wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, pt 5

When one likes a band as much as I like Third Day, it's hard to say a song that is a favourite - for truly they are all favourites. However, sometimes one or two songs leap out - or at least keep being brought up by the subconcious. For me, this song is a frequent one to my head.

Haunting is the word that comes to mind as a descriptor of this track. It immediately resonated within me and stuck upon me, lingering in my mind - even to this day I unexpectedly get it creeping into my consciousness.

This particular song, to me, is a quintessential example of applying a Biblical narrative to our personal lives; the lyrics keep the story poignantly vague in that they remove the story of the Fall from an ancient theo-historical context to a relatable ballad.

We are all idolaters and self-proclaimed gods - even if we do not realise that we've been seeking our own autonomy - and here Third Day simply yet profoundly asks the question of whether we deserve any mercy of the God from whom we are constantly turning away. While the answer is given - it is more than we deserve - the lyrics, like the Biblical story, tell us that it doesn't end with our betrayal: there is in fact hope, despite the reality that we overwhelmingly do not deserve God's grace.

Take these truths, finely craft them into brilliant poetic prose then put them to haunting music and you get one of my favourite songs of all time.


I Deserve? / Third Day // Conspiracy No. 5

well, i tasted the fruit that was forbidden;
i murdered the trust that You had given
and now i'm living in a place
that's not my home.

the pain in Your heart made You regret;
the moment we spoke, did You forget?
will my transgressions bring us all
to our sweet end?

maybe i'm just being too hard
on myself, i don't know.
or is it that Your mercy
is much more than i deserve?

i deserve?

more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

betrayed by more than just a kiss,
i did much more, i must admit.
instead of letting it all end,
You bring new hope . . .

more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

oh, more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)
oh, more than i deserve.
(it's more than i deserve)

oh, more than i deserve -
more than i deserve -
more than i deserve -

more than i deserve.

i deserve . . ?

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, part 4

While browsing through various new artists, I came across this very peculiar band. Their attitude I found brilliant yet odd, to say the least; their style of music was intriguing yet distasteful; their lyrics provocative yet incomprehensible. And I found myself at a point where I was constantly listening to a handful of their songs; ultimately, however, I could not keep doing so - despite their quite obvious talent, I simply could not continue listening to such pure 'emo.'

But there was one song that spoke to me - a song with lyrics so poetic, so beautiful, so moving that it quickly became one of my favourites (it also helped that it was a slightly different song-type than their others).

Matthias Replaces Judas is, in my opinion, profound. It not only illustrates humanity's position before God, but it also captures the mood of my faith so eloquently. In this song, Showbread brings out the emotional overtones of my spiritual journey - for me to listen to it is to inevitably bring tears to my eyes. Accordingly, to truly do the song any justice, I simply cannot say more.
And so I won't.

Matthias Replaces Judas / Showbread // No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical

is it so that my transgressions
have born a withered fruit?
the sun has scorched the rising plans;
alas, they have no root.
the bleached bones of animals,
bound by leather strips,
dance through the air with laughter
as i wield this wicked whip.

as You did warn me, Carpenter,
this world has weakened my heart;
so easily i disparage,
self-seeking the work of my art.
and there You've come to me
at the moment i bathe in my sorrow -
so in love with myself,
saught after avoiding tomorrow.
where do You find the love to offer
he who betrays You?
and offer to wash my feet
as i offer to disobey You?
Your beauty does bereave me,
and how my words do fail;
so faithfully and dutifully
i award You with betrayal.

the weak and the down-trodden
fall on broken legs,
as i walk passed the smile i cast,
fervour in my stead.
my bones like plastic
do buckle backward now.
i lay in this field like Judas
and anticipate the plow.
i cannot be forgiven,
my wages will be paid
for those more lowly and admirable
is least among the saved.
and where would i fit, Jesus?
what place is left for me?
the price of atonement
is more than i've found
to offer as my plea.

Jesus, my heart is all i have to give to You.
so weak and so unworthy,
this simply will not do.
no alabastar jar,
no diamond in the rough;
for Your body that was broken,
how can this be enough?
by me You were abandoned,
by me You were betrayed.
yet, in Your arms
and in Your heart
for ever i have stayed.
Your glory illuminates my life,
no darkness will descend
for You have loved me for ever
and Your love will never end . . .

i'm all that's in the way

The other day, as I was jack-hammering the concrete step to the back door of a customer, a surveyor of some sort came around the corner and asked me, 'Are you the home-owner or just the renovator?'

It took me at least five seconds to answer her.

The process in my head immediately began by acknowledging that I was definitely not the home-owner. But then it hit a tough spot: Am I the renovator or the renovator's assistant? Or merely an employee to the renovator? I knew that to answer I was the renovator's son would be giving an irrelevant designation, but under which other category did I fall?

I drew a blank as I looked around me, mentally clawing for a reply. Even in the moment I was surprised at how difficult it was to answer such a simple question - how strange it was to be at a loss because of one simple enquiry. She gave me two options, why could I not place myself so easily in either one of them?

I eventually stammered out, 'Uh, yah, I'm the renovator,' to which she turned around and left.

Of course I was bothered afterward by my struggle. Was the complicatedness really necessary? Was there a reason for so much confusion in stating my work-position? Was it that I was simply startled out of a focused task by a stranger?

While the element of surprise is valid, I felt it could not be the sole contributor to my strained search.

When I worked at Price Chopper I always had a problem when people asked, 'Where do you keep . . ?,' 'Where are your . . ?,' or 'What are your . . ?' It bothered me that simply because I had a uniform on I was immediately equated with the company - you, your - but I only worked there. I never responded with 'we,' but instead used 'the store' because I didn't want people to make the mistake of thinking I somehow was or belonged to Sobey West's discount supermarket when I was merely an employee.

I wondered whether this same mentality was being brought out here, even as an employee of my own father's company? I concluded that this was true, but where with Price Chopper I hesitated to be interchanged with some mass corporation, with my dad it's that I hesitate to equate my shortcomings, inabilities and lack of knowledge with his work and expertise. Both with Price Chopper and my dad I was reluctant to be recognised as a serious representative for the company - one because I felt it too far removed from myself, the other because I could not allow my inexperience to be expressive of the business.

The fact is, while I am wholly committed I am not entirely devoted. And it was then that I found a direct correlation to that of my faith: Not only do I find that I don't measure up to what a Christian should be, I also do not find that I am utterly dedicated to it. This of course is a bold statement to admit, but it is the honest truth. While in my heart I want to be a Christian man, my actions have borne little if any fruit thereby rendering my best intentions invalid - to consider myself worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven would be blasphemous. I am hesitant to go where I may be lead to go in fear that I will not live up to divine expectations. And so the struggle is to confess my faithfulness when I feel I have become merely a nominal Christian - how could I truly be a citizen of God's Kingdom when I am not by any means an adequate sort of representative, ambassador or example.

Yet, to be a Christian it seems one must simply accept full-heartedly the grace that while we are not and perhaps never can be what we should, we are still accepted, wanted, used and indeed saved. Though I struggle to truly and deeply answer, 'Yes, I am a Christian,' the fact remains that since I have accepted God through His Christ, since I attempt (the key being to attempt, for although I fail I continue the effort) to shape my life around Him and His will, since I try daily to follow God I am of course a Christ-follower.

Even though I know very little in regards to working a renovation job, the truth remains that, in spite of my mistakes and under needed guidance, I am learning, I am trying, and I do in fact get work done; therefore I am a renovator - even as, in spite of my inabilities and under needed grace, I am learning, I am trying, and I do follow; therefore I am a Christian.

Perhaps this is something I will always fight doubt about, but it seems God never fails to somehow show me that I still belong to Him, even if I am a horrible failure - because then I'm simply His horrible failure, His horrible Christian failure - yet somehow He weaves a good from it, even if I can't see it or ever know it, unlike a renovation job where the end result is tangible.

Worthy or not, I am what I am.

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, part 3

Not only is it the title track, but this song also serves as the climax to Dead Poetic's CD, ending the album on a beautiful and raw note. The lyrics are revealing when read carefully as to what Brandon Rike was feeling as he wrote the song - feelings declared in his message on Dead Poetic's MySpace blog (check it out here). Yet, despite this very real basis for these words, I believe on some level we all can relate to it - at least I certainly can.

People tend to form certain expectations as a result of what they hope. We define, we declare and anticipate by our own biases, not realising what is truly going on beyond what we want to see - we blind ourselves to the truth while we watch with hopeful eyes to see our desires fulfilled. Like young children who worship their parents, we look upon others with the expectations that arise from the demands we place upon them - when it is not necessarily the case that these people are as perfect, as holy and as wonderful as we would like them to be.¹ The same of course goes for parents who believe their children are as perfect as they hope - or other family members or even friends who create certain ideas based on notions, traditions and beliefs. But we're all human, and we all have our vices - we all have our faults, inadequacies, and failures.

We may never live up to others' expectations, or even for that matter our own, but there is peace in knowing that we are not alone. In fact, Christ is quite familiar with the struggles we go through and the vices we face; He is not one to blame us for our faults - He redeems us in the midst of them - even when we try to push Him out. In our darkest hours, He is our strength and remains our Lord, our Saviour, our friend.

Vices / Dead Poetic // Vices

feeling cold,
feeling empty.
set the stage
where you want me.
and this crowd
right before me
doesn't care
that i'm dying.

and the audience
stands with their eyes fixed
on a preconceived
version of me.
i'm so betrayed by your hopes,
but i
will not hide myself
for your peace of mind.

oh, but child,
i've got vices like any other man.

raise a boy
to a cynic,
take his love
and then let it
turn into
something passionate,
something sick,
something rabid.

and i vent
to keep myself from caving.
i don't hate you,
i just hate where i'm headed.
i'm left here asking
when did i trade in
my bleeding heart
for a selfish win?

oh, but mother,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think less of me.

leave me numb,
leave me jaded;
she's the dream,
i just play dead.
i've been blessed,
i've been hated;
she's the constant
and i'm her addict.

she's the only peace
in this world uneasy
while i bite my tongue
to keep from breaking
the heart that i
spent my whole life seeking -
the only heart
i've ever needed.

oh, but lover,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think.
oh, but lover,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that you're not used to;
vices that'll make you think less of me.

less of me . . .

feeling cold,
feeling empty;
i am low,
unworthy.
bleed the god,
bleed the blessing -
like a vulture,
feasting.

i'll resist
as if i don't feel conviction
of my ignorance
to my perfect prison;
but i feel the stabs
on my wrists and ankles
every time i try
to forget You.

to forget You . . .

oh, but Jesus,
i've got vices like any other man.
vices that You're so used to,
vices that won't make You think less of me . . .




1. This of course is not to say that I don't think my parents are wonderful, amazing parents - I love them so terribly - but they're still only human and have learned, despite many surprises, not to expect anything more than human.

i'm not the sheep

I have an intense love-hate relationship with Lyra, the cat I'm taking care of. And by intense I mean seriously zealous and over-the-top. This cat invokes of me the worst anger, wrath and impatience while simultaneously taunting out a protective, caring, and almost fatherly part of my being. One hour may see me get furious at her for doing something she shouldn't, sending her running to hide in guilt and fear; the next could find me laying down next to her on the floor, scratching everywhere she likes it and making sure she's contented. Indeed, I may pull her by the collar from under my bed in rage, literally throw her in her box and shut it closed; but I also will pick her up and scratch her belly - even nuzzle noses and chins - while cradling her in my arms.

No matter how many times I shove her off of beds and chairs, bat her for being bad, and shout at her how stupid she is Lyra never hesitates to come to my feet begging for attention; or to jump on my lap and nuzzle my face, rubbing my cheek with her paw; or to follow me around the house, whatever it is I may be up to.
It's a strange thing we have going on. It makes me laugh and it makes me annoyed; it makes me wonder why I did this and it makes me want to keep her. I hate her - I do. Yet I'm fairly certain that I quite like her.

A few Sundays ago I heard a sermon which has stuck with me throughout the week - that is, something in particular the pastor said has made some kind of lasting impression. The text for the sermon was John 10 and the focus was on Jesus as the Good Shepherd. In particular, verses 14-15 were central insofar as the relationship between us and Christ is shown to exist. He knows us and we know Him - He speaks and we know His voice. We belong to Him. It was likened to the relationship we may have with a pet.

I laughed that off. Such an analogy certainly couldn't apply to me - if it did, I'd be worried. Sure, Lyra somehow by now knows who I am and perhaps even knows my voice, but I hate her - I merely tolerate her. I chase her in rage, I lock her in boxes, I forcefully bat her away, I throw her, I shout at her. . . I get so furious and annoyed at her that I don't even want her near me sometimes. And that's supposed to be how God is toward me? I certainly hope not - I'd have no chance.

Okay, so maybe it can't apply to me because she isn't really my pet - I'm only taking care of her for the time being. That undoubtedly should break down the analogy. Except for the fact that after over a month she feels as though she is in fact mine. And I haven't quite been able to let this image go. Maybe I don't entirely hate her - I do enjoy playing with her, and when I'm in the mood I don't mind at all nuzzling and scratching her. So there's hope. But does that mean God is moody? Doesn't that then make His love conditional?

Maybe I'm taking it all too seriously; maybe I'm drawing it too close to my heart.

As I lay in bed readying for a nap with Lyra lying on my stomach as close to sleep as me, a thought struck: Perhaps for me it's the other way around; perhaps for me Lyra stands in for God's place in my life, instead of her representing me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this may be more-or-less the case. Perhaps the way I treat Lyra is in fact at times the way I treat my Lord. I admit, I haven't been so gracious toward Him - and as of late, I think I've acted more negatively toward Him than positively - neglecting, shrugging Him off, ignoring, doubting... As far as a Lyra comparison, God does seem to do things I don't completely understand, things that seem strange and confusing. Sometimes it makes me annoyed, sometimes it makes me angry; but sometimes I'm delighted, and sometimes I'm pleased - even excited on occasion. There are times I push Him away, I'm not in the mood and times I shout at Him; other times I beg for His attention, His affection, His pleasure. Sometimes I don't want Him to get into everything; other times I need Him. And try as I may I can't tell God what to do.

Yet despite my moodiness He always comes back to me with a love I don't understand and a love I question the basis of. He gives me affection and love and His presence, His grace new every day and every moment - as if He's forgotten that I turned my back on Him, neglected Him, been angry at Him. He actually seeks to be with me - He loves me - even though I can sometimes be distant, hostile, grumpy and doubtful. His love doesn't end and it doesn't change - it's always there and unconditional. He may not say it with words, but He acts it out. And He knows me - and He loves me. And I just don't know why.

So, fittingly, I end these musings with a cat on my lap, hugging me and attempting to kiss me with her nose, pawing at my cheek and purring in contentedness - and I like her. Yes, I do like her - even though an hour ago she incredibly annoyed me (and I may have even told her that I hated her). This cat has made Romans 1:20 ring true: For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse (NASB).

I have a strange relationship with Yahweh, the God who takes care of me. And by strange I mean it takes a dive through the valley and it also flies above the clouds. But I do trust Him, and if I look closely I can see that He has been, that He is, and that He always will be faithful to His Word - and I have nothing to worry about. He is the Lord, our God, King of the universe and He has provided more than I deserve - including and especially His favour, His love. I may not always recognise it, but every once in a while I see it and I feel so blessed.

wordy wisdom: inspirational lyrics, pt 2

By virtue of its title, my brother declared this song as my theme. When I bought the CD in 2001 it was at a time when my answer to any question would often be, 'I don't know.' I did this for various reasons, but mostly as a way to avoid something I didn't want to talk about - either because I was still thinking it through or that I simply didn't feel like talking. It was an arbitrary labelling on my brother's part, but upon listening to the song (while of course reading along to the lyrics), I came to relate with what Mac Powell was saying, what he had written in some moment of spiritual doubt.

His words resonate within me now as much as they did then for the issue of salvation is an ever constant struggle. This song raises questions for me which are quite relevant to my faith journey - and I could only imagine with those of the spiritual positions each of us are in.

I Don't Know / Third Day // Come Together

cannot find the words to say i'm sorry;
don't know how to show You i was wrong.
i wasted all that You had given to me
and now i'm left with nothing and noone.

and i find
it's my fault -
i'm the only
one to blame
for the tears
and the pain.

well, i don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through,
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.

all my life has lead to this decision,
to return and ask You this one thing:
if i had one chance or if a million,
would it ever be enough for me

to explain
what i've done?
now i know that
i was wrong.
will You hold
me again?

well, I don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through,
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
what will it take until You forgive me?
i don't know . . .

i don't know.

and i find
it's my fault -
well, i'm the only
one to blame
for the tears
and the pain.

well, i don't know what i could say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
well, i don't know what i can say -
or would it matter anyway -
'cause i don't know how You could still forgive me.
for all that i have put You through
is there anything that i can do?
i would give my life to find Your mercy.
what will it take until You forgive me?
oh Lord, will i find that You have already?
i don't know . . .

i don't know.
i don't know.
i don't know . . .

mandolin boy and ravioli head, pt 2

It seems that I am itching to write essays - and I believe that comes as a result of not being in any classes this school year. But have no worries, today I feel I should break the seriousness with another comic - just for the fun of it.

This particular one is based on a conversation I had, again, with Daniel (Mandolin Boy). We were at the park playing catch with our football - as we used to do so many times throughout the summer - trying to decide what to have for a snack and then I realised it: if I were edible I would probably have eaten myself a long time ago.

I don't expect anybody to understand our humour. I hope you find some enjoyment out of it regardless!