somewhere north from here

[S] When Samuel got to be an old man, he set his sons up as judges in Israel. His firstborn son was named Joel, the name of his second, Abijah. They were assigned duty in Beersheba. But his sons didn't take after him; they were out for what they could get for themselves, taking bribes, corrupting justice.

Fed up, all the elders of Israel got together and confronted Samuel at Ramah. They presented their case: "Look, you're an old man, and your sons aren't following in your footsteps. Here's what we want you to do: Appoint a king to rule us, just like everybody else."

When Samuel heard their demand—"Give us a king to rule us!"—he was crushed. How awful! Samuel prayed to God.

God answered Samuel, "Go ahead and do what they're asking. They are not rejecting you. They've rejected me as their King. From the day I brought them out of Egypt until this very day they've been behaving like this, leaving me for other gods. And now they're doing it to you. So let them have their own way. But warn them of what they're in for. Tell them the way kings operate, just what they're likely to get from a king."

So Samuel told them, delivered God's warning to the people who were asking him to give them a king. He said, "This is the way the kind of king you're talking about operates. He'll take your sons and make soldiers of them—chariotry, cavalry, infantry, regimented in battalions and squadrons. He'll put some to forced labor on his farms, plowing and harvesting, and others to making either weapons of war or chariots in which he can ride in luxury. He'll put your daughters to work as beauticians and waitresses and cooks. He'll conscript your best fields, vineyards, and orchards and hand them over to his special friends. He'll tax your harvests and vintage to support his extensive bureaucracy. Your prize workers and best animals he'll take for his own use. He'll lay a tax on your flocks and you'll end up no better than slaves. The day will come when you will cry in desperation because of this king you so much want for yourselves. But don't expect God to answer."

But the people wouldn't listen to Samuel. "No!" they said. "We will have a king to rule us! Then we'll be just like all the other nations. Our king will rule us and lead us and fight our battles." 1 Samuel 8:1-20

[O] This is like the second generation of prophets - Samuel: Post Eli. A similar thread taking place. A great man who knows how to follow, worship and return to God - A descendent of a lower social class - the second woman of a marriage, son of Hannah. The lesser. God chose to use the lesser, the fatherless son - Fathers him Himself and raises him up to lead His people, His Israel. And that same thing with Eli happens here. Samuel's own sons turn out to be arrogant, full of themselves, taking bribes, irreverent and did what seemed right in their own eyes. It is no surprise that people begin to lose respect for the prophet.

Here's the irony. God did not reproach him.

At least not yet, so it seems. God was more concerned with the big picture - A whole nation rejecting Him, in the light of Samuel's fruit of labour - having raised 2 boys who are so not like thier Dad - or like their universal Dad.

I suppose Samuel did whatever he knew how to. Up to this point, there has been no recount or reproach on Samuel's fatherhood. Only that he honored and worshipped and led a whole nation to return to their God. He was simply obedient to the voice and direction of the Lord. He could have been the best father I imagine and it would make sense given that Samuel was raised by giants. It looks like Samuel failed as father in the eyes of the people he led. But God didn't seem to flinch. In fact, He took Samuel's side, vindicated him - "They're rejecting me, not you."

[A] What does this mean? What can this possibly shift? What kind of God would overlook our lack and vindicate us, simply because of obedience? For so it seems that sacrifice:the laying down of our lives: this idea of love being that of self sacrifice is the lower of the denominator. For it is telling that sacrifice can only bring us so far, love can only take us this far. Is this what "obedience is better than sacrifice" means?

Then Samuel addressed the house of Israel: "If you are truly serious about coming back to God, clean house. Get rid of the foreign gods and fertility goddesses, ground yourselves firmly in God, worship Him and Him alone, and He'll save you from Philistine opression." 1 Samuel 7:3.

[P] Lord I give back and surrender what you have given me. Your sons and your daughters, these seasonal companions, comrades that may come and go for a time. There is only so much life I can lay down and so many tears I can cry. Have your way, my God. Have your way with your people. Have your way with the beasts of the earth as you mercifully guide and discipline us with these meaninglessness. As for me and my temple, I will serve you and learn to walk in obedience, follow the prompt of your voice. For you have burned your mark in me, called me your son through these scars and claw marks of these treacherous created. For you are my one constant friend. You are my beginning and my end. You are my King, my Shepherd, my Lover.

My God.

once upon a deep blue

当你笑, 世界与你笑. 当你哭泣, 你单独哭泣...

recurrng

God. You who made it all possible. This answered prayer. Comes not without anguish and struggle. Why do you still want to put me through this and have me suffer inside for it? Am I not Your favoured son? Do I not deserve your grace, favor? Why does my eye fix on these things that pass, these seeming things that I am constantly striving for? Brothers too good for me to name. Fathers too noble for me to give of my loyalty. Lovers too awesome for my muddy hands to hold. Am I not your favored son? For why is this always a recurring theme, so they all say, that I am still stuck in this test tube. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to redeem my ticket and ride out of here, out of this storm, out of these shadows that laugh and challenge my confidence. I am tired of playing it all. I just want to rest, find my head a nook to secure, give my soul a season to breathe, drink deep of these human conditions that will make me whole again. God. Do not forsake me. Do not let my bleeding heart freeze in this cold again. I hate to be like this. All this whining and crying. All this that makes a man less than a whimp to behold. Where is the general? Where is the warrior boy? For all I see is still that little beggar kid selling matches, 20cts a stick. I want to bring him a blanket. I want to bring him a warm body hug. I want to bring him to the fire place and listen to his story. I want to learn to be a father to this lost cause that the world has forgotten about. Do not toy with me. God. Do not lead my heart on with these fellow human beings whom you made in your image to keep us all company. Hear my cry, my father. Hear my last breath for reconciliation. Hear my spirit ache and whimper in pain all through the night. Come rescue me, bind up my wounds with your warriors, fathers, mighty men who are willing to sweep over swiftly, an apprentice for a king, to watch the world from the safe hands and lap of a soft strong voice. Give me the tender mercies of a father. Give me the resolve and warm embrace of a brother. So I can grow out of my test tube days. Incubate me no more with these cold winter blues. Melt away all my troubles. For I want to be whole, whole like it is meant to be.

conversations in my head

i don't believe it.

what? what do you not believe?

this.

this?

this stupid thing. whatever i have been sold.

who sold you? and what is that anyway?

stop asking stupid questions as if you are so intelligent.

fine. have it your way. and stop crying.

i feel so schizo.

yeah me too.

i wish i would stop talking.

ditto

smart arse.

*laughs*

i wish it were simple. all this bible bull. all this brother this and that. all these rusty blades. i could use some of them right now, you know?

come now, don't be stupid.

don't start with me. you know how this feels and stop being so condescending.

i'm just trying to help. i know we need it. we'll get through this ok?

funny how the very thing i want is the very thing i reject face on.

yeah. it is. so very true. you know you need it as much as i do.

i guess. and its so pathetic.

that we both have to pretend like there is someone else here who cares?

that. and that we're just talking and make believe.

it's ok. i'm perfectly fine with it.

i wish you were real... but then again, it wouldn't remove this tumour.

i know. you will be fine, alright.

you think?

man, this is like the worst time to be home alone.

yup and i'm regretting every minute of it.

silence too deafening, the cars roll on too carelessly, blah blah blah...

and the list goes on and on and shuddup. don't be a prick.

hey, you'd blog about it.

past tense dude. "blogged" about it.

i think you're crazy.

i know. i am. and i wish we both would disappear. out of sight, out of mind.

i'm not so sure.

and you're the level headed one. the one they all think is the most stable rock solid dude. yadyada...

you say it like you don't know me.

sometimes, seriously, i don't. i'm like, who is this guy? do I even know him?

we grew up together. don't say that.

i wish we did actually. you grew stubbornly. you did well. and, i kinda got lost.

that's why i'm here. and i'm glad i found you.

i'm not so sure.

look, you are in a good place right now. we, are in a good place right now.

i don't know. how is it good? it's fucking meaningless.

all this?

yeah, this.

some rhetoric

But they were far gone in disobedience and refused to listen to a thing their father said. – 1 Samuel 2:25

Makes me wonder what Eli at this old age would do. Perhaps helpless, in utter grief. What kind of a father would have sons grow up and have no understanding of this sacredness of boundaries and leadership? If this were another day of pointing fingers, I would have missed the point completely.

This is not a rhetoric.

Sons, boys who eventually have to take up their position as men, leaders of the communities they were blessed with, starting with their immediate, brimming over into the larger scheme of God’s intended connections and relations.

Stewardship along with leadership.

Have we lived so far advanced in our time and age that we begin to question our forefather’s wisdom and values that we are now ignoring them? What is the meaning of this irony and wisdom, my spirit cries. All of the wisdom we can garner, all of our knowledge of what’s good, what’s evil, what brings life, what brings death, all laid out in ancient text easily accessible in translated syntax of our modernity.

Meet King Solomon: the man who created our proverbs, the man who had too many wives for the common man’s fitness. The man who have touched the sting of wealth, health, indulgence, opulence. The man whose heart, by the grace of God, was captured for our sakes. Who, now father our fathers who are willing to respect and listen in obedience to the ones who have gone before us.

Perhaps we are a generation who needs to know what it means to stumble to go beyond what we cannot handle to know the grace of God. I look back at the myriad of activities behind the level head and stable and come up thankful that I am still alive. Still under His grace. Still living in freedom from the paid dues he nailed on the tree those thousands of years ago. Free to still be the restless, disrespectful son, questioning every move and make of this human prototype. His grace extends far more than I can comprehend.

So Lord, what are you doing? Sons and boys in my hands. Leaders of the next generation. They tear and wear at the seams. They weigh in on me. Challenging the boy within. Will You have mercy and guide us all. Will You teach me the way of your wisdom, the depth of Your creation science. Your sons and your daughters, your leaders and mothers. Your men and women. By Your rod and Your staff, comfort and lead. Heal and release. As I step up, to trust and obey.

Simply trust and obey and the rest will follow.

most unexpected of social graces

I couldn't try without wanting to cry
For what is it now I have on my hands?
A warm set of colours, food for my soul
What is it that you are doing, God?
For you find me in the most unexpected of places.

Of toxins that flowed inwards
And poison that corrode
Still I waited till the soil offered
A stronger ground to land upon

Before vultures come and circle
Before these streets get crowded
I want to catch just one more glimpse of you
Pray i won't give up like it did before

I walk these dark and narrow hallways
Stretching my vision as far as it takes me
To anticipate the coming light
That will engulf and blind my sight

That these old omen tales will pass
That these dire circumstances will be a historic relic
Told to my grandchildren that reflect the goodness of my creator

One more day, one more second to push the clouds
I hang on till these and these others find me out
Still believing, still here
Still that same story
They never die
Not until I do

wash me in your grace

In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the LORD. - 1 Samuel 1:10.

Give me this day my daily bread.
What I need to wield the sword in strength.
What I need to stand the land.
What I need to walk in your way.
What I need to be your hands and feet.
To the lowly, humble and those you have entrusted into my hands.

You have enlarged my capacity, my heart, my space,
My ground tilled and fallowed,
Now waiting for the seeds you have planted
To germinate and grow.
I walk with fear and trembling,
With fear and trepidation.

I need you more than ever now. More than ever.

I won't bargain.
I won't make promises just so I can move your hand.
For I am your son, and I know that you fully
And freely give to those you love.
You answered my cries in the cold bite of the snowy terrains.
You heard my heartache as the last leaf fell from the frozen tree.
You gave me freely what the world did not want me to receive.

But you, YOU, you have called me son.
And here this day I stand, affirmed in your strength.

Give me this day my daily manna.

Achilles Heel

I am trying to catch my breath. It's going so fast my tight grip on the chair lift is draining the blood from my fingers. I don't know how it feels anymore, except constantly going back in my memory trying to savor what was.

Change is a good thing but it also does something for the heart. Especially for an old purple heart like mine. The nostalgic feeling of a new season and leaving some ornaments and old clothes behind. Those things that carry so much meaning and memories. Makes me want to run back and give them a proper hug and burial.

If I were 80, I'd probably be an antique collector.

So, something is still eating away at my gut. I don't know what it is. Perhaps this real inane fear that I may stumble and fall. That I may not live up to the expectations of this guy who is dating the most eligible bachelorette of her prime. Expectations kill, so they say.

Give me this day what I need. Just enough, not under, not too much. That I may serve, love and protect. Like the spartans.

blood on my fingers

The first drop of blood landed on my fingers today. Just this morning. Why do I feel like that? Like I have wielded something that's caused pain, caused anguish, caused another dear person to freeze. No apology is ever going to make it better. Something in me said, this is necessary.

Did I introduce death and condemnation? Were my words sharp and slithering? Did I speak too soon in this seeming set of ultimatum & boundaries? Is my style too brash and quick for my little ones to catch their breath?

I could not walk away without attempting to assure you. I could not walk away leaving you feeling cold. I only know what I know and I hope I have not dealt too strong a blow, if it comes across as a blow at all. I don't mean to rain on your parade.

I have no idea what to do now. Except trust that our God who works all things in His good nature will carry us all through this wet weather. He will make all things beautiful in His time. He who knitted our lives together in the most unlikely of situations.

Save us this day our God and Saviour.

the thief

That she said I am. We listened to the song inside the small snug car, warm from the winter wind outside. The words forming on the pages of the melody describing what her monastic heart would borrow to say and lay it down before my eyes and ears. My heart shifted again tonight, in the music and the honesty of how these arrows hit the spot, without even trying.

I am humbled. To know that the thief who stole so many little christmas trees and petty dreams has landed himself on a soft canvas, fresh, waiting to be filled. These open arms and the grace of a God who knows how to give good gifts to His son. I am humbled. Into marvelous light I ran and now I find myself found on some of these things too wonderful to even describe.

The pieces all fall together, like snow gently collecting on the armor of the monastery guardian. The steps fill with hail and the ice is soft. Somehow, she sings, when she sings, everything is fine. A fire brews inside and a warm glow lights me up from head to heart. Thank you for singing this song to me.

You, sing me to sleep
Talk down my walls
Look through my windows as I wait
You could be the thief
I give the key to

You're ruining me
With secrets and gestures and looks
With sonnets from second-hand books
Playing the chords in me nobody knew how to play

Playing the chords in me nobody knew how to play

sleep tight, angel...

Keep running

The words get choked on what I know to be right from wrong. I could not sing between the grooves too fat. Brings me back to those days when studio hire was $15 an hour at Boon. Belting my lungs out at the wet overworked microphone where everyone was not really paying attention to the story behind the melody. everyone was painting their own thing and fancy. It's an art form waiting to be beautifully aged.

Instinct, they call it. You just know. Like how your fingers would glide through the keyboard because its all part of your muscle memory. You can type without checking out the alphabet and letters.

My musical intuition got the better of me some time ago and it was easy to just walk out and look for greener grass to mow. Pride comes before a fall. It is difficult to explain what goes on in my head and I feel like there is so much more inside than there is time to fill. There comes a time when the shift has to take over. When the boy becomes a man, a guardian, father and protector.

Faced with these multi talented palettes and brushes, what will I do today? Perhaps this personal melody is the life I have to lay down for the sake of life to germinate.

Phase II. Grow strong. Work out. Get good.