If I had all the world, but never you,
It all would be emptied of joy;
Everything would become nothing
As the wind blew away all the ashes.

If I had nothing more, but only you,
I would find my joy complete;
You are my world, and more besides -
My life dances to the beat of your heart.

Now I have all the world, that you gave to me
And find myself empty and longing inside.
I ache to have nothing to distract you from me,
Just to have you look only at me.

Love is a funny language, mostly because no three people speak it the same way. I say three, because for every one there is another who speaks and understands the language of love between each other perfectly. Some couples speak with their eyes. Some with inside jokes. Some couples love with flowers and teddy bears and pet names. Some by arguing and debating an issue until they are both exhausted and cannot go ’round in circles any more. Some people love with their words. Some with their actions. Some by climbing mountains and crossing rivers. Some by gifts. Every couple a unique mixture of every one.

They loved with their music.

Indeed, it was among other things. But mostly, they communicated their love by music. She was the lyrics, and he was the melody carrying them. Her words sat, meaningless black ink on a blank page, until his music flowed into them like water bringing life to a wilted flower. His notes danced eagerly through the air, searching for a vessel to voice their thoughts. Their music flowed between them; it was the lifeblood of their relationship. Their hearts beat as one to the rhythm of his fingers on the keys and the sound of her voice singing.

Unavoidable tragedy, they went their separate ways, as some lovers must. The among other things simply were not what the ought to have been, and one expression of love alone does not have the power to sustain love for a lifetime. They understood each other speaking love, but only partially; they each had yet to find their One Other. So their love ended. But funny thing was, their music did not. It seemed to have had a life of its own, a heartbeat that kept its rhythm. Their music broke the rules of love’s language. Perhaps because it had rules more important than love’s.

So his melodies continued to haunt her, and his fingers on the keys still caused their hearts to beat in time. It was not love, not anymore; her lyrics had been erased from the page. It was their music, his melodies, beautiful and empty, playing in her mind like a tragic funeral march.

Should’ve known better than to cross that line,
Should’ve known you wouldn’t give me what I needed.
Siler’s Bald

I know You didn’t bring me out here to drown
So why am I 10 feet under and upside down?
Lifehouse

Happiness is just outside my window
Would it crash blowing 80-miles an hour?
Or is happiness a little more like knocking
On your door, and you just let it in?

Happiness feels a lot like sorrow
Let it be, you can’t make it come or go
But you are gone- not for good but for now
Gone for now feels a lot like gone for good

Happiness is a firecracker sitting on my headboard
Happiness was never mine to hold
Careful child, light the fuse and get away
‘Cause happiness throws a shower of sparks

Happiness damn near destroys you
Breaks your faith to pieces on the floor
So you tell yourself, that’s probably enough for now
Happiness has a violent roar

Happiness is like the old man told me
Look for it, but you’ll never find it all
But let it go, live your life and leave it
Then one day, wake up and she’ll be home
Home, home, home
The Fray

The irony of happiness is not just that it’s bound to end someday, but rather that the more sure of it you are and the more you trust its permanence, the more likely it is to dissolve around you. It’s like standing in a room with walls made of glass painted with watercolors, and the view is beautiful until the rain comes and washes it away and you find you weren’t standing in a field of flowers, but rather in the middle of a very ordinary and dreary city flat.

I should’ve known better than to trust it; really, I ought to know how this works by now I’ve been through it enough. I guess I just thought that even knowing the transient nature of happiness it was better to enjoy it while I had it. What I really needed to remember was how tempting it becomes to think happiness is permanent the longer you let yourself enjoy it.

It’s very bittersweet, and in the middle of it all I almost think it’s worth it now for what I had. But then I wake up, and the sky is grey, and the rain is falling, and my heart is heavy with a burden that might crush it. And somehow I have a hard time believing feeling nothing is worse than feeling this.

if only simple
still
existed
and the space of time
caught
captured
in the perfect symmetry
of then
of when
if only aching
really
faded
and love could be
felt
understood
though it may not
appear
perfected
if only happiness
would
find
and the sun
would
rise
and the world
be
right
for you.

(my heart breaks still for you my friend)

All throughout the book of Proverbs – and Psalms too, to some extent – there is presented a stark contrast between the wise and the foolish. It is a very black-and-white representation of the two opposites, so much so that I think sometimes it’s easy to see the extremity of the foolish and assume we are therefore to be lotted with the wise since we are not quite so bad compared to the picture of a fool presented in the Scripture. However, just because you aren’t one thing doesn’t mean you automatically are another. It’s easy to read that, “a fool finds pleasure in evil conduct, but a man of understanding delights in wisdom” (Proverbs 10:23) and think that we find no pleasure in evil conduct, so we must therefore be OK and must be wise when, really, that isn’t the case; the wise man is required to delight in wisdom.

My point is that the delineation between wisdom and folly is perhaps not quite as cut-and-dried as we think, that perhaps it is easier to be a fool than it is to be wise, that maybe just because we aren’t ‘as bad as’ the caricature of a fool doesn’t necessarily make us not a fool. That maybe being wise is like the center of a bullseye, and being a fool is all of the wider rings around that small center, and just because we get close doesn’t mean we’re any less of a fool merely by measurement of distance. This verse in particular challenged me a lot:

In his pride the wicked does not seek God; in all his thoughts there is no room for God.
Psalms 10:4

The wicked man (or foolish man) in this verse is proud. Pride is thinking we can be autonomous, that we can get along just fine all by ourselves without any help from anyone. It excludes need from our thought process and leaves no acknowledgement of our weakness or imperfection. But that is not the primary sin of this man. The sin of the wicked as presented in this verse is that in all of his thoughts there is no room for God.

Wow.

Take a second and think about that.

How much room is there in your thoughts for God?

How many of your thoughts exclude any reference to Him altogether?

Pride is, unfortunately, a root that has taken hold in the heart of all of us. It is essence to the state of fallen, unredeemed humanity. Until we reach heaven, none of us will ever be completely rid of it. It sneaks up on us so easily, coaxing us gently and slyly away from our dependency on and desperation for God. It doesn’t take much. And our sin? That our thoughts no longer are centered on Christ. It’s like we were standing under an umbrella of protection and covering that, as long as we stay right underneath it, we are covered; but the moment we stray out from underneath it we expose ourselves to a downpour of soul-drenching storms.

You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in You, whose thoughts are fixed on You!
Isaiah 26:3

Distraction comes so easily. It steals our thoughts and wastes our time until we find ourselves confused, ill at ease, and without any clear direction. It draws us away from the path of wisdom and leaves us stranded at the dead-end of foolishness. And how does that happen? By leaving no room in our thoughts for God. Elsewhere in Proverbs it says,

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.
Proverbs 9:10

The Hebrew word for “fear” used in this well-known verse emphasizes awe or reverence rather than terror. It is this kind of fear that provokes the God-fearer to implement his fear in practical righteousness. The word for “knowledge” is a particular kind of knowledge that comes from personal experience. Both of these words sum up an intimate aquaintance with God that comes from being captivated in awe and reverence, the kind of captivation that grabs your entire attention and wrecks your concentration for anything else; an intimate relationship that has developed from knowing God inside-out in every way, in every part of your being. And both of these words leave implication of a person whose entire life is consumed with seeking God, beginning with his thoughts.

in the almost uncertainty
of this thing called life
i am surprised to find
an answer that is posed
as a question to my heart
and as nothing makes sense
somehow this one thing does
and i’ll build my life
i’ll build my life
on the growing surety
of this one thing
and what we thought was a surprise
i think we will find
by the end of this almost uncertain
thing we call life
that it was no surprise at all
though we didn’t see it coming
and that the unknowns of our life
all pointed to the one
anchor we will have
the safe harbor we can hide in
the foundation of our hearts
and we will build
and we will build
our life upon this love

From the beginning, he had known he was destined for greatness. The circumstances surrounding his birth were enough to prove that fact to most. And since he was old enough to walk, his parents had whispered the words angels had spoken to them: “You are going to be great in the sight of the Lord, John; the Spirit of the Most High dwells in you, my son; you will bring the people of Israel back to their God; you will go on before the Lord in the spirit and power of the prophet Elijah of old; you will make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

John had served God his whole life, never once turning, never once stumbling, but walking straight forward like an arrow to hit the mark set for his life. He knew the call like he had heard it spoken by God himself. He knew he was to be a voice crying in a desert land among a thirsty people, making a way for the coming of the King. It was his destiny – the pinnacle of his life would be the moment he would step aside and bow low to make known the one true King of Israel. So he spent his life preparing for that one moment. Studying, living a life of the strictest asceticism and devotion to God, becoming an outcast as he preached a word of righteousness and repentance among a people who did not know their own sin.

His message caused quite a stir, to say the least. Some responded; many did not. Some came for hunger of truth; most came to see the spectacle of a man clothed in camel skin who ate locusts and preached a radical new religion that flew in the face of establishment. He was gaining quite a reputation. Indeed, he lived up to the prophetically announced resemblance to Elijah. He was bold, radical, and undaunted by proud and powerful religious leaders. But with every confrontation, with every repentance, with every baptism – still he waited to see the day of the Lord’s coming. More than all the other people who waited in hopeful silence, he longed to see the day his Lord would come and John’s own purpose would be fulfilled.

That day the religious leaders sent people to question John. They wanted to know who he was. John, of course, knew the answer to that question like he knew his own name – it was as much a part of him as his own heartbeat. He was a messenger of the Almighty, the one chosen to prepare the way for the coming Messiah. Their initial question was if this fiery preacher in the desert was indeed the Messiah they all waited to see. John did not hesitate to confess he was not. They then wondered if he was Elijah come back – at this John smiled inwardly; he probably could say yes and they would believe him. But he did not lie. “No,” was his answer. “Then who are you?” John gave careful pause before answering them, knowing whatever words he answered with could easily be twisted and used against him if he did not put thought into his phrasing. The words of his answer came out of his mouth almost of their own volition: “I am the voice of one calling in the desert, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’” As the words left his mouth, John suddenly knew.

The testimony of his life was making known the coming of the King, not being known himself for announcing that arrival. It wasn’t about his destiny being fulfilled in and of itself, but about what that destiny was fulfilled in doing. His voice caught in his throat as almost for his own sake, the Baptist murmured, “I am not even unworthy to untie his sandals…”

How had he imagined that moment before? Himself, John, sharing center stage with the Messiah when He came? Being lauded and adored as the Way-Maker for the King? With special accolades and perhaps even position in the new Kingdom the King would bring for being such a faithful servant? It all seemed so utterly ridiculous. Once the King was there, there should be no one to distract from His glory being revealed. How could he even think of himself as worthy of sharing in that glorious appearance? His only purpose was to open blind eyes and hearts so that the King could be seen. His purpose was found in losing himself in God’s purpose. John left the Jordan that day humbled, and knowing now that the day of his destiny’s fulfillment was not any longer about him. It was about the Messiah.

And the next day, He came. And John stepped aside, as the carpenter from Nazareth was revealed as the Son of God who would take away the sins of the world. His purpose was found. The King had come. The people had seen, at least those with eyes to see. He would find his inglorious end in a dungeon, with his head on a golden platter delivered to a weak-willed king at the order of his malicious wife by request of a capricious daughter. He only heard rumors of the Kingdom coming to earth and never saw it. But his purpose was found. The way was made. And John was remembered not for falling away on account of the seeming ingloriousness of his task, but rather for illustrating with his life his prayer to decrease, that He might increase.

Her house was at the meeting of Eleventh and Avenue A, and she lived in the shadows of remarkable silence. Walls painted grey and clocks ticking thunderously, every cushion in place and candle lit, she stood at the window with arms crossed and watched the fog swirl across the street in the falling night. Meant for more, she waited with bated breath for something she could not identify. She waited until she gave up hope, just as the clock struck the hour.

59 minutes ’til midnight, and a wild wind came blowing down the corner of her street, but she couldn’t hear the sound. It whisked away the fog and cleared the air while she lay down to sleep. While she lay dreaming, as she had not done often for years, the wind crept in through the cracked window to interrupt her slumber. Ten minutes ’til midnight, she was wakened by the draft and stood to shut it. At the window she paused and opened the curtains to let the light in from the streetlight on the corner. Fog whirled around it like a hurricane, but still it shone brightly with warm light that illuminated a clear tunnel to the stars hiding behind the clouds. She fled the window and wrapped herself in a long black coat and ran to stand by the light and look at the stars.

Five minutes ’til midnight, and she stood in awestruck wonder at the heavens as her forgotten dreams came back on the wind. She heard the sound, heard the roar, as ferocious life flew at her at a hundred miles an hour. She heard the sound of the wind in her house, blowing through and rearranging. She saw dawn’s light paint her grey walls with color and fill the emptiness with warmth and she remembered that she could not stay.

At dawn’s breaking light after all night with the wind and the stars under the streetlamp she had never seen before, she put on her rainbow-colored poka-dotted rainboots and walked out of her house under a bright yellow umbrella. The sun shone clear despite the dark clouds and reflected off the puddles and wet pavement as she turned on Eleventh and followed the sound that had roared through her night and wakened her slumber to breath life to the dreams she had forgotten how to dream.

Remember who you are!
Don’t try to run where you can’t yet walk,
But don’t forget to walk where you shouldn’t stand still.
Remember who you are!
Love is the risk of two vulnerable hearts;
Hers is as fragile as yours.
Remember who you are!
Don’t let fear be the insecurity
That keeps your love locked away.
Remember who you are!
Recall that strength is found in weakness
And love’s cradle is pain.
Remember who you are!
You are stronger than you think,
And more steadfast than you know.
Remember who you are!
These things rarely make sense so don’t try to make them;
Chance is necessary in progression.
Remember who you are!
And keep putting one foot in front of the next;
She has been and will be beside you ever step.
Remember who you are!
It’s the warrior-poets who love best,
For they feel it the deepest.
Remember who you are!
Just a little at a time, this seasons will change
You cannot rush it or hold it back.
Remember who you are!
And know that faith and hope and love
Will keep you both.
Remember who you are!
Love’s not time’s fool
And you are no fool.
Remember who you are!

An audience waited expectantly.

A girl stood, frozen in motion. But by the crowd she stood with her back to, but for the eyes she anxiously longed to capture.

Those eyes belonged to a man who stood behind the curtain, carefully observing everything that transpired in his domain. Observed, but did not see.

And so the stage was set.

The audience had every right to be so intent on this young woman. She was breathtaking. She was the epitome of true beauty. Her face was extraordinary, of course, and she had a figure that turned the heads of the boys and inspired jealousy in the girls. But what really was astonishing about her was the light that shone from inside. Her heart and soul were the most beautiful ever created – any who looked on her and saw the radiance of her face knew her beauty emanated from the inside out. They watched, knowing she had something to offer them. A song, perhaps, or a moving oratory; or maybe an amusing act to lighten their weary hearts. Or maybe like the revivalists of old she would bring miraculous healing into the midst of their brokenness hidden behind their masks. They waited with bated breath, knowing just by looking at her that she was capable of any or all or more than just those few things. She was just that obviously extraordinary.

But she didn’t even notice.

Her eyes were fixed upon the young man behind the curtain. She stood unsure, with no small amount of hesitation in her stance. She had begun to dare to hope that she was beautiful, worthy of love and attention, but still did not fully believe it to be true. The irony was that she did not even begin to grasp the fullness of just how beautiful she was. She longed to be beautiful only to him; she did not know her beauty was meant for so many more than just that one. She ached for his eyes to see her, his heart to love hers in return. But he didn’t even notice her. She had loved him for so long she could not picture her life without him. But there he stood, behind the curtain, like a director ready to watch the execution of his masterpiece on stage for the first time. And there she was, his star performer, and he didn’t know she existed.

He only saw the crowd.

In his mind, they were all that mattered. The million eyes he imagined were watching him. Really they couldn’t see him – but he was immensely concerned with what they would see should they notice him. He almost imagined it was opening night for one of the many tragic love stories he had written. Of course, he was merely a light technician – one that had even abandoned his post – to make more clearly seen the true star set in the story of the real author. More tragic still was the fact that if he had noticed her, the belle of the ball, he could have had a leading role beside her. But he did not see her. He only saw the crowd. He did not know the magnificence and adventure he was missing out on. He wondered what the audience was so intent on. They were clearly captivated by something, and he was jealous it was not him. Would never be him, not now. Not that things had changed.

Because in an isntant he turned his head to see what the audience saw, and his heart stopped as he beheld her for the first time.

But she did not see him because she turned her face to see the crowd and suddenly began to sing. It was a song she did not know she knew, but it was one that rose up from within her like a piece she had rehearsed her entire life. It was the song she was supposed to sing – right now, at this moment, in front of these people, for them.

And they were awed.

Their lives were changed forever from having heard the girl sing.

And so was his. He finally knew he had seen whom his heart ached for.

And so was hers. She knew at last who she was and walked with purpose off the stage after her performance. Away from him as he stretched out a single rose in congratulations.

It fell to the floor.

She had loved him all along, and he did not know it until too late.

If only he had seen her sooner and loved her first, her solo could have been a duet.