Afterglow.

The days seem to be getting shorter. I can practically feel the dark of the night bleeding in slowly, absorbing the sunlight until each ray has dissipated into an endless sea of navy. A cold and repetitive finale to each 24-hour period. Not only that, but the time itself seems to be moving faster. Noticeably faster.

My dad always used to warn me it would, and now, I know exactly what he meant.

Decisions are swarming in my head like angry bees, some immediate, some impending. I'm stressed beyond any measure I've ever been stressed before. Words cannot actually convey the weight on my shoulders right now, but surprisingly, I've retained that optimistic attitude I've been working on, and I'm handling it well.

To give credit where credit is due and to transition from my cold introduction into my sunny outlook, God has been carrying the majority of the burden, masking all the stuff in my life that should terrify me and force me into the fetal position with constant reminders of His love.

I am so incredibly blessed, so very thankful to be alive.

Read this. It'll do your heart some good:

"The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know Your name trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you."


Psalms 9:9-10

Yesteryear.

If there's anything I've learned over my reflective, two-month anti-writing hiatus, it's that I am, in fact, a very bitter person. I am, truly. But as is with every revelation that manages to get past the denial stage, I'm going to work at it, and I'm going to make it right.

For the past year or so, I've built up quite a load of resentment towards people, not specific people, mind you, but rather, the world as a whole. In fact, for the majority of 2011, I had pretty much determined that I hated people. I was content with my little circle of tolerable individuals, and everyone beyond that was not my problem.

I remember early on in the year, when local elections were being held deciding that, despite being old enough, I wasn't going to vote. I couldn't care less about the national election, let alone any less-important figure heads that felt the need to compete for a position of power that I also couldn't care less about. My parents and I fought about it. They pulled the "it's your right" card, and I responded with the "not voting is also my right" card. It ended with them deeming me un-American and me satisfied that I'd stuck it to the man by showing a complete disinterest in the state of our so-called society.

It really only escalated from there. I left the church that I'd attended practically my entire life, disgusted with the hypocrisy and manipulation that had taken root. All that I'd once held dear and respected, people that I idolized, people that I loved...they were all dead to me. And I was completely and utterly unaffected. Not even Kristen Stewart could have demonstrated the extreme lack of emotion I had at the time. School too became an object of scorn. As far as I was concerned, it was just another nuisance of society that I could live without, so I let my grades slip. I skipped class and knowingly ignored homework assignments. I did just enough to get by. Mediocrity wasn't so bad, I'd decided.

Eventually, I let my anger build, and it filled in all the holes left from the pieces of my life I was cutting out and throwing away. I shut people out, I cut people down, and I became a bitter, negative person. It felt good, to be honest, that feeling of having no obligation to be anything or anyone for anyone, no motivation to improve or be better.

But recently, something has come over me.

I started a daily Bible devotional, and every night, it encouraged that I pray for something I truly needed in my life, so I did. I asked God for the same thing for weeks: clarity. After that, I started changing my attitude, investing my time in other things, and not...hating people. I know that's not really much of an accomplishment, but hey, it's something.

As I progressed through my nightly studies, I became more optimistic, almost sickeningly so. It wasn't like a light switch, on/off change, but it was certainly tangible. At first, I wanted to diagnose myself with some mental/emotional disorder, but now, I'd like to think it was just God doing what He does.

I came across a verse, 1 Peter 1:3, that I've adopted as my life verse for 2012.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ who, according to His abundant mercy, has begotten us again to a living Hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.


Hope. Hope. Hope. What a word.

The verse reminded me that I've got a lot to live for, a lot to be thankful for, and even more to be, well, happy about. It's a far cry from the world-hating cynic I've been lately, and for those of you who've felt the affects of that persona, I'm sorry that I've been such a crap face. Truly though, I'm trying my best, and it will get better with time.

Speechless.

Having been raised in a Southern Baptist family, I’m no stranger to the rhythmic chord progressions of the piano and organ weaving together and creating that nostalgic, “church” sound. Hallelujahs and amens echo through the woodwork of the building, spilling into the outer halls and escaping from the steeple. With voices raised, each member of the congregation sings to the best of his or her ability, making their own “joyful noise unto the Lord.”

As I’ve aged though, I’ve witnessed a gradual departure from the traditional praise and worship of my childhood. Nowadays, especially in my church, we take part in a more contemporary, almost mainstream worship service. Drawing from modern-day pop and rock genres, our music is the evolved product of a new generation. The Strings of a fully-assembled orchestra rise and fall into the resounding, steady tones of the Brass and Woodwind sections, and together, they resuscitate those venerable hymns of yesteryear, restoring them to their former power and glory.

This, I was sure, was the epitome of music, the epitome of praise. Nothing could convey the raw emotion of those songs better than a room full of singing Christian believers, backed by an impressive set of instruments, right?

Actually, no…I was proven wrong.

You see, near the front of our auditorium is a seating area reserved for the hearing impaired. From there, they are able to easily view an interpreter who signs the sermon to them. The interpreter is usually very animated, and naturally, the quiet setting of a Sunday morning preaching makes it almost impossible for me to not occasionally focus on him or her. But recently, I noticed that the interpreter signs throughout our song service as well. Every word of every hymn is expressed through the flowing motion of the interpreter's hands and, even more incredible, expressed through each of the deaf people in the pews.

I watched, literally, speechless as they moved so, so gracefully through the motions of Amazing Grace My Chains are Gone. The words of the hymns coming alive in and through their bodies.

Palms flat, hands raised high, and fingers wavering, I watched a younger woman close her eyes and slowly lower her arms pulling them in close to her chest. She repeated that motion, matching each repetition of the words, “Unending love, amazing grace.”

Despite the glittering orchestra playing on stage and the great choir of voices filling the place, her sign language was the loudest and most beautiful praise I’d ever witnessed. I felt ashamed. How could I harbor some selfish buried resentment for the things I didn't have when this woman lacks so much and yet holds nothing back?

Fighting back tears, I thought to myself: “THAT is worship.” 

I was inspired and humbled and challenged all at once to be like that woman, to not focus on what I don’t have, but to love and praise God with everything I do have, all of me.