Late Night Musings 13

<12:32>

I want to write a song.

But why? Why do I want to write a song?



Do I do it for the accolades?

I've always had dreams of being the "star". To be the guy up on the stage who looks out over the mass of people and smiles. The guy who turns up the amplifier to 12 (two notches past possible), and listen to the electric hum of glory. To take the cheap piece of manufactured plastic shaped like a tear-drop and with it bring about a revolution. To listen to the first chord, the screams of fans, of fireworks going off. To let go and live.

At some point in my life I decided that I wanted to be worshiped. That I somehow deserved to be on top, to be wanted, needed, loved. That the point of life was to become the object of WANT from others. From myself. To be accepted.

Accepted... because, well, I'm broken. I'm not who I want, not who I am mean to become. I have spent the last twenty years of my life yearning to BECOME more than I am. I have this desire deep in my soul to get what I am supposed to have.




I recall a story from my preschool days.

Every day in preschool we would have group story time. A sort of assembly of all the snot-nosed ruffians in the building (there were probably a hundred or so) and a teacher would read a story or two to the class.

One day, I decided I had had it. I was done being "one of the kids", of being the same as everyone else. With dignity, I stood up. With confidence I unzipped my pants.

And with all the heart and soul my 4 year-old body could muster, I mooned the entire room.


Having shown my bare end to 50+ small, now possibly traumatized children, I was quickly removed from the room and taken to the director's office to face my ultimate punishment. The details from here get blurry, but I do remember sitting outside that office door feeling GOOD.




I wonder if there are like, 40 or so twenty year old's sitting in therapy right now, being treated for schizophrenic episodes because of my act of rebellion. Mission accomplished.





Nowadays that need of appreciation and love manifests itself in different ways. Now instead of whiny four year olds, I find myself pitted against the forces of love. Friends, family, significant others, all on the battlefield of my war for acceptance. I've taken many people down, all at the hands of friendly fire, out of my own selfish desire.

But things change. Four years have passed since I began to talk to Jesus again, and since we started walking I've thought and struggled through these questions. I've met with the One who gives me that love and affection. And as any whore would, I tell Him I love Him and then run off to have my affair with the world. But a piece of the shell has fallen off. Light is shining through, and the power of Christ is breaking down my world, day by day.



Now I get up and take that plastic pick and strum that chord for a different revolution. Not for my kingdom, but for His. A battle cry for His nation, a war song for His Glory. A march for His soldiers, and a lament for Him who died for us. I am the opening act for the main stage performer - Jesus Christ.

And He plays with His amp turned up to 13.


<12:49>