“This morning my brother-in-law and myself made a hospital visit today to an elderly lady who had fallen and broken a mid vertebrae, unfortunate. (Side note: if I become old and ill I’m going to request pain medication, and ride into the sunset old as time and higher than a kite.) Resume—à We prayed for her. I love praying with Kyle. He has such a sweet spirit and it warms me to goose bumps praying with him. As we were praying a feeling of doubt arose in me, as it has many times. Does God really need to hear this prayer? I thought. ‘We believe God to be omniscient; yet a great deal of prayer seems to consist of giving Him information.’ –CS Lewis I opened my eyes for a second. In the split second I peaked I saw prayer. Hard to explain I realize, but I saw the faith on the ladies face and the hope that God was coming through for her. I feel like this has added a new element to prayer in my mind. That element is that I believe prayer to be a vehicle that keeps the relational aspect of a human to his maker intact. Without prayer our relationship to a heavenly father is cut off.

We’re ‘making our requests known to God’ not to inform him, but for our simple minds to feel the transaction that has taken place. “

Once, in what we would think to be a long time ago, and in a distant tucked away universe, sat a man unparallel to men.  Unfamiliar with the world in which we live Lich was born into a place where music was unbreathed. This unbirthed vehicle of emotion was nameless to men before Lich’s beginning, but it would be his end.

Born with exceptional creativity and the power of music, from birth to adolescence his crafts and artwork consisted entirely of stringed wood, oblong, curved, and in u-shape. Playing alone he would make sounds, lips sealed, droning tones of inflection. His father was a blacksmith, disappointed with Lich’s progress in the families business, he attempted to thwart these nonsensical actions by teaching him the family trade.

Late one night Lich snuck out into his father’s blacksmithing hangar and with his skilled hands forged this instrument from a rotting tree north of the town barter quarter.  From this he forged his world’s first instrument, and called it “Πρώτη φως”. (Meaning “first light.”)  With his fingers he created music’s first sound. The first sounds, so beautiful, immediately struck Lich at such a level it muted him. Virtually handicapped by this event Lich attempted to communicate the events that had taken place, but was unable. Forced only to play his new creation, and unable to explain it’s formation, jealousy filled those who heard but didn’t understand.

As Lich kept playing, the covetousness kept growing. Unable to speak, and unable to spread the wisdom of his newfound sound, Lich acquired jealous enemies. Green with envy they taunted him, interrogated him, but to no avail. Lich died at the hands of his listeners. Armed with knowledge and unable to communicate it, Lich and his music met their end. Hand to tool he lay dead at the feet of his listeners, hands cold and desert dry.

The vessel of information and knowledge, constructed and communicated poorly, leads a man to early end.

It’s been too long, always. It’s always too long. To document my thoughts and experiences is a full time job. Thusly I’m forced into a selective dispersing of my creative energy in other directions. I’ve had a lot on my mind and more and more that I’ve been wanting to tell you. But for the sake of time I’ll tell you the most recent, seeing how it is fresh on my mind.

Most of what I tell you is seemingly challenging. A road that I’ve taken, a choice that I’ve made, usually resulting in failure, always resulting in some type of learning.

Let he who boasts, boast in the Lord. (From the Bible) Old Man, if it seems like I’m bragging form here on out, stop reading, for that isn’t why I’m writing you. Forgive the braggart who, in his youth, speaks highly of himself. (Not from the Bible)

Today in my Organizational Communications class I sat, annoyed at the student presentation that was being thrusted upon my educational experience. Immersive Learning if you will. I debated going to class today, as I do everyday, but the twenty points I’d lose at one absence was debate enough to lift my heavy head from the soft feathery pillow that lay heaped in my bed. The crowd participation was a diversity game, much like the one from The Office episode from the first season. We all received cards in a less than organized fashion and preceded to walk around the room to gather information about ourselves via stereotypes. On the cards were written different names such as Gay Male, Italian, 87yr old, Chinese, bisexual, and so on. As luck would have it I received the title Christian, on my forehead. And person after person I received genuine looks followed by, “How fitting for you.” And “Haha, Brian it’s…you.” Despite my every effort to believe that my card read Ruggedly Handsome, within five seconds and two clues I knew that my card read Christian. My professor even brought light to the fact that everyone was using negative and false stereotypes to give clues to describe other cards, but with me, since it was me they were describing, they used good things. In jest I asked the class why they didn’t call me a hypocrite, they laughed, but I was serious.

I guess the reason for this note to you Old Man, is that I’ve been really down on myself. Really questioning my witness to the college community. I don’t want to be a nice Christian, I want to be an effective one. If I am to reflect this message to you, Old Man, I would say challenge yourself to be recognized as a Christian, sans card. Live everyday as if that card is not just on your heart, but on your head. I kept the card as a reminder to me, and wrote this blog as a reminder to you. Be blessed Old Man.

On the docket for upcoming thoughts: I’m smitten with a Walker. Not one at the mall on Saturday mornings either.

His message was prepared, practiced, and delivered with grand efficiency. Like his father, his every day timidly jovial demeanor pales in comparison to his charisma behind a pulpit. With the fire in his heart transposed to his mouth he eloquently spoke his message. Surreptitiously, the message he was speaking wasn’t saying a word to me. It was being drowned out by other messages sent through something else.

In my personal prayer life I pray for wisdom, Solomon-like wisdom. But more than that I pray for the power to live and portray righteousness amongst a liberal and godless collegiate community. Kyle is the perfect picture of what a righteous man should be depicted as. As previously stated Kyle when standing next to me is smaller, but I stand as half the man he is. His preaching skills are raw and full of inexperience. But with the tools of righteousness and wisdom that Kyle undoubtedly has, God is sharpening him each and every day, and by that…sharpening me.

I’ve always been the personality to talk about the elephant in the room. Lot’s of people have been bringing up a particular elephant in my life, relationship status. I’m at a time in life where every relationship I choose to delve into must be one of a serious nature. I know that sounds elderly hence the title of my blog. Most things that I think and feel on most issues tend to be that of an old man. Conservative and old fashioned I will no longer be dating every girl that shows interest in me. I’m tired of that, the thing that I like most about having a relationship with a girl is the companionship that it offers. Dating a different girl every weekend doesn’t adhere to that mind-frame, therefore those actions have been discontinued. (Not to mention it’s stinking expensive)

It goes deeper. I’ve also dedicated this next month and possibly more months to God and me. There’s always work to be done on a God fearing Christian. However, I feel that if my concentration and meditation is wholly on God (and not on nurturing a new relationship) I can accomplish this. Let’s face it; fostering a new relationship is always difficult. But my emotional plot thickens. I’m not entirely sure that I can be the man that God wants me to be in a relationship. By that I mean a list of things that I believe a man of God to have a handle on when leading a girl in a pure relationship. 1) Having God in the numero uno position in my life. 2) Having consistent individual prayer time as well as with whomever I will be dating. Which would lead into 3) a consistent growing and devotion time together. In my previous relationships, being comfortable in prayer and devotion was absolutely beneficial. Growing in God is always an amazing experience, but to experience it with a third party is truly special.

I just want to be everything I need to be before I plunge into something serious with anyone. Not just for my benefit, but hers as well. My wife is out there and I’m not worried that I’ll find her. But I think I’ll find her quicker when I let God be the girl in my life for a while. I know that sounds gross, get over it. I want a Godly wife! I want her to be steeped in the Word, and I want her to challenge me and make me better. Additionally I want her to scratch the back of my head when I drive, but that’s more of a request.

Thanks for reading.

Hello old friend. I must offer my most humble of apology for not writing in so long. I fear I’m living in a flavor where my creative mind is muffled by the work and overstimulation of summer, but only for a spell I can assure you this. I haven’t forgotten about you, the things you keep for me, the things you help me remember, the life lessons you help me document. Like the time I held that little girl through the corn maze (I Can See the End), or how much I miss my Grandma (Tears and Jimmy Dean). You help me tell some good stories Oldman.
I must say that I favor the stories of God’s unfailing love. How God has always come through for you and me. I’ve looked back through your archives and, oh my, there have been some dark days. Days that felt like rain clouds were following you and I around raining on every parade we made for ourselves. But again, God’s unfailing love won in the end. And I suppose that in this dark spell of unsure that it will soon pass and God’s game plan for my life will keep unraveling…in due time, in due time.

I write you Oldman with the writer’s block heavy on my hand. Who put it there I’ll never know. It’s been heavier lately, this block. It’s big and black. It heavy but empty. This block that’s crushing my hand is electric. It hurts. It’s not a pain that’s enough to stop my pen from pushing the ink, but a pain that’s enough to cloud my thoughts, even my judgment. I’ve lost something. Where does faith go when you lose it? I haven’t lost my faith don’t be crazy, but I’ve lost something. To put my thoughts to virtual paper subsequently and capture them accurately is like nailing a fly to jello. If I’ve gained anything in the past few months it’s faith. It was just a question. What I really want to know is where is God taking us, Oldman. All of these new convictions hitting me in the face, New Testament thoughts and  principles coming to light.

It’s not faith that I lack, it’s complete understanding. But will I ever really have complete understanding? Would that be dangerous? To be honest, I lack companionship. That’s it. The kind of companionship that challenges me, and makes my innate worldly self submit. The one that keeps me company when no one else wants to, even when I’m not willing. That companion that archives your thoughts and emotions and reproduces them in a way that’s positive. At first I found it in you Oldman, then put it into a girls safe keep. But now that I don’t have either of you where is my refuge? In that lies the answer.  Until I find refuge in the only person that gave me everything I’ve ever known, good and bad, deserved and undeserved, that Person will continue to strip everything away until I realize how truly naked I am with out Him.  Oldman I beg of you, don’t let me forget my one and only Refuge.

Regards,
Brian

Deuteronomy 33:27
27 The eternal God is your refuge,
and underneath are the everlasting arms.

I can tell you that although stimulating activity in my life may be suffering; my spirituality is growing in leaps and bounds. Every day God’s grace becomes more prevalent as does my faith in His plans to prosper me. I’ve developed blind faith. But that’s another blogpress. I digress.

Cliché lessons are sometimes necessary. Being cliché often denotes redundancy and redundancies often denote importance. Furthermore I played drums for a worship team in Pendleton yesterday. Since I’m not playing for ACB any longer I’m kind of a hired gun. I play for whoever needs a drummer whenever they need it. God has given me an extraordinary gift and to not use it would be a disservice to Him and His generosity upon my life. Playing worship in different venues is a constant reminder of God’s omnipresence and everlasting qualities.

So I’m in Pendleton in a service that is trying to raise funds for a mission trip to Africa. The speaker, black as night, was undoubtedly a native of Africa. Americanized as he was, he still spoke broken English and was difficult to understand at times. Despite his English his message was clear as dew on a recently budded daisy. He spoke of Job, and Job’s legacy. How he loved God in any circumstance. Job went from a life of leisure and comfort to complete misery. Yet his worship remained fervent, and his devotion steadfast. This man spoke of people in his country, women being raped and molested, children starving, men being killed for preaching the gospel. They literally live on the Grace of God. We call him our Provider. They know Him as a Provider. We depend upon God for the provision of spiritual needs more than physical. The cliché that I’m approaching is frank. Here I sit in my home on my laptop, in my room full of Xbox games, clothes, shoes, fancy things. And a house full of food (that I often complain about) and furniture. And I walk in a world with high gas prices and a struggling economy. I’m complaining about not having enough money and worrying about replacing the tires on my car when there are people who don’t know where there next meal is coming from? Really Brian? Really? Shellfish Mr. Ramsey, down right shellfish.

What about God’s brain? God’s brain created our brain. Think for just a second how complex an organ must be to create such a scientific phenomena. There’s really no use, our brains can’t handle it. (Ha) But what about the things that God does in our lives that we can handle? That we do recognize?

Thank God for the door’s that He shuts, and the doors that He continues to open. But more importantly thank Him for the screen doors, and the doors that creak, and every blink that God gives us into the most complex interworking organ in the universe, His brain.

If life were just a blink of an eye in comparison to eternity, the last time I wrote anything would be more of a bl…of an eye? Or just a b–of an eye? I’m not exactly sure. Things have been happening though! Changes in me, my life path, and everything around me. Allow me to focus on the most important:

In my life I have been blessed with a wonderful companion. Emotions are so hard to put onto paper so facts must be a close second. I know what love is. 1 Corinthians 13 tells us that love is kind and patient (Among many other things). We can read what love is, but to feel it is a different park. Previously (as well as currently) I’ve felt and experienced love from my parents and grandparents. In the second phase of life I’ve began to experience the love that they’ve shown me, come from other people. It’s noteworthy that a family’s love is all encompassing, and you find different types of love shown through others such as friends and close acquaintances. But a companion is the one outside of your family that has that all encompassing love for you.

I just changed my major. As a junior in college going for a business oriented Information Systems degree, I’ve switched it up. It all came down to one conversation that I had with this amazing companion of mine. Among the serious talks, devotions, and prayer time with this person we also have small talk. Sitting in the library I’m expressing the woes of my college career and how I’m not really enjoying any of my classes and foreboding the load ahead. She calmly looked at me and put it all on the table.

She told me that she understood that I wanted to be successful and make a lot of money. (And I do) One thing that I didn’t mention is that when you have a companion such as this they tend to know you better than you know yourself. This can be a perk. In this case it was a life-altering perk. Additionally she told me that every time I talk about things that I enjoy are never business oriented. That they have a creative orientation. Whether it is blogging, podcasting, or producing. Things that I had seen as hobbies and past times, she put on the table as careers. That week I changed my major to Organizational Communication, while obtaining a minor in digital publishing. That week might have changed more than just my major.

I think God puts people in our lives to give us a physical slap rather than a biblical one. I’ve been lucky enough to get my hands dirty with my church’s website as well as our college group. I’ve only been working the church’s website for a month and the college site I just finished this week. When I’m working on things like this it just feels right. If you’d like to bump the hit count on both sites I’ll spot you the link near the bottom. If you are in California reading this I’ll be needing an internship with my new major. If I can’t see you for a week I want to see you for a summer.

Synergy Campus Ministries

Glad Tidings Church of Muncie

My grandma Reba Ramsey died when I was in the fourth grade. Lung cancer was the culprit. That’s the proportion needed to take out a woman like my grandma. She was magnificent. She was a powerhouse of a grandma proportions packed into 125lbs of old woman. Tall and slender her demeanor was soaked with southern hospitality. Her southern draw made her tea all the sweeter and gravies all the tastier. It was Grandma Reba that made me these Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits when I was young.

She spoiled me along with my brother and sister, buying us toys every time we went anywhere. She made me biscuits and gravy anytime I wanted, and for desert, cookie dough ice cream. “With extra cookie dough.” I’d always command without fail. It had to have bothered her. But with her skinny hands she pick out little bits of cookie dough out of her ice cream and into mine. Along with many other spoiling tactics she’d also let me close the shower doors and splash as big as I wanted when I took my bath at night. I remember the mountains of bubbles she’d prepare just for me to crush them with my chubby arms. It’s almost funny to think about now. I remember her specifically saying in her soft and slow southern speak, “Now wait till’ I get out and close the door now, ya hear?” And upon the latching door I’d smite the bubbled mountain people and their homes. All of the tiled walls inside the bathtub riddled with their remains. She’d even go out in the hot sun or cold winter and play horse with me. She’d beat me even! She invented the “Grandma” between the legs shot. She’d take us to the local video store and let us each get our own game. And just when you thought her excellence was at its peak; she would play the games with us we rented, for hours. (NBA Jam, Sonic the Hedgehog, and Monopoly were her favorites.) She loved us so much. It was so unconditional, I think about her so often.

I often think about her death. How new death was to me at the time. How I didn’t understand it. How I still don’t understand it. In the forth grade I was forced into a whole other realm. Unparalleled to anything I’d ever experienced. Seeing my grandfather and father weeping at her funeral, to see two grown men steeped in southern upbringing cry and show such and extreme and intimate emotion. It changed me. I think often that my grandma was barely a sinner. That God looked at her and thought, “You should be up here with me as soon as possible.”

But more often than her death I think about her life. I think about all the things she did for my family and me and for her church. I think about how proud she was of her grandchildren. Often I wonder what she’d look like today, or what she’s day about my long hair and lifestyle. I wonder if when she’d feed me she’d still use the “growin boy” excuse. I know she always wanted to travel, and she certainly would have envied how lucky I am to do what I do. My grandma was a saint and a servant. I don’t think you can be one without the other. I miss her so much.