I feel so under-creative right now, it’s almost laughable.

Here I sit, imbibing the goodness of a local coffee shop, listning to some good tunes, and trying desperatly to write a “script” for a stations of the cross experience happening on good Friday. Even with deadlines my creative spark remains under a basket, or possibly behind the fridge. I’m never quite sure what’s to be found back there.

Allow me to navel gaze for a moment. Creativity is much more than something that a muse blesses me with every mow and then. For me, it is a sign of health. It means I am thinking clearly, reading well, and hopeful about my life and the world in which I live. Being creative feels like breathing, and I hold my breath far too long far too often.  So, this bout of under-creativity isn’t just making me sweat over project deadlines or feel dense… it’s making me feel as if I am turning blue and about to pass out.

You think I’m over exaggerating?

Maybe I am just crazy… I mean manic-depressive crazy, not just “I’m overthinking this aren’t I” crazy.

Anyways, enough of this belly button examination. All I ever find there is blue lint anyways. And why is it blue? I ware black or white tee-shirts. Where does the blue come from?

Changing gears…

I’m heading to Portland for a week in about a week. Really looking forward to this trip. One of my days up there, I am going to have coffee with Bob Hyatt, and pick his brain about Evergreen, emerging church, and what ever else I find to ramble on about.

(To tell the truth, I’m kind of star struck with the guy. But don’t tell anyone; I don’t want him to think I’m a stalk-ish fan boy or anything… cuz I’m not… promise… ok, now I feel awkward.)

Ok, so enough of this rambeling session. I will leave you with one question: If scripture is meant to point us to Christ and we are replacing the reading of scripture with more announcements , more video illustrations, and more music from the band, what are we actually pointing to?

Kind of scary,ain’t it.

I lie next to you,
watching you sleep,
Hearing our breath fall into sync
And I love it.

For a million hours
I could star at the celling
Never thinking of leaving;
Your next to me.

A soft face pictures capture so well
now inches sway from these waiting lips.
Softly I kiss
This lovely image in my care.

There is this nifty e-zine called Next Wave that I have been enjoying for a few months. It’s all about church and culture. The March issue is up, and it features an article by yours truly (Aaron Smith). Go check out the whole publication.

I guess someday I will see,
just like the old men said to me.
So will it all look the same?
Will it finally look like a normal life?

Here in these moments
that take years to accomplish
I find myself at a loss for words,
or maybe just wishing someone was around to hear
that feeling alone always makes me tired.
But they are all gone,
the ears and eyes that use to pay
so much time to give attention.
And I have nothing left to give, or lose.
So maybe the old men are sane
saying that “it all ends up the same.
A little bit of laughter a midst these scattered tears
and next thing you know, you’ve passed through many years.
And finally you will see
that for now you’re young.”
But still I feel alone
and this silence keeps coming on.

All these stuttering words that I pray
get lost in the clouds today
and the rain returns them to me.
Has heaven closed it’s door?
Then why do I feel alone?
Am I just to young to be asking these sort of things?
I have youth and life, and shouldn’t be this afraid.
But still I am
and still… I need a friend.
As for girls, my heart is broken hard
and so now I try to keep this one in my arms
but still the while trying to keep the wonder new.
The men with their coffee
say, “I’ve been there the same
so let an old one help you with the game”,
proceeding to explain my very life to me.
And I’m still asking God to pierce the rain
and be close to me.

My life is just like his life,
and just like his life the story goes.
Can I see the now thorough olden eyes
and learn to see ordinary majesty?
And learn to see
time going on.

I guess someday I will see,
just like the old men said to me.

I’ve got some stuff percolating in my head, stuff about social justice, baptism, eschatology and the like. As soon as I get some time to sit and sort em out I’m sure I’ll get a decent blog post up. Life and work just keeps getting in the way.

Anyways, here is a thought to keep your attention until I get such time:
Jesus’ call to “come and follow” isn’t a call to be a social revolutionary. Rather, it is a call to believe His vision of the Kingdom of God and to begin to live a life of hope that the kingdom is here and is coming.

What say you?

Slowly,
my heart starts to hurt.
A continuation that years of distraction
merely delayed.

Some vague memory stirs
the pit that my soul feels.
Some face brings back
what I hoped could forget…
those that I hoped would forget.
Are they the someones I forgot?

Sweet Lover,
hold my soul.

Why is it that we want to blame American culture for our broken tendencies?

As soon as we start talking about faith, the statement seems to always arise: “You know, God wants us to just trust Him and rely on his timing. Its hard, but… you know the blessings are there. We just need to keep on trusting.” Then, the conversation goes on to how hard it is to trust… because if the distractions we have in America.

Why can’t we just say that it is hard to trust? If we believe that we truly are broken, then sometimes its not about external excuses. It is the sin nature in me, my own brokenness, that stands in my way of trusting the one who can heal me.