Random Thoughts of a Scattered Mind

The Worst Day of Frank Cumby's Life Chapter 3

2011-05-18T16:39:00.000-07:00

My dear and patient reader,

As you may remember from chapter one of Frank Cumby’s story, the now 52-year old Frank was 23 when he found out that the love of his life was pregnant with his son, whom they would name Matthew. Okay, I can almost see you rolling your eyes from here, so let’s just get one thing out of the way right now. If you’ve followed this story so far you already know that Frank is a terribly bitter, ugly shell of man now, working a job he hates and leading a soulless existence. And here we are, talking about the love of his life, his soon to be son, and how great of a guy Frank was back then. I know what you are thinking. We’re about to (predictably) find out that Frank’s son was born with a terminal illness or that his wife died during pregnancy. And, of course, that caused Frank to turn bitter. No, my intelligent but misinformed reader, none of that is the case at all. You see, Frank’s wife and child were not taken from him. He was taken from them.

The defining moment, the transformation of Frank, happened while Frank’s beautiful wife was very healthy and still very pregnant. Frank was working as a young editor for Life and Music Today magazine, and he had taken off work a few hours early on this particular Tuesday to be with his wife. It was only a ten minute drive home, but Frank would never make it there, and the following events would change his life forever. Before I get to those events, maybe I should mention that it could be more appropriate to say that Frank’s choice to ignore the following events is what would change his life forever. But that seems awfully hard on poor old Frank.

It all started when Frank was walking through the parking deck behind his office. He reached into his pocket to grab his car keys but came up empty. Frank was a very careful young man, and he was absolutely certain that he had his keys in his pocket all day. It was enough to send chills down Frank’s spine when he saw his keys, with their distinctive Matthew 22:37-39 engraved cross key chain still attached, lying directly in the middle of his car seat.

Frank eventually got tired of beating on all four of his locked doors, swallowed his pride, and called security for help. After what felt like an hour long ordeal in carefully constructed humiliation, Frank was in his car and on the way home to his wife. He was no more than a mile into his trip when he thought he heard a faint voice say: “No, Frank.” It was enough to make him swing his head around to the back seat to see who was there. No one was. “I must be losing my mind,” he nervously chuckled aloud. Further down the road, Frank heard the voice again, this time much clearer and louder: “NO, Frank.” He could no longer ignore it. “God? I don’t know what is going on, but I need to get home to my wife. I know you wouldn’t say no to that. Please don’t.” Frank was a very spiritual man, but the only thing he could focus on at this moment was his wife and his soon to be family. They were everything to him.

When Frank got on Highway 63, the sign was flashing “Exit 139 closed.” 139 was Frank’s exit. When Frank got to the exit, however, he realized that it was not closed at all. Perhaps a glitch with the sign? (Hey reader, are you picking up on the not-so-subtle clues yet? Turn back Frank! Idiot! What are you doing?!) Turning off his exit, stopped at the traffic light, Frank was startled by a tall slender man in a sharp black suit.

The man started knocking on Frank’s window. He was standing in the middle of the street, wearing dark sunglasses and a sheepish grin. The man looked something like an anorexic FBI agent. He flashed some sort of badge on the window and motioned for Frank to roll down his window. As Frank lowered his window, he realized just how sickly this man looked. The man did not say a word, but Frank nervously fumbled through his wallet for his license. As Frank was looking down into his wallet, the man reached through the window and grabbed both of Frank’s shoulders and began to shake him violently. Frank could see that the man in the black suit was smiling, his teeth rotten and brown. His breath smelled of decay and dirt. Frank tried fighting back, knocking the man’s sunglasses off. He had yellow, glassed over eyes. Clearly the man was blind, yet each of his eyes stared directly at Frank. In the midst of the struggle, the man knocked Frank’s head against the side of the car door. Everything went black.

Frank woke up in the same clothes he was in before his struggle with the man in the black suit, without a scratch anywhere on him. The man was gone, and nothing seemed to be missing. Even the keys were left in the car, sans key chain. The cross key chain...it was the only item missing. Frank was still in the center of Carmichael street off of exit 139, but everything seemed a little different. There was an odd yellowish haze to the sky, the ground, the buildings... to everything. Frank pulled out his cell phone. First he called his wife. The operator said the number did not exist. Next, he tried his best friend Jack Scone. The call went through to the Moralez family, a name Frank did not recognize. Going through the list, none of Frank’s contact numbers went through to the people he knew. “What is happening? Am I dead? Is this Hell?”

Frank went through his clothes, seeing if he could find anything. There was one crumpled sheet of paper in his pants pocket. Frank unraveled the paper. "It's my McDonald’s receipt from lunch." Frank threw the scrap to the ground, but quickly noticed some writing on the back. These words were scribbled: Remember your real name. “What? My name is Frank Cumby….Frank…Cumby…that doesn’t seem right…my parents wouldn’t have named me Frank…who names their kid “Frank” these days? My parents…would they have named me Frank? I just need to get home. Where…is home?” Young Frank Cumby collapsed to the ground. He could not decide whether to weep or scream, so he lay there silently.

So, dear reader, the Frank you had been previously introduced to is a man who does not remember his past, not even his wife or his unborn son. He is a man who has no chance of living the life he was meant for. He does not even remember the Voice in his ear saying, “No, Frank.” Frank is a man who was pulled to Hell without even knowing it. Frank is a man who has become so complacent with his miserable life that he does not even remember the foul creature in a black suit who took everything from him and sent him here. These events, hastily explained to you, and the 29 following years spent here, created the Frank Cumby of this story so far. But let us not dwell on the past, when it is the current Frank Cumby you want to know about.

Surely, kind reader, there is not a chance in Hell for such a miserable, unfortunate soul to find even a scrap of hope to hold onto.

By the way, my inquisitive (and did I mention rather handsome) reader, those verses on Frank’s long lost cross key chain: Matthew 22:37-39

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

Frank’s alarm goes off. Time for another miserable day at work. “Blagh! Stupid neighborhood kids kept me up all night with their dang Nintendo games. I could hear that mental clown Mario jumping all the way from my house!” On the way out, Frank notices something shiny in the grass. It looks...familiar.

My top 5 Inventions for Lazy People

2010-03-24T18:23:00.001-07:00

Recently, General Motors announced their new "city cars" (see picture above). Or as I like to call them, motorized scooters for two people at once. As I was admiring this new way to avoid walking, I started thinking of other ideas that could save precious calories. By burning fewer calories doing mundane tasks, we free up more energy for doing the things we love, such as: watching TV, eating, and writing dumb blogs. So, without further delay, I present my TOP FIVE INVENTIONS FOR LAZY PEOPLE (SORRY I HIT CAPS LOCK).

5. The Mobile Weenie

Do you love eating delicious hot dogs from the comfort of your couch, but hate getting up, walking to the fridge, boiling the hot dog, and putting mustard on the bun? You are not alone! My invention is a small three-wheeled vehicle which can store up to 11 hot dogs, pre-heated and already on the bun. By using any standard TV remote, you can guide the Mobile Weenie to your couch. A press of the button, and a fresh hot dog is launched at your face. The deluxe Ultra Weenie Package includes a high speed fan which chops your delicious hot dog meal into bite size pieces, then hurls the pieces toward your mouth area. I expect this one will also be a big hit at ball parks, where the annoyance of walking to the concession can stand can burn up to 15 calories. What a wasted effort!

4. Best Buy TV Regeneration

I hope to complete negotiations with Best Buy on this idea soon. The plan is to have Best Buy automatically deliver a new TV to your house whenever new technology arrives every month. Tired of your ho-hum high definition plasma LED TV? Me too! With this service, Best Buy will deliver a hot new 3-D TV to your house, and throw your old one away for you. You don't even have to get off your couch! And the best part is, when they take your old TV away, you will get a coupon for 10% off installation of the new TV! And if you are tired of shopping for movies, the delivery guy will even pick out your movie collection for you....No more tiring decisions. Amazing!

3. The Relationship Accelerator

This handy device is actually a cell phone app that you will be able to download from my website. In order to save all of the energy it takes going on needless dates and having tiring conversations, this program can predict the relationship's chances of success before it even begins! The Relationship Accelerator senses vibes from both people involved, then generates a number. Anything in the 7-10 range indicates that a second date is worth the energy involved. A 4-6 range indicates that you should only pursue a second date if American Idol has ended for the season and you have nothing better to do. But beware that friendship is the likely result. Anything under a 4 isn't worth your energy, even if both people involved feel strongly for each other. You could have dozens of pointless conversations with the other party before you discover what the Relationship Accelerator has already told you! Remember, even small tasks like talking burn unnecessary calories.

2. Rollo

Rollo is one of my most controversial inventions. You know all those moments in between the fun parts of life? Such as: getting out of bed, walking to your car, walking to your couch, walking the dog, etc... I have good news! Rollo is a specially designed modern marvel which looks like a large metal belt around your waste. But, if you say the magic word, "Roll!", little wheels pop out of the belt, a mild electric shock knocks you to the ground, and Rollo takes care of the rest! Now, you can literally roll out of bed...and keep on rolling all the way to your car! Imagine, you are standing in Walmart and you see the last box of double-filled cream cheese pastries all the way on aisle 15. While all the losers around you are walking, you will collapse onto your face and start rolling all the way to that delicious confectionery treat! Watch as shoppers around you stare in envy and laugh in delight at the awesomeness that is you!

1. Internet Shopping

I am ordering some books off Amazon.com to research if this kind of thing has been attempted before.

The Worst Day of Frank Cumby's Life...chapter 2

2010-02-15T18:22:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it’s the small things in life that cause us the most pain. Maybe it’s because those things are so small that we find it easy to ignore them, not realizing those little things will pile up and one day change who we are.

For example, one day Frank was running late for work. This was years before he landed his crappy job at Happy Place Toys. Before that, he had worked at the local paper, writing trite articles about local politicians and award winning squash plants. But Frank took his job seriously, ensuring that his readers got the very best articles on freakishly giant squash and disturbingly short politicians. After a few years, Frank’s dream came true and he was offered a job as an editor for Life and Music Today, a classy magazine based in Frank’s hometown of Manchester, Tennessee. Frank never had any musical talent, but he had an oddly strong connection to music. It made him feel alive. So Frank was one of those rare guys who could actually tell you that he loved his job, and you knew he meant it. But on one particular Wednesday, Frank was distracted and hurried. Perhaps due to his distractedness, Frank ran over a cat. It was probably a stray, but Frank felt terrible. What if the cat belonged to some kid? After all, Frank was about to be a dad, and he was always extra sensitive about these kinds of things. He felt so bad that he decided to call his wife, Angela. Normally, Angela would have comforted Frank, telling him it wasn’t his fault and that he was a good man. This time, possibly thanks to the pregnancy playing cruel games with her emotions, Angela started crying and accused Frank of being careless. After that, Frank often thought twice before admitting anything he felt guilty about to his wife. It’s the little things that change us.

Or a better example might be that one Sunday after church, when Frank overheard sweet Mrs. Betty Dupree talking about how he must have a tight rope on his wife, because “you just never see poor Angela smiling”. Frank was hurt by this, and he wondered if everyone thought he wasn't good to his wife. In reality, Angela always felt blessed with Frank by her side. He treated her like the queen of a small country and never once really lost his cool with her, not the way most men do after spending a few years with the same woman. Angela was just more of a thinker than most the other young women at church, and thinkers don't smile as much, not on the outside anyways. Still, after Betty Dupree’s comments, Frank always felt awkward when people asked about his wife. He forgot why he felt awkward and eventually forgot about Betty's careless comments, but that little thing changed Frank.

However, dear reader, it was no little thing that created the Frank you have come to know. Heavens no, that took a very big thing indeed.

To be continued in chapter 3...

It's the Oscars!

2010-02-10T08:16:00.000-08:00

Forget the Oscars…This is the:
"Year in Trevor’s Life" Awards!

2009 has come and gone, and now the time has come to award the people, events, and stuff in Trevor’s life from this past year. What is the purpose of these awards? Come on, it’s awards! Everyone loves awards.

*Please note, these awards may not actually cover the most important parts of Trevor's life from 2009. Think of it more as a grab bag filled with mostly inconsequential randomness.

Biggest surprise: Getting my own place before the end of the year….in Claremont?!

Biggest Letdown: Ramen noodles are not as nutritious as home cooked meals.

Best Television show from a past year: Arrested Development

Best Television show (current): Lost

Best source of random knowledge: Derek

Best partner in comedy, and crime: Johnny

Lead the flock (best pastor): Chuck

The one that ran away (best runner): Amy

Best author of actual books and not just stupid blogs like this one: Joyce

Most awkward in a social setting but getting good at it: Trevor

Best at eliciting a reaction of shock in a social setting: Johnny

Best excuse for being late for work: "It was snowing!"

Most disturbing comment: "I could eat a person before I could eat a rat."

Most prominent feeling of the year: Lethargy

Runner up for most prominent feeling of the year: Hope

Biggest source of disappointment: Good people using God as a weapon against those with a “smaller faith.”

Story least likely to be completed: Frank Cumby

Most likely to marry my brother: Casey

Best proof that my brother has always been the lucky one: Casey

Most likely to run a Marathon: Amy

Most likely to beat world 8 in Super Mario Brothers: Johnny and Trevor

Thank you to everyone who participated in life this year. May 2010 be a year to remember. It better be, because the world ends in 2012 anyways.

Frank Cumby says Hello...Not!

2010-02-08T18:45:00.000-08:00

.

While you, the patient readers, wait for the assuredly miserable chapter 2 of Frank Cumby's story, I (your sluggish author) thought you might want to know what Frank was up to last week. So here it is:

Monday: Frank went in to work (at 8:03 of course) and grumbled aloud at what a real dump the building was, and how most the machinery wouldn't pass code in Mexico, much less here in the U.S. of A.

Tuesday: Frank went in to work and complained about his turkey sandwich. If the grocery stores weren't owned by the terrorists he could have afforded roast beef.

Wednesday: Wednesday was so insignificant that no one remembers what Frank did that day.

Thursday: Frank went in to work and lost his concentration when thinking about how much he hated being there, thereby sewing the heads of 346 Care Bear dolls onto the bodies of 346 "Super Military Action" G.I. Joe dolls,complete with assault rifles and bayonets. Many children will be paralyzed with fear as a result.

Friday: Frank went in to work and thanked God it was Friday, then remembered he didn't believe in God. He promptly remembered that he didn't believe in anything else either.

Saturday-Sunday: Frank stayed inside.

Chapter 2 coming soon.

The Worst Day of Frank Cumby's Life

2010-02-01T16:33:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader, the following is the first chapter of a short story about a man named Frank Cumby. If there is any demand for a continuation, Frank's story will be completed. If not, he will fade into obscurity, which is probably what Frank would want anyways. He's not a likeable guy, so we both understand if you want him to go away and never come back. Just know that Frank doesn't like you either. Not one little bit.

Chapter 1

Frank Cumby hated his life. He hated every awful second of it. Frank was fifty-two years old but felt twice that, just based on the number of crappy years he could remember. He was always disappointed when he went to bed at night but was way more disappointed when he woke up. Frank had no friends and no family, at least none he ever wanted to see again. His wife had left him years ago. He treated his neighbors like crap, and he treated his coworkers like crap. Frank even found little ways to make sure his pets weren't all that happy. He fed his cat dog food and fed his dog cat food. He fed his goldfish Goldfish snack crackers just for the sick irony. Frank worked in a factory where they had lots of extra packaging material, so every day when he got home from work, he tossed out those little white foam peanuts in his lawn just to watch the birds peck at it and fly away disappointed.

Frank's most despicable habit was throwing empty beer cans at the neighborhood kids who were dumb enough to get within throwing range, and Frank didn’t even drink beer. He just preferred empty beer cans for throwing because they made the stickiest mess when they popped a kid right in back of the head. He knew the little yard apes would go home crying with sticky beer in their hair. He liked to think that the children's parents would say something like: “You smell like a common street drunk! Go to bed without supper and you're grounded for a year and your father will always be disappointed in you.” This was the one hobby that gave Frank a feeling of something close to inner joy. And yes, it was very much a hobby. Frank would pilfer through his drunk neighbor's recyclables several times a week just to get all the Busch and Budweiser ammunition he could find. He only took the cans that still had a little smelly beer left in the bottom. Frank was a mean old bastard.

Frank woke up at 7:21 every morning, which was the last possible minute he could wake up and still make it to his crappy job at “Happy Place Toys” by 8:03. Frank had learned many years ago that the punch-in clock only counted you late if you came in at 8:04 or later. Frank despised his job. He hated it more each of the twenty-one years he had been there. The only thing on this earth he disliked more than his job was children, and he made stupid children’s toys for a living. Well, he didn’t so much make them as just screw the head onto the “Super Turd Action Man” doll that was all the rage at the moment. Or maybe it was Tickle Me Elmo, who knows. It's not as if Frank cared.

But Frank had a secret. And it was a true secret because no person living within five hundred miles of Frank knew his secret. You see, Frank's life was not always a cesspool of filthy habits and bitterness and anger. Twenty-seven years ago, after four years of wonderful marriage to the woman he’d loved since he was old enough to go to the bathroom by himself, Frank found out he was going to be a daddy. He hoped it was a boy. Frank was always fond of the name Matthew. His son's name would be Matthew.

To be continued in Chapter 2…

Glass Elevator (We saw into our lives but never had control)

2010-01-20T06:20:00.000-08:00

Up the elevator he goes,

Stands still and nervous,

Stares out glass windows,

Might jump off on purpose.

Up up up,

Still going up,

Up.. up.. up..

God it’s a long way up.

Past bank office employees,

Past the secret lovers,

With a marriage destroyed,

While pigeons find cover.

Twenty-six stories tall,

People below are crumbs,

He can’t see them at all,

When he holds up his thumb.

Near the rooftop,

Lump building in back of his throat,

On the rooftop,

Wonder if I can float?

Nope.

Down, down, down,

God it’s a long way down.

.

What it was Like when I Died

2010-01-14T09:13:00.001-08:00

I died last Tuesday when I was out for a walk in the cold night air. There are train tracks close to my house, but the train doesn't run too much after dark. Well, tonight the train was running so I had to wait for it to pass. I remember thinking that I like how waiting for a train to pass is the one kind of waiting no one ever seems to mind. It seems we're just happy to be safely on one side of the tracks or the other, as we sit back and respect the deadly iron power shaking the earth as it passes by. Once the train was only a spot in the distance, I safely crossed the tracks and was back on my way to nowhere.

Now, I've been walking the better part of 25 years. I get the concept. I would say I'm even pretty good at it. I enjoy stepping out the front door and just walking for a while. But for some reason, on this achingly normal Tuesday, I tripped over my own feet and tumbled towards the curb mouth first like a lion about to take a big bite out of a gazelle's rear end. It's funny. A life full of so many moments, some more impressive than others, is ended by one moment so clumsy and mundane.

I don't remember thinking about death or seeing my life flash before my eyes. Mostly because all I could think was "Idiot, walk like you have been since you were an infant! Moron!" Next thing I knew, I was standing up, pain free. Only, I was looking down at myself. My dead self, to be exact.

It took about thirty minutes to get over all the stages of dying: panic, denial, depression, sadness, anger... you know, all the stuff we think we're above until we actually kick the bucket ourselves. I guess that's when I realized that I was missing the most important point. Despite seeing my dead body lying there, I was still breathing and still standing on 2nd street in Claremont, the little town I have called home for only a few months. I had to call my family. Reaching into my pocket to grab my Samsung Propel, my hand went right through my phone! It wasn't kind of like in those movies about someone dying and having an out of body experience; it was exactly like in the movies. Great, even my death is one big cliché! I needed to get to my family, just in case this weirdness ended and my soul actually started the trip to heaven or...wherever.

Since I was not able to touch anything, I kind of figured my car was useless too. To get to my family, all I could do was start walking down I-40 and hope that my ghost legs were stronger than my old ones. Walking along the side of the interstate, it was obvious that no one could see me, even though I saw them as I always have. In my current state of...um…deadness, I laughed at myself for carefully walking along the side of the road. With my family in Vale more than twenty miles away, I started running in the middle lane, against traffic, just because I could.

It took me most of the night to get to my parents' house, but at least I was right about my new legs not getting tired. As I stood in the driveway of my childhood home, a dark thought overwhelmed me. What if someone had discovered my body back in Claremont and my mom already knew? Was I even doing the right thing by coming here? All I wanted to do was let my family know that I was okay, but how many people really feel comforted by a ghost? So I just stood outside the front door for an hour or maybe two, very conflicted and very dead.

As it turns out, all of my worrying was a waste of time. No one would wake up. There was no way at all to interact with my family. I couldn't pick up a pen or make a candle flicker or mess with electronic devices or any of that cool stuff. I was a weak and pathetic ghost. And I wanted my life back. I left my parents' room, walked through the wall and laid down in the grass in the backyard. Through the rest of the night and next morning I cried.

The grass was wet with dew, and the sun was hot on my face. Waking up in my parents' yard reminded me that all of this was not a dream as I had prayed the night before. For a moment, I wondered why I could feel the grass and the sun, yet any object I tried to touch went right through me. Maybe it was because of man's connection with the earth, or some other hippy nonsense. Or maybe God was saying "Ha! I can still screw with you even though you are dead!" Either way, I felt so completely alone. It felt like I was hidden from not only the eyes of everyone I had ever loved, but even God did not see me. I thought of all those times I passed up the opportunity to be with the people I truly cared about. I wondered what the Hell I was thinking all those years, never really getting all that close to those I loved so much. Now, knowing I could never talk to them again, I felt like the biggest fool who ever lived. What was so important that the people in my life had to come in second place behind whatever else I was trying to achieve? Oh wow, I held a steady job and had a neat little convertible. Well, Mr. Fantastic, what good is that doing you now that you are D E A D? Well, how about it? Moron.

I slept on the lawn for a couple more nights, knowing that I needed to figure out how to move on to wherever my new home was supposed to be. I couldn't do it. I could not leave my family or my friends behind without telling them I was okay. But, was I okay? Not really, but that's what we do to the people we love. We lie to them. And I wanted to tell them this great lie one more time: "Hey, I'm okay."

I promised myself and I promised God, that If I ever got a second chance, I would worry more about the people who loved me and less about the mundane tasks of living. All of that garbage could worry about itself for all I cared. I would get things right if I could only try again. "Please God, give me another chance...Jesus Christ help me!" I screamed in anguish before collapsing onto the ground. Somehow, my tormented heart was hushed for a moment and I fell asleep on the soft grass one last time.

I rolled over in bed and saw that it was already 7:30. Damn, I'm late for work!

One Guy’s Opinion on the Problem with Christian Entertainment

2010-01-08T12:34:00.000-08:00

People like to be entertained, want to be entertained, and maybe even need to be entertained. If to live is to know pain, then entertaining ourselves is one escape from that pain. This is human, and it's a universal truth.

We constantly seek entertainment.

I am by no means sitting on the forefront of popular culture, modern trends, the newest fads, or even the latest revolution in social networking (still don’t really get the whole Twitter craze). However, I do enjoy movies and music a lot, perhaps more than your average Joe Christian. And as a Christian, I am well aware that we have a need to stay away from anything which causes temptation towards sin, for ourselves and for those dwelling in our household. As a Christian human I can also tell you that I have very little interest in Christian entertainment today, and there are hundreds of thousands of decent Christian people who feel the way I do on this. Do you see the irony? As Christians, many of us can not enjoy the music and movies made specifically for us. So how can we possibly expect this entertainment to reach those who did not grow up in church, the same people who probably have a thick emotional wall built up against anything tagged as “Christian”?

Don’t get me wrong, there are quite a few exceptions to this lack of quality in Christian entertainment. There are some Christian movies which could pass as good movies to any audience. I personally am partial to a few Christian musicians, such as Andrew Peterson and Jeremy Casella. But these should not be exceptions! Directors, writers, and musicians inspired by God should be consistently releasing some of the most profound and powerful entertainment today! Any movie or music lover can tell you that truly great entertainment can be much more than just entertainment. Schindler’s List is a movie which probably changed who I am in some ways as a person. It hit me that hard. I say that not to promote Schindler’s List, but to stress that there should be hundreds of Christian movies far more powerful than this. A flawed man saving hundreds of Jewish people during World War II is a powerful story. The son of God saving the entire universe is incomparably more powerful.

So what’s the problem? Many arguments could be made, but for me the answer is clear. So much of the Christian entertainment today is produced without the slightest hint of honesty or grit.

In an attempt to keep everything so neat and clean, the details surrounding the truth being presented end up ringing false. Vulgarity for the sake of shock value is dreadful and disgusting. But that does not excuse sanitizing something until it no longer feels relatable, until it feels fake. When even a great story is populated with cardboard cut out characters and riddled with cheesy clichés, the more discerning viewers will roll their eyes and check out emotionally.

Okay, I hear you. “But Mr. Cynical Writer, aren’t most popular secular movies and most secular songs filled with cheap thrills and paper thin storytelling?” Yes, of course they are, and that is exactly my point! Christian entertainment should be different. It should not ring as hollow as the rest of the popular entertainment industry. So, is there a solution? Maybe.

I believe that the answer lies in being honest, being real, and admitting human brokenness. Life is a struggle for even the best of us. There is no use in trying to hide that! Whenever a character in a movie seems truly human, the odds of the audience connecting with the story increase exponentially. Even a mediocre movie with believable characters can leave an impact. Imagine how powerful the story of salvation should be when you deeply feel the struggles of the people in the story! By the same way of thinking, no Christian musician should, in my humble opinion, ever feel comfortable releasing a song that is anything less than their very best. If copying what every other musician has done, both lyrically and musically, is the best they can do, then so be it. But I believe that inspiration from God should lead to some of the most brilliantly honest and powerful music out there today, Christian or not.

The Christian entertainment industry needs to stop being so concerned over stepping on a few toes. We should be seeing and hearing a sample of the heart and the raw power of God on display, not a carbon copy of the same cheap entertainment the secular world is pleased with. All forms of Christian entertainment are in serious need of a dose of reality. There is no excuse for movies and music filled with so much truth to look and sound so phony. It is time to cut the candy coating away and reveal the truth inside. (Ouch, and I was complaining about cheesy clichés!)

Into the Dark

2009-03-23T15:34:00.000-07:00

.

.

Into the Dark

We will never be
Be as a complete soul
Soul is dying as we wait
Wait in this night and die cold.

Body will fall asleep
Asleep in the cold air
Air grows too heavy
Heavy as what we must bare.

Giving into this feeling
Feeling like carbon and nothing
Nothing will bring life back
Back into what is something.

Will you be with me then
Then we will see what we are
Are we to become something other
Other than the story so far?

Hear the tune of the end of my time
Time to give up the fighting
Fighting for our piece of hope
Hope will die without us trying.

Hold onto me as we fade to black
Black overwhelms my face
Face the truth of falling forever
Forever we wander in this place.

Over there a man looks into our eyes
Eyes on the one we can trust
Trust my heart as we start to cry
Jesus Christ save us!

.

A Place from Earlier Days

2009-03-02T18:53:00.000-08:00

I once woke up missing something,
A place that did not exist,
The alarm was like a final ring,
And that thing was held in my fist.

What I held was not of human design,
And I must have been sleeping still,
As I began to see the hints and signs,
That it was more a time or a place, if you will.

Gazing at this world in plain view,
Deep sadness consumed me as I stared,
Every inch of my sleeping body knew,
I could never be there.

In this tiny world,
Yesterday did not happen,
Tomorrow was never to be,
And these people treated today,
As if it would last for all eternity.

As I awoke not sure what I was missing,
I am sure I would have wept,

Only,

I was afraid they were listening.

Change and Loss

2009-02-28T20:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it's the little changes that end up costing us the most. And sometimes, every change feels like a loss. Change brings a loss of certainty, just as it gives feelings of uneasiness and even genuine fear.

I lost a coworker yesterday. Not really lost, but lost from one part of my life. I will get used to the new face sitting in the same office as me from eight to five every day. But things will never be the same. The people around us give us meaning. Would I live the life I live now, if I were the only human in existence? Of course not! No one would. So how can we not take seriously the constant change of people who come into our lives, even if into just one segment of our lives, only to be gone the next? The change I experienced this week was not the true loss of a friend. It was the loss of a friend from one segment of my life. It is strange how even that can feel so painful, so real.

Unfortunately, some changes are more serious than this. Some are permanent, never to be undone. So often I have failed to hold onto those I love. So rarely do I consider that every moment spent with someone is an individually numbered, finite moment. Why waste time pondering the faults of those we love, when we have limited moments to experience the wonders of their company? None of us have enough time to wait for the right moment to show someone how much they mean to us. The moment may never come. Even if it does, all of those moments in between are too valuable to discard.

Change is a peculiar thing. It makes us realize that every second we count as just more of the same, is actually the loss of a unique moment which will never happen again.

A to Z Story

2008-08-27T15:41:00.001-07:00

This is a story where each sentence starts with the next letter of the alphabet. It is a restrictive, yet interesting, way to write a short story.

Girl of the Dream

A nervous expression covered his face. Betraying his normally cool, calm demeanor, Zak stumbled forward a few steps. Could this girl really be the one? Dreams of a girl, strange dreams, haunted him nightly. Every night for the past two years it had been the same. Falling from the sky in his dream was a girl wearing a blank expression on her face. Garbed in flowing white cloth with green borders, she would make her decent nightly. “How could this girl be the one from my dreams”, Zak pondered. “I’ve never actually seen her, so there is no way I could know…”

Just then, as Zak stood dumbstruck, the girl moved closer. Kissing Zak on the cheek, the girl locked onto his eyes and told him: “It makes me so happy to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Zak responded without even realizing what he had said.
“My name is Xavier, and I am so glad to have the chance to meet you, the one who will take my life.”

Never one to handle unexpected situations with grace, Zak stood still with his hands at his side. Only one phrase left his lips: “One to take your life?” Passing as soon as she came, the girl vanished into the chilled night air. Questioning his state of consciousness, Zak squeezed his arm hard enough to make blood rush to the skin’s surface.

Rifle fire awakened Zak, filling him with profound disappointment as he recalled his surroundings. Somehow this dream seemed so real, but now he was sitting in his bunker holding his rifle, as bullets screamed overhead. The Third World War had called Zak, and most other men his age, into a place where dreams were almost a necessary escape to maintain sanity. Until now, he had always been able to tell his dreams from reality, making this last dream one that burned into his mind constantly, even as he frantically returned fire to the enemy. Veiling his vision completely, the enemy filled the air with a sulfuric smoke, ready to begin their final attack.
With a last attempt to save himself and his comrades, Private Zak Thompson sprayed his remaining bullets into the black night.

Xavier, the girl who had been at the center of Zak Thompson's only dream for these last two years, lie dead, protecting a child under her chest.
“You knew.”
Zak wept as the enemy surrounded his squad.

Holy Ghost

2008-07-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

.

.

You can move the mountains,
Is what I'm told,
Clothe the naked and shamed,
And give the widow someone to hold.

They say you walked on the sea,
As you calmed their raging hearts,
You would not calm the raging spirit,
As you set captives free.

On this mountain, looking out,
I admire the glory that is you,
Oh why is my heart ravaged by doubt,
Before this day is through?

We are people you have formed,
With fear and wonder, you say,
But what of times we fall,
Or curse the path you've laid?

When I choose to abandon you,
And have turned from the Holy Ghost,
I hear a whisper as you pass through,
Now, is when I hold you most.

.

Fireflies

2008-07-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

.

.

Fireflies dancing in the cool downpour,
Are lightning over the sea,
Lighthouses near the moor,
Look like bugs to you and me.

Fireflies seem tiny in a consuming sky,
While we search empty caves,
Extinguish our own flames,
Fireflies never ask, why?

.

I Will Hold You as Life Lets Go

2008-06-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

.

Walking by moon's light,
arm in arm with you,
Seeing the sky for the first time tonight,
We'll be okay when all is through.

We no longer trust ourselves,
I can no longer believe the world,
But I trust you and you trust me,
I trust this sky and these trees,
And the stars lighting our way.

Feel this night air and believe in its gentle hold,
It has neither enemy nor friend,
It has only to feel cool on our skin
As it flows where its Father has told.

My love, I know the path is dim,
And you see no one in the watch tower,
It seems you've forever lost sight of Him,
And your chance for escape narrows by the hour.

As you long for the warmth of yesterday,
Cursing yourself for being so weak,
I stand by your side with nothing to say,
And swear I hear your heart miss a few beats.

If I could only have three words, one phrase,
To hold you when all meaning leaves your days,
What would it be?

I am here.

.

The Water Vein

2008-06-08T19:27:00.000-07:00

.

Underground water flows
underneath tall pines,
within sight of the cherry blossoms,
speaking with rocks as it winds
around saplings who wish to grow.

It freely flows under warm human dwellings
where it hears the laughter of warm children,
with no care or trouble in the world.

The cool, clear water sloshes and splashes
against night black stone walls,
while ten feet above farmers build clay red walls
to hold their dirt.

The translucent stream rises above the ground
in a few places where the toads will play and
the children will drink,
those who know where the best water is found.

Suddenly the water sinks lower and deeper
into a narrow and lonely crevice
where it finally sees its reflection on the damp ceiling,
and starts asking

have I truly lived,

or did I watch

while others did?

Slowly the water trickled into the sea,
Almost as if it were never here.

.

Goodbye

2008-03-03T17:11:00.000-08:00

Well, after reading this post for the first time in a couple months, I decided to remove it. Either I was living in a fantasy land when I wrote this, or I truly was about to break free from something terrible. I hope it's the former, because I am mostly content now and see it as a very silly post. At the very least, it was immature.

I am leaving this space on the blog, along with the comments, to remind me of whatever it was I was feeling that day. Besides, it's my blog. I can do what I want!

T-Shirts

2007-11-05T15:51:00.000-08:00

.

T-Shirts (What We Should Be Known For)
words and music by derek webb

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear
they'll know us by the way we point and stare
at anyone whose sin looks worse than ours
who cannot hide the scars of this curse that we all bare

they’ll know us by our picket lines and signs
they’ll know us by the pride we hide behind
like anyone on earth is living right
and isn’t that why Jesus died
not to make us think we’re right

chorus
when love, love, love
is what we should be known for
love, love, love
it’s the how and it’s the why
we live and breathe and we die

they’ll know us by reasons we divide
and how we can’t seem to unify
because we’ve gotta sing songs a certain style
or we’ll walk right down that aisle
and just leave ‘em all behind

they’ll know us by the billboards that we make
just turning God’s words to cheap clichés
says “what part of murder don’t you understand?”
but we hate our fellow man
and point a finger at his grave

chorus

they'll know us by the t-shirts that we wear
they'll know us by the way we point and stare
telling ‘em their sins are worse than ours
thinking we can hide our scars
beneath these t-shirts that we wear

Why do I accept a t-shirt Christianity? Why am I not angered that we, as good 'ol American Christians, try to reduce Jesus to a few clichéd sayings, even when we know that it takes something deeper to change lives? (FYI: I've got nothing against Christian t-shirts in the literal sense, for those reading this messy blog entry)

Do I accept these things because I do not believe that my Lord and Savior is worth the effort? Is it because I am so self-absorbed that I can't take time to do something about my own surface faith, much less that of the American Church as a whole? This is a hard thought to entertain, but it's harder to accept that I've accepted it. But I love God! I get emotional (on the inside at least) when the "words I need to hear" are spoken. I can even sense the love of God in others. And while I'm boasting, I genuinely desire to treat other humans with respect, and I believe I have done this fairly consistently.

In the end, though, do I believe that God is truly the Beginning and the End? If God is all that is real, why consume myself with everything that is false and fading? I love my friends, my earthly family, my former classmates, my coworkers, my church family. But they will all be gone soon. So will I. My life as I know it will end incredibly soon.

But if God is who we say he is, who we know he is, then why are we wasting time pretending that this world is what it's all about?

God, how I know that nothing in this world is worth sacrificing an intense longing for Jesus. If I need to move to the Arctic to immediately enter into a life of praise, I should do that without pausing for thought. If I need to praise God on my face with friends around looking confused and embarrassed for me, I should have no reservations. If I only need to sit and stare at the wall and think about how mercilessly I have betrayed my creator, then that is what I must do. If I enter into praise in complete stillness and silence, even then I shouldn't worry if I am being Christian enough. Forget what the voices say, especially with my own often being the one straight from Hell. There is only one voice I need.

As a true (false?) Christian Hypocrite, even as I write these words, I know that I will have abandoned this thought by morning. What feels like a personal revelation now will soon feel like more words I wrote just to see if anyone is listening. Maybe someone will remind me of the words I wrote when I put on my t-shirt.

Behold the Lamb of God

2007-10-04T10:27:00.000-07:00

How do I know that Jesus Christ is real, and that He is really God? I know because He shatters my insides when I least expect it. You see, I'm not a crier. I haven't cried in a couple years, if not much longer. It seems my eyes only leak when I am torn inside on a deep level, and I try to live my life in a way that prevents that from happening.

But I wept last night. I wept for my hurt. I wept for the hurt of the world. I wept because I am sick of betraying my Savior. But most of all, I wept because He made me remember how real He is.

I'm a little embarrassed that God is using a Christian musician to break me into pieces. For one, it's cliched to become emotional through music. Second, I've been known to declare much modern Christian music as little more than a commercial distraction, lacking in heart and true praise. And there's nothing I hate more than being revealed as a hypocrite. I no longer feel that way, as God has already softened my heart to hear the message, instead of criticizing the musicians.

I have listened to Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God perhaps twenty times. It's the most beautiful telling of the entire Christmas story I've ever heard. Still, it's not something I would let myself get emotional about. I was above that, I told myself.

Last night I decided to put in the Behold the Lamb of God concert dvd (it came with the cd, so why not?). The room was dark and quiet, and I was alone. Since it was 1:00 a.m., everyone else was asleep. No one but God could see me. Yet, song after song, I fought the tears. I somehow told myself that I would not embarrass myself, even if I was the only person around. But God held out longer than me. Before long, I could no longer discern the difference between the cry of the children of Israel and the cry of my hardened heart. The group of musicians, clearly in tears themselves, bellowed:

Deliver us, deliver us
Oh Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight

I could feel God's answer within my soul. He wants me under His wings. He misses me even as I reject His perfect love daily. As I feel God move me, the now red-eyed musicians continue:

'Jerusalem, Jerusalem
How often I have longed
To gather you beneath my gentle wings'

My stone heart shattered in that instant. God did it. His beautiful Son did it. Peterson and his group of musicians were only the missionaries, willing to let God be the center of everything, to the point that their names or voices no longer even mattered.

Now what I need is strength. I need strength to bear the change as God puts the pieces together and decides who I will become. I trust Him, but it is hard for a stubborn child like me.

.

The Mad Dance

2007-09-27T19:36:00.000-07:00

Here from the carpet looking straight up
ambiguous colors do the electric slide
under my eyelids.

Some kind of squirming bluish creature
shares a few sidesteps and twirl-abouts
with a squishy nectarine.

Dear Lord it's a mad celebration of the indistinguishable
on the surface of my eyeballs!
And in a strange twist of events
I'm not invited to join in on the lunatic's jig.

Still, here on the carpet I will stay forever
because this is a bed for a King
And it's just the thing I need to rest my tired eyes.

But I really wouldn't mind if
The squirmy blues and nectarines
On my eyes
Joined the many hues and tangerines on yours.

It would be just fine with me
if they could dance together forever.

.

Plastic

2007-09-24T09:17:00.000-07:00

Plastic Bible cover
Plastic drinking cup
Plastic umbrella
Plastic ink pen
Plastic push pin
Plastic flip-flops
Plastic Happy Meal toys
Plastic cell phone
Plastic "toy" gun
Plastic body bag

.

Everyone's Waiting

2007-09-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

.

.

I waited five years to finish college so I could get on with my real life. A few years ago, it seemed all I was waiting for was the perfect girl. You know, the one who "gets it." She is beautiful, yet humble. She knows she has great value, but she's never better than the needs of the single mother in the local mission. Today, I wait for a phone call telling me it's time to start a new career. For months I waited for people to stop asking: "Do you have a teaching job yet?" For many restless nights I tried to understand why I have no desire to teach, thinking there must be a logical answer. Instead, I received peace from God on my decision, without the clear answers everyone else wants to hear.

When I weighed five pounds, was bald and had only gums to chew with, I waited on food and on human touch. When I was a teenager, I waited for someone to tell me what to do with my life. I waited for someone to tell me it's alright to love the world so much that it literally hurts to see people fall to pieces. No one ever told me it was alright, and it still hurts like hell.

To this day, I wait on God to show His face. I wait for the revelation which will remove all doubt. Hope is the painful sacrifice of what seems to make sense, and faith is a heavy burden. Yet, that is all I have until I leave this world and see Christ looking into my gray eyes, calling me His most beloved.

Sometimes, waiting for one day to end and the next to begin feels like getting a second chance. Other times, it feels like waiting to die. For my whole life I have waited for someone to tell me the value of my life. When I have been told, I've waited on myself to believe it.

I wait for the right chance to tell my grandmother that I love her before she dies. I want to tell her that I love her for having a part in shaping my mother, who has shaped me. I wait to understand why the men in my family can never use the word "love" unless we really mean it. I wait to understand why we can't mean it more often. My soul wants to love God's people until there is nothing left of me. Even as a child, I knew God had placed an uncommon pain in me. It is a pain I feel for every fractured heart. It is impossible to understand, but it is as real as my sin. Yet, my surface insecurities hold me back from even extending a comforting word to a hurting stranger.

I wait to stop living in my head. I wait to discover what it means to live life as my Creator intended. I wait to lose myself. I want God to hold my crippled body as I crawl for a few more days, as I wait to begin living. I want God to grab my throat and choke out whatever is left of this hollow human shell. I will not wait to see God. I must feel Him in this house, in this room, in my bones. My Father has waited on me for far too long.

Oh Lord on this Mountain

2007-09-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

.

.

Standing at the foot of this mountain, I have to question my decision to ascend. If I manage to make it all the way to the peak, I know the view will compensate the journey. On the peak, I will see the world for what it is. On the peak, I will see my God for the first time. So I must go. It is a long way up.

I have an uninvited feeling in my chest. It must be the thin air at this altitude. Still I trod on, leaving distractions behind me. Distractions threaten to spoil my journey. I see sunlight sneak through the tall pines, drawn to the morning mist like paint is drawn to a canvas. But I must pay it no mind. The view of my Saviour is at the peak. The thought of this grand view is enough to block out the noise of the nearby waterfall. Even as the water pounds on the rocks below, I feel a moist breath on my neck. I must try to ignore it. I am on a journey.

The sun has outsmarted me, making it to the peak first. The sun shines into my eyes, blinding me for a moment, seemingly to boast of its victory. No matter, I have made it! I am taller than the pines, higher than the birds. The air is pure and invigorating. My mind is clear, perfectly empty, for the first time on my journey. But where is my Lord? Where is the awesome view? God, what is my life for? I am so worn out, so tired of being alone. I am spent, God.

On the way down, something seems different. The breath of the waterfall cools my burning neck. The falling water now sounds like a symphony to my open ears. The sunlight gives me peace as it pours through the trees. I have a feeling in my chest again. Is it the thin air at this height, or is it the love of God swelling within me?

Now That's What I Call Inspiration Volume 1

2007-09-04T08:52:00.001-07:00

.

Have you ever had the feeling that there is something great in the world that you are missing, although it is right in front of you? This past week I accidentally made a discovery that has already begun to change my life in a very small, yet important way. After diving head first into the ocean of Christian music several years ago, I had a few good years of meaningful listening. I was at a point where I didn't really enjoy music unless it was praising God. Then, I began to grow more and more cynical towards all contemporary Christian music. I felt that it was rarely sung from the heart. It was all ultimately cliché, I sometimes thought. In fact, I began to wonder if there were any mainstream Christian artists who's inspiration came from God, instead of a paycheck. My love of God and appreciation for heartfelt music should have coincided wonderfully, but my perception of the landscape of Christian music made that very difficult.

After a very dry year (or 2) I've finally come to a place where I know I must have been wrong. There are artists who use their talents to praise God from their heart, not from their wallet. It makes me wonder what else I've been wrong about! Anyways, here's the man who broke some of my cynicism towards mainstream Christian pop music, one step at a time.

Mountains On The Ocean Floor
from "The Far Country"
Words and music by Andrew Peterson

(I Samuel 16:7, Revelation 2:17, Romans 7:15-25, Phillipians 1:6)

My uncle’s in the county jail
His time is on his hands
He knows he chose a barren cell
Over a fair and fertile land

He took another hit
He hit another high
He flew until he fell
Just like he has a thousand times

Nothing ever seems to change
But miles away beneath the waves

There are mountains
Mountains on the ocean floor
They’re rising from the deep
But no one ever sees
No one ever sees

I can’t believe I landed there
I swear I swore it off
I know that I can’t stand it here
Still I came and took a fall

I wish that I could shake it
I wish that I was free
I wish that I was half the man
I wish that I could be

There are mountains
Mountains on the ocean floor
They’re moving up so slow
No one ever knows
No one ever knows

Nothing ever seems to change
But miles away beneath the waves
Down below the dirt
Hotter than a flame
In the belly of the earth
He has given you a Name

There are mountains
Mountains on the ocean floor
They’re rising from the deep
Where no one ever sees
There are mountains
They’re hidden there beneath the waves
They’re moving up so slow
No one ever knows
There’s a molten heart of stone
That is waiting to explode
Only God can see it grow

www.andrew-peterson.com/music

.

A Thought to Replace My Life

2007-08-24T21:06:00.000-07:00

.

"Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?"

(Sufjan Stevens, from the album Michigan)

Imagine that your life has been removed from this earth in every way, even your name and the memory of you. No one will ever know that you lived. What would the world be missing? Is there some thought to completely replace your life? Is there something hidden in you, in the deepest part of your soul, that makes you different from anyone else in the universe? Is there something that you could provide this planet, that could not be replaced?

If so, is that part of us not worth celebrating? Do we honestly believe that a magnificent, mysterious, incomparable God would appreciate His children willingly falling into a standard mold? Do all Christians in the New Testament fall into one idea, one thought? Our true uniqueness is part of what makes us human. If I ever feel that my life could be easily replaced by a million similar lives, I have only myself to blame. I was created with a unique mind, heart, and soul. I was created to serve an awesome God, but I was never told what the essence of my life would be. What makes me tick? How do I love God? Why do I love other people? How do I show His grace? How do I search for truth? How do I deal with the doubts which surely assault any person who believes in something they will never get to see or touch? How will I ever find a purpose in this life if I never know who I am?
Who am I?

If I surrender on the lifelong search for these answers, there likely will be a thought to replace my life.

The Open Door

2007-08-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

The door was flung open wide,
Almost as if there was nothing to hide.

Outside was a crazy earth,
A place with as much death as there was birth.

For every road that went up a mound,
There was another that went back down.

No one seemed to know which way was right,
We all shared in the insane plight!

We oft' wondered if anyone had a plan,
With our backs turned to the Son of Man.

.

Even

2007-08-09T21:50:00.000-07:00

Even if I am the only one,
I will live,
In the light of the Son.

Even in spite of me,
He will try,
To make these two eyes see.

Even when it's hopeless,
Lives will grow,
In all our planet's mess.

Even as we hate Him,
He will show,
How our globe has gone dim.

Even on the tree,
He bled,
Oh my God I am free!

The Nerves Unending (Or, Burning in the Light of Day)

2007-08-07T12:04:00.000-07:00

Rather accidentally, I have taken a third-person approach to life over the last 6 months or so. I have observed my family, my friends, and mostly myself. It has not been very healthy, but this distant approach to my own life and my own thoughts has led me to a conclusion.

We live with exposed nerves. More than that, we live to keep those nerves hidden. Endless, raw nerves, always threatening to expose us for who we really are. In my (accidental) observations, I have been made aware that even in our earnest attempts to present our true selves, we are only exposing what we think other humans can handle. If I trust you, you get an arm's worth of nerves. If you are my life's partner, maybe two arms. But the rest....I will keep the rest to myself. And it wears us out. A life spent hiding is tiresome.

Considering my hidden self has led to a lot of thought about daylight and its relation to our lives, our secrets. Do any of us ever live in the revealing glow of full daylight? Do we really want to? Is it moral, safe, or even possible to live the way we feel we are meant to? Are those feelings placed into our beating hearts by divine intervention, or are they broken human emotions? Sometimes I feel like life is a dark cycle of living in the shadows, where my nerves are hidden, with random moments where my true self rears his ugly head.

It is terrifying to imagine living life in daylight. Everything exposed. Nothing to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. As long as no one really knows us, they can more easily ignore us. And when we hurt, part of us wants to be ignored. Every time someone notices our pain, we have two choices: give a sanitized version of our broken life, or risk it all with the real story. Our lives can become like the "popcorn news" we see on tv. There is some basic truth there, but all that truly matters is hidden for the benefit of the viewer. In some ways, It seems that protecting others from the mangled mess of our lives is the most gracious and selfless act we will ever know.

Perhaps God keeps us from exposing our fragile nerves to protect us from the backlash of cruel human nature. Are we designed to live in the complete freedom of the daylight, or is it supposed to burn a little?

Did you hear the news today?
I'm not coming home
No
And I wished it all away
I felt so alone
And the darkness crept it's way
Like stars we know will die too soon
There is never any sunrise here
In the shadows of eclipsing moons
Crawling on a tightrope
The bravest thing I have is hope

Daylight, save me
Daylight, save me
Tonight, tonight

Halogen the lights will flicker
Incandescent burning lies
And the silence stands for nothing
Desperate I search the skies
Aching for a spark
Trembling in pitchest dark

Daylight, save me
Daylight, save me
Tonight, tonight

(Brave Saint Saturn, "Daylight.")