The Day America Held Its Breath

September 11^th was like any of the other 534 Tuesday's that I had lived in my short, 10 year old life. We were living in Monroe, North Carolina at the time and it was sunny and 79 degrees, a little warm for an autumn morning. I remember this day explicitly because every Tuesday during the school year, our homeschool group would come together and meet at the local park to enjoy the outdoors. The moment we got in the car, I knew something was wrong. Our radio station was tuned to the usual station, but all they were playing over and over was this news report. I remember my slightly older pre-teen sister asking my mom to change the station to something that was playing some music. But it didn't make a difference. Every station on the FM wavelength was playing the same bulletin, reporting on the same story. Being ten years of age, I had never heard of the World Trade Center nor never knew the significance. But that was about to change.

The sense of something being wrong increased as we pulled into the parking lot of the park. Instead of the laughter and squeals from the merry-go-round and the toddlers crying at the seesaw, there was one congregation underneath the picnic shelter. Parents and kids of all ages sat hushed around a portable radio that someone had brought out, listening to the same report that had been playing for well over an hour now. “Two planes have been flown into the side of the World Trade Center in New York City right now and officials are scrambling to try to find the origin of the attacks...” A few of the parents stood off in the back of the crowd with their hands over their mouths as tears slowly made their way down fear-frozen faces. It seemed like everyone had forgotten how to move, how to think. I can't remember how long this scene went on, but after a while the parents turned off the radio and shooed all of the children out of the shelter to go play. After clearing the picnic shelter, they consoled one another in tones that painted death in shades of gray.

Still not fully understanding, we all went off and tried our best to enjoy the beautiful September skies. Later that night, we, along with every other household in America, watched the news for hours trying to fully grasp the brevity of the situation. It was the day that America held its breath in horror of the events that took place.

Now, 10 years later, America holds its breath once again as we pause to reflect on lives lost and the heroes that sacrificed themselves that others might live. When I was thinking about enlisting 9/11 didn't give me any cause for hesitation. If anything, it solidified my premonitions. I joined to serve and protect the people I love. Not out of some whacked out sense of self-importance, but so that if it ever came down to it, I know that I wouldn't be holding back.

My heart goes out to the firefighters, first responders, police men and women, and all of the soldiers, marines, sailors, and airmen that lost their lives over that one, horrendous day. May we, our children, and our children's children never forget where we've been, where we've come from, and what He's brought us through. God bless those who have fallen and their families, and God bless America, land of the free because of the brave. 

When I Was A Boy...

I distinctly remember one of my mom's friends telling my mom that I would grow up to be a heartbreaker...








I didn't think it would have been my own.











-written 041408-

A Rose Without Thorns

You never really realize what you have until it's gone. Unless you did realize it from the beginning. Then this cliche is worse than others.

When we broke up, we both wished each other well, and said that we hoped that each other would find happiness. I don't particularly remember if, in my heart, I meant it. I'd like to think that I did, and would like everyone to believe that I was mature in handling the situation. Truth is, I'm not so sure. 


This past week she found someone else. When it popped up on my news feed, I literally stopped breathing for about 13 seconds. My heart skipped a few beats. I felt betrayed and hurt; then I reminded myself of my current standing with this particular female: EX-boyfriend. I'm an "ex" for a reason. After reminding myself, I proceeded to chastise myself. Why shouldn't I be happy for her? All my ex's now have different boyfriends, and I don't feel any astringency towards them, why should this be any different? 


This much I can honestly say: I know that I want to be happy for her. Despite spending the next hour and a half doing background checks on her new guy (yeah, that seemed a bit much even to me, but I needed to know. And I'll never readily admit it to her), I'm really gonna try to let it go. To let her go. Like I've been trying for the past 14 months :/ *sigh* It's gotta happen eventually. I thought I had completely conquered this a month or so ago, but... apparently not. 


I guess I never had the separation time from her like I did all my other ex's. The point where you don't talk, un-friend each other on facebook, and try to avoid all forms of communication. I don't think I ever reached that point because there was nothing I wanted to run from. No decisions I regretted, no skeleton that I had to run from. 


Upon reflecting and trying to psycho-analyze with a good friend of mine, I came to a number of conclusions that I, more or less, already knew of but had a hard time putting my finger on:


1.) We never did anything that I really regret, that's why I have a hard time going through the "hating" period that most breakups go through.
2.) I'm having a hard time with this not because she's happy, but because she's happy with someone else.
3.) Part of it is also that this pain and these memories have been a part of who I am for so long that I've let them define me. And I feel that if I let go them I'm letting go a part of me and I'll lose part of my edge; part of what makes me, me. Then I'll just be normal.
4.) I'm scared that if/when I do find someone that I'll constantly be comparing them to a memory that they can never live up to because it's a doctored memory; I know it had to have happened differently from how I remember, but it's hard to change that.


There was a blog that I've read and quoted several times that still hits home to me. The following is another excerpt, quoted several times, and probably will be quoted several more. My thoughts are in the brackets.


"Why is it-- the faster you attempt to heal from something painful, the more frequently it tends to haunt you? When will the ghosts under the stairs give up and go home? Why can't I give them five bucks and the car keys and tell them to take the night off? [Love that quote.] If anyone knows the answer to these questions, please call me and we'll discuss the whole thing over bowls of crunch diamonds drenched in skim milk [actually 2%, I hate skim ;P]


She stopped by my house last Monday night at 10:30. Everything seemed to happen in slow-motion, yet it all happened so fast, I barely had time to think. [I called the meeting; she had no part in it. It was my fault, my idea, not hers.] A hundred trains of though raced through my heart, but my brain did nothing but turn over like a cold engine in January. I couldn't find the right words, I couldn't form complete sentences, I tried desperately but speech seemed ineffective and useless, like trying to carve a stone sculpture with a toothbrush. All I could do was stare into those eyes I knew so well.


We stood in the driveway, uncertain, unconfident, communicating more with eyes and body language than with words. Everything about her was beautiful. Her perfume was intoxicating. And then I stepped forward and hugged her for the last time... and I'd be a total liar if I said I wanted to let go. [I brought this on knowing full and well in advance that it wouldn't be easy] But I knew I had to. Perhaps THAT, dear friends, is the hardest part of saying goodbye to someone; knowing you MUST move on, even though every fiber of your being screams at you to obey your instincts to cling for dear life. Maybe that's why the mountaineer must grit his teeth, dig in his claws and continue the climb, no matter the cost, matter the odds, no matter the price. Every aching muscle screams at him to give up and go home but he MUST be strong, resilient, resolved and steadfast. It's funny how the word 'integrity' means nothing until you stare Anguish in the face and tell her sister Agony to beat it. The inescapable issue is the fact that I'll never be able to listen to Remember To Breathe by Dashboard Confessional [Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat] again without thinking about her. I suppose I can live with that..."


So... after taking 3 days to write and complete this, I now leave you with my closing thoughts. I can't just sit by and wait for the situation to get better, I have to take active steps. Starting with her. While I didn't delete her from my facebook account [yet] I've blocked her and a lot of those associated with her from my news feed indefinitely. And I'm sure as heck blocking her, her family and close friends from this entry lol. She has moved on and I have to accept the fact and do so as well. In the future, who knows? Maybe I can talk to her without being in excruciating pain. I've just recently started talking to my very first ex-girlfriend on a friendly basis and that was over... a lot of years ago lol.


I'll have to actively try to avoid certain things that revoke certain emotions like the smell of shea butter shampoo or going to Watauga Lake in August; I'll have to discard old photos and certain ties with certain memories. We had good times... but we had our share of bad as well. It's just harder for me to remember the bad... But. I have friends (and family) who will help give me the kick in the pants I sometimes need to move on. I can do this. I will do this. I must do this. Veni, vidi, vici. Vale amicorum.

Because Nobody's Here, I'll Say What I Think

I don't know if you realize this or not, but Facebook has recently started putting up status' from last year and the year before. Now, I'm not a fan of dwelling on the past, mainly because up until a few months ago, my past wouldn't let me go. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't let my past go. Caught in between how things were and how I remembered things; between how it is and how I want it to be.

But, there's something that happened last year. Not at this time specifically, but something that would be happening in the near future.

I'd lose one of my best friends.

Due to my stupidity, I'd lose a very close friend. One I confided in, admired, frequently visited and texted pretty much non-stop. Thanks to my short-sightedness, pride, ignorance, and all around jerk-ness (with a little help from someone else that I wronged) she left. I mean, we weren't together, but she left.

Looking back, I wouldn't have wanted to be friends with that me either.

I still wouldn't want to be friends with me. At least, not as close of friends as we were... that leaves too much room for pain. I wish I could say I've changed since then. In essence... I have. I've since joined the military and, despite swearing up and down that it wouldn't change me, have changed.

Some for the better, yes. I'm more organized. I'm more driven. I set clear-cut goals and achieve them. I call for backup before I'm in a tight spot and desperately need the back up.

Some... for the not-so-better. My patience for bull crap has left completely (partially why I'm reflecting on such subjects.) My vocabulary has taken a turn for the not-so-clean. I have to actively filter what I say based on who I'm around. Not something to be proud of.

Back to my friend. The whole point of this entry is to really say what became of that situation and what was going on in planet "Justin's Head."

Strawberry fields of blonde wheat, Not claiming to have Red feet

I miss you

I am sorry I did what I did

To her, but more so to you.

I know why you did what you did

I knew it when you did it, I just didn't want to admit you were right.

Admitting weakness isn't one of my strengths...

Sometimes we need to be left to the mercy of our consciousnesses

For them to interrogate us, strip us of all dignity, and see who we really are.

Who I am...

Is flawed.

Who I am

Is broken.

I am a wounded man; wounded since the day of my birth

Stumbling along, every day limping closer to death.

You may not have felt the same way as I but

I love you.

Not with the romantic love of this world, the love of the Eros

But the love four year-old best friends have.

I don't mind if it was our last goodbye as long as

You are happy.

You were a good friend to me...

Something that I abused.

For that

I truly, indefinitely, am sorry.

That point you talked about?

I, too, have found it.

The point where you're so broken

There's no where left to go.

We call it

Growing up.

I call it

Losing everything.

So, if you're out there,

And the fates decide to let your eyes meet these lines

Please know:

I'm sorry for hurting you.

I'm sorry for lying.

I'm sorry that who I was was so revolting,

So disgusting

That you had to leave to preserve your innocence.

i'M sORRy.

Truly Sorry.

"I said 'I'm sorry,' but no one heard.

Cause actions (actions, actions...)

Actions speak louder than words."

So... I guess this is it. "It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part: so much of me Is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart... And now whatever way our stories end... I know you have re-written mine by being my friend..."

Goodbye... Ap mira yar tii... Meh tumheeh yad kroon ga...

Unveiled

"Oh, how he loves us... oh..."

My breathing is heavy from running through the hotel as I stand before the front of the class. I consciously try to slow my breathing and pulse down, not really sure what the point of the exercise was. Jason puts his hand on my chest and begins instructing me to do the same as the two before me. “Close your eyes,” he rumbles. I do. Breathe in. Press. Breathe out. Breathe in. Press. Breathe out. This goes on for a few more times, then he asked me. “Why are you passionate about acting?” I just shook my head, not sure if anything had changed from the last time he had asked me that question. Despite my efforts to calm them, both my breathing and my pulse increased. “There. Pull that emotion, that thought out from the depths. That's what you're looking for.” I can... barely hold on to whatever it is that I stumbled upon.

As it's slipping though my grip, a voice unlike Jason's calls out to me. “Justin...” My pulse quickens yet again.

“You've got it,” I hear Mr. Jason say, though it sounds like he's in a few rooms over.

“Justin...” It sounds like a whisper, but contains so much power... Suddenly, my own thoughts are plucked out of my subconscious and shown before me, like library books being taken off the shelf and leafed through. I start whispering as fast as I can everything that is being shown before me.

“I love acting because... because on stage, up there, I can truly be myself and not be ridiculed. Because the real acting takes place when I step off the stage.”

“That's it. Say it out loud.” I repeat myself.

“I love acting because on stage I am who I am. I don't have to be afraid that someone will make fun of me or reject me. Because when the curtain closes, the performance begins.” Thoughts of love and peace and acceptance from the Father rushed over me much to my relief and surprise. I felt as if I was standing before the throne of God, worshiping without music or words, just standing in awe of how much He loves me. Jason called my drifting conscience back to the hotel.

“Open your eyes and look around. What do you see?” I blinked a few times, still in shock of what I had just seen through closed eyes. Slowly, the class came back into focus.

“I see...” I couldn't believe what I saw. On those faces before me, I saw fights with spouses, with siblings. I saw the anxiety of not knowing where the next meal would come from. I saw mortgages, car loans, rent, phone bills, college tuition... behind those happy, plastic faces I saw pain. I saw suffering. “I see... that everyone is the same way, has the same fears. They don't want to show the world their vulnerable side, their weaknesses. They're all hiding behind a veil.”

Jason nodded, “This is the Justin that will change the world. I truly believe it. You may take your seat.”

I numbly walk back and sit down. I found it hard to focus for the rest of the class, my mind reeling from the experience. I felt the presence of God move into my conscience and begin to shift things... things that were covered in cobwebs and stained with old sins and regrets. It was unreal. I think I finally am beginning to understand what being “unveiled” truly means. Not just on stage, but in life.

"How he loves us, oh..."

I encountered God today, in the most unusual places. It wasn't in a sermon at church, it wasn't lifting my hands at a worship service, it wasn't discovering truth at a Bible study.

It was in an acting class.

Hypokrisis - [Gr.] playing a part, putting on a mask to misrepresent reality

"And heaven kisses earth with a wet, sloppy kiss..."

I had kind of been secretly wishing that he would call me up there, I really wanted this experience. So after the initial “What was I thinking?” thought passed, I was trying to scrap together a quick, yet complete minute speech on what I was passionate most about: acting. To be completely honest, I wasn't really sure where I was going with my impromptu speech lol. I mentioned how I've loved performing and entertaining people as a kid and how I like how, when I'm playing a character, that God will sometimes bring out traits that my character and I share. Traits that are great and traits that aren't so great. I finished up right as my 60 seconds were depleted and, just as before, the class gave feed back. I sit down, trying to keep anyone from noticing my shortness of breath or quivering hands. The class, once again, evaluates the body language of the performer.

Forgive me if I've bored you, but I'm just getting to the good part.

Jason calls Becca back up to the front of the class once again. Not really sure what's happening, she heads back up, but with a little more confidence in herself this time. He asks her to place her hand on her chest, then shows his hand to the class, similar to a magician would before a trick. Placing his palm on top of her hand, he tells her to breath deep. (kind of reminds me of a chiropractor lol) As she exhales, he pushes down and kind of wiggles his palm, pushing all of the breath out of her windpipe. “Most of the time we breath with our windpipe,” he explains, “when we really should be using our diaphragm instead. The diaphragm is the center of our breathing cycle. It's the energy for the machine.” Mr. Jason repeats this exercise a few more times. In a deep, relaxing and quiet tone, Jason speaks again. We all strain in to hear what he's saying, not wanting to miss out.

"...my heart is beating violently inside of my chest..."

“Alright. Close your eyes. Keep breathing from your diaphragm, let it connect you to your entire body. Now I want you to think about what you're passionate about. Think hard. Why are you passionate about it? How does it move you?”

Becca is quiet for a few seconds, then a smile slowly creeps its way onto her face.

“That's it. That's what stirs you. Now, I want you to whisper to us what your passion is.”

With her eyes still shut, Becca begins to tell us about why she's in love with reading. How she loves the way a story can take us on a journey through the author's imagination with twists and turns, taking us to faraway places, or deeper knowledge of ourselves.

I lean even more forward in my chair, entranced and nearly falling out. I can hear the passion literally dripping off her voice. I resist the urge to run out to the hallway and grab a mop. Jason stops her and tells her to open her eyes and say it out loud. The entire class is so silent, I'm not sure if everyone was remembering to breathe. Becca slowly opens her blue eyes, brighter than the Caribbean ocean on a sunny day. All the way in the back of the room, I can see the electricity buzzing behind her pupils, waiting, wanting to be unleashed. She starts speaking, her voice calm, even, and emotional. Her speech is purposeful, every word carefully selected. She makes eye contact with every one in the classroom, all of us hanging on each word. The difference between the first Becca and the second is night and day. By the time she finishes, I can't speak; I don't want to, I want her to keep going lol. She walks back, head held high, and sits down beside me. I just look at her in amazement. “Wow” I mouth to her. She grins and mouths “Yeah” back.

"...And I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me..."

Next up is the new and improved Kim! xD Once again, Jason goes through the same exercises and routines, forcing Kim to relax and breathe from her diaphragm. This time, we all watch with grins and anticipation, knowing the change that is about to take place. She starts her whispered passion for gardening, similar to before. Jason, in his deep voice, stops her and forces her to think. "Why? Why does gardening mean so much to you? It's deeper than this, I can feel it." Her brows come together for a few seconds, then separates as her entire expression changes. "There," Jason says. "That's it. Don't let it filter through your mind, just say what your heart is saying." Kim's lips begin to quiver as a small tear escapes out of the corner of her eye. "Don't hold back," He purrs, "Let your heart flow." I'm guessing the tear ducts are tied fairly close to the heart because the heart wasn't the only thing flowin.

Through the soft sobs, Kim tried to speak. "Sometimes I feel like the plants that have withered away. I want to try to help them become beautiful again. I want to feel beautiful to God, I want him to enjoy looking at me..."

Jason nods. "That's it. Right there." He motions for her to take her seat as he continues. "And you know, that's ok. What happened right there. That wasn't acting, that was transparency. It's ok to want God to look on you with favor. And He does. He loves each one of his children and loves just leaning in to smell the sweet perfume of our praise." I wipe the tears off my arm from where I had, unknowingly, been crying along with Kim, sharing her desire for the Father's approval.

"Oh... how he loves us, oh..."

He turns to me. Oh no I think. My turn I suppose. As calmly as I can possibly muster, I head to the front of the room. I get there, but instead of starting his breathing exercises again, Jason tells me to kick off my flip-flops and jog around the hotel hallway for a few laps. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't. I kinda gave him a dumb look, then started off. If this was the only chance to ever learn from him, I wasn't gonna blow it with my fear of looking like an idiot (haha :p)

By now I must have jogged/ran (as much as you possibly can in a hotel :p) 8 laps. He stops me at the front of the class again, my heartbeat up and my breathing heavy.

"Now," he says, "we can begin."

A soul that nobody knows...

“He is jealous for me...”

I encountered God today, in the most unusual places. It wasn't in a sermon at church, it wasn't lifting my hands at a worship service, it wasn't discovering truth at a Bible study. It was in an acting class.

“...loves like a hurricane, I am a tree...”

This past week, I attended the Gideon Media Arts Conference and Film Festival. I had the privilege to be an intern at the conference and meet several wonderful, talented people. Every day there were workshops on how to do literally anything to do with the arts: from graphic novels, to songwriting, to acting, to how to light a movie set, to how to do 3-D films, you name it. It's a really informative conference and I can't even begin to tell you all the things I learned about my craft. But let me tell you something... nothing compares to what happened today.

“...bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy...”

I met Jason Hildebrand at last year's conference, and was blown completely out of the water by his humility and talent. He was kind of a big deal lol so I tried to steer clear of him and make sure I didn't get in his way. I can remember seeing his short film and thinking, this is a really talented man who has a heart for God. I want to get to know him. Well, as I said before, he was kind of off-limits to us last year, so this year, when I had the chance to pick a faculty member to have a meal with, I jumped at the opportunity.

“...when all of the sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory...”

I can remember when Becca (a dear friend of mine and fellow intern) and found out we were eating lunch with Mr. Hildebrand we were literally squealing like girls. Well... she is a girl... but... anyway, we were on cloud nine. I was so excited to finally get to pick the brain of such an amazing man. I could hardly eat when we sat down for that meal.

“...and I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me...”

So we got to have lunch with Mr. Hildebrand and he shared so much wisdom with us, it was unbelievable. After talking for nearly an hour and a half, I no longer looked up to him because of his talent, I looked up to him because of his spiritual maturity and insight. Not only was he extremely knowledgeable about acting, but he had some pretty fantastic thoughts on what God thought about acting. Which brings me to today.

“...He love us, Oh... how He loves us, oh, oh how He loves us, oh how He loves us oh...”

When I heard, months ago, that Mr. Hildebrand was teaching an acting class, I literally wanted to attend the conference for that one class. That's how excited I was about that class. When his class rolled around today, I felt like jumping out of my skin. I couldn't explain why, but I knew this class was going to be one of phenomenal proportions. It was like the energy was buzzing in that tiny room today and you had to really focus to be able to hear over it. You know what? It's time for a flashback ;-)

“And we are His portion and He is our prize...”

I trot to the room praying he hasn't started yet, still lugging my laptop from the intern video and devotion from earlier this morning. I get to the room and it's already nearly full. I ease into the back row beside Becca and she gives me this grin. So she feels it too... the energy in the room is unlike anything we've felt all week. Mr. Jason is slightly pacing back and forth, rubbing his hands together as if he was trying to start a fire. Finally, everyone settles in their seats and he begins. He starts talking about what makes great acting, about what it means. “Great acting begins with and, ultimately, is transparency.” As he continues, his hands make several gestures to illustrate what he's saying. “We build walls that separate us as humans. We don't like to let people see our weaknesses. But if we can reach a point to where we tear down those walls, then our audience can connect with us. Transparency begins in our own personal lives, however. Being transparent is physically taxing and emotionally draining, that's why Christ often disappeared and went off to hang out with his close friends and Father, right?” He shifts gears for a moment and begins to tell us how our entire bodies are connected to our breathing and how important it is that, when we're performing, we breathe deep and circulate oxygen to the brain and make sure we're breathing right and all that jazz. Then he starts talking about how what we're wearing and how we hold ourselves can convey more than words ever could; how that can make or break a performance.

"...Drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes..."

To demonstrate, he has Becca come up in front of the class. She shoots me a quick grin, as she walks up. I can tell she's a little nervous. Jason said, “Ok, you have 60 seconds to tell me about something that you love, something that you passionate about.” He starts the clock, but she just stands there. Finally, after about 10 or so seconds, she begins to tell us about reading. How, since her childhood, she's loved to read and go on different adventures. While she talks her voice is quivering a little bit, it's no doubt nerve-wracking. After calling time, Jason then turns to us and asks, “Ok, now what can you tell me about Becca? Forget about what she talked on, tell me what you saw in her posture, in her body language, in her voice.” We all share our speculations, and Becca walks back to her seat, hands still shaking just a bit.

"...if His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking in it..."

The next lady, Kim, goes up. Jason adjusts her posture before he gives her the go-ahead. “Same rules. You've got 60 seconds to tell me about something that you love. Go.” Kim doesn't waste any time delving in to her passion for gardening. How she's had a garden since she was a child and how she loves the way the flowers smell in the summer time and how her grandmother and her used to garden together. After she finishes, Jason just looks at her for a few seconds, thinking. He then turns to us and again asks the question of what we could tell from just her body language.

Finally, he looks around the room, asking for a guy to come up. I look at Becca and she nudges me with her eyes. You know what... she's right. Why would I pass up this opportunity to learn under one of my role models? I take a deep breath, and step out on faith. Here goes nothing...