I am a part of the "Fellowship of the Unashamed."
The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line.
The decision has been made. I am a disciple of
Jesus Christ. I won't look back, let up, slow down,
back away, or be still. My past is redeemed, my present
makes sense, and my future is secure.
I am finished and done with low living, sight walking,
small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams,
chintzy giving, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need pre-eminence, prosperity, position,
promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I now live by
presence, lean by faith, love by patience,
lift by prayer, and labor by power. My pace
is set, my gait is fast, my goal is Heaven, my
road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions few,
my Guide reliable, my mission clear. I cannot be bought,
compromised, deterred, lured away, turned back,
diluted, or delayed.

I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the
presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy,
ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander
in the maze of mediocrity.

I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. I must go until
Heaven returns, give until I drop, preach until all know,
and work until He comes. And when He comes to get
His own, He will have no problem recognizing me.
My colors will be clear.

I am not ashamed of the gospel. (Romans 1:16)

"The Fellowship of the Unashamed"
Dr. Bob Moorehead


My friend shared this with me the other day. It speaks to me. I am part of the Fellowship of the Unashamed. Simple.

During the past couple of weeks I have felt inspired. Inspired by music and events. I want to create something that will have the same effect on others as she or they (or most recently, they) have had on me. (And I thank Steve Vistaunet for introducing me to all via you.) I have this increased desire to write music. Small problem with that... I have no idea how. I suppose fooling around with chords on the piano and guitar will get me somewhere?

I'm afraid that if I do try to write something, it will just be a generic, inexpressive bore. One of those silly songs that teenage girls (myself included) sing in the car on the way to the mall to like, shop. I don't want to be cheese. I want to make something more than that. Something real. Don't know where to start.

I feel like there's something inside of me, trying to get out. There's a song or two deep in my fingers, waiting to escape. I can't describe this feeling. I picture it as a little music note that has appeared on the surface on my heart. I know it's there is because it whispers to me, "Write me, write me. Turn me into a melody. Play me. Sing me. I need to be heard."

Lyrics shouldn't be a problem for me. I have pages and pages of things I've written that could become lyrics. But they just don't fit. They aren't what the music note on my heart needs to become. So I ask, "What are your words, little music note? What are your sounds? What is your melody? What is your rhythm? What is your message?"

Thoughts? Suggestions? Words of encouragement? I have the want, but do I have the ability? The knowledge?

PS: I'm buying this. I need it.

I am a young man. Human life is a musical. I sing on a boat. A big ship. The song ends on the deck with a big splash. Another tsunami wave comes, threatening the boats stability. It's existence. I am not afraid. The ocean gives me peace. The boat is covered in water. The wave brought a girl with it. She lies on the deck as if she was washed up on shore. I begin to approach her and without a word she stands and takes my hand. Together we run, jump into the water and begin swimming to a new song. Her song. I can breathe under the water. Or can I just hold my breathe longer than I could before?

A blue whale shakes my panicked hand and greets me in English. Or do I just understand his language? I suppose the whale was the cause of the wave on the ship. The three of us swim together and I feel as if I can’t keep up. I hold onto the whale to carry me. Can a whale chuckle? We swim on. The familiar girl swims with elegance and expertise. It is beautiful. She is beautiful. Where have I seen her before? How do I know her?

Now I am the girl. I am me. I look at him and smile. I’ve finally found him. Now I will never let him go. We swim in silent understanding. I can feel his eyes adoring me as I twist and move and jump. Like a mermaid. But that is not what I am. He will soon understand. He will soon remember his life before. His life with me when we were in love. His life as one of us. A mammal of the sea.

I am fascinated. Why would I dream of being a whale? Is this weird to any one else?

pic⋅ture [pik-cher]

noun, verb, -tured, -tur⋅ing. –noun

1. A visual representation or image painted, drawn, photographed, or otherwise rendered on a flat surface.
2. A visible image, especially one on a flat surface or screen: the picture reflected in the lake; focused the picture on the movie screen.
3. a. A vivid or realistic verbal description: a Shakespearean picture of guilt.b. A vivid mental image.
4. A person or object bearing a marked resemblance to another: She's the picture of her mother.
5. A person, object, or scene that typifies or embodies an emotion, state of mind, or mood: Your face was the very picture of horror.
6. The chief circumstances of an event or time; a situation.
7. A movie.
8. A tableau vivant.

-- pic·tured, pic·tur·ing, pic·tures
1. To make a visible representation of.
2. To form a mental image of; visualize.
3. To describe vividly in words; make a verbal picture of

If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can't I paint you?

By which I mean the trees. Definitely for the trees.

There is this little grove of trees on campus. I walk past it almost every day. The first week I was here, I remember looking at all the green and hoping that Utah would give me a legitimate Autumn so I could enjoy this. Thanks, Utah.