Front of the Line

There’s blood in my mouth, but I’m first in line. Not a soul between me and the lights that shine before me, blinding me and guiding me at the same time. Where I’m going is illuminated to everyone else, I see only the veins on the insides of my eyes dazzled by the blazing lights.

Headaches like this usually come with a hangover. Can you be hung-over on life? One thought process too many; an extra shot of stress here and there and one day you wake up at the front of the line with a black-eye and the desire for an ungodly amount of Ibuprofen.

There’s blood in the water. The feeding frenzy has started and no one’s getting out alive. “Don’t go into the light!!!!!” they scream. Unblinking he keeps walking, not seeing the next step, not seeing anything in the blaze of glory that obliterates shadows at the front of the line.

Heartaches like this usually come with a death. Can you die while you’re still living? Overkill is running when life necessitates a walk. There’s no point flying when you can drive, but it looks cooler. Who’s in front now? The light seems dimmer, maybe I’m getting used to it.

There’s blood in these veins. Still flowing, still carrying life’s little necessities where they need to go. The light is still blinding and my head’s still pounding. We’re walking along together and I don’t care where we going, cause I’m at the front of the line and the light is still shining.

On: December 16, 2011
At: Home
Listening to: Coldplay-Mylo Xyloto

More Than Enough

Note: The following is a journal entry from my first trip to Honduras in 2007. I wanted to capture an incredible experience I had on the trip with as much detail as possible, so the evening it happened I wrote it out with as much detail as my tired hand and brain could muster. If memory serves, the only people who have heard this entry were my team members the night I wrote it. But I remembered it recently and wanted to share. So here it is, word for word, unedited except for grammar and spelling, just like I wrote it down in a humid hotel room in Puerto Cortez just over four years ago.

(Brian was our contact from the States in Honduras. Olga lived across from a church where we did a BS, met her kids and she sold us the bags initially)

Friday, May 25^th 7 pm or so

Today, Brian and I walked from Central Park to Olga’s house to buy the bags she made for us. They were 80 lempira each, but we all pitched in 100 to help her out. It’s a very real way to help someone who really needs it.

The walk was long, and it was a hot Honduran day. We walked on the dirt road and although I had been exposed to the same type of poverty for over a week, it still was hard to accept. My mind struggles to accept why I have so much, and so many have so very little.

We arrived at Olga’s house to find the bags weren’t quite ready. Olga needed to refill her Aguazul jug, so Brian and I along with a few kids went to refill it. I paid for the new water and carried it back because I wanted to pay the cost for these people who matter so much to God.

When we got back we went into the house and although I speak almost no Spanish, I began to talk to the kids in the house. They are Yesinia, Tommy, Henri, Lupe and Gladys. Gladys was touching my leg and her infectious smile led me to do the only thing I thought was appropriate. I picked her up, set her in my lap and wrapped one arm her tiny shoulders. She sat there holding my other hand with her head resting on my chest, and without either of us saying a word we communicated care, peace and love without a common language. Sometimes love speaks louder than English, Spanish or any other language ever could. I think for a minute I felt just a sliver of the love God feels for me, while I was holding a tiny, frail, yet precious Honduran girl.

That was all in the first ten minutes, but we spent the whole morning at Olga’s house. There were only four bags ready when we arrived, and none of them had rope on them yet. Olga showed me how to put them on and I went to work. She is very ungifted in the area of multi-tasking, and was telling Brian about her life and her kids, and he would relay the info to me. The problem was that she would stop working to talk, and we were quickly catching up to her. She would also set down her scissors and then minutes later we would all search for them because she couldn’t find them. Sad but hilarious.

The house was more of a shack than anything. One room for six people, and there was no sense of order inside. There was a T.V playing speeches from the Honduran government, and a fan that didn’t oscillate so we had to choose who got relief from the heat. It was such an eye opening experience to the type of home lifer so many people in this world have.

Olga loves the children. Yesinia is her daughter, but the others are her grandkids. Their mother was shot and I don’t know the details, but now her kids live with their grandma. One of Olga’s sons was shot 5 times as his taxi was robbed, but he lived and moved to New Orleans shortly before Hurricane Katrina.

Yesinia did some dishes and cooked the other kids their rice and beans while Brian helped the younger kids bathe and I kept working.

The kids were funny because they couldn’t find their school clothes. Then instead of talking to Brian and I, Olga talked to the kids but stalled work on the bags. I didn’t mind though because God was working on me. I began to understand that life in that one room, wooden shack was probably about the same every day. I realized how fortunate I am to be able to change my routine, to drive to a movie, to sleep in my own bed, especially when I’m no more deserving then they are.

Olga gave me a picture of the kids so I would remember them. I was touched by her generosity, and the prospect of being able to see the kids whenever I want to.

We left with six out of nine bags, and a promise they would all be done the next day. As we walked back, I thought about the experience. This whole day God has been using it to teach me something. During our walk back, Brian and I walked through a run-down, abandoned house. But it had the potential to be amazing. I started thinking about living in a place like this where I could just help and love people like Olga and her family. Where I could hold kids like Gladys and let them know they are loved. Where I could be the hands and feet of Jesus. As I walked my heart broke for the family and many others like them. Not only because they are poor and in need, but because God allowed me to understand how He loves. I barely know them but I care about them. I wish I could just make their lives better and more comfortable, but I can’t. The only fitting way I can think to end this is to thank God for what He showed me today, and to ask Him to work in their lives. To provide for their needs, to help the kids in school, to keep them safe and to love them like only He can. Maybe one day I’ll see them again. Until then I trust that they are in the hands of God, and His love, mercy and grace for them is in every way, more than enough.

(I signed it at the end, and one year later I went back to see this incredible family and their new, 3 bedroom house. It was amazing to see how God had provided and been faithful to them. Olga couldn’t remember my name but she said she saw my face sometimes in her dreams. She held my face with both hands and said Miguel over and over again. I got to hold Gladys again, and laugh with Lupe. I played soccer with Tommy and Henri and caught up with Yesinia. The pictures are of Gladys and the whole family. Tommy is the bigger boy and Yesinia is the oldest girl. These are my brothers and sisters, and I love them)

On: July 30, 2011

At: Home

Listening to: Bethel Live-Be Lifted High

Processed

Processed is a funny word. I made a “lifestyle change” this last week as far as the food I put into my body, and with some deeply appreciated help, I’m hoping I can make it stick. And in this fad diet, weight loss crazy culture, I know full well I’m not supposed to eat processed foods. It’s not that I don’t want to. They usually taste delicious, but supposedly they wreak havoc on the body, so I’m trying to avoid them. Anyway, a lot of this is beside the point.

Processed. It means, and I know using the word in the definition is against the rules, but I don’t care, that something has been processed. To get really technical, it has gone through a process. That’s what I have done in the last 20 days. The 20 days I have spent back in the US and not in Nicaragua. I have spent a lot of time thinking about, mulling over and processing my time there, what I learned, how I lived and what it means to me. I worry about my processed thoughts like I do about processed foods. Are they over-thought now and not useful? I think in this case, processed is the way to go.

It’s so hard to avoid the temptation to just say the trip as great when people ask how it was. I don’t know what they want to hear, or how long they have. So I have appreciated the people who have asked specific questions. Like, what was your favorite part, or what did you do? They seem basic, but they force me to say something concrete, something thought out, something processed. Asking how it went is general and my gut reaction is a general answer. But when people ask the seemingly basic questions it reminds that I had an incredible experience being the hands and feet of Jesus to people he loves in Nicaragua. And what I think I arrive at after processing is that I need to love all people like that. It’s easy when they are cute Nicaraguan kids who want to play basketball and get piggy-back rides. It’s so much harder when they cut me off in traffic or complain about circumstances beyond my control at work, but they are still sons and daughters of my King, loved in the same way I am. The same way Anthony, Anna, Wendi, Kessler and so many other friends I made in Nicaragua are.

So, that’s what I’ve come up with so far. Love people the same. Nothing new or overly profound. Well, not until people start doing it. Then the world gets changed by the love of Jesus Christ. I think that’s the goal. So I’ll take my memories processed and keep working on them.

Written on: July 24, 2011

At: Home (Gryffindor Tower)

Listening to: Michael Grimm-I Am Michael Grimm

Home Again

It’s hard to pick a place to start. I’ve been back from Nicaragua for a week now and I’m still working through it all and trying to process everything that happened. It’s hard to single out memories and experiences to share and it’s hard to find to communicate how meaningful they were to people I didn’t share them with. One friend asked how it was and I said it was great. His response was “just great?” I don’t know what that means. I’m still at the point where it’s hard to talk about it and I don’t know exactly what to say or how to express what I experienced. I wasn’t mad at him at all, I just didn’t know how else to talk about it.

Anyway, I guess the most profound thing I took away is how being to Jesus to someone else doesn’t have to be an over-spiritualized, hyper dramatic thing. It can be as practical as holding a kid’s hand while we watch a movie. Or digging a driveway and laying bricks in it. Water proofing houses and helping kids reach high enough to dunk a basketball are tangible ways of communicating that God loves them and they have incredible value and purpose in his Kingdom. I lived like that for 10 days and it drives me crazy how different life is now that I’m home. I has become a way more important word than it was on the trip. My focus is on me more often than not and I fail to see the same lovable, valuable people like I did in Nicaragua. That’s so frustrating because I’ve been there before and it feels like I didn’t learn anything. If I did I’d be living differently.

Don’t get the wrong idea. The trip was amazing and I did learn a ton. I’m still in that place of decompressing it all and making it a part of my life all the time. I’m a missionary here too and I want to live with the intentionality and determination to love like I did with strangers who become friends in Nicaragua. Hopefully writing it out helps. More to come soon.

Written on: July 12, 2011

At: Mel’s Diner

Listening to: Weird music at Mel’s

....And Then I Cycled 70 Miles

I survived!!!! Yesterday, June 10^th, 2011, I cycled 70.16 miles with my dad on the American River Bike Trail from Folsom to Sacramento and back. It was a lot of fun, and really painful towards the end, but it was worth the work and the grind to do it.

I don’t know if you’ve had a physical goal or accomplishment you wanted to achieve, but it feels good to do it. Whether it’s a marathon, climbing Everest, doing a triathlon, a 5K or whatever, it feels so good to finish and realize it was possible.

So, about the day. The first half was great. We started at about 8:30 from Folsom Bike and rode the 1.5 miles or so to Folsom Lake. From there it was 32 miles to Discovery Park in Sacramento. We set a pretty good pace and rode more than 20 miles before we stopped to refuel and then kept the pace at about the same 14 mph the rest of the way into the city. It was very nice to ride past the 0 mile marker in the Park.

We had lunch at the Fox and Goose in downtown and it was amazing. Sausage, eggs, potatoes toast and excellent beer all tasted great after all the calories I had burned. I was worried about whether or not I’d be throwing up lunch later on the ride back, but it never felt like I was close to doing that.

We started the ride back at a faster pace than the ride out. For about 15 miles we kept the pace at 16+ mph, which felt incredible. But after that we slowed down a bit, and had to take a few stops. None of them were due to actual leg or cardio fatigue though. The aggressive posture of road bikes takes its toll on the neck, back and butt. I felt like I could have pedaled for a bit longer, but my back was screaming to be straightened out. And there was also the lingering memory of the one big hill on the trail waiting to close out our ride.

But it ended up not being so bad. We got in a nice low gear and rode through the whole hill section without stopping, then rode a little bit past our stopping point to make sure we got to 70 miles. And we did!! We finished the day at a mini-mart where Gatorade tasted like a five course meal it was so good. We did 70.16 miles in 5 hours 2 minutes averaging 14 mph and 4:18 per mile. And that was it. The day was over.

So, here’s what I learned. Set goals, practice, push through the pain and you’ll achieve them whether they are physical, professional, emotional or spiritual. You were created to enjoy your life and I enjoy seeing the world from the saddle of my bike. The next big goal by the end of summer is 100 miles. The training doesn’t stop; I’ll be back out there tomorrow eating up asphalt and getting a stupid glove tan because I know what it is I’m trying to do.

Written on: June 11, 2011

At: Home

Listening to: Kings of Leon-Come Around Sundown

Theology 101: I am a Theologian?

Disclaimer: These blogs that fall under the heading Theology 101 are in no way meant to suggest that I am some sort of theological genius. But seeing as I am pursuing an advanced degree in the subject, I might as well say something about it.

Theology. It’s a word most Christians hear, but many say they have no time for. “Just give me the Bible and Jesus and I’ll know what I need to believe.” I hate to break it to you guy I made up then quoted, but the very words I put in your mouth make you a theologian. The minute one begins thinking about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit (we are Trinitarians after all), and what have you, is the very same moment one becomes a theologian. Maybe not a good one, but that’s not the point.

The word theology is formed by combining two Greek words. The first is theos and simply means “God.” The second is logy…this is a theology/Greek joke, hahaha. The second word is actually logos and means “word, statement, or message.” So basically, theology is a word, message or statement about God.

Let me be clear, I understand why so many people resist or feel negative about theology. The classic example is theologians sitting around arguing about how many angels could stand on the head of a pen, and there are many others; election, predestination, atonement, Heaven and Hell, and so much more. Professional and lay theologians make a big deal out of formulating lofty opinions and then telling the world why if you don’t believe them you are a heretic. For someone whose heart is to serve God and live for him, all the arguing and infighting seems like, and is probably not helping much. But don’t throw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater.

Sure, theologians argue. We debate and try to convince others to see things our way. And many times we lose sight of what is most important, namely living out the Gospel and working towards the fulfillment of God’s will on earth. But that is not the desire of all theologians and it is not the goal of true theology. Its intended goal is to inform what we believe about God so we can worship him accurately and relate to him more intimately. At least that’s my purpose in this whole thing.

So what about you? If, like my imaginary quote above, you’d rather just read the Bible and love God, good, you are on your way to being a great theologian. No matter, how much you resist the idea, being in relation with God requires theology of you. Do you think he is good, loving, powerful, compassionate? Do you believe he sent his son for you and has given you his Spirit? Do you think Jesus is alive and the Spirit is active? Oh yeah, you read the Bible, do you think it’s trustworthy, authoritative, meaningful? If you answered yes, or no, to any of these questions you have made a statement about God. You have formulated a message, a word about him. And in doing so, you have entered the ranks of theologians historically and the world over. Welcome to the club.

Maybe you’re not going to write books and articles about your theology. But you need to live it. You need to make sure it’s biblical, Spirit inspired, Church maintained truth about God. Then do it. Live it out. Think big about God and make conclusions and don’t be afraid of the fact that by the act of thinking alone you have become and will remain a theological contributor.

Written on: May 23^rd, 2011

At: My house

Listening to: Cary Brothers-Under Control

All Over the Place

I gave this blog its title before I ever started writing it because it describes where my mind has been for the last seven days. It’s been Spring Break (from work not school) so I have had quite a bit of free time this past week, and it has been so good. For starters, my dad and I set in stone a date for our American River Trail ride. It’s going to be a 64+ mile day so I’ve used some of my free time this week to get back into riding. My legs were pretty thrashed after the first day, now after three solid rides they feel great and I’m loving being back in the saddle.

I’ve also had a lot of time for reading. If memory serves, I have finished 5 books this week. One was my Greek textbook, another was God Wants to Save by Christians by Rob “No One Feels Neutral about Me” Bell. It was kind of surreal to finish the Greek text and it also signals that it is now time to start translating 1 John from Greek to English. Should be fun!! The Bell book had some interesting points, but also left me wondering if he has ever taken a biblical interpretation class. I also finished The Emerging Church by Dan Kimball, which had some great points and ideas, but got really repetitive towards the end. The other two were An Introduction to Liberation Theology by Leonardo and Clodovis Boff and Two Views of Hell by Fudge and Peterson. Both for class, both interesting. I don’t want to talk about reading anymore.

I just found out today that I am going to Nicaragua in June and July if everything works out. I am excited about this. I went to Central America twice in college and I can’t wait to go back. It will be a new country and new people but I can’t wait to get to somewhere not suburban USA and serve alongside local churches and ministries. I didn’t think I would get to go on a trip with my church this year because I was planning on taking summer classes. I didn’t bother applying because I knew class would get in the way. A few weeks after the deadline to go on trips passed I decided not to do any school this summer and instantly regretted not choosing to go on a mission trip. But God, like he tends to do, opened some doors and now I’m going. I’m stoked about doing this with my church and continuing my involvement there, which leads me straight into my next place.

I love the community I’m involved with at Bridgeway Christian Church, particularly with the Young Adult Ministry. It’s been so good to connect and do life with people who are passionate about doing something for God and being available to be used by him. I’ve laughed so hard I’ve cried, had some really deep and meaningful conversations and had the opportunity to exercise my gifts and take part in the ministry that is going on. This past week has been great, and while going back to work will be good, especially all the eating I’ll get to do, I’m going to miss the freedom to do whatever I want all day long. It makes me wish I was indepently wealthy so I could be a philanthropist and travel the world and ride my bike and read tons of books all day. Feels good to write this near the end of it too. Happy Easter.

Written on: April 23^rd, 2011

At: It’s a Grind

Listening to: The employees reorganizing the tables

Talking to God?

My prayer life has undergone a few noticeable changes (two to be exact) in the recent past. I start by confessing I don’t talk to God nearly as much as I should or would like too. I’m easily distracted and quick to rationalize away the need, so there, now you know.

The first change came about as the result of a conversation with a good friend and mentor who had been going through a very trying and difficult season in his life. Through the pain and hardship he was faithful to pray and seek God. His advice to me in regards to prayer was to pray for exactly what I want to happen. Essentially his point was that there is no use pretending the words “God if it’s your will” are an honest reflection of the heart of most people. That makes so much sense to me because honestly, when I’m hurting and life is hard, what I want is for God to fix it, and I’m coming to believe that he’d rather hear me be honest about my struggles than pray half-heartedly that his will would be done. Because honestly, his will might be that it doesn’t get easier. Practical example: as my grandpa’s health deteriorated late last year, I started praying that God would heal him. I confessed the selfishness of that prayer, but also that it was the honest desire of my heart. My grandpa die in November, but I didn’t feel like God had let me down. Instead I felt like being honest had drawn me deeper into God’s love and I felt him close to me in the middle of the pain and loss. Here’s what I’m trying to say. God knows your heart, so share it with him and realize that although he might not give you what you want, that raw, unfiltered honesty creates closeness and intimacy that will guide you through your storm.

The other change is the result of a book I read and a class lecture about said book. It was called Worship, Community and the Triune God of Grace by James Torrance. It’s a book about how Jesus gave the only acceptable offering to God on the cross, and only through participation in his offering by the Spirit may humanity join in right worship. (This blog just got very theological!!) Consequentially, my prayers have become very Trinitarian. I praise my Heavenly Father for who he is, what he is like and especially for sending Jesus to save me. I thank Jesus for living an obedient life to the Father and laying down his life to purify me of my sins, the only offering that could achieve that. Then I ask the Holy Spirit to reign in me and lift me up in participation with the intercession and worship Jesus is perpetually doing on my behalf. I love praying this way because as I study the Trinity and how important that doctrine is to our faith I realize that I so often neglect to remember that my God is Triune. Torrance raises the point that when most people hear the word God, they do not first think Trinity, which is a mistake because the fact that our God is Triune reminds us that he is communal, personal and loving for all eternity by his very nature.

These are just some random thoughts but I think it’s important to be intentional about the way we pray. We are, after all, talking to the Creator and King of the Universe. Feel free to comment, question, or disagree, but pray about it first!!

Written on: April 9^th, 2011

At: The Commons, WJU

Listening to: Mumford & Sons-Sigh No More

Book Review: Through Painted Deserts by Donald Miller

Disclaimer: I am not a professional book reviewer or anything fancy like that. Just a guy who likes to read and has opinions about said reading. That said, let us begin.

I am a graduate student studying theology so most of the reading I do is fairly academic and complicated. That is why reading Through Painted Deserts: Light God and Beauty on the Open Road by Donald Miller was sweet relief from textbooks and systematic theologies during my spring break this year. I was first introduced to Miller’s writing in the summer of 2006 in the form of his popular book Blue Like Jazz, and have since read Searching for God Knows What and A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In their own unique ways, each of these books does something for me that deep theological writing does not. Let me be clear, I am not saying that Donald Miller writes about non-complex, unintelligent topics. What I am saying is that he brings freshness, humor, serious consideration and his own personal reflection to the complexities of life and it makes for a great read.

Through Painted Deserts is Miller’s recollections of a road trip he and his friend Paul took from Houston, Texas to Oregon. It was originally published as Prayer and the Art of Volkswagen Maintenance because the vehicle used for the journey was a near-death Volkswagen bus. Miller recalls leaving the massive, urban jungle that is Houston late at night and setting off on a trip with no real agenda other than eventually ending in Oregon, where Paul was from. The dialogue between Don and Paul demonstrates their close friendship which is characterized by brotherly sarcasm and wit. However, their conversations also take them into serious territory like the meaning of life, God, girls and marriage. Like a third protagonist along the way, the VW serves not only as transport but as a place to sleep and is constantly malfunctioning. From the check engine light coming on, to leaking fuel , to dying in the Mojave Desert it frustrates as well as endears itself to Don and Paul. The van takes them through open stretches of land between Texas and Oklahoma, and eventually to the edge of the Grand Canyon in Arizona.

Miller’s tale of hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back out made my feet hurt. During a visit there I hiked into it for only a few miles and felt the ache in my legs. The beauty of his writing is that it does more than explain what happened. It illustrates it. “My toes are sliding into the front of my boots and my heel has not felt shoe in an hour.” I know that feeling, and even for those who do not it’s easy to imagine. Imagine is a good word for what Miler’s writing invites readers to do.

The narrative continues as Paul, Don and the VW continue through Las Vegas, into California, with a pit stop in Visalia that involves hitting and throwing golf balls at each other, and eventually into Oregon. I read this book with a highlighter, which I do with my texts books as well. However, in this book the goal was not to highlight things I should remember for tests or finals. It was to mark out beautifully written descriptions of events as well as the inner workings of the mind of an artist. I won’t lie, I am jealous of Donald Miller’s writing style. He uses beautiful language and forms words together ranging from torrents of prose to winding streams of poetry. It’s so nice to read, especially if you enjoy good writing. He is a word architect. His prose comes to life and turns the simple act of driving at night into a paragraph filled with power and poignancy. A simple encounter with a stranger humanizes and etches their unique personality into a lasting memory of the moment.

This book is not about God. It is a book about life and all of its deep, rich and meaningful experiences. Which makes it as much about God as anything can be. The point isn’t, “this is what God is like” or “here are the answers to life’s hard questions.” The point is that life makes us ask hard questions and search to understand the God who put us here. And sometimes we have to go on a journey to figure that out. We have to leave the familiar and the safe and head somewhere else. If you can read this book and not want to go on a road trip, something is wrong with you. I know I do.

I want to go east and see the mid-west and drive on highways where you don’t see another car for one hundred miles. I want to see mountains and rivers and oceans and be speechless in the presence of their beauty. I want to see the sun set over Badland deserts and rise over Pacific cliffs. I want to go home to eastern Washington and see the mighty Columbia and the windswept deserts. I want to drive all day and think about the incredible world I live in and the God who spoke into existence so his image bearers could have a fantastic place to reside. But a road trip is not the only way to go on the journey. It may just be that we need to try something new, or interact with someone who is different than we are. We are on the path of life and it’s a shame if we don’t let it carry us somewhere new and exciting. Somewhere we can wrestle with what we believe not so that when we arrive we can have all the answers, but so that we can say, it was good to realize there were questions.

Written on: April 2^nd, 2011

At: The Commons, WJU

Listening to: Coldplay-Parachutes

Launch

Here I am once again writing things down, or typing them out, or whatever, wondering if someday someone will actually want to read them. Maybe they will, maybe they won’t, but I think this time I have to keep writing, if for nothing else, my sanity. For me writing is a release. Some people do it because they “have to” and others because they are really good at it and make tons of money, and who knows why else? But for me it’s therapy. It’s getting all the thoughts and ideas in my head onto paper, or web space, or whatever.

I’ve been called a good writer before. Mostly by my mom, which is nice of her, but also by teachers and professors who say nice things and swell my pride to the bursting point. I’m not going to lie; I’d love to write a book that sells lots of copies or have a blog site that gets lots of hits. But even if I never do, I need to write because there is too much going on in my head to not put some of it somewhere else.

I used to write and then throw what I wrote away, or delete it. I wonder how many chapters of my book I could have filled with that stuff? It’s sort of irrelevant now. This is a new chapter and a fresh start. This is me writing what I think about, wrestling with what I am studying, reviewing what I am reading and really just filling space. There is a lot of space to be filled and a lot that needs to be said. I don’t think sitting on a gift people with brains and PhD’s say you should use is a wise investment. So here this thing goes. It’s going to be honest (when I feel like it), deep (sometimes), raw (maybe?), intelligent (hahaha) and who knows what else? Here we go!!!

Written on: April 2^nd, 2011

At: The Commons, WJU

Listening to: Gungor-Beautiful Things