Young man, there's no need to feel down.

For the past several months, I've been a fairly active member at the local Y.M.C.A.

Besides working out, there's really not much else to do there. However, a few of the people there have proven to be almost as entertaining as a reality television show. While I don't know them personally, I've been around them enough to recognize their weird, disturbing, and/or questionable behavior.

One guy, I call him Coach, is the type of dad who lives vicariously through his children. Clipboard in hand, Coach drags his tubby son, who is all of 10 years old, to the gym with him and proceeds to bark orders at him.

"TEN MORE REPS!"

"KEEP YOUR CHIN UP!"

Honestly, I'm not certain what this small child could possibly be training for. A place on the T-ball team, perhaps? It's funny, but I don't think I've ever seen Coach get on a machine himself. I hear he's in the running for the Father-of-the-Year award.

The next person, a little black woman, is probably the most intimidating Raquetball player I've ever encountered. Donning her blue tinted goggles and her imported, ivory-handled raquet, she goes onto the court and literally dominates every person brave enough to face her. She's known for deafening her opponent with a high-pitched battle cry right before she scores. You can practically hear her from the street outside.

One of her more recent victims, my dad, makes it a point to avoid her for fear that she might ask him to play her again. She's that good, no joke.

And last, but not least, there's Reading Man. Every week, he comes wearing the same shirt, a Y.M.C.A. member tee from the 70s, and every week, he follows the same routine. I'm convinced he's been lying to his wife for years, telling her that he's going to work out. But he doesn't come for the exercise.

In truth, he's sat on just about every machine in the facility. However, he's never actually used one the way it's intended. Reading Man does just what his name says, he reads. He sits on an elliptical for 10 to 20 minutes with the latest issue of Time, then nonchalantly heads over to a stairmaster with the newspaper, and finally, to appear as if he's been exercising, takes a minute or two to stretch and head over to the magazine rack again.

It's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.
...read at the Y.M.C.A.

Heartbeat.

Ordinarily, I don't go psychoanalytical on people. I don't delve deep into the mind in search of answers to questions. Basically, I'm not the philisophical type.

But recently, I slipped up and paused, just for a moment, to consider the sheer complexity of life. Not life as in daily events and schedules but an actual living thing. This came about when my mom was cleaning out my brother's closet the other day, and amidst the pile of various items, there was a stethescope. After a few minutes, curiousity got the best of me, and I did something I hadn't done in years.

I listened to my heartbeat.

And following the theme of every other experience I've ever had, I was both humbled and overwhelmed.

Considering the fragility of a life, of my life, truly can't be expressed through words. God created every living, breathing thing with a precision and intricacy that cannot be duplicated. A life cannot come into existence without His consent.

As humans, we may try to exalt our kind above every other creature. We may think foolishly that we control the earth and all things on it. We may even make breakthroughs which give us a false sense of power, breakthroughs in science or medicine which extend our years and strengthen our bodies, but we will never, we can never obtain the life-giving power of Christ.

Through His power alone, each heart continues to beat.

Why speaking audibly is important.

Earlier today, my friends and I had this conversation. It really happened. No lie.

Keep in mind, this all took place in our church's parking lot...and within earshot of several church members:


Me: "Ready to go? We gotta be back in like 30 minutes."

Friend 1: (to Friend 2) "Hold up. You got some leafage on your windshield."

Friend 2: (laughing) "Get it off!"

Me: "She has 'cleavage' on her car? I don't think that's possible."

Friend 1: (yelling) "Oh my Lord, I did NOT say 'cleavage'! She has LEAVES on her car!"


I have a feeling not very many people will want to shake our hands Sunday morning.

Express Yourself.

I don't talk about it much, but I'm a pretty decent piano player.

Often at times, people who play instruments are shortchanged, but I've come to appreciate and respect those who claim mastery of an instrument...something which I doubt I will ever truly be able to achieve.

In actuality, playing an instrument requires just as much precision, speed, and all-important practice as any sport. It's almost like martial arts on a smaller scale.

Almost all of the senses are involved in piano: seeing the music on the page and accurately reading it, touching the keys in the correct sequence, hearing each note and piecing together the full sound. Each aspect is vital to the success of the whole.

At first, I was extremely reluctant to learn piano. My parents practically had to drag me to the lessons and force me to practice during the week. I hated sitting in front of that black and white monster everyday. It was intimidating, and of course, comparing myself to the grand masters didn't help my case. I looked upon Bach with spite...to a degree, I still do.

But in time, I grew more comfortable with the piano. Even to the point where I actually liked it.

Playing an instrument has provided me with an outlet of sorts, an entirely new and unique way to express my feelings. Piano has become, more or less, an extention of myself. The road my have been long and difficult, but honestly, I'm grateful for it.

Stretch.

Being the white Yao Ming has it's advantages and disadvantages. Like my inability to touch my toes.

I can't help it. They're just really freaking far away.

So, I decided to try yoga, or "yogurt" as the Wii Fit trainer calls it. Perhaps a video game isn't the best way to improve my flexibility, but it beats $30 a session at the YMCA.

For those of you who haven't seen or experienced yoga, it's basically like playing Twister by yourself. And, in my case, playing Twister by yourself...and losing.

Although, I'm starting to worry about my well being seeing that the trainer is obviously a distant relative of Gumby, that or master a contortionist. Thinking about it now, each of the trainers, while technically virtual, had to have been modelled after real, living people. A fact that is terrifying in and of itself.

I see ice in my future. Lots and lots of ice.

Slogans.

*My cousin and brother are sitting on the couch playing Wii*

Brother: "That Japanese guy sounds like he's saying, 'Sexy in a can!'"

Cousin: (laughing) "He does!"

*They continue to repeat the phrase, laughing hysterically*

Me: "That could be the next Axe slogan. It's like spray on sexy."

Brother and Cousin: "Yeah!"

We're totally gonna be rich.

Zone.

I, like many people, have a zone. A metaphorical boundary line encompassing my thoughts, my feelings, etc.
Very few have ever been given the opportunity to enter my zone.

Very few people will ever enter my zone.

My mind, at times, becomes overwhelmed with its contents, and naturally, feels the need to dump them. At said point in time, I may confide in an individual (or multiple individuals). But until said point in time, it is unwise to make any attempt at infiltrating it.

The zone, which is an Existentialist concept, is a healthy defense mechanism that keeps emotions under wraps and allows man to solve the many dilemmas and mysteries of life, to a degree, on his own. Some people call it "pondering your thoughts" or "planning." It's somewhat of a decision-making process.

I happen to be an avid thought ponderer. I like to consider every possible scenario before moving to action, and I like to do so alone. Obviously, prayer goes into each consideration as God Himself is the only person, besides myself, who is freely allowed access to my zone. So far, I haven't lost my sanity. At least entirely. And honestly, I feel it's my choice as to how I deal with my problems. But apparently, I missed a memo.

Apparently, I should openly discuss my issues and inner struggles on a regular basis with people near and dear to me because they all require a constant stream of information regarding my problems. Not that I question their motives, they're just "trying to help" or some crap. But I don't neccessarily feel it's always their place to know things. I don't always feel comfortable talking to certain people about certain things.

I personally feel it's easier to talk to my guy friends sometimes over my girl friends, and in some cases, I feel it's easier to talk to a family member. And sometimes, I just don't want to talk about it. The only people who need to know are me and God. Period.

Besides the last time I checked, 1 Peter 5:7 says I should cast all my cares upon God.

If you're truly concerned about me, you'll be there when I need you. Ganging up on me, backing me into a corner, and demanding I pour my soul out to you definitely isn't a way to go about helping me, but evidently, I'm in the wrong for not responding positively to it.

"But we're worried about you." Why? You have nothing to worry about.

Here, let me put your worry to rest...

• I'm not on any type of narcotic neither legal or illegal.
• I've never participated in a crime big enough to be considered a felony.
• I've never killed anyone, nor do I kill people for a living.
• I am not currently, nor have I ever been an exotic dancer.

See? Nothing to hide. Air cleared. Case closed. Fin.

The pen is mightier than...

A few days ago, I was given a glorious, shining opportunity to utter the cosmic words, "I told you so." But strangely enough for the first time in my life, I didn't take advantage of it.

As much as I wanted to cram it down my idiotic (former) friend's throat, I didn't. I couldn't. Some people are just so helplessly lost that depriving them of that last ounce of dignity seems criminal. This was one of those cases.

I could have sat down and listed every single thing that I was right about, made a chart of how this person's ignorance has grown over the years, and blatently revealed every horrible, awful thought I've ever had about them. And believe me, I wanted to. I wanted so badly to emotionally destroy this person for all of the crap they've done and put me through. All the crap that I warned them about, that others warned them about. However, something held me back.

Pity, perhaps? Self-control? God?

Honestly, I believe the prior friendship we had was the solitary force clamping my teeth down on my tongue, but there's no telling the true reason behind my actions.

Such opportunities as this don't come around often, and I completely missed this one. I just couldn't justify it. I still can't. Merely thinking of how much devestation I could've caused makes me feel horrible. Although I didn't do anything, I could have, and I came very close to doing so.

But holding back, I believe, was the right choice. Considering the massively different outcomes each choice would've produced is mind-blowing.

And through this experience, I am again reminded of the unrivaled power...

...of words.

Movin' on up.

I'm collegiate, officially.

And despite the impending flood of stress and emotion these next four years are going to throw at me, I think I might just be ready.

I've straightened things out, and God's got my back on this. I'm sure of it this time.

UTK, hit me with your best shot.

Lost.

I can't shake this feeling that I'm lost.

Lately, everything that I do has some element of uncertainty attached to it. I don't know what my goals are, I don't know what my future holds, and I am most definitely lacking in the faith department right now. I'm sick to my stomach just considering how incredibly lost I am.

God has always been there for me, directing my life in the way which I thought it was supposed to go. Now, I'm not so sure. I don't really know who I am, nor who I want to be. For the longest time, I've done what I felt was neccessary to succeed, to survive. Never once have I considered what I need to thrive. Which, I'm certain, God has laid out for me.

But I'm all talk, or all text as it were. I can sit here and reiterate again and again the importance of trusting in Christ. I can make it bold, put it in italics, underline it, and color it pink, but at the end of the day I will still be a backslidden hypocrite who doesn't take the time to consider how inevitably true the words on this page are. I'm decieving myself by saying I'll practice what I preach, by saying I'll change.

In all actuality, I'll brush it aside and feel no remorse.

This can't go on any longer. It has to stop. I have to face the inescapable truth that regardless of what I say, 90% of the time, I'm doing what David wants. Not what God wants. This hole inside of me is going to continue to eat away at me, not because I don't have God, but because I've pushed Him away. So very far away.

My relationship with Christ has gradually fallen down my priority list, and I realize now that it should be my number one priority. Nothing is greater, higher, or more important than His presence in my life. I need it now more than ever. Because honestly, without it, I'm alone.

Outside of God, I have nothing to offer this world, and this world has nothing to offer me. For what would it benefit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?