, you can stay in bed. Unplug that alarm, turn your phone off and stay in bed. It's warm after all, and the pressures of the morning are often uncomfortable. Showering, eating, talking to people, just stay in bed.

What happens though, when you stay in bed? What happens when you choose comfort over responsibility?

You start to lose things.

I doubt highly that your teachers will come to your house to physically remove you from bed. There's got to be some kind of employment law prohibiting the physical removal of bed from person. And your parents, well they may try to get you up, but just play heavy and they'll eventually leave you alone.

So now what? Back to losing things. What keeps you getting out of bed everyday? It's probably the thought of what you'd lose for not getting up. School will suffer, your grades may drop. Your job will certainly suffer; I don't know of one boss who promotes random acts of absenteeism. You may even lose your job.

Things will start to fall apart. You have a responsibility, everyday, to get out of bed and fight the day.

I'm learning that life is the same way. The comfort of our lives prompts us to stay comfortable, to never risk the idea of leaving this comfort, certainly not in exchange for uncertainty. But I would argue that our lives suffer the same way we do if we stay in bed. We start to lose things.

Things start to fall apart.

Without getting out of bed each day we wouldn't be living. People can go for weeks, months, years at a time in a kind of vegetative state, laying in a bed, comfortable. But, would anyone call this living? Would anyone accuse them of being alive?

Life is spent most often in the bed. Not the physical bed (though this might be argued) but the intangible bed of comfort, this bed of security. We tell ourselves that it's cold outside, we tell ourselves that standing up isn't nearly as fun or safe as laying down, warm and comfortable. We tell ourselves that it's scary outside.

What we don't tell ourselves is that when coma patients wake up, they often have to rehabilitate, they lose muscle, they lose life. Every second spent in bed weakens us, we lose muscle, we breathe, but we aren't alive. The same consequences apply to our Life. The longer we spend in the comfort of certainty, the less we are alive.

Life isn't about sleeping, and living isn't about comfort. Living is about experience, and growth and fighting and losing, and winning and loving and feeling.

Living is about getting out of bed.

A Lighthouse

Wanting will never, ever be doing. I can hope for hopes and want forever, but if thoughts never become action, if words never become speech, it has all been lost. Truly, the hopes and the ambitions of men are stifled daily. We feel deep within our psychology that we're wired for something more. That we have some kind of answer. It feels a little like words without speech.
And these dreams stay as silent as unconfessed sins. The self-loathing increases, parallels our apathy. Pushing us further from shore, drifting to sea, towards the big waves.

But, when we think about God, our Lighthouse, built into the sturdy frame of the mainland, we can see the beaming light, dancing in the horizon with the stars. A pale yellow flicker against the backdrop. Beckoning the ships home with each revolution, there always, shining through the fog.

I'm still a long ways off. I know I am, but I can't help but feeling the pull of God's current throughout my days.

Parallel truths.

It's so easy to forget that Christians have a parallel reality running along side us at all times, It's like God is running next to us throughout the business of our day offering a different solution to our inevitable encounters with life.

It's like those chase scenes in movies where the good guy has to jump from the bus into the truck window next to him as they run parallel at 70 mph. Sometimes it feels easier to take the road we're on, the road stretched out in certainty ahead of us.

The road we've been traveling on for years.

The problem with taking the road we're on though, is that theres always a reason the good guy is trying to jump ship. Sometimes its to save the beautiful co-star, sometimes its to save the lives of other people. Sometimes though, its because there's a bomb on the bus somewhere, and the hero has absolutely no other choice but to jump from the explosive present reality, into the safety of the moving vehicle next to him.

I feel God's reality in this way. I find myself falling into the "safety" of the world's advice, while forgetting that truth is running parallel to me offering a clear picture of my future, and the steps required to attain it. It's easy to stare straight ahead at the sometimes clear road before me listening to the world's advice, advice that tells me to buy more clothes so I feel better about myself, that tells me to buy a faster car or a better watch.

Advice that tells me that looking = feeling.

Seeming = being.

The problem is that the bus is going to explode. The bus is going to explode and I don't want to be on it. I have to take the jump.

Green-tinted glasses

Sometimes I wonder why my father didn't work harder. Why his father, a wartorn veteran, collected pension checks instead of starting a company with our namesake splashed on freeway advertisements. It should have been that easy, to collect the money made by my father and his father before him.

My thick and calloused heart, green with working-class desperation. A place usually reserved for paupers and coulda-beens, near misses.

But me, I'm lazy, you see. I'll probably never make a million dollars, not because I can't but because I wont. The greatest gift given to an American is the gift of opportunity. Orphans and Immigrants make millions daily. Thieves and the immoral make millions daily.

I'm left with mediocre clay and the tools to design a mediocre life. My hands are ill-equipped to paint something beautiful. I have a million wordless thoughts swirling through me in want of homes, needing rest upon a blank page or fertile ears.

I want to change lives, but have yet to change my own. A hypocrite living a liars life.

Rich

Your heroes are out to make a dollar. An extra few dollars if possible. Every company exists to pad the palms of a select few individuals. Car companies design safer cars because they want you to feel safe, and feel safe giving them your money. Healthy foods exist to take the dollar from the health-conscious.

Self-help books are written to make money.

If the "help" part happens it's accidental, but know that it's the secondary (if that) purpose for writing the book. We're all out to make an extra dollar at the expense of everyone else.

And I'm sick of it.

Some kind of encouragement, I hope

What does it mean when we are told that "God will give us the desires of our heart" for such a long time, I figured this to be stock Christian rhetoric told to someone who's constantly worrying/wondering about their life.

A blow-off.

I'm ashamed to admit that I JUST realized that it's a verse, it's a Psalm.

Psalm 37:4 in fact.

Now that it's a documented truth, I'm faced with the difficult part of acceptance. Questions swirl and plague me:

"Does God want to give me what I want?"
"How do I get these things?"

and for me, the worst,

"What are the desires of my heart?"

I truly don't know what they are. The tough part throughout my entire life has been discerning what God wants, and what I want. A battle as old as the world. I'm imagining Adam or Eve, their cheeks red with shame.

The struggle I've had lately is dealing with the concept and reality of sin nature. If I am a born sinner, given the predetermined oxen-load of "free will," how then will God, in whom there is no darkness (1 John 1 somewhere I think) give me the desires of my naturally born evil heart?

It's a long sentence, hopefully it's coherent.

Is God going to give me the desires of my evil heart? These questions are revealing small crumbs of truth to me as I type. It is because of this same free will that God gives us these desires.

I believe that in many cases, God does give us the desires of our evil heart.

Wow.

Think about it though, If I want to steal badly enough, has God not given me the bendable conscience to take something that isn't mine?
If I want to cheat on a girlfriend or a wife, has God not given me every resource necessary to make this happen?

and so there's the "Rub" Hamlet talks about.

The desires of an evil heart lead to depression. Lead to anger. Lead to distrust and infatuating doubt. The desires of an evil heart leave us empty. I believe that God's free will is demonstrated in this feeling. While I still believe that in God there is no darkness, no evil and no ill-will, his love is demonstrated purely in our choice.

We have a choice. God loves us so much that He gave us a choice.

Now, for the "blow-off" that helps.

I can't really recall the number of times I've recited the verse to myself, or how many times someone has given me the first part, as thought it was the bandage that was sure to stop my bleeding.

I believe Philippians 4:6 is a tremendous verse, useful for soothing scrapes and covering cuts, but it is when Philippians 4:6-7 are read together that the healing of big, bleeding wounds takes place.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

If verse 6 is a blow off, verse 7 is the pay off.

While the promise is not as clear cut as "giving us the desires of our hearts," it is ambiguously amazing. I believe that when we are looking for our sexual desires, when we want to steal, when we want so desperately to buy the faster car, the bigger TV, the bigger house or the better jeans, what we are truly looking for is contentment.

I believe that what we are looking for is so much bigger than the car, and bigger than the TV. At least in my case, obtaining these things are treating the symptom and not the disease. We were created for peace, we were created to be content.

God wants to give us the desires of our hearts, and He also promises peace.

In the media-fueled turbulence of this country, in the thing driven mentality of our culture,

Peace approaches us like cool air in dusty lungs. I want peace to be the desire of my heart.

Aloneness

We've all felt down, we've all felt alone.

If taken literally, we're rarely ever alone. We may seem to be alone during our daily commute, or even waking up inside our house, but really, for most of us, there's a thousand faces just outside your windshield, and there's a neighboring family within a few feet of your house.

If we are rarely truly alone, why then does that feeling bleed into our soul like water spilt on paper? Why is it possible to feel helplessly alone in the midst of friends, in the company of family?

Modern society finds us still alone, still wandering, still wondering. We've conquered every available land resource, we've populated the earth beyond it's limited capacity and yet...

we're still alone.

Seems ironic. Think about the phrase: "we are alone"

To be alone means to "have no one else present" or to "have no companions in a particular course of action." Paradoxically, the word "we" refers to the speaker of the word and someone else.

Though it "feels "like it, and sometimes God "feels" distant
I would argue that our aloneness results from a deep-seeded spiritual vacuum. In this vacuum exists a bloodless battle between our worldly affectations and the truth. While I hold to the belief that we're all born into sin, and given to a sin nature, I believe that when we make the choice to reassess our worldview, somewhere, somewhere in each of us, God plants a seed of truth.

We are never forgotten. We are known. We are not alone.


This truth is attacked daily by our environment. This truth is God's truth indeed, but it starts as a small seed. As it works to reshape our lives, and readjust our spiritual vision, it is under massive attack. God's truth exists contrary to the world's truth.

...more to come.

.

I truly have everything a person could ask for. I have a healthy body with limbs and fingers that respond to my calling, I have vision and hearing and a sense of touch. I have talents and feelings, intelligence and ideas, I have a voice.

I have a job and some money, a healthy family that loves me, I have friends and loved ones.

I am Blessed.

I hate myself.

Teaching and the Art of Sideways Mobility

I'm totally a teacher. I don't know how God did it, but there I am, saying "Hi" to students, busting them for gum, telling kids to sit down and grading papers. It's so much to take in, but it's been amazing. I'm quite sure I'm a fairly subpar teacher, but it's been fun and I'm truly looking forward to the rest of the year. Other than school, I'm beginning to make my return plans back to the parents' house. It's funny how backwards I've done things. I moved out when I had no money and went to college, now that I'm finished and have a decent job, I'm moving back in to SAVE money. Weird? But anyways, it's happening, and I'm thankful to have a place to return. It's very temporary, as the final Oregon-exodus plans begin to take shape and have substance. I'm going to apply for both the Masters program at OSU, and a TA position to pay for it. Barring any life altering changes between now and June, I should be on my way by mid-summer.

I don't know if teaching is IT for me. In a way, I hope not. As old as I feel (almost 25!), I know I have a lot of working years ahead of me, and I loathe the thought of being in the same position for all of them. I'm not saying I'm focused on upward mobility, I just want to experience a few different careers to know that the one I choose last is most fitting.

If you haven't listened to any of the Mars Hill podcasts or read any of Rob Bell's books (Velvet Elvis, Sex God) you really should.

Self-advice

With the advent of the internet comes the proliferation of opinions about EVERY topic under the sun. It seems like everyone with fingers and a distemper is writing an article, blog, or newsletter condemning his or her chosen path. Are THAT many people unhappy with their lives? Are THAT many people regretting the time spent in preparation for their jobs?

Assuming that the qualities of human nature still hold, I'm aware that SOME of these reviews are written in attempt to dissuade potential competition from entering the field, but truly, it seems like on average people are unhappy.

A painfully obvious statement to make, or maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places. I really don't think that it is just MY two potential career paths are filled with unhappy customers, I think the whole of society promotes dissatisfaction. Think about your friend with the girlfriend, or boyfriend. Chances are, he/she has probably called you crying or upset more often than he/she has called you to tell you how in love they are. It makes sense, it's apart of a "hermit-crab theory:" people do not want to see others succeed.

If you're looking at someone moving up, you begin to realize that you are down. But, really, is this a bad thing? What if we looked at this social movement as if it we were all on an escalator. We're all moving towards the next floor, but some have gotten on before you and therefore are on another step, perhaps a few above you, perhaps next to you. Continuing the escalator analogy, if you are on a certain step, say the third step, or in the middle somewhere, it guarantees that there are others below you. You are in constant movement, you are moving regardless of whether or not someone is ahead of you.

To me, this analogy speaks to the nature of our humanity. We are jealous, critical, spiteful and hateful beings concerned primarily with the body with which we were born. We see everyone as competition and this creates a restless society based on earning things; based on human ability.

My plea to anyone is to please stop comparing yourselves to the person on the next step. He or she has gotten on before you and there is no changing that. You CAN however change YOUR position, YOUR place on the escalator. If you want to move up, do so, but do it because you truly want to see the view from that step, not because you've been tricked into thinking it's any better than where you are.

Move up, and move deeply.

Just move.

The weeks fly through me

The weeks seem to pass by so quickly nowadays. It sort of feels like I take two or three days at a time, they blend together one after another in such rapid succession. It's Monday now but I know that Friday will come before it should, and yet another week will have passed through me, another week older, another week aged.

The problem is not that time moves quickly, the problem is that I do not move so quick. I'm not fast enough to keep up, each day is filled with lackluster responsibilities, focusing on a future that keeps delaying itself, moving itself ahead of my grasp week by week, day by blended day. I'm tired and I'm cold and I'm tired of running alone. For once I wish all 24 hours would pass as slowly as they seem. Each minute be lengthened, or at least my capacity for it be lengthened. I long for a time when each tiny minute is bursting with opportunity, with anticipation, it's sides flexed, pregnant with hope, spilling itself into the next minute.

First the weeks come quickly, then when four of them have passed comes a month which passes with seemingly the same speed as the week. And with each passing one, older, older, older.

Though I will never be able to slow this spinning globe, or slow the sun from appearing overhead, I can quicken myself to catch time. To grasp the minutes before they slip from my fingers and begin and end without me. I can take advantage of every opportunity, rushing and rolling through the setting days, breathing, knowing, praying that I may be as full of opportunity as were the weeks that I've traveled before, and bursting with the hope and opportunity of the minutes, weeks and years that light the way before me.

God, breathe into me the determination, perseverance and discipline that you require. Make me a man crafted in your image. God, let me make you proud.

shutupdate

I'm sick of complaining.

(how ironic is that I'm COMPLAINING about complaining?)

School is pretty much over. Barring the failure of my senior capstone project, I should be on my way to graduate-hood and even more uncertainty.

A college graduate. Wow, I always kind of "knew" it would happen, that one day I'd actually finish the job, but I've never really considered the feeling and implication of it actually happening. The change is purely psychological for me, some people I know are getting new jobs, new opportunities, making more money as a result of their graduating, but me, my life is the same.

Now, I suppose I get the smug satisfaction of being able to SAY I'm a graduate, and now on those little annoying surveys I can check the"college graduate" bubble instead of "some college," but, since I'll still be checking the very top income bubble, I can't help but feeling like my life hasn't changed much.

Other than that, some interesting prospects coming my way in other avenues of life.

Word.

What is a man?

I'm finding myself asking the question: "What makes a man?"

Is it the money or keys in his pocket? The people that can validate his existence? The woman in his bed, the god that he loves, the family that he's started, the house he pays for, the school he attends?

His work? His hobbies, his clothes, his friends, his past, his future?

Man is not any of these things, but all of them at the same time. We are our decisions and we are what we are right now. I heard a seemingly redundant, yet poignant quote recently,

"Who we are now, is who we are" -

Which makes perfect sense and no sense at the same time. We are transient beings, incapable of visiting the seconds that have just ticked by, and at the mercy of those yet to come. We are temporary and we are conditional. The multi-geared machine working within us chugs and churns daily as our lungs expand autonomously keeping the ball afloat, and keeping us moving towards... what?

What are we moving towards and where are we going? Time is not a destination, for most of us it is a guaranteed happening, but if we're waiting for a certain time to elapse, I'm thinking we're going to miss the most important stuff along the way.

Who we are now, is who we are.

I've been lucky enough to share parts of my life (and of theirs) with some amazing people. In the past 10 years (oh my God) I've dated three very different, but all equally amazing girls, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to share parts of their lives. Though it seems each one of the relationships ended poorly, the only regrets I have are in the way I treated each of them.

I don't know what I've done to have been so blessed with relationships. I just sincerely hope that I'm not a permanent dark spot in each of their memories. I'd rather not be a darker filter through which they view their memories.

Maybe I'll write each of them a letter telling them how lucky I am to have had the opportunity to date them, thank them for their time and wish them the best. Though, that might POSSIBLY be construed as a weird, half-drunken apology for my misconduct, and we can't go around apologizing to people. Seriously though, I'm a lucky man to have experienced love, given and received it back, shared tears and hopes and made transparent plans which ultimately fell through.

There's an excellent song by The Postal Service called "Nothing Better" which surmises my relationship with Sarah perfectly. The irony is that long before I ever identified with the song, while I was still making fun of the band, Sarah would turn it up and sing loudly with the female vocal line (another point of irony: I came to find out the girl singer is Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley, a band I've recently come to love) and for months I heard the song over and over and over. Now, I'm not going to assume that I know exactly what Ben Gibbard means through the lyrics, but I can take a likely guess, and give him all of the credit for brilliantly capturing the idiocy of the character in the song. Also, I must thank him for letting me know that I'm not the only idiot on earth.

The song begins with a dramatic plea for a lover's return:

"Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
That you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over..."

I'm assuming (hoping) that the dramatic rhetoric is purposeful in that it paints the portrait of a desperate guy who doesn't really mean what he's saying, and doesn't really know what he wants.

" Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together"

Marriage proposals are serious business and I'm guessing the character doesn't really mean what he's saying, he's just trying to desperately to hang on to the girl who has decided to move forward without him.

The voice of reason, coming from the girl character though, is what gets me. When she comes in with:

"I feel must interject here you're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself
With these revisions and gaps in history
So let me help you remember.
I've made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why i have to leave"

She's telling him that he's not seeing the picture in it's entirety. He's creating for himself the history between them, and obviously ignoring the problems that caused them to drift apart.

Again he pleads:

"Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together"

But this time, she answers, almost interrupts him (in the song it's a beautiful overlapping verse) with:

"Don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures"

Her first line seems angry and bitter, and from personal experience I'm guessing that she's been through this before, likely with him. She knows that he promises her things and for some reason can't deliver.

The second line though, is like a final piece of advice encompassing not only their previous relationship, but a benediction for his future. She's leaving, and there's no changing that, but she offers her last bit of thought perhaps as a reflection on the reason they broke up, or just truly as a forewarning of entering another relationship before he's healed from this.

His last attempt:

"I admit that i have made mistakes and i swear
I'll never wrong you again

Is met with resistance and finality:

"You've got a lure i can't deny,
But you've had your chance so say goodbye
Say goodbye"

I guess that was a pretty cheesy thing; to extrapolate meaning from a contemporary song as though it's in the canon of classics, but for some reason the song resonated with me.

I just know that's how I was with Sarah, I wanted her wholly and purely but could not figure myself out enough to ever deserve her. She realized it, and rightfully moved on.

She always loved that song.

We're verified by the accomplishments of our families and fathers. Always in such shallow transit, continually searching for our own words to validate ourselves. A gentle boasting hurts no one but bodies build up in the empty floors of our deepest wells.

Mostly ourselves. It's too late. It's too late. It's too late.

You've been reinvented. You are the new beginning. A fresh and clean slate from which to build anew. This poorly laid foundation has crumbled and come crashing. Please believe me, why would I ever lie to you? We have such history together, it wouldn't make any kinds of sense for me to lie.