Wake Up Dead Man

It was raining. I had sinned greatly. I walked on the sidewalk that ran along the river, puddles gathering at the sidewalk’s edge, brown with dirt and green with floating green leaves. The river was high because of the rain and ran swift in the middle, slowly by the banks.

I told God that I was sorry for what I had done. I said, I am sorry. I said, I hate myself. I said, Jesus without You I am nothing.

I wanted to be as far away from me as possible. I wanted to be as far away from my sin as possible, but I couldn’t push it from my mind. It hung with me, stayed by me, festered in me. My sin consumed me.

I was the problem.

Walking on the dark-gray sidewalk, I saw a cardinal. It was very red against the brown of the tree, the gray of the cloudy sky, and the murky brown of the river. Three steps further I saw two robins, hopping gaily, their rusty-colored chests full and bulging.

I am the problem, but I am not the solution. I saw the cardinal and thought of a U2 song I knew. It says, “Jesus, Jesus help me. I’m alone in this world.” I had sinned but I longed for purity. I wanted to be clean but I couldn’t wash the stain.

I told God, I am sorry. I told Him, I feel hopeless and alone.

I saw the cardinal, thought of the U2 song, which says, “Tell me the story, the one about eternity. And the way it’s all going to be.”

I saw the cardinal, thought of the song, and remembered Revelation 21. It says, “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain.”

I told God, I can’t do this. I told Him, Save me. I told God, Make my heart soft, my love big, and my soul full of grace.

I said, God I need you because I am weak and you are strong.

The U2 song says, “Wake up, dead man.”

Ephesians 2 says, “You were dead in your trespasses.”

Ephesians 2 says, “But God . . . raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.”

It was raining, and I had sinned greatly. I felt like dying, and in my sin I had been dead. I sinned, and then repented. I sinned, and then repented. I cursed God and blessed Him. I committed adultery and then announced my faith. I was the greatest sinner but called myself a saint. I told people I followed a very great man, named Jesus, who was God, and that He saved me from myself. I told them that, but went home and sinned.

I saw the cardinal, the two robins, and then I saw two ducks, and three birds flying far away that I couldn’t identify.

I said, God, make me fly.

He said, “Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weary.”

I waited for the Lord. I waited on the sidewalk, by the river, in the rain, with the cardinal, under the gray clouds. I waited for Him and He came to me and said, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

On the Road: The Best Band the World

People say it’s like Almost Famous. You’re touring with a band? It’s like Almost Famous. I say that it is like Almost Famous but not.

In the fall in New England the leaves turn fiery orange and red in a way different from the Midwest, different from the South. The breeze is cool and soft and even can be cold so you wear a sweatshirt or at least a cardigan, and you wander through the streets of Northampton, Massachusetts and buy a cup of coffee.

I remember being in Northampton with Kit and Jessica. I remember getting to her house and Kit and I sitting on the couch, Kit opening a bottle of wine, at noon, and I returning an hour later to Kit asleep and then sitting on the couch and reading, and Kit waking and it Sunday and us watching football on the couch. I remember Jessica coming in with crackers and honey-crisp apple and cheese. I remember Kit sharing the good, red, Spanish wine with me. I remember how well the wine went with the cheese. I remember Jess making dinner for us. I remember sitting down with her and Kit and having a second glass of the Spanish wine. I remember trying to make them laugh and I remember saying things about nicknames that you’ll find out when you read the book.

I remember never having better hospitality.

I remember being called family.

It’s not like Almost Famous.

I don’t remember trying cocaine. I don’t remember bare breasts from groupies. I don’t remember night after night of drunkenness. I don’t remember eating grand meals or being waited upon.

I remember playing Barbies with Sophia and Adeline.

I remember eating pizza.

I remember staying at Tyrone Wells’ house and the beds made up for us throughout the house. I remember getting to his house and the cookies and snacks and breakfast the next morning.

I remember Boots and I taking the Subway to Manhattan and watching a movie. I remember Cousin and I laughing until we could not breathe properly. I remember Skunk and I eating sushi—I remember a few of these. I remember eating Pop-Tarts and drinking whole milk and crafting emails with Kit. I remember going to a concert with Sam for the concert and realizing quickly that being with Sam was far better then the concert.

I remember feeling alone in Montana.

In Carrboro.

In Southern California.

In Austin.

In New York.

I remember that when you are on the road you often feel alone and hollow, but it often isn’t a depressing sort of loneliness, more of a tired, exhausted loneliness. I remember the price you pay for being on the road. I remember the price you pay for the thrill of the road. I remember that a few times the feeling of being alone is very powerful and in the van you feel like you are the only one in the world.

I remember figuring out that my faith carries me. I remember discovering that I might life would have ended, undoubtedly, in suicide if it had not been for the grace of Jesus Christ. I remember seeing that loving Jesus leads to a deeper love for people. I remember that we love because He first loved us.

On the road, I remember the day-by-day growing sureness of my faith.

Drunk in New York, feeling like shit, I remember: my God still loves me.

I remember loving Stephen, and Jess, and Kit, and Boots, and Sam.

I remember loving them because Jesus loved them and I see His face in them.

I remember praying for them every day.

With love,
h

Arrogance Crumbling: Pine Cove

In East Texas, where the pines are tall and their scent lingers, where the air is humid and the sun hides none of its heat, there is a city called Tyler. Outside of Tyler is a camp that I grew up going to, where kids waterski and ride horses and play basketball and football and learn about God.

Having grown up going there, and knowing some people who had worked there, I had always imagined Pine Cove as this place of severe conservatism. The guy counselors must be clean-shaven, have short hair, can't show tattoos or have earrings; tattoos can't be shown by girl counselors, either, and more than two earrings on an ear is frowned upon. In the morning, we sing songs to America, about how wonderful she is. This is Texas: we love America, and we are conservative.

The notion, however, that Pine Cove was a conservative mecca was very false; even in my first week there, I saw that these people (the vast majority of them) were sincere in their pursuit of God. The notion, though, was completely shattered on a weekend night. It is night and dark, and the road is not wide. Two senior staffers are in the front seat, myself in the back. In an instant, appearing on the dark road, is an unnaturally large raccoon—we slam on the breaks and I yell, "FUCK!"

Haha.

At Pine Cove, I met so many amazing people who pushed me to new heights in love and in grace, in showing people love and grace. There are so many I am not going to name any—but they know who they are, and they know that even the smallest interactions on the skate park or during crud war or writing letters and finding them in your box or crying in an empty cabin or singing the bumblebee song or that damned raccoon or getting ice cream at Andy's or going to Starbucks or destroying campers in ping pong or going to Six Flags months later or roadtripping to Waco listening to Regina Spektor or singing God of Heaven come down—all of this meant so, so much, and I thank you for it.

Someone once told me, "I just know that it doesn't feel good to judge." His words have never rung so clear. At Pine Cove, people showed me this; they lived it. At Pine Cove, I walked into an evangelical camp with a hostile attitude. I was a prick. I told people I didn't have time for them and already had enough friends. It stings me now. Like David says, My sin is ever before me.

Thankfully, God gave me the grace to cool off a couple weeks in, and by the grace of God I was able to learn so many things. Yes, it feels so bad to judge—and why would you? Because you are insecure, and I am insecure. Everyone is a story and everyone just wants to be loved all day long—we are all the same. Everyone is on the same path, trying to answer the same question, so why judge? Most of all, Jesus loves them, and so should I.

With love,
h