We Always Run On

Based on a true account

The next step is always the hardest, as down, down, down I continually run in pursuit of the phantoms of what were. Somehow alert and perceptive after all these years, my eyes dart down the corridor, searching in desperate anticipation for the next door. The breathing is coming so much harder now. Perhaps it’s time to stop and rest. Slowing down is never a good thing; it only makes things more difficult, but perhaps it’s needed. Wait! There it is.

My hand flashes up and starts stroking my chin. My fingers play over the air that should be a long, gray beard. Would it be gray? Or still golden brown? How bizarre is it that I’m puzzling over my beard before this oaken door. But then again, my thoughts are all that I have that are new in this tower.

Eyes darting, examining the hinges and the black iron lock, searching for…what, I do not know. A sigh escapes my lips. My old bones are so tired, my muscles hardened into near uselessness. The dark staircase of cracked stone is all that lies before me. Was infinity always this decrepit? A light slowly creeping out of the keyhole in the lock catches my eyes. Somewhere in my heart, somehow after all this time, hope still gives me the fuel I need, even as hope dies with every door.

Readjusting my pack and sword on my shoulders I open another door into a world with a rising sun. There’s a stream gurgling through some trees, still dark as light encroaches on the rest of the silent earth. Water. I have not tasted it in so long. My boots sink into the damp grass on the edge of the creek. Stooping to gather a drink, the first rays of light hit the water, giving me a glance of my reflection.

It has been a long while since I saw myself. My hair is still blonde and short, freshly cut from that barber in that little town in Texas. My eyes are still blue. Somehow I had expected them to change color. Stupid. Nothing changes in the tower. That’s why I’m still here. Still chasing her. I know I can never find or have her, but I must try.

The water cools my parched lips and throat. The wood here seems so much different than the last doorway. Not a boulder in sight, much less a gorge. Hmph. How many doors has it been? I can only remember the last few and the first several. A chuckle escapes my throat. How confused I was at the first door. Even the second door.

This water tastes so strange. It gives me different strength than what the doors gives me. I dip my hand back into the brook and pour the cold water over my face. Water. That was it. That was how this all started. Anger flashes, bright red in my rippling reflection. Shaking I fall back, onto the grass. Even now the memory binds me, grips my soul and forces my mind to watch how this curse came upon me. And her.




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The man-made lake was appetizing in the burning heat, but I was more interested in talking with her. Laughter drifted up to us from the park as we walked the edge of the lake. The costumes from the Reformation Day were getting put up and the volleyballs were coming out.

“I’m going to get a change of clothes out of the car. My backpack’s in there. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Well, I’ll come with you. If you don’t mind.”

I started to playfully protest, but she gave me that look. She could get anyone to do anything with that look. Her dark hair blew into her face from a surprise gust of wind. We both laughed as she grabbed my hand and we headed into the parking lot.

“Can I see your sword?”

I handed her the sword that I found at the local pawnshop as I snatched my backpack from the front seat of my car.

She examined my sword closely for a minute before some disconcerted thunder grumbled several miles off.

“Ah, man. It looks like it’s gonna rain.”

I closed the door to my car and glanced up at the quickly darkening sky in time to see a fat drop of rain land on the concrete several feet away.

“Great. I washed my car yesterday. Let’s hurry back to the others.”

A peal of angry thunder shook the ground as rain began pouring from the dark clouds. She laughed and started running. I watched, grinned slowly, and started chasing her. Still gripping my sheathed sword, she stopped suddenly on the edge of the lake, water pouring down her face.

“Do you remember there being a lighthouse here?”

I didn’t. Yet there it was – a lighthouse, built out of some sort of gray stone. At its base was a wide open door with a massive puddle in its frame. She glanced around, with water matting her hair to her face. A sudden grin escaped her mouth and she took off towards the shelter of the tower. I followed and got to the door a few seconds after she entered. My sword was lying in the puddle. I stooped to pick it up and almost slipped down some stairs. I caught a glimpse of her red dress, still very much wet, disappear around the corner of a story or two below me. I strapped my sword to my shoulder alongside my backpack and headed down the stairs after her.

It seemed odd that the tower existed, much less that it had several stories below the ground. It wasn’t the last odd aspect of the tower I would discover. I couldn’t catch up to her, so I started taking the stairs two at a time, then three, then I started jumping whole landings. Finally, just as I began to wonder if I was dreaming the miles of stairs I had climbed, I found a door on the side of the tower wall. It was slightly ajar, with a shred of red cloth caught on the corner.

I stopped to catch my breath and my thoughts. I needed to get her so we could turn around and get out. The owners would probably be mad if they found us this far down into their building. I opened the door and walked in.

I hardly expected to find myself in downtown Paris.

Loose-jawed, I stared in shock. I’d always thought that I could keep my composure even in the most trying and weird circumstances, but this was too much. Just as my knees began to wobble and give, several police officers ran up shouting, their weapons drawn and aimed at me. Somehow, even in this most odd circumstance, that sight forced me to focus. I started to straighten up and raise my hands, while trying to desperately figure out what was going on.

One officer gestured towards my sword.

“You’ve got to be kidding…bloody liberals.”

I started to shrug the sword off my shoulder when I saw her. She was dressed in casual clothes and was getting into a cab with a tall, blonde man who was wearing a beret. Anger, desperation, and frustration suddenly clouded my judgment and as my sword fell towards the concrete, I caught the handle and drew the blade out of the sheath.

I heard the bullets, but managed to avoid them. Charging towards the taxi, I screamed and lounged at a back tire thrusting the dull, pawn store blade into it. She glanced out the window then and I tried to hold her gaze. Either she never saw me or I was ignored.

The cab sped off, impervious to my sword. A French man jumped on my back, but I shrugged him off and turned around. There was a door sitting in the middle of a Parisian street and bits of red dress could be seen being pulled through it. Lowering my sword, I bulldozed an officer and ran towards the door.

I tripped over the first step in the tower and fell down a dozen more before I could stop. Collecting myself, I ran back to the Paris door and tried to open it. It was firmly sealed shut. I thought that maybe she had headed back up to the surface, but that’s when I found that my legs would not move past the door, no matter how hard I tried.

I looked down the remaining flights of stairs and realized that I couldn’t see the end of them. What an odd building. As I sank against the door, I felt something in my pocket. I quickly pulled out my cell phone. Jubilant, I started to call my brother. It had no signal. Of course.

I had no choice but continue downwards, ever downwards. I thought I was sick of running down then. I had no idea.

The doors, the stairs, the time only increased. I was getting nowhere. Sometimes I could almost see her. Why she never stopped, I don’t know. I’ll never know.

A day, perhaps two passed.

I was standing out on balcony, overlooking the sea. The grass on the ground at the base of a fortress was greener than any grass I’d ever seen. It did that. The reality in the tower was always more real than that outside.

She had already gone back through the door and onto the staircase. I needed to catch my breath, something that was becoming more common. I’d almost had her this time. But somehow, like every time, she went back through the door. Gathering up my willpower and strength, I strode back through the door and into the tower.

There was another door two steps down. That had never happened before. They’d always been a ways away from each other. Sword drawn, I edged into the new door. I found myself at the base of the castle of the previous room. The doors had never lead to the same place before.

The fortress overlooked a small village. It appeared to be a fishing town, with some boats resting on the shore of the sea with nets draped over their edges. Immediately next to the citadel was a small hut with a fire glowing inside. She was sitting on a stool outside, talking to short, plump woman. As I started to sprint towards the hut, a tall Spaniard, dressed like some sort of conquistador, strode up, sabre at his side and all. I stopped just short of the trio, all of whom were apparently oblivious to me.

She was arguing, fighting back. The old woman was forcing a toothless smile, pushing her towards him. He wore a tight-lipped smirk as his hand grasped her arm. The look on her face as his fingers cemented his grip was enough. Screaming, I drew my dull sword and dropped my backpack. And nothing happened. None of them even noticed.

Rage has never been more useless. Pounding, screaming, kicking, swinging. Nothing.

As he started pulling her away a sob of frustration escaped me as I collapsed in exhaustion. So this was failure.

Something like a peal of thunder rolled through my head and all three gasped. The man stared at my sword as he pushed her away, drawing his sabre.

It wasn’t even a classic example of a dual over a lover. As I swung my sword in front of myself to defend my face, I simply kicked his feet out from under him. After that, it was just a matter of rolling quickly towards his sabre and picking it up. I guess I wasn’t as exhausted as I thought.

I stood, holding both blades to his throat, triumphant in my victory over the Spaniard, but more so in the fact that I finally had her. I turned towards her, even more exultant at the look of ecstasy in her eyes.

She ran right through me, like I was a ghost. And as I gaped she leapt into the arms of a tall, blonde man that looked just like me. My arms went limp as she began crooning into my ears — his ears — words of love and thanks. Moving a few feet backwards, I could see the eyes of the Spaniard shift slowly from me to…me, black with hatred.

Perhaps I was never seen. Perhaps I was confused about who drew what sword. Perhaps I am a ghost. Or, perhaps, I am simply cursed.

Behind me, a door creaked. Caught in the hinges was a ragged piece of red cloth. I soaked in one last view of her. Happy in his…my arms. I trudged through the door and continued downwards.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I stared into the water as the sun came up, wondering if I today I would catch the phantoms of what were. Perhaps I was already one of them. No matter. I would always run on.



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10 days till the Realm is done and the Judicator is launched.

The Jolly Old Man

Oh, the jolly old man sits on top of his hill smiling away in his extra large, dirty robe. Oh ho, this plump old man is jolly as he helps all that come his way. Oh, what a jolly old man.

Oh, with legs crossed under that big robe of his, he helps those that come his way. Oh, the Santa Claus of the hills those he helps call him. Oh, and how they need help from this little old man. Oh, these people without arms or hands or fingers or toes or eyebrows. Oh how this plump little man helps them.

Oh, they need to start the climb up the hill, but the jolly ol’ man always gives them a helping hand on the way. Oh, you see, this hill is at the bottom of a range of large mountains. Oh, they are jagged mountains. Oh ho, without the man in the large, dirty robe the people who need help would never make it.

Oh, how he smiles as they reach for his hand. Oh, it’s amazing the legs, shoulders, lips, and hands the jolly ol’ man gives the people as they come his way. Oh, the parts he pulls out of the air for them as h sits cross-legged under that huge robe of his. Oh, it’s almost a dress.

Oh, but if the people knew the truth about this plump and jolly man. Oh, if they only knew why he always sat instead of stood. Oh, if they only checked why he crossed his legs. Oh, and if they only knew why this old man wore such a large robe.

Oh, if the only knew that this old man had no feet. Oh how they would stop coming on their way to the mountains. Oh, no matter how fat and happy this jolly and plump man is; they would not care. Oh, who could trust help from a man with no feet?

And so the jolly, old man hid his feet, cross-legged under his big, brown robe for years.

Oh, and he helped lots of people with problems.

Though Your Soul Can't Be Bought, Your Mind Can Wander

"The more you see the less you know
The less you find out as you go
I knew much more then than I do now"

So yeah...two years ago I was averaging two blog posts a week. They were usually fairly long and in-depth and I always gave them quite a bit of thought. Now, anyone who still reads will notice that I'm lucky to get out a single, paltry post a month. I've had quite a bit of trouble pinning down exactly what it was that changed.

The theory that I subscribe to the most is that I have had a serious perspective and attitude change in the past year or so. The U2 quote I put up gives it quite a nice summary. I began to realize how pathetic my arguments were, how much I *didn't* know, and how little of a desired impact my posts were making.

Sure, in highschool I could take on anyone I wanted in a debate and probably win if I cared enough. Anyone who knows me have decently knows I have trouble avoiding getting sucked into a argument and that I can win it, if only because I'm the only one who'll give a crap. But in the virtual world of the Internet and the real world outside of my small circle of friends, there are a ton of people who could easily toss my arguments to the side. Heck, I lost a debate on abortion a while ago (the judging was screwed though...)

To top it off, I don't know enough. I would have a hard time proving reality, defending covenant theology, bashing pre-millennialism, explaining the best method of getting the U.S. out of 53 trillion in monetary obligations without raising taxes, showing how the Bible was composed without putting in man-inspired scriptures and withholding those that were God-breathed, or convincing Christians that stem-cell research is morally acceptable. I don't want to be debating with highschoolers my whole life - I want to be able to debate a phd now. And win. That's important.

I've wanted to be the best at that sort of thing. Getting the right worldview, the right religion, the right ideology. And getting someone/anyone else there. That beats statistics any day in my book. But I'm not capable of that right now.

My blog has always served as extension of me in that regard. It was never intended to be an online diary, or a personal update on me, or place to post lyrics, even if I have in the past. It was always meant to be a way to cast down arguments that were...wrong. And when it started sinking in that I'm not charismatic, smart, or knowledgeable enough to do that, the desire to post started to wane.

Not that I've given up, mind you. I'm just holding back the onslaught for when I know everything.

At the moment, I'm in more of an observation/commenting state than a posting stage. Once that changes, though, hopefully the Internet will know.

My Annual Prayer Request

Hopefully it will become something of a tradition to have this same prayer request at the same time every year. And, same as last year, I've put off putting this up because I hate asking people for help. But I always come back to the realization that I can't do this without God's help, so I cave into logic and ask for prayer.

Last August I went with a missions team to Guatemala for 8 days or so. This year I am going to Hungary.

I'm going to be teaching kids baseball (which probably means I should brush up on my skills in the next two weeks) at a Word of Life Camp about 40 minutes (or miles...I can't remember) outside of Budapest. Other team members will teaching baseball and English. The goal of the camp counselors...whoa...I'm going to be a counselor...weird...is to use the English classes and baseball practices as bridge to tell the gospel to the kids.

After the mission trip ends (we leave Dallas July 25th and the trip ends August 3rd), Michael, A.J., and I will be staying behind to do some fast paced touring of Hungary, Austria, and Germany. This has our parents pretty well freaked out (sorry 'bout the preposition). We fly out of Frankfurt, Germany on the 11th.

So here are my prayer requests for y'all.

#1: That the team and I will be able to share the gospel effectively, even with a language barrier (though supposedly many of the kids know some English.)

#2: That everyone will be kept safe on the trip.

#3: That God will prepare the people we'll be evangelizing to, and that they will be receptive to the gospel.

#4: That everyone on the team will get along well with each other (I don't foresee this being a problem, but every bit of prayer helps.)

#5: That Michael, A.J., and I won't get lost and stranded in Europe's heartland while we're on our own. And that we'll have a blast.

As an...aside...A.J. somehow has convinced me to go the public bath houses in Budapest with him. The only problem being that only old, fat men in speedos are there. And all they do is play chess. This will be a very interesting trip.

Well,

Two years have come and gone.

One week till the site's up and kicking.