Blog Slacker (part two)

•November 16, 2009 • Leave a Comment

In the further spirit of recounting the things I should have blogged, but I failed to…

For approximately 12 years I have had an unfulfilled life goal. On October 18th, 2009 that all changed. That is the day I finally saw U2 live in concert. That is the day that I was within four feet of Bono, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen, Jr.

Needless to say, the concert was epic. The hours of musical bliss more than made up for the eight hours of standing.

This is the setlist from the show:
Breathe
Get on Your Boots
Magnificent
Mysterious Ways*
Beautiful Day
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
Stuck In A Moment
No Line on the Horizon
Elevation
In A Little While
Unknown Caller
Until The End of the World
Unforgettable Fire
City of Blinding Lights
Vertigo
I’ll Go Crazy – Remix
Sunday Bloody Sunday*
MLK
Walk On
One
Where The Streets Have No Name
Ultraviolet
With or Without You
Moment of Surrender

Before the concert, Stephanie and I were sitting down for lunch and discussing what we wanted to hear them play, if we could pick the songs. Of all the songs we listed, the only two they didn’t play were Bad and Miracle Drug. That’s pretty freaking awesome. I put an asterisk by Mysterious Ways because that’s the song I’ve sung to John Mark ever since he was in the womb. I put and asterisk by Sunday Bloody Sunday because that was my top, no. 1 song that I wanted them to play (and when Larry began to strike that unmistakeable beat on the drums my head nearly exploded from overexposure to awesome).

They put on a show like none other and they really try to make everyone in the stadium feel as if  they are a part of something. Best concert ever.

I took some (shaky) pics with my phone – enjoy!

BonoThe EdgeBonoAdamLarry

Blog Slacker (part one)

•November 9, 2009 • 1 Comment

So, obviously I have taken an unintentional sabbatical from blogging for the month of October, and some of November. Lame, I know.

To make amends I will give an overview of what you missed (that’s why you came isn’t it?)

And in tribute to a growing trend on my blog, I will do this in multiple posts (part 1, 2, etc.)

En Fuego (That’s Spanish for, “On Fuego”) – This is the leadership retreat that I take the 7th and 8th grade students from church on every year. (Rather, they go every year. This is only my second time. I wonder what threshold you have to pass to be comfortable saying you do something every year/month/day. Three repetitions? Four? Definitely not two.)

I had a stretching weekend because I had to lead worship for the first time since I started working at HHBC and I had to lead three times during the weekend. It was like Chinese water torture on my fingertips (from the guitar strings). It’s okay if you think, “Hey, I had no CLUE Micah could sing! Or play the guitar… or lead worship in any kind of competent manner (a claim which I have not made).” None of the students had any idea that I lead worship either. They were, in unison, shocked. I guess they haven’t yet picked up on that whole hippy rock-star vibe I’ve been pushing out… strange that…

The weekend was great. I think the kids learned a bit (largely because Pierson taught two of the sessions for me), and some of them grew alot as well. For me, leading worship stands out for the simple reason that I was forced to do something which, five or six years ago, was a huge part of my life, but has since fallen to a passing hobby. In high school and in college I lead worship as often as I could, and at some points three times a week. I almost took a job at a church leading worship (I don’t think I’d have like it). At one time early in college I was saving up to record songs with a friend of mine to put out as a single – a prospect which seems both preposterous and unappealing now.

This has captured my attention because it means that I have changed… significantly. I have morphed. If my persona five years ago could have been represented in a physical manifestation and compared to who I am today, the resemblance would be familiar, but hardly identifiable.

This idea has set me to pondering. My goals in life have gone largely unchanged in the past five to ten years. Some have become more focused, for instance, I now know the wife and child to whom I strive to be committed and to love, while I hadn’t met either of them before (but nonetheless it was my goal to love them well). Some peripheral goals have been (thankfully) abandoned (the whole CD single idea). But in large, my purposes and goals have remained unaltered, but perhaps refined.

I used to casually regret that I don’t lead worship often any longer. Now I think I can find some joy knowing that my hobbies/activities/service have become less “full’, while my life has become more “fulfilling”. I am more focused on pursuing what I believe God has called me to do (Revealing the truth), while I am less extended into other (still worthwhile) things.

I love that I had a chance to serve in leading worship for so many years. The thought of doing so occaisionally is still appealing to me. But in large, I am content to look back at that with nostalgia, and no remorse for having left it behind. I pray that God will remain faithful in refining me and removing the dross of my life and I will be continually resurrected with increasing purity.

Aged Six Years (pt. 3)

•September 22, 2009 • Comments Off

I’ll put these old poems to rest for a bit after this one. This one is kind of a downer, but I like the rhythm in it . There’s kind of a systematic break and halt to it, and the lines are short, with singular thoughts in each stanza. So, I hope, you kind of get the picture and empathize, construct the whole idea around the emotion and scene. P.S. WordPress is not friendly to line breaks and text formatting. P.P.S. go to Rodor’s blog and tell her what you think love is: rodors.wordpress.com

Copyright 2003, All rights reserved.

A Man Sits Quietly

A man sits quietly in the garden,
Tries desperately to sit with grace,
His hands clasped, his heart broken

His brow is naked in the sun
He makes no effort to quell the rays,
A man sitting quietly in the garden

With every moment his eyes darken
His lips quiver in pitiful ways
His hands clasped, his heart broken

Here and there tears freely run
Down his sun-hardened face,
A man sitting quietly in the garden

He’s locked in a nightmare, He can’t awaken
Eyes pressed shut, he prays
His hands clasped, his heart broken

His love, she is gone, distant and fallen
He mourns lowly now in this place,
A man sitting quietly in a garden
His hands clasped, his heart broken

Aged Six Years (pt. 2)

•September 11, 2009 • Comments Off

Let’s go with something different this time… Copyright 2003, all rights reserved.

Limericks

Unable to miss the huge puddle
He sat in the water befuddled
Bewildered and drenched
Eyes shut and fists clenched
Embarrassed and wet and muddled

One evening while crossing the road
I was hindered mid-stride by a toad
“Please stop, oh my gosh!
My face you will squash!”
I ignored him and he did explode

Is a parrot really a bird?
So talented in quoting word
Useless for frying
Too caged up for flying
Its nature is hopelessly blurred

Aged Six Years (pt. 1)

•August 28, 2009 • 1 Comment

I recently found some poetry that I wrote about six years ago, some of which are probably the best I have written – though hopefully not the best that may come. Here is one of my favorites out of all the poems I have written. Assuredly, I have works with better wording, better meter or structure, but this one I feel does a very good job of completing a climatic thought within the poem. At least I hope it does for you too… Copyright 2003, all rights reserved.

Naiad in Moonlight

Her hair drips sapphire raindrops
Into the pool of the brook beneath her
She gazes calmly at her reflection
Though it is hazy and fraught with ripples

She brushes the soaking strands
Of flaxen hair from her face
It sparkles with the moonlight
White and gilded

Softly she slides her fingers
Through the rolling water
With her head gently resting
On a moss laden stone

Her hand cupped,
She lifts high the water
Letting it crash back down
Slowly from her palm

With a quiet laugh
Her delight is fulfilled and
She stands with streams cascading
Down her body onto the ground

She lowers herself into the water
First the pale, pure feet
And she sinks into the current
Until it wraps around her waist

Her body glistens and grows faint
Like a mist into the water
And her spirit is carried
Down the river vein