Sunday, July 22, 2012


*Continued from yesterday...

Cut Material from the original workings of I Hate Books on Christian Dating (Written about 5 years ago):

In college I learned that good Christians must not only read their Bible, but also know how to play either the piano or the guitar.  My friend Emily plays both; she's super spiritual.  I tried piano as a kid, but like most, I never really made it past "Heart and Soul."  My dad tried to give me lessons, but he was always pulling out this metronome thingy to help me keep the time and I couldn't stand the noise it would make . I got smart and started hiding the metronome before our lesson, but then my dad would clap or loudly tap his foot to keep the time.  I didn't like that so much either, but he seemed to have something going with the foot tapping so I quit piano and took up tap dancing with my friend Jonna.

Jonna's mom played the guitar and she offered to teach my sister how to play, but it was ugly - just like my sister's 80s bangs that she curled and sprayed into place each day.  Tina somewhat learned a song about Zacchaeus being a wee little man and she played it over and over and over and over until I disliked both Zacchaeus and the guitar.  Thankfully her interest in learning how to play the guitar was short-lived; she became more interested in knowing boys who played guitar rather than knowing how to play one herself.  
Even still, after Tina’s horrific practice sessions I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to apperciate the sound of the guitar again. But then I met a boy with a guitar. . .

It is well past midnight.  The others are probably wondering where we are, but I am in no rush to leave. In fact, I wish this moment would never end because I know I'd be happy staying in it forever. And I know you feel the same as you sit just above and beside me gently strumming your guitar. The crashing of distant waves and the crackling of the fire bring perfect harmony to the songs that you sing. The dune enclosed around us bounces the light of the fire into your heart and into mine. With my back against the log, I turn my eyes to the heavens and I see stars I've never seen before. One shoots through the sky, but with this star I don't make a wish, because everything I want is true.

The fire begins to grow faint; only embers remain. So you strum the last strum and tell me that we should probably head back. You pack up your guitar, sad to leave this place behind, but I am still thankful for the walk that remains.

You lead me to the gulf's edge with your guitar in one hand and mine in the other. Careless words may ruin everything, so we choose to only allow are our hearts to speak. Halfway back you set down your guitar and pick up my other hand. Our fingers move about together while the moon shines in your eyes and connects with mine. "There's something I want to tell you. . ." I wait expectantly, but not for the words that follow. "I have a girlfriend."

I never wanted to learn how to play the guitar after that. I didn't want to take away its romance. But eventually I gave in and learned. And romance has been gone ever since.
Summer 2010 in the OC - North End of Newport Beach

His name was Rich and I was 16 years old when we met on a Spring Break youth trip to St. Joseph Peninsula State Park.  The story is slightly embellished; we didn’t actually hold hands.  He cared too much about his girlfriend to pull a stunt like that. 
I also left out his suggestion that we go skinny dipping.  There was some deliberation, but Rich determined we shouldn’t go because we didn’t have any towels with us and we might look suspicious returning to the campsite all wet.  I’m glad he decided this because I probably would have gone and either been stung by a jellyfish or ripped apart by a shark.
So instead of getting naked we continued back to our campsite where we learned that one of Rich’s musician friends had committed suicide.  His name was Kurt and Rich told me that he played in a band called Nirvana.  Rich was really sad to hear the news and I pretended to be sad too.  Over the next few days I was a good non-girlfriend and comforted him.
Apparently Kurt was pretty popular because a lot of students seemed to be impacted by his death.  Our trip leader, Mr. Tom, used the opportunity to get us thinking about what happens after we die.  He shared his own story of a near death experience and how he found God.  He told us how he was in a gang in Chicago and how one night he and some of his buddies were on a mission to find a girl to rape.  But before they found a girl, some members of another gang found them and pressed guns up against the sides of their heads.  In that moment Mr. Tom acknowledged there was something drastically wrong with his life and he called out to God for help.
He and his friends got out of the precarious situation without a gun being shot, but Mr.  Tom’s life has never been the same.  He left the gang and joined a church because he decided that Jesus offered a better way of life than the way he had been living…

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

you will have an amazing weblog here! would you prefer to make some invite posts on my weblog?