Skip to main content

saturday song: pacific blue

a (very) few Christians have predicted that today will be the rapture, and unfortunately this gives some folks the license to mock all of Christianity, as if we are all sweaty street corner prophets of doom, instead of just regular people who have made the radical discovery that we're all adored, and want to share the treasure all the way around. 

but this day won't be about abundant living.  sadly, it will be about supposed imminent removal, and subsequent pain for the "lost."  and then, when nothing happens but another day of brokenness and redemption, like all the days before, there will be a great number of very disappointed dreamers, who put all their eggs in one basket, and may throw out the whole basket with the eggs after today. 

i don't know about the end of all things.  as the song below says, "i guess the truth is that the truth is of complex design."  i don't claim to have a treasure map that shows where the "x" is that marks the spot.  instead, i claim to have discovered the treasure map that shows how to be abundantly alive along the journey.  and i'd love for you to join me in that journey. 

and so, in light of today's predicted "x", i share with you this new sleeping at last song from their latest ep, a song about how we keep searching and seeking, keep journeying and discovering and loving along the way, regardless of what we don't know for certain. 

peace.



pacific blue
copyright 2011 by sleeping at last


if i could rearrange my words
i'd say what i mean.
if i could learn to count the cards
i'd risk everything.
imagine how brave i'd be
if i knew i'd be safe
if i could only know the end,
i'd be a prodigy of faith.
if i had a treasure map, oh the answers i'd find.
i'd dust off the artifacts, 'til i made 'em all shine.

everything i know is borrowed, broken, or blind,
and what i've seen of beautiful feels merely implied.
is it the treatment of symptoms, or a touch of divine?
i guess the truth is that the truth is of complex design.

how i ache to know.

God knows that i know we're little boats in the great big sea.
setting sail after sail in hopes of finding a breeze.

every compass i have followed i've trusted and denied.
so it goes with an ever-changing definition of right.
is it the treatment of symptoms, or a touch of divine?
i guess the truth is that the truth is of complex design.

if ignorance is bliss, then i guess i'm in heaven.
but this hesitant kiss sends me back to the grasp of the sea.

setting sail after sail in the hopes of finding a breeze.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

#thoughtsandprayers

i made these comments and prayed the following prayer at one of our worship services at SPWF yesterday, and had a few folks asked if i would post them, so there they are: 
It has been a season of terrible tragedy.  And I have noticed in the news a trending phrase: thoughts and prayers.  It even has its own hashtag on twitter and other social media, but net necessarily in a good way.  People are understandably tired of hearing about others’ thoughts and prayers, when that is only a thinly-veiled way of saying that our only obligation to those who suffer is a brief moment of silence, or nothing more than a tweet or public statement.  The truth is that, for those of us who follow Jesus, much is required when our neighbors suffer.  We are called to do justice where we can, to love kindness and mercy, and to walk with God through it all.  But let us be careful not to throw out the proverbial baby with the bathwater.  We are, as people of faith, those who know that prayer is not simply an em…

a divided tree

there is a tree in my back yard.  i'm pretty sure it's an oak tree.  at least that's what i think Shannon told me.  i don't know my oaks from my maples, my elms from my locusts.  to me, it's a tree: a corinthian column bursting up into life and glory.  full of sap and pulp and rings and bugs and cells pulsing with water and always reaching for something.  it is full of rhythm, reach and flourish then fall and die, and repeat. 

this particular tree, though, isn't of one mind. 

half of it's rusted orange leaves have given up their grip and surrendered -gracefully or not - to the pull of gravity and the threat of winter.  the north side of this inauspicious oak is just about bare naked, all sticks and straight lines, a skeleton of itself.  but the side that looks south is stubbornly resisting change.  no longer green, the leaves have compromised their summer vibrancy, but they are clearly not ready to concede death just yet. 

i feel like i can relate to this …

thankful right now

"if the only prayer you ever say in your life is 'thank you,' it will be enough." -Meister Eckhart

"thanksgiving is inseparable from prayer." -John Wesley

i've been thinking about gratitude quite a bit this week, and how to foster a thankful spirit in the midst of the barrage of bad news that for me is punctuated by yet another "breaking news" notification on my phone, interrupting the busyness of my day to rudely remind me that the world's brokenness knows nothing of limits or boundaries, not to mention my schedule or sanity.  still, the bad news keeps coming. 

i just scrolled through my most recent notifications just from the last few days and they contain phrases like "crimes against humanity," "57 million users hacked, but not reported," "alleged pattern of sexual abuse," and "extremely disturbing," just to name a few.  how am i supposed to be present at a staff meeting when my phone is buzzing …