A Break From the Story

So... a little siesta from the faber (story) of Ryan Robertson.

I read Psalm 139 for a quiet time just a little ago.

It's so hard to understand that I have been searched and known (v. 1) by the Almighty God. Oh, but I want to know! To know how am held and led by His right hand, in the depths, in hell, and though I "dwell in the uttermost part of the sea"! (vv. 8-10)

One thing I've struggled with for a while is a lack of self-respect. I talked about this with my mom last night, and she encouraged me to think if I were my best friend, what I would think of myself. That... kind of shuts me up. I sort of... invent problems for myself when I think too much. I project situations that don't exist, outcomes that aren't likely or even possible, usually negative. It runs in my family.

And, if I do that... if I think from the perspective of someone who watched my everyday life and knew me very well... (it is hard for me to say any of this) I would see a piercing, striving intellect, bent on seeking God's will in every circumstance, committed to quiet, godly living, cultivating God's standards in my friendships, and relationships with women, treating other people with respect and care, prayerful, committed to time alone with my Creator and Redeemer, committed to forgiveness and grace, even after being violated, cultivating my talents of drumming, poetry, public speaking, teaching, and wisdom, broken, humble, only by the grace of God, with a hard work ethic in many aspects of life, including school, friendships, and my relationship with the Lord.

It's so hard to say all this because it seems arrogant, but it's true: I ought to view myself as God views me. He calls me "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139). Shall I call bad what God calls good? Shall I call lacking what God has filled, or sinful what God has redeemed? Shall I so divorce His will from mine that I forget that Yahweh's "call and his promise are irrevocable" (Romans 11). Ha, it's pretty funny because I'm watching Toy Story right now with Raju, my little brother. It's the part where Buzz Lightyear has a rocket strapped to his back and his depressed because he's just a toy, not a Space Ranger after all. He's forgetting that his Master (Andy) thinks he's very special. Andy has his room decorated with Buzz Lightyear memorabilia, but Buzz doesn't care. Andy has Buzz Lightyear bedsheets, and slept with Buzz at night, but Buzz doesn't care. His Master loves him, misses him, wants him to come home and wants him to KNOW how much he means to Himself. Instead Sid--Buzz's enemy, thus Andy's enemy, and for analogical purposes, Satan--has Buzz strapped to a rocket and scheduled to blow up in a little while. Andy is Buzz's only hope, yet he wallows in self-pity.

WHY do we neglect God's eternal, infinite declaration of our worth in Jesus Christ? Why do we forget His writing on our souls, as Andy had written on the sole of Buzz's shoe?

I forget often that grace of identity. I am the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21). I am beloved by the God who holds the universe in the palm of His hand.

Father, engrave on my heart your love. Let me always remember your grace through your Son Jesus Christ, my Savior and Redeemer.

Oh, another cool thing I've been thinking about is in Isaiah 9, how it prophecies that Jesus will be born to save Israel and to the virgin. It's talking about Jesus, and it says "He shall be called, Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace". Jesus is the Wonderful Counselor. The Holy Spirit is also called the the Counselor when Jesus talks about Him and how He will send Him. Jesus and the Holy Spirit are one and the same, but also distinct. Jesus is the Almighty God. There is only One True God (Ephesians 4:5-6), and the Father and Holy Spirit are also called God. Jesus is the Everlasting Father, but He also prays to the Father and is One with the Father. They are the same, yet distinct. Jesus is the Prince of Peace, which is his Sonship. Jesus is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and the Father is also Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and the Spirit is also Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. If you have one, you have all three. You cannot have one without having all three. You must know all three to know one, and you must know one to know all three.

The Trinity.

Gratias lectenti (Thanks for reading),
Valete amici

continuum fabri rursus

(rursus= again)





That week (it was spring break) that Graydon and I and Ryan's family visited was very interesting. We had the fun times with the videos, commercials, and chairs. We also had an awesome time, when one night I dreamt that Graydon and I were swimming straight down in water near a dock, and kept going, and at some points I was leading and others he was leading, and Ryan interpreted it to be about Graydon's friendship with me, one of us leading at one point, and the other at another point. For the rest of my high school years, that was generally true, especially in regard to our accountability relationship and sexual purity.




The other very interesting thing that happened that week was meeting this woman who Ryan said was awesome and very helpful to Affinity's inhabitants. Her house was a few minutes away from Affinity. For the first hour or so, she fed us milk and brownies, which were delicious. She was a grandmotherly woman, respectable and kindly. After that, for another hour or so, we sat down to discuss the Bible. It was more her teaching us. It was all good and edifying, until we got on the topic of "Once Saved, Always Saved" (i.e. the question of losing your salvation). The Robertsons and I had discussed this a little while ago, and I had demonstrated that, if a person is truly saved, they cannot lose their salvation. But she disagreed. She said that you needed one verse from the Old Testament for every verse you had from the New Testament, and the Old Testament, being the Unfulfilled Law, often talks of works of the law in regards to salvation. But Hebrews clearly demonstrates that Old Testament Believers were saved only by faith, even though all they had was the Law and the yet-un-met promise of the Messiah, Jesus Christ. So she was wrong.

But... for some reason... she sounded... right. We weren't idiots. We were Bible-reading, praying, church-involved Christians, who spent great deals of time in fellowship. We were deceived. It was like there was a cloud that hovered over our minds, dampening our understanding and alertness to Biblical clarity. We really shoud've clued in that this lady was not teaching legitimately when she told us about healing her dead cat, with a blue beam of light. We believed her. It sounded right. It sounds insane now, but it was as if... all there was was to believe her.

It was my first personal encounter with spiritual warfare: demons of deception. In the car on the way from her house, I apologize to the Robertsons for advocating Once Saved, Always Saved. I shouldn't have apologized. Scripture makes it clear.

We all realized over the passage of a few weeks that we had been mistaken in listening to her teaching. I thank God that we did not remain deceived, but that He rescued us from Satan's lies.

We parted that week, encouraged and hopeful of the Lord's work in Ryan's life.

continuum fabri

(Title means "Continuation of the story").

I left off with my best friend Ryan's sudden abduction to a Christian rehab in Montana.

I forget to mention that earlier that summer, Ryan and I, along with his sister (who has become a sister to me) and another of our friends, Graydon Cress. Graydon and I grew to be great friends in the high school years, mostly because of our mutual experiences with Ryan, and we also were accountability partners (a.k.a. brothers in Christ who give each other the proverbial "kick-in-the-pants" when we need it). Well that last sentence got bogged down, and isn't a complete sentence if you look closely enough, but what I was going to say was that we all went on a whitewater rafter trip with Mt. Hermon ministries on the Klamath river earlier that summer. It was awesome. We had tons of fun and met awesome people, and were all encouraged in our walk with Christ. We also found this awesome song:

"All they lions they can eat my body,
but they can't swallow my soul, no no no...
They keep on trying to crash my party,
but they can't get control, no no no..."

If only Ryan had remembered that song...
If only he recalled it now.

So by the time September came, I'd come to enjoy this fun-loving, care-free, Christ-loving Ryan, and I was pretty bummed that his parents sent him away. But I trusted that they had his good in mind.

The Christian rehab was called Affinity, and was, I heard, home to about 40 other struggling drug addicts, sex addicts, alcoholics, and suicidals. I hoped, I guess, that Ryan didn't "fit in".

It was strange what happened in the next six months. Ryan Robertson's house had always been the "hang-out" for kids in my grade at church. We had late night campfires with worship and s'mores. We watched movies, flirted, played video games, talked, and had bible studies. It was awesome. They always had an abundance of pop and chips and other snacks. My grade at church loved the Robertsons, so when Ryan was sent away... they all bonded around him. We would sign pillow cases, posters, write letters--we had parties organized around these activities--and pray for him, always keeping him in mind and mentioning him in our prayers. It was beautiful unity in fellowship and encouragement. Ryan was blown away. He would send letters back, and we would have them read aloud to the entire grade, packed into their living room, which should have held only 15 (maybe) but we got in probably twice that--or more. His letters made it sound like he was thriving. He mentioned how it was difficult, and told us about how they had to do PT (Physical Training) as punishment and as a routine, at Affinity. It sounded like an intense but incredible blessing--the whole "learning the hard way" deal.

For about six months this support of Ryan by our grade at church continued, and then slowly tuckered out, each of us only politely remembering our friend in Montana. After all, there were many of us, and only one Ryan, so it seemed almost appropriate that we move on.

I wish we hadn't.

In April of 2004, after Ryan had spent many months at Affinity, coming home only for Christmas, Graydon Cress and I went with Ryan's family to visit him. We stayed at a hotel about a 15 minute drive from Affinity. It was great to see him. It'd been a long time. While we were there, Graydon, Ryan, and I (with the help of his little brother, Riley) made a mock Crisco commercial, and a movie (in one, Ryan walked backwards and slid down the rails of the stairways, so when we rewound it, it looked like he was sliding up the rails--it was awesome), and we had Graydon sit in a big hotel chair, stacked another one upside down on top of him (if that one slipped it would've crushed his throat, so I held it), and put another one right-side up on top of that one... Ryan sat on top of it, and we had Riley video tape it. That was awesome too.

This concludes the second installment. Hopefully I will add more later tonight, since I know this ending was abrupt. I am chauffering my sister... :D (fake smile).

Goodbye, world, and

Valete amici

No More Dark Define

Here is the poem I mentioned in my last post (it's titled the title of this post):

Once ago, once ago
I flew the Himalayas, and watched
the sun streak over them in rising
I have been to championships,
I have met the humble and the chastising
I have toured in a taxi with a terrorist,
held my baby teeth within my fist,
I have an adopted little Indian brother,
I have cussed at my own mother,
I have worn two pythons around my neck
and felt like an idiot writing my first check,
I have broken my nose four times,
and gone on adventures,
just to adventure
sometimes;
I have seen a man shake in utter fear,
I’ve stubbed a toe and wiped a tear;
I’ve declared to a girl that I’d be with her to the end—
I’ve won a heart,
I’ve lost a friend;
I found a dead jellyfish on the shore
and got lost in a grocery store;
I rode an elephant once,
I’ve built a scarecrow and had it lit,
I’ve even gone to watch a concert,
and ended up playing in it.
I’ve known famous people
and prayed beneath a dozen steeples;
I’ve seen a Nepali woman furious at exercise yoga,
and been complimented by a Buddhist monk,
I’ve spoken Latin and learned how to say “toga” (…it’s… “toga”… in Latin)
I’ve run from a skunk!
I’ve seen my best friend fall off the proverbial cliff,
I’ve hung with people I’d call loose
and been called “stiff”
I’ve beaten an analogy to a pulp
and I drank that glass of orange juice in one gulp
I’ve been handcuffed,
and tasted my own medicine
I’ve seen all sorts o’ stuff,
I’ve been caught in sin,
I’ve been choked on a school bus,
accidentally wiped whiteout on a teacher’s shirt,
I’ve collected rocks, chased snakes and frogs
and aimlessly dug holes in dirt
I’ve been afraid of dogs
I’ve sat on a sunken dock, and in the rain!
to watch the drops, like pepper, play upon the lake—
I like to be called crazy—
I think it keeps me sane
And all in 19 years
of vanilla birthday cake!
Why, I hope to live four times as long!
But now we’re shifting gears….

Back then…

Then
I was a little boy
and Life
was sandbox Tonka Toys
Dreams were commonplace—
As was the mud on my baby-fat face.
And, like some little boys
I had a dad—
I’d beam when he praised me,
and cringe
when he was mad.
Through a long and drawn-out lesson
I’d learn to discern
between good and bad
In scoldings, time-outs,
spankings and shouts.
This is my upbringing, like many others.

Like many others,
Then
I was a teenager
Arrogant and unsure
I was both Superman and the loser
I was king and I was victim.
There were moments, sure,
When I was void of all delight,
But like every fledgling artist,
I had my time in limelight
Like many others.
____PART 2_____
Like many others,
Now
I’m a young adult—
Still I often feel unqualified for the job,
Or as if I’d joined a cult
But always I tend toward thinking
That I know more than I actually do,
We are so young, college students!
But we assume we’re heroes yet unsung.
We have LaRouche, we have Conservative,
Musician, Engineer
Nerd and Homie-G;
You name it and it’s here!
We have the prideful and afraid,
Theologians and Agnostics,
the bums and the well-paid,
But what’s the difference if tomorrow,
We’re the same as yesterday?
I fear
That we’ll let life get away
Being caught between
Friends and enemies
Between those who uphold me
And those who scold me to my knees;
We have the broken and the breaking, shaken and shaking,
lust-slaking,
peace-making,
truth-taking,
friend-forsaking,
cause-for-headache-ing
thought-baking
We have the
moral-teaching
love-leeching,
shirt-bleaching,
short-armed and far-reaching,
humbly beseeching,
Sports-loving
push-comes-to-shove-ing
innocent-as-dove-ing
Dawg-piling
endless-smiling,
by-fire-trialing
relationship-reconciling,
Propaganda-bellowing,
way-showing,
temper-mellowing,
face-glowing,
Class-rocking and nerd-mocking,
the stunning and the shocking,
hatchet-burying and gun-cocking
open-door and window-locking,
Joyless,
hopeless,
faceless,
heartless,
Joyful, hopeful,
a face full of laughter
and a heart full of depth
Here is the secret long best-kept:
I am not invincible—I never was!
Yet I make my choices and when asked for reason
I answer firmly “Just because!”
“I have rights!” I cry, but do I? Do I?
Was I not born? Will I not still die?
I am not a sadist, masochist, nor emo
But “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”—I’d like to know
real life,
I’d like to know
Why the scalding heat of summer always cycles into snow
Why we have those feel-good movies, and then their credits t’ end the show
Why we have sweet songs, and then their resolution chord,
Why there is an end to prince and pauper, both the lowly and the lord,
Why we have love and our beloved is soon lost,
Why we have gain and glory—but always with a cost
Why everywhere there’s white it’s not quite white
but a mere and imperfect reflection of the truly bright white
Why everywhere there’s light it’s always lessened by the shadows
And, most of all—
the silencer of tongues!
the stiller of our strife!
the sobering truth
that one day ends this life!—
Why we die although we grow
To grow and still die

Not quite the happiest thoughts,
No I know they are not
But flip them around,
they take on a better sound
that the freezing winter is always followed by the spring,
that the end of sweet songs means a new lyric to sing
that the poor are justified to meet the same fate
as the rich—the small as the great
that love is never a regret, for somehow it goes on,
that the cost of greatness is never one for which we long
that somehow, by not seeing white, we seek like ne’er before,
and that, though dark descend, we are promised light in one day more.

Do not close my childish eyes, as you have closed your own!
I will not be a mimic, sycophant, nor clone!
I will see the light, and not be scared to shine.
I will, too, see the dark, and bring to it the light.
We deny, defraud, defer,
But Truth’s always coming closer,
Let it not be fear that breeds
When I say Truth’s all you need
Let it not be a shaking hand that’s close
When I say the end is close at hand
Let it be only comfort, consolation
that Truth will be there on that day
that takes you from me away
I will feel it and remorse
But Truth will meet you at the finish line
When there is no Blemished White, no Dark Define,
We’ll have brothers, sisters, mothers, uncles, aunts and friends
On this my soul depends
And like back in that sandbox, playset swing
There’ll be no thinking too much, there’ll be no thing
but trust, between you and your Father
Truth will meet you there.
This life is like music.
It’s beautiful.
But it ends.
I know Truth, and I know Life;
He’ll be there at the end.
On Him my soul depends.
__________________

Now I want to write about the "I've seen my best friend fall off the proverbial cliff"...

His name is Ryan. Ryan David Robertson.
We went to the same elementary school in Redmond, WA, and we lived about a mile apart. Hung out a lot when we were littl'uns, both sort of "not in the cool crowd", if you will. For some reason I can't explain, I tried really hard to be a good friend to Ryan. In seventh grade, he became more and more distant. We would hang out, but for the next two or so years he became less of a good friend to me. My dad mentioned something about it, and asked me why I was such a good friend to him. I just remember saying "I don't know"...

It must have been the grace of God.

In those two years of hanging out, we did crazy things, like burning a scarecrow and homemade napalm, and making those terrible 3-AM movies that are only funny when you make them--Attack of the Office Tools was our crowning achievement. We threw hairspray cans in a fire--Ryan was a pretty intense pyro--and had our blackbelt Karate friend knock us out in turn with a sleeper-hold. I had no idea then that all this was a method of escape for Ryan.

All the problems bubbling beneath Ryan's flamboyant, secure outer shell came to light before me in an instant. I remember hearing that Ryan's parents, Rob and Linda, had him forcibly sent to a Christian rehab in Montana. It was September. I was shocked. I called him my best friend at that point in my life. I had no idea why he would need to go to a Christian rehab. I'd always loved his parents, though, so I trusted their decision implicity. I had no idea where I got such trust.

This will be all for now, and marks the embarkation of a long and painful--yet also joyful--story. The posts may be sporadic thanks to my lovely fractal mind. Sorry.

Valete amici

the finer point

I am diametrically opposed to capitalizaing "the finer point". It's my pen name. If I were to write a book as a woman in the 1800's, the times when novels weren't read if a woman wrote them, then I would have written under the alias "the finer point". Uncapitalized. The proper high-rollin' society would loathe me. I would relish in it.

"the finer point" wasn't very inspired. I came up with it in a few seconds for a user name on the free-posting poetry site "allpoetry.com". Great site. I started when it was small, though, and now it's so large it's difficult to track down good poets.

"the finer point" himself would be Jesus, not me. I took the name from that tidbit of the phrase "the finer points of life"... that's all I remember of the expression. Figured it was enough.

All that to say, Jesus should get all the glory, not me. Never me.

in exemplo (i.e.):

In skin parted and broken with the iron instrument
On spear poised and piercing sharp, to make the heart fragment
Feet, laden, walking, under which I could not lie
Brow, scarred, or soon to be, over ears that heard my cry
There...
I cannot express to any soul what joy may be revealed
When, by the crimson flow that only faith may ever know,
Eternal fate is sealed and similar judgment repealed...
And, in the blink of an everlasting eye
(Which, by blinking, evokes the tears that empathic'ly cry)
Forever shall they sing, those who glory bring the savior
Via hearts that swear
"Twas only you, Lord, never... never I"

____________________________________________________

That's taken from one of my poems, "To Admit" (Version 2.1). Yes, I number my versions. And yes, I just quoted myself...

Apparently my arrogance knows no bounds.

My humor is very dry at the moment. Could be the fatigue of waking up thirteen and a half hours ago, and working for ten and a half of them.

I don't like some of the cheesiness of that segment of the poem, but I enjoy the first four lines, and the finish. Quick, solid finish. I write more candidly now, more... understandably and approachably.

I got into slam poetry kind of suddenly this past year, when in January I performed a six and a half minute (also six pages typed, single spaced, poetic format) slam poem for about eighty people. Pretty big deal for a test flight. I loved it. They did too, from what I hear. So with a minimal knowledge of what I was doing, but the encouragement that I enjoyed it, and that I didn't entirely suck, I dove into the slam poetry scene. Word spread quickly that this guy named Evan Dunn had some crazy poem (I talk really fast in one part of it, very few people could understand it, but it's for the effect, and apparently it works), so I ended up re- and re- and re-performing that poem to probably a hundred more people in a dozen different instances.

I've always written poetry (if always means "since seventh grade"). I remember the first poem I wrote at my grandparents house in Corvallis, Oregon, about how we fall and fail and sin, and Christ redeems us and takes us home. I cried when I wrote it, and many times since while reading it. I still respect it, because it topped most of the poems I wrote for the next year. Then I wrote one that I really liked, free verse (I hate free verse normally) and titled it "My First Good Poem". Now if that isn't arrogance, I don't know what is.

I liked it's plain and simple, yet heartfelt speech. If my tears cried when I wrote my first poem ever were a river, then this one had an ocean poured into it. I bawled. Ha.

I wrote for the next six years sporadically, sometimes consistently. I always read them out loud to people--I felt it gave the full effect. So I guess it's no surprise that slam poetry held such great appeal for me. It comes naturally, like I should be doing it. I enjoy it so much, and I really enjoy finding innovative ways to weave my faith through a poem, and flop it like a falling cartoon piano onto an unsuspecting yet strangely supportive un-Believing audience.

I've written probably eight or nine more, several more unfinished. I've memorized three more, which gives me a current active repertoire of four.

Praise God for his grace in this gift! And praise Him also for producing in me that which would develop it, use it, train it, and glorify Him with it! (See verse at bottom of page, that's where I get ALL this from).

numerum unum

So I created this blog primarily, I think, as an avenue for my poetry. And I like to muse... that's what people do on here, right?

The title, "Venite, Inveniteque Eum" (pron. weh-NEE-teh, in-weh-NEE-teh-queh EH-oom) is Latin for "Come, and Find Him". I wanted something biblically, and also some way to show off my extensive yet dwindling knowledge of the language... ;)

So pedantic, I know. (Isn't it funny how that word sounds exactly how it means? Only pedantic people say the word pedantic).

Well let's begin. I'm 20. Just turned it. Feels weird. Done with the first two decades of my life.

Ok... you must know that I am a fractal thinker...I just intended to give you my background... and now I don't want to... got sidetracked by a desire to get to the point. Only I don't know quite what the point is...

Well... here is one of my poems...

The Evan Dunn Action Figure

I was born with a brain,
but where’d that come from… again?
I was born with gifts and vices,
with a body and it’s bonuses and banes,
So how can I brag? How can I boast?
See me in the morning, and I’m just like you,
Groggy, needing coffee, making toast,
and drinking juice, spending most
of my time
reading news.

But just like you I fall flat on my face,
so often needing wisdom, lacking grace,
Despite my fool belief
that I cause no grief,
but rather bring relief
to those around me.
I’m shorter than I think,
and taller than I believe.
Half the time I’m prideful, the other half
I’m embarrassed out of my socks, so I leave.

I was born, too, with a Mask,
my personal boa constrictor,
disallowing me to bask,
outside my dark’ning visage,
my restrictor,
my pet perpetual presage,
an internal message
of an eternal truth,
that, though I know good and evil,
I remain, regretfully,
blissfully,
woefully,
willingly
uncouth.

Fallen World Incorporated presents
The Evan Dunn action figure—
Batteries not included;
Righteous soul sold separately;
See Jesus for details
Can’t you see what I entail?
I am a man!
Powered only by God’s battery hand!
and without that hand in my life
I can never top my strife,
Much less
conquer death
…
and I struggle for
breath…

I’m telling you,
put all your eggs in the Easter basket
then, when you hit the casket
there’ll be no more Mask, it
simply fades away
‘cuz in the light of Resurrection day
darkness cannot stay.
So I put my toast in Him,
Green Eggs and Ham in Him,
my bacon and bagel in Him,
and coast in Him,
and my midnight snack as well,
my cookies and milk,
in Redeemer to Heaven, Deliv’rer from Hell,
‘Cuz you see, my fair ilk,
If you put your eggs in the wrong bowl,
though you get to keep your Mask, it
will bring you to your casket,
and not of your body—
of your soul.
_____

This is my most recent, and favorite, of my slam poems.

The italicized section is in a deep announcer-like voice.

I intend to use this one for both Christian and non-Christian audiences. I'll analyze more later.
Now it's time for bed since my alarm will ring at 5 tomorrow morning.

Valete, amici