Psalms

Lord give these hands rest instead of the work they seek

take away the hammer and nail

place them in the in yours

When the great day comes, I don't want to relent nor hesitate

I want to abandon all

I want to run to your arms as a love sick son

Let my soul not be fooled nor cultured

but may i always remember my true home,

amongst your colonnade and warmth

I was made to come back to you, we are close

I am yours, closer still.

I am your fragile jewel! A fine pearl upon your throne!

your precious thing. a rose in the hands of an almighty savior God

A sweet fragrance to a king

there is life in the desert though it is dry

your voice echoes through its valleys

A sweeping bloom of lavender cover its surface,

the bride is renewed. the garden - restored.

On becoming rats

Ennio Morricone's "Deborah's Theme" shirks through the plastered speakers of phonographs long forgotten by digital ears.

Its turntable belies a beautiful, smooth mahogany shell - a proud memoir of an age of craftsmen and their skilled trade before the machine took their work.

The work was faithful. short-lived, but faithful. With its share of drudgery and excitement sprinkled in between, the passion eventually became duty - a sweet, rotten cake, beyond any worker's appetite.

Laid off and let go, they file out of the factory bidding strange goodbyes, silently rubbing pennies with well-worn hands inbetween corduroy pockets. They left all they'd ever known, they'd never been so free, yet so captive to insecurity.

"What now? Where do I go? What purpose do I serve?" they ask themselves. Indeterminate beings never knowing themselves, always asking inconclusive questions after having placed their weighty eggs in a paper basket.

What a shame! Such good men thinking silhouettes of themselves. Chasing one desire after the next, but never feeling full. All the while thinking themselves wiser for it. Though deep within, a voice- a child's voice - their voice calls out. It knows life was meant for more than this - more than this rat race. The bitterness of rat's bane is a cup for all who run its race; the unwavering aftertaste of regret and disappointment.

Though tragic, there can be no exception to the mysterious course of nature. Ever sowing, ever reaping. No surprises here. Even tender, passionate children can become disillusioned rats; all flesh - given enough time and morose - sags.

All who are hungry, let them eat. All who are thirsty, let them drink. Chase not after things unfulfilling, but always after the fountain of life.

ASDFGHJKL

Spill, spill, spill

Pour, pour, pour

The hungry words - with their spindly, delicate, ugly, little black verdana legs - scurry forth from the impatient flashing text cursor onto the inadequate text box to the tune of my chubby sausage finger's clickety-clack.

Experiences become thoughts become words become lost-in-translation blog posts. fiddlesticks.

Composition! What a crass sensual tension. What an ups!de-down joke.

poor, poor, pour from the pores of my imagination.

Overflow harvesting at UCSD

In my heart, there is a secret place to which only God and I know the way. There I find rest and paradise for my soul – to rest in the affection and joy of Jesus, forever finding shameless intimacy. Out of this river overflows an unquenchable desire to chase his heart. It is a light yoke – easy, attractive, and full of peace. One upon which we need not strive for validation by what we accomplish, but one by which we may powerfully obey as a fruit of love.

Kim Walker says that when we encounter the love of God, we're never the same. It is the cry of my heart for God to pour out that ancient promise over our fellow students; to turn the heart of our nation back to him; to see every heart, mind, and soul at UCSD captivated by Christ. To receive mercy instead of justice; to receive transformation instead of what we deserve.

When I connect with God's heart, I can't help having a passion for what he is passionate about - the harvest. Jesus also calls us to be careful and wise in how we live, making the most of every opportunity. I believe the college campus is an unbelievable opportunity. I also believe that it is no accident that we, as college students, have ended up precisely where we are via happenstance. Every divine fiber in our destiny has been intertwined and carefully woven to herald the moment we are living in now - a moment in which we must choose to survive timidly or thrive passionately.

I know a beautiful truth in which I place my hope and faith: God desires to partner with imperfect people to perfect his work. When the accuser thrusts shame upon my heart, I am sustained and refreshed in the hope of God - that my life has a great purposeful work to be revealed and that I have been given authority to do it. I can do all things in Him who strengthens me for we did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but we have received the spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba, Father!". His spirit is the sole source of transformational holiness, and I have faith that he pours it out freely to his every single one of his faithful to this very day.

Though I wrestled thoroughly with the theological validation and soundness of student-led simple churches, it became increasingly clear that a brilliant (though man-made) strategy and infrastructure cannot supplant the holiness and obedience by which harvests are reaped. Through student-led simple churches, the word comes to life in relevant and life-changing ways bringing forth the living waters to every member of the body because they so deeply require complete dependence on God. In the simplicity of an intimate setting, guards are dropped, lives are exposed, and real-talk resounds. Where resources lack, the Spirit provides. Where theology divides, Godly obedience unifies. Where there is dependence on God, there is power. By handing over the reins to the Lord, the long due fruit finally ripens and we make space for the heavenly gardener to do only what He can.

I see God connecting the lines and uniting the living body parts. He is courting a generation to fall so in love with him that all it wants is more and more of Him. They do not care about owning a movement of God or taking credit as so many with power have already done. Because they are so incredibly head-over-heels for God and his heart for the nations, they simply want to obey – even if it means being forgotten. They don’t care because they already have the best thing – the easy yoke – the love of a savior king.

Children do not forget the love of their father, and all other shiny things pale in comparison to Him. Their love is too fixated on Him; their eyes are still.