The Life and Times...

I thought I'd update at least briefly to give an overview of what I've been doing lately, for those that read this blog and are curious.

I went to TN and GA with my family (or most of it), as most of you are aware. It was mostly just stressful, but I spent some much-needed time with God and He showed me a few things I'd been shutting out... I also got to see two awesome friends, which was one of the highlights of the year thus far. The entire trip was worth it for the two and a half hours my sister and I spent with them.

We got home at about 9:40 on the night of the 19th, and the next morning I had to be at my first summer class session by 8:00 a.m. It was difficult, but I got there on time, and found the classroom, cup of coffee in hand. I'm taking British Literature I over the next month, from 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. every weekday morning. It's a good class; the work is easy and enjoyable for me, I have a great professor, and I actually know one guy in the class quite well, so despite the early time I can't complain too much. Every morning I wake up and think "I so want to just drop this class..." but by the time I'm actually in class I'm glad I'm making the extra effort.

After class each morning I have two hours free to eat lunch and do whatever else I feel like doing - this typically involves playing piano and graphic design. I've played piano more this past year than ever before, and I think it's paying off to some degree... pieces I never learned because they were too hard I can now sight read with a fair level of competency. There are a few I'm still too lazy or just scared to learn, but hopefully I'll continue to work on that over the summer...

I work at the school's library every week day from noon to 6:00 p.m. (that's where I am as I type this). It's very slow during the summer. We are lucky to get more than 10 people in our door in any given hour; typically it's closer to 7. At first I was wondering what in the world I would do with all the time when I'm just watching the desk (my boss often gives me projects to do, but not always), but then it occurred to me that I could write. My boss encourages us to find useful ways to employ our time watching the desk, and actually told me to always have homework with me when I come in. However, homework for my Lit. class only takes about an hour. So I've been writing again... short stories and poems at this point. I hadn't done much writing in ages. I've been doing some reading as well, which I also hadn't done for pleasure in a long while. I love the atmosphere in the library... how quiet and peaceful it is.

Evenings are partially devoted to keeping up with internet sites and my usual obsessions (TWLOHA, Skillet, the music world in general) as well as to video editing and graphic design.

The next two months will be very much the same. After I finish Brit. Lit., I start a Tolkien class, which will also be in the morning. My days will be even more structured and routine in a way then they were during the semester, but at least I'll be able to fit in things like writing and design, which I have fallen behind on dramatically during the past six months. I will have no time to hang out with friends, but that is usual for me - the only way to spend time with me is typically to walk with me from one place to another. Most of my close friends are scattered all over America right now anyway.

I am living in the future, in a way. My mind is almost totally focused on two months from now. I will be going to California for two weeks to spend time with my uncle and his family, and then I will be going to Colorado for Clean Place's annual "moot." I am looking forward to both immensely. Until then I have a lot of things I want to work out in my head...

So there you have it. Now you know what I've been doing as of late, and what I will be doing until July 18th. I hope to have a bit more time to catch up with people online before long...

- Elraen -

A Poem: Say Goodnight

Say Goodnight
4.30.09

You brush my lips,
the retreating fragrance
gracing me with a memory
that will stick to my skin,
like the rose petals
that we consumed with our fire.

I watch the brilliance branding our sky
with dreams and hopes
of starlight, your completion
manifest in me.
You grip my hand,
and say goodnight.

The radiance shatters, splinters in my heart
as your hand slips away
and I am bereft in the dark.
Fragrance fades, and
even rose petals grow stale.

But even darkness left
in your absence is beautiful,
for it belongs to you.
Like a sick child I will hold on,
clutching with grimy hands
the things I've already lost.

Though your sun has burned a hole
now empty in this breathing heart,
and the radiance has gifted nothing but the scars
left by burns, I will embrace
what is left.
I will wander through these shadows,
your shadows,
carrying bits of you
to make up for missing pieces
of me.

In the morning's footsteps I will find an end,
whether in darkness or in light.
Until then my frozen lips will whisper
the words:
goodnight.

My Stuff

I'm in middle of packing up for a family trip to Tennessee as I write this. I have clutter scattered over my desk, laundry in the washing machine and dryer, and a half-full backpack sitting by my bed in my room. I didn't think I would have any reason to be thoughtful today, but I have been proved wrong.

My sister and I both love music. We didn't start listening to music until about three years ago. In that time we have come a long way. I remember when we first started buying CDs. One of the very first I ever bought was Relient K's The Anatomy of the Tongue in Cheek. I remember the way we opened it carefully, slowly, and stared at the glossy lyrics booklet. I remember how mad I was when one of my little brothers cracked the case. I remember how treasured that one CD was.

That was a little more than two years ago. Today I was assembling a CD wallet full for our trip. I slid in four Skillet CDs, eight Relient K CDs, two Anberlin, three Barlow Girl, two Lifehouse, two Disciple, and several other random CDs, and then I couldn't fit any more of my collection in. I think around the time I hit the Anberlin CDs I started thinking.

The last time we really went on a family road trip was two years ago. I remember I had three or four Relient K CDs by then. I was considering buying my first Skillet songs off of iTunes.

Two years ago, I would have looked at my CD wallet of today in absolute awe. I would have thought it was the coolest thing ever. It would have been awesome-overload.

But now I take it all for granted. I work a steady job, I ask for music every Christmas and for every birthday. I have a fairly large CD collection that has been built in a fairly short space of time. And somehow it's not as mind blowing as I would have thought two years ago.

And then I looked at my laptop, sitting here on my desk with its TWLOHA, Relient K, and Skillet stickers on the back... probably the nicest computer in our house. I finally finished paying for it a year ago, when I was recovering from being extremely ill, so I spent hours at a time in bed with it. It was a miracle to me – having my own computer, with internet access, was a dream come true.

A few days ago I couldn't get wireless and I had to share the internet on my siblings' computer for just one day. I was grumpy and put out all day because of it. But that used to be normal.

I looked at my camera, the beautiful little thing that allows me to show others a little of how I see the world – once again, the nicest camera in our house. I bought it at the end of last summer, after working a full time office job. Now it comes everywhere with me. But there was a time when I lived without it.

So what am I getting at? As I was sliding the CDs into the wallet, I realized that they were just stuff. I like music because it encourages me, reminds me that I'm alive, reminds me how to love and how to hope. But I don't need this CD collection; I could listen to the radio or even look songs up on YouTube. I don't need the laptop. I lived without it for years, and I could easily do so again. My camera is pretty amazing, and I love it, but at the end of the day it's not going to do much for me when I'm wrestling with the issues of life and death.

I do not consider myself to be materialistic. I have a tendency to give things and money away a lot because it's meaningless to me. But I definitely had to give myself a somewhat humbling reality check today as I realized how much I take for granted. We hear people say all the time that we shouldn't focus on stuff or take what we have for granted, but how often do we look around our computer desks and realize exactly how much we really have and how selfish we are about it?

I've been reading Jon Foreman's blog posts. He has been fasting for the last three days to raise awareness about the situation in Darfur. It's reminded me as well how stupid I am to feel entitled to stable wireless, to stacks of CDs, even to my little box full of sharpies and the coffee sitting in the kitchen waiting for me.

Tomorrow I will climb into a van without air conditioner and spend 13 hours of my life sweating all the way to eastern Tennessee. But I have transportation. I have access to food and to water along the way. I have my pretty journals and my pens and my CDs. And I am blessed beyond belief.

Just look around your computer desk. What stuff are you taking for granted?

- Elraen -

A Change of Pace

So I guess I really should blog this. I've had so little energy as of late that even blog posts seem like some kind of huge expenditure, which I guess isn't the case, but it feels that way.

The day after finals ended (and I did decently well on finals, in case you wondered), my mother drove me out to another town to meet up with my friend Joy. I met Joy online in August of 2006, through a Lord of the Rings forum I'm still quite active on, Arwen-Undomiel. We've kept up with each other that whole time. Even when both of us took a prolonged break from that forum, we kept up through YouTube, e-mail, and xanga. In January one of my goals was fulfilled through bringing her onto Clean Place, the other primary forum I'm active on. We had never met in person, though she lives in the same state, just a few hours South. After a long while of discussion, we finally worked it out for me to go to stay with her family for a week.

As I have said elsewhere, I've been surprised by what a few internet friends were like, but Joy was almost exactly like I was expecting. I'd had nearly three years to form an idea, so it would have been odd if she had been any different. I've met over 30 internet friends now, so in a sense it's become normal for me, but this one was different than usual because normally I meet people when I'm still sort of getting to know them rather than after I've already known them for two and a half years. Basically, it normally doesn't take me that long to find a way to meet someone I'm close to.

The first thing we did together was to go to a Chinese Restaurant with her dad, and then wander around a Pawn Shop and a parking lot... and flowering fields behind the dirty parking lot. I have to wonder if I was at all what she had expected. I guess I couldn't have been too far off, as I had my camera out within the first hour and kept stopping to take pictures.

The drive down to where they live was almost bizarre – one thing that was incredibly special was to talk about A-U related things (while drinking coffee, something we did a lot of). For the first time in nearly three years, someone actually knew the people I was talking about, remembered the events I was talking about. She is the only person who is on two of the three forums I'm really active on, so I just couldn't get over how cool it was to have someone who knew those pieces of my life and had seen me in both places (and still talks to me after so long... miracles do happen).

That first evening I spent about 20 minutes feeling completely overwhelmed. This is actually a major improvement for me. At the moot I didn't start enjoying it until the 9^th day. Also, even though I felt overwhelmed, I didn't go and shut myself up in a closet (yes, I have been known to do this). Once again, miracles do happen.

The first full day I was there, I had time to get used to being in that setting before getting to meet Joy's 3 older sisters, their husbands, and 12 of Joy's nieces and nephews. It was a case where I could choose to be overwhelmed, or to roll with it and enjoy it. I chose to enjoy it. Her family is incredibly different from mine, but typically after watching people for a few minutes I can figure out enough about how they work to know how to talk to them. That whole evening was a blur of people and kids and coffee. Definitely never a dull or silent moment, and that's part of what made it fun.

On Sunday the big event was driving to another town for Joy's orchestra concert. Joy, one of her teenaged nieces and I were there early, as the orchestra had to practice. So while they did that Joy's niece and I took off to wander the halls of the highschool where the event was being held.

Some of you have heard about this. I have an odd fascination with highschools – almost a morbid fascination, because so much pain begins in those hallways, so much hurt happens that will never fully heal. I like to understand the world's brokenness so I can know how to heal it, and so looking at where it begins is something that interests me. I had only ever been in a public highschool very briefly once, for the SAT. So it was a new experience. I considered taking notes for future stories as well, as I often write about school but feel terrified that I'm getting it wrong. The halls were empty, and mostly dark save for the gray light that filtered through the rain outside the windows. I had my camera with me, and I took a few pictures down one of the hallways, and of one of the combinations on a locker. I'd always imagined what it would be like to have a locker. It was weird to see these rows and rows of lockers.

By this point my brain was partially on overload, partly on stupid. One way or another, I kind of stopped thinking. We walked down the hallway and saw a locker partially ajar, and Joy's niece pulled it all the way open. I didn't stop her. It was a girl's locker, which was obvious by the Hello Kitty mermaid on the door. It was very orderly. I took a picture of it, out of fascination with the whole idea of having a locker (if you were public schooled, feel free to laugh at this homeschooled girl). We went on to another hall of lockers, and there was another locker partially ajar. This was full of trash, which was spilling into the hallways. There was an Algebra book perched amidst the trash. I guessed it was a boy's locker. Joy's niece checked the name on the Algebra book, confirming my guess. I took a picture of that too.

We went on from there to look into a few classrooms. I never know highschools were that big. We wandered on and on, until we found the cafeteria. I stared through the window, and we tested the door to see if it was locked (which it was).

Just then, Joy's niece suggested I look up. I glanced up, straight into a security camera.

Everything we'd done came rushing back over me like a wave of nausea before a test. We'd looked in lockers. Looked in classrooms. Tested locks. All alone, in dark halls. And it was all on security cameras now.

I immediately suggested we leave. As we retraced our steps, I now noticed countless security cameras, watching with blank eyes. My brain was screaming “stupid, stupid, STUPID!” But of course it was too late now.

I spent the rest of the time before the concert terrified of seeing a security guard walk in to haul me away. It's not that we'd done anything wrong – it's that it looked very much like we had. For all anyone watching the security cameras knew, we could have taken things from the locker (as if I really want to relive Algebra...). I was very, very angry with myself. It really didn't help that we went out to watch the rain for a while, and one of the guys waiting at the table to pass out programs was telling someone that the highschool had strengthened their security, and had hired a police officer and so on.

It helped when we got a chance to tell Joy, and she just laughed about it. I was sure she wanted to kick me out then and there for being so immature, but she kept laughing, so I assumed that at the least it was ridiculous enough that she couldn't even be upset about it.

Of course I reasoned after we left that no one would watch those tapes unless something had in fact gone missing, and that even if they did watch the tapes, there's no way they could track me – a random blond girl in black from another town (another state, in fact) who happened down the hallways one rainy Sunday afternoon.

The rest of Sunday was considerably less remarkable. Monday, the primary item on the agenda was to go fishing. I had never been fishing before – I believe I was present when my siblings and friends were fishing about ten years ago, but I don't remember if I actually fished, and considering I don't really remember, that obviously doesn't count. I caught a fish pretty early on. I had to force myself not to feel sorry for it. The rest of the afternoon the fish pretty much ignored me. As I cast again and again with no luck, I realized how ridiculous it is that in so many fantasy stories hunters go out and come back with a lovely, big fish half an hour later. If only! Joy caught a fish as well, while maneuvering over the pond in a little rubber raft. Our attempts to clean the fish were... unsuccessful at best, so in the end we passed off the duty (delegation is often the best option).

That evening we watched The Village, a movie I've wanted to see since it was released some years ago. I very much enjoyed it. The concept was fascinating, and it was such an intensely artistic movie. I was mentally nerding about the cinematography on and off throughout.

Tuesday I tagged along as Joy went to play violin with a friend (who was playing piano) for a senior citizen's gathering at a big Baptist church. I think that was probably the most awkward few hours of the whole week. The best part was the piano itself. After they had played and everyone had eaten lunch, the three of us went back into the sanctuary to play their grand piano. It was incredible. The notes I played seemed to come so easily, and even when I stumbled it sounded good. We joked about casually rolling it out and taking it with us.

On Wednesday Joy had her music lessons, and I tagged along once again. Her friend from the day before was there (they were having lessons at his church, actually) along with his twin brothers. It had been a while since I'd seen so many instruments being played in the same room – a guitar, an accordion, a piano, a mandolin, and two violins. I very much enjoyed listening. Joy and I played violin and piano together, as we had promised we would the day before.

I also ended up going to the local music store with Joy's friend and Joy's younger sister (who is also awesome, by the way). The owner of that music store is creepy. Beyond belief. I had been told before hand that this would be the case, but I thought they were exaggerating. Apparently not. No teenaged girl should ever have to walk away from a 50-year-old guy feeling like they've been hit on. And feeling like taking a shower because he had his hand on your shoulder and patted your arm in the most condescending way possible.

Anyway. Creepy guy aside, it was a fun afternoon.

Thursday was my last day there. We went out for a long photo shoot, with the aid of Joy's sister. Not that many of the pictures turned out due to so much laughing and talking, but it was fun anyway. We left for Lufkin, where we would be meeting my mother and older brother, mid-afternoon so that some shopping could be accomplished. I had fun coming up with Skillet connections for random things I saw.

I'm so accustomed to goodbyes. In a sense I've grown numb to them. I've come to understand that everyone leaves. So in a sense, I'm always struggling to remember that I'm supposed to show some kind of emotion over goodbye, because I definitely don't want the other person to think I'm glad to be saying goodbye.

As I look back over my time there, I try to come up with a reason why I wasn't really stressed while there, or why I could interact with people for hours at a time without being worn out (something I haven't accomplished since December, when I was with the Ferns). And something hit me, I think on the drive home through the dark. I realized that the whole family was very real.

I have not made close friends in college. I have come to believe that one of my biggest blocks is simply that everything there is so fake. I hate it when every conversation that everyone is having is shallow. Everyone is pretending to be something else. Pretending to be a good student. Pretending they feel cool. Pretending they actually have pure intentions regarding their significant other. Pretending to care about the people around them while whining about their teachers. Pretending to listen to God when they're actually taking their own goals and inserting God into it.

I do it too. I pretend I've got it together. I pretend I know what I'm doing. I pretend I can somehow be good enough through grades and work and denying myself rest. I pretend I can keep making it on my own. I pretend I'm not tired of all of this, I pretend I'm not desperate for myself and those around me to wake up to something more.

All that to say, I have come to appreciate it immensely when I find someone who is willing to be real with me. Joy, and her entire family, were like that. I don't mean in the sense that we had deep, soul-baring conversations every few minutes. I'm trying to say, basically, that they didn't make exceptions for me – they didn't pretend to be anything but what they were. And that is something I love.

So many people make these lists of what qualities a friend should have. I refuse to think that way. All I need from anyone around me is that they're willing to strip away enough layers of the mask so I can see who they are. I guess in a sense that's a very demanding thing to ask. For my part, it is my responsibility to be trustworthy, because every face behind every mask is fragile. I would rather die than hurt someone through my words or actions (and yet still, because I'm incurably human, I still do so).

Basically, if someone is willing to be real with me, than I know how to talk to them. I know how to build bridges. I know how to stop looking at myself for long enough to see the beauty in them. But if someone is only going to give me a shallow, distorted reflection of who they really are, then I have no place in their life.

I could write about what it actually is to be “real” for another several thousand words, because that is a complicated question in and of itself – a question I have thought on so often over the past year. I'm very tired right now, so I'm not sure how coherent this whole blog is. I guess I'm just trying to say that my time there was incredibly refreshing... because I saw something beautiful, something I so rarely see.

And I definitely hope I get to see Joy again. Maybe I'll drag her up here and introduce her to my family sometime. Who knows.

Peace to you.

- Elraen -

Fully Alive

One of my heroes and role models, Jamie Tworkowski, said the following about birthdays on the TWLOHA blog:

“At the heart of it is the opportunity to tell someone "I'm glad that you were born", which is also to say "I'm glad that you're alive." Those are powerful statements. The world would be a different better place if we lived that way, if we said and showed those things, more than once a year.”

Those words are what made me look at my birthday this year in a different light. Not as a day to mark everything I've lost in the last year, as it had been before, but a way of allowing myself to be reminded that just the fact that I'm alive has meaning.

I guess this birthday was a little more special than the ones before also because I never expected to reach it. Two years ago, if you had said I would make it to be 18, finishing up my freshman year of college, set to be on the Dean's List for the second semester in a row, and working my second “real” job, I would have assumed you had the wrong person. Growing up I always said I wanted to die when I was 16 or 17. I couldn't bear the thought of living with myself for any longer than that. When I was 16, I was very much certain I wanted to die when I was 16. But God had other ideas.

I used to do a lot of asking God “why.” I've seen a lot of friendships crash and break. The story of any human's life is an epic journey, and as on any journey, companions get lost along the way. I've never accepted change easily, and I've definitely never been able to accept losing things. It's still hard, but I don't ask God why anymore. It has been made known to me over and over again that He really does know better than I do – even when I can't see it.

I am told so often that I seem older than I am. I didn't tell anyone at school how old I was until a month or two ago. When people started finding out I was only 17, they were stunned. I was told over and over again that the assumption had been made that I was older than my brother (who is now 20). In fact, the assumption has also been made multiple times over the past few years that I'm older than my older sister (who will be 23 in a month). This used to confuse me. I think I understand it a little better now; I seem older than other people my age not because I'm in any way smarter or “better” than them. I've just lived a little more.

And it wasn't my choice either. I can't take credit for anything I am right now (except for all the ugly pieces, which are most definitely mine). In a sense my life ended almost two years ago, the summer I was 16 – everything else has been, is, and will be, God's. Every single day I wake up breathing because of Him. Without Him there would be nothing.

I wonder some days – most days, actually – how often people realize how much God has done in the past 22 months of my life. When I help patrons at the library, smile at them and tell them to have a good day, sometimes I stop for a moment and have to remind myself “I'm actually saying this. And it's not even scary.” And every time I do that is another victory for God, another sign of His power and grace.

I have distinct memories of a party, almost exactly two years ago, 7 days after my 16^th birthday. I remember it because I was standing in a group of about 6 people, and I had to go off alone because I was starting to hyperventilate. That was my typical reaction to being in a group of more than 2 or 3 people. People at school say I need to hang out with people more. They only say that because they don't know who I was or how much God has done with that.

I think people have this funny impression a lot of the time that I'm strong. I find that hilarious. The fact is that I am very human – excruciatingly so. If I appear strong, it's only because I've learned to understand that I hopelessly and completely weak... and that was the first step to allowing God to become my strength. I like to pray and ask God to give me strength, but even more often, I like to pray and ask Him to be my strength.

I guess what I'm trying to say is not about me, but about Him. If nothing else, my life is a picture of brokenness made beautiful through the intense grace and unconditional love of Christ. I emphasize love a lot – if you've been around me or seen pictures of me over the past year, you may have noticed that I almost always have “love” written over my left wrist. I do that for two reasons. One is to remind me that love has claimed me, and love has saved me, and in that love I am secure, safe, and at rest. The other is to remind me to let that same love be the guide in every interaction, every relationship, that I have.

I don't know exactly what I want to do with my life – I just know that whatever it is, it will involve loving people. And it's funny, because I've found people often mean two totally different things when they say “I love people.” They either mean they get high on people, that friendships are where they find meaning and security... or that they pour themselves into others, not because of how it makes them feel, but because of what it is to others. I strive for something closer to the second.

I don't love people in the sense that I go to social gatherings because I enjoy it, or that I hang out with people all the time – that's definitely a part of what I consider to be loving people, but it's more like a side effect than anything else. If you want me to go to a party or even just out for coffee, I'll probably be hesitant (unless I know for certain it will be an encouragement to you in some way). If you want to have a three hour IM conversation talking about pain and frustration and despair, bring it. No one was meant to face the darkness alone. If God can shine through me even just a tiny, broken reflection of His love and His light and His hope, then in that moment my entire being is fulfilled.

That is why I am alive, why I am turning 18 today, why I'm even writing this blog entry: I was made to be loved and to love with my entire being.

I don't do things by halves. If I care about anything at all, I will either love or hate with a consuming passion. I spend a lot of my life striving to move, to really live, to deny apathy its hold.

I have to quote To Write Love On Her Arms again here, because it really encompasses everything I believe in. These next lines summarize my purpose, my identity in Christ, the reason I'm breathing, better than I ever could:

“We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love.

...

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.”

If you understand nothing else about me, about the story God is working in my life, or even about why I write these blog entries, I want you to understand that. I have failed so many times. I have been lost, I have been broken, I have been frustrated and alone. Fortunately, God's grace finds me where I am over and over again. Sometimes we have to understand just how dark the night is before we can see the beauty of the starlight.

This blog entry is for you, whoever you are, wherever it finds you. It is, in some crazy way, trying to say something that God has been saying for thousands of years: “I love you. Don't you dare give up.”

- Elraen, the Wandering Star -

The Joys of Our Hearts: My Skillet Blog Post

How often does anyone get to go to a concert where four bands play for over 3 hours, and said person knows every single song played all night?  More than that, what if two of the bands that played were this person's very favorite bands, and what if the songs played were the songs that had been the soundtrack, the theme song, and major shaping elements of the last two years of this person's life and their walk with God?

I always knew I was going to write a blog about this, from the time I was pretty certain I was going. But now it's come down to it, I don't know how. I'll try anyway, as I've promised so many people I would.

It's funny, God never works quite in the ways we expect Him to. Even when I go into a situation expecting Him to change me through it, He never does so in the way I would have predicted or asked. It's a good thing I'm not the one in charge of my life. I don't have nearly as good ideas as He does.

As some background: I heard that Skillet would be playing at Sixflags Over Texas in Arlington back in I think November. I was sure there was no way I could go. Over the next few months as the "Panhead" (Skillet fan) community realized they were booking a tour, I stalked the dates and locations, only to find that there was no show that was closer. I was so sure I couldn't make it.

But I tried anyway. I talked to friends, and made plans and back-up plans and even more plans in case the back-up plans failed. I saved up money all semester, refusing to let myself get anything unless I had a good reason for it (gifts and school stuff). I researched. I talked to my mother. I bought tickets at least a month in advance.

But I still didn't believe it would work out.

College for me has been about learning that everything I ever want to do, everything I ever want to be, is a bunch of worthless trash. Every single time, without fail, that I think something's going to be alright, it turns to ashes under my fingers and I'm left picking up the pieces of another failure. College has been about learning that I'm lost in the chaos of a world I have absolutely no control over. So though I kept telling people "I'm going to see Skillet, Red, Disciple, and Decyfer Down play," I was more trying to convince myself rather than to convince them.

I ended up going with my brother and a friend who I've really wanted to get to know better for some time. We headed out for Sixflags at 7:15 a.m. on Saturday morning. We listened to Red most of the way there, getting through both albums. I was nervous about a ticket issue that had come up. I wouldn't be able to know if we would actually be able to get in until we got to the gate.

But when we went to the booth at the gate and Maranar talked to the lady and got the tickets for himself and our friend K, I was stunned to the point of feeling numb. I couldn't believe it had worked. That just wasn't right. Something was going to go wrong.

We went on the newest ride on the park first. I hadn't been on a roller coaster in nearly 6 years, and in that time I have become more different than words can express. I was sure I wouldn't like them anymore. But as we flew along the track, my hair whipping around my face in the wind, I just started laughing - not a nervous giggle, but a laugh of sheer happiness and exhilaration. I suddenly remembered how much I love the feeling of flying.

The rest of the rides throughout the day were the same. I used to scream on roller coasters. Now I wasn't screaming - I was too happy. I only thought about school once the entire day. I was too happy to think about school.

For our last ride of the day, we re-rode the same ride we went on to start off the day. This time we went through the single-rider line, where they basically stick you with a random group of strangers who happened to have a seat or two left in their car - think of it like standby on airplanes. So all three of us ended up in different cars. K was on the first one, I was on the second, and Mar was on the third.

When I got off, I ran down the exit stairs to find K. She was standing at the bottom, just grinning. She handed me three slips of paper. They were three tickets to the front section of the concert that evening.

I managed to stammer out "...how?" She explained that a stranger she was sitting beside in her car had extra tickets he was getting rid of, and just gave them to her. These tickets were way better than even what I had before, and I had had a much better ticket than K and Mar did. Much excitement ensued. I just couldn't believe it.

After dinner we went and found the amphitheater and sat down. When we actually got to our seats, they really were amazing. K said she thought it was proof that God likes giving us the joys of our hearts - just because He loves us. I have to agree. In fact, that's really a part of the theme of that entire day for me.

Decyfer Down opened up the night. I saw them last year on the Comatose 2008 tour, when they were opening for Skillet. This time I actually knew all the songs they played. They've replaced their lead singer in the past year, so the general feel of the band was different, but it was still good. They still seem to be trying to figure out their sound and their presence as a band, but I think they have potential.

The next band that came up was Disciple (though the lead singer had actually already been playing with Decyfer Down). I've been listening to them for roughly a year, and have two of their CDs. They're absolutely amazing. Kevin, the lead singer, is incredibly passionate. They just about set the stage on fire, they were so lively and energetic. It was raining on and off now, but no one cared. We were so into the music. They opened with their popular "Game On," followed by "Whisper So Loud," "3 2 1," and "Romance Me." The most memorable moment came when the guitarist climbed up on a stage block and back-flipped off, with his guitar. The crowd went wild.

One thing that seriously impressed me is that these guys sound just as good live as in the studio. So many bands lose a lot of their power (particularly in the area of vocals) once they actually are out on stage and having to sing multiple songs in a row while walking/jumping/headbanging, but Disciple's performance was nearly flawless. They've been playing shows for most of my life, so they've had plenty of practice.

However, after "Romance Me," ScottyRock (Skillet's tour manager) came out and whispered something to Kevin. I was immediately nervous. The announcer who worked for Sixflags came out and announced that the show was temporarily postponed until the weather cleared up, and we all had to leave the amphitheater right away.

We started pouring out, onto the bridge area outside. It wasn't raining at the moment, but about ten minutes after we started leaving, it started pouring cold rain. K and Mar had jackets, but I didn't. I hunched over the bridge rail, letting the cold rain fall on my back as crowds of people walked by behind me.

I felt the beginnings of bitter disappointment. I was imagining out writing this blog entry with the title "Why I'm a Pessimist," or something along those lines. We didn't know if we'd get to go back in or not. We didn't know anything. We just knew we had to stand out there, without shelter, in the rain.

I started doing what I've found I tend to do whenever I get really, really stressed: I start singing worship songs. I stood there in the rain, in a sea of thousands of strangers, just singing softly to God. And as I did so, suddenly I realized that I was alright. Even if I didn't see my two favorite bands, it would be OK. God would be allowing it. This was all a part of His plan, whether I could see it or not. He does not depend on things like concerts, or churches, or specific people - God can move in anything, even cold, empty hours spent in the rain. That was really the first big milestone of that evening.

After nearly an hour, they told us we could come back. We poured back in (Maranar and I estimated that there were around 4,000 people there). A crew was busy cleaning up the stage and drying things off. Our seats were covered in water, so we didn't sit back down.

And it was right then that I realized how glad I was we'd had the hour out in the rain. Now what was about to happen wasn't something I was entitled to; it wasn't something I had planned and thus received. It was purely and completely a gift from God, and everything that happened would be just a lot of noise and flashing lights otherwise. Sometimes we have to stand through the rain in order to understand what it is to be wrapped in the beauty of God's presence.

Red opened up the night with "Fight Inside." Headbanging with very wet hair may or may not have taken place. It rained a little bit more, but I didn't care. Red is K's favorite band, and my second favorite, so we both definitely had fun. They played a mix of songs from their two albums. They played "Let Go," the song of theirs that has impacted me most - that was the first song that night to make me cry. As I screamed along with it at the top of my lungs, I made a few decisions, which I really can't talk about yet. But it was a very freeing experience, in a lot of ways.

They also played my second favorite from their newest album, "Shadows." That was so much fun. They actually played more from Innocence and Instinct from End of Silence, which was fine with me.

They finished up with "Breathe Into Me." It was raining again, but with no thunder and lightning, so it was fine. At the finale, Mike Barnes ran out over one of the two walkways going out into the audience (the walkway the lead singers all used most often was right near me, as you can tell if you look at pictures), and climbed up one of the lattice work metal pillars. He was 20 or 30 feet up in the air, yelling down to us, in the rain. It was incredible. He climbed down, ran, and threw himself down. He slid most of the way down the walkway on the wet wood. It was incredible. I think they were having way too much fun.

The wait between Red and Skillet wasn't as bad as I might have thought. I watched them setting up Skillet's stuff, and was bouncing with excitement. I was really cold, because I was wet and had no jacket and when I wasn't jumping up and down and headbanging I could feel the wind much better. That was the worst part about waiting.

When all the lights went out, I sat there grinning in anticipation. I know their setlist backwards and forwards. Not only did I see them play on the Comatose 2008 tour, but I have the live DVD (which I was watching about twice a day for a while), and I've watched literally hundreds of YouTube videos, including whatever I could get my hands on from this new tour.

I listened to the count down, and to the electric violin and cello intro. I knew all the cues, so I saw exactly when Jen stepped up to her drumset, when Korey moved over to her keyboard as Ben stepped up with his guitar. Then the opening strains of "Comatose" played as John walked out on stage, and the huge adrenaline rush I've had every single time I've heard that song since first hearing it live a year ago came back.

I started singing along. Then I realized I was crying.

They played "Whispers in the Dark" second (as always). That's probably their most popular song. The audience absolutely exploded when the opening notes drifted into the rainy night. I have never been in an audience that energetic in my entire life. I've described it to a few friends like there was an electrical current running through us, uniting us. We had stood through the rain, through three other bands, and it was worth it to us. That meant something.

John loves playing in Texas - it's his favorite state to play in. So he always makes Texas jokes and comments on how we're one of the hardest rocking states in the U.S. I think I would have to agree with him.

One thing I said about Skillet the first time I saw them, when I didn't know nearly as much about the band as I do now, is that it seems like they're there to hang out with the audience, not to perform. I mean that in the best way possible. So often there's an invisible wall between the performers and the audience - one group is there for the other. One is more important. The other is expected to be respectful and silent. That's not the case with Skillet. John does whatever he can to make the audience take part in the show. He asks us questions, has us sing along, has us repeat things after him, finds ways to relate what he says to that specific audience and situation. The first Skillet show I went to, he led us all in singing happy birthday to someone in the audience. That's just the kind of person he is. He's not there to prove he can do anything better than we can. He's there to encourage us, to have fun with us, and maybe as a side effect rock our faces off.

I don't really know how to say much about what the rest of the experience was for me - in a sense it's almost too much to talk about still. God showed Himself to me in a very real way, and I felt more alive than I have in a very, very long time - in fact, I'm going to have to go with more alive than I ever have, because I felt alive in a new way. Most of you who know me know that my favorite Skillet song is "The Last Night." If I had to choose one song that has changed my life more than any other, it would be that song, no contest. I've heard it live before, but it meant more this year. It was like I saw my whole life laid out before me, a picture of brokenness made beautiful in God's love. I don't know how to say the rest of it, but maybe that gives you an idea.

Another thing here that proves what K had said earlier about God loving to give us the joys of our hearts: a while back I had on my facebook status that it was one of my life's goals to see Skillet with pyro. Guess what? They had pyro. The only show on the tour thus far that had had it, to the best of my knowledge. It was incredible. It was like God said "watch what I can do" and sat back and smiled.

Skillet always plays worship songs. Last year when I saw them, that was the part of the concert that affected me most. This year it was just as incredible. When they played "Angels Fall Down," it was like falling in love with God all over again. It was like seeing a picture of Him, of His beauty and holiness and majesty stretched out before me, painted with the colors of hope, love, and life.

I think it would be really, really hard for someone who doesn't understand my passion for music in general (and particularly Skillet) to understand why this concert meant so much. The best I can do is to say this: how does God speak to you? Through friends, through writing, through books, through walks in the silent morning or starlit night? Does He speak to you through hymns, or through praise choruses? However He chooses to speak to you, picture times when He has used that to show you a vivid, vibrant picture of who He is.

That is what He gave me, because He speaks to me most strongly through music. Not just Skillet - music in general, whether I'm playing it or listening to it, so long as it's focused on Him.

Sometimes I wonder if the band members of Skillet realize that they're changing lives, every single day. Not just mine - the lives of hundreds of others as well. And they're not changing lives because they've set world records in sports, or because they make a fashion statement, or because they've got the coolest cars and hang out with all the right people. They're just people living for Christ in whatever way they can, in a very real way. That has become rare. That has become something I want to strive for, every day of my life, in everything I do. This is one reason why I say John and Korey Cooper are two of the only human heroes I have ever had.

It's been half a week since I stumbled back into our house after the concert, at 2:00 a.m. My voice is still a little hoarse, and my neck still a little stiff, but the bruises on my legs from jumping against the seat in front of me are fading, and I can actually listen to music played that night without crying again. But in a sense I never want to really leave that night - not because it was a rock concert, but because it was a renewal of the life and the love I have found in Christ. If I could, I would live every single day of my life in that feeling of complete peace and joy that I felt when I first believed that Jesus loved me. The concert on Saturday brought me back to that feeling, so simple, yet strong enough to change the world.

May His peace be with you today. God bless.

- Elraen, the Wandering Star

Life through Death

I love the way that God works in contrasts, in paradoxes, in things that no one else would dream of using.

This weekend of course I'm referring to the concept of life through death.

One of my favorite scenes in Ted Dekker's Circle Trilogy is a scene in Red - the scene that made me like the entire series. The basic concept was that they dove into deep red water. At first they were in terrible, crushing pain, and they knew they were drowning.

And they drowned. And in doing so, they came alive. The pain was gone, and what remained was a beautiful freedom.

I read that scene and cried, because it wasn't just a story in a book. It was my story, and your story, and above all God's story.

It's so easy for us to wake up every morning oblivious to the beautiful story of love, of hope, of redemption, of beautiful brokenness that we are living in. I remember one day, years ago now, thinking about Boromir in Lord of the Rings (bear with me here, this is relevant). I remember thinking how it must have been for be Merry and Pippin, watching Boromir suffer in agony, pierced by arrows, and to then see him die, just so that they could live. I remember thinking it would be such an incredibly humbling, awe-inspiring thing to live on with the knowledge of that sacrifice.

Then suddenly I realized that I had lived through that. 

We are so stirred by stories of someone laying down their life for someone else - so many war movies use that concept. Maybe we are so moved by those stories because a part of us realizes, even subconsciously, that that is the story we are living in. 

I've never really been to an "Easter" service, like most churches hold on Easter Sunday. These past few days I've felt a little sad as I hear people talk about what their churches are doing. But I really don't think it matters that much, because in the end, what is all of that but a weak, pastel-colored echo of the deep, intense, beautiful, hopeful story of redemption - my redemption, through Christ?

I put together just a few thoughts on this.  This is not the kind of video I typically do, so I'm still learning this style, but hopefully it will encourage you or at least make you stop and think, if only for two minutes and four seconds.

God bless.  May His grace and His love be ever present on your mind this weekend.

- Elraen, the Wandering Star -