"Can I Still Get Into Heaven If I Kill Myself?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pa9mi5Pd8aY

This is a song that I heard a couple months ago. Tonight, I needed something this raw to get out all of the emotions I've been feeling lately, but please don't listen to this and think I'm suicidal. I'm not. I'm just grieving for the world's depravity and trying to figure everything out.

It tells a true story of a murder and a murderer who before he took his life asked this question, "Can I still get into Heaven if I kill myself?"

I still relate to the guilt that he felt in that moment, even though I've been forgiven by Christ. I guess this is where my love for quote unquote "misunderstood villains" comes in; I relate to them.

As Loki says, "Satisfaction's not in my nature."

But God says He opens his hand and satisfies the desires of every. living. thing.

Grace. Guilt. Forgiveness. Shame. Anger. Mercy.

"Evil. Prisoners. Rats. Suffering. It all fits together so neatly, so sweetly. Oh, it is a lovely world, a lovely, dark world." ~The Tale of Despereaux

Let God be True

"Let God be true, though every one were a liar, as it is written,.." ~Romans 8:4

Ever since coming to this school, I have been angry. Scratch that, I was angry before I came here.

But it has gotten worse.

I feel so angry when I think about the things we are taught as art: feces, exorcisms, pornography, etc. For me, this beautiful, wonderful thing called art is being desecrated because the world is full of liars. Like the story of the Emperor's New Clothes, no one wants to speak up for fear of being thought a fool. Even I have to wonder if I'm just being small-minded.

For the record, I have been able to see things for their artistic value that I might not have in the past, and I think that is a good thing. But at some point, there has to be a line between what is art and what isn't.

I mean, what is the difference between Cabanel's "Birth of Venus" and Vanessa Beecroft's "Show?" Although one could argue for the painterly skill that is revealed in Cabanel's piece, it is still very pornographic, especially at the time of its creation.

It just makes me sick. I feel threatened, and I am concerned that I will be drawn in and become a modern art convert. I feel so small and afraid and depressed.

"Depressed?" You say. "Why depressed?" Because when it comes down to it, no matter how much I try to put up walls of safety and morality, I find I am not enough. My heart wants to wander and feast on sin. I feel like a werewolf that comes to its senses and wails in agony. And even though I am not a terribly immoral person as the standards go (sexually pure, not a murderer, nor a thief, etc.) I finish my day feeling like such a failure.

I'm so dang tired.

And there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. If there was some spiritual enlightenment test that required me climbing a mountain or scaling a building, I would take it. But you can't rush art, and you can't rush God.

"For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. And not only this, but even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies." ~Romans 8:20-23

We live in The Now and Not Yet, even in the art world. I guess that is why art is not always beautiful, but is still valuable. Our pain is valuable, although not beautiful and if it is captured, somehow, it can still be art. There's a fine line and I don't know if we'll ever discover the truest meter for rating what is art and what isn't until Jesus comes back.

Come, Lord Jesus. Deliver us from this bondage to sin and death.

I Digress...

I'm reading In the Making by Linda Weintraub for homework, homework I procrastinated on (shout out to you WARP students woot woot)

I don't know if I have the words to express how much I hate this book. To give you a little perspective, this book highlights modern "artists;" one artist makes guttural noises to herself to give voice to the two animals that live inside her head, and one procreates "children" with a machine, going through the gestation period and all sorts of existential helter-skelter.
As I read the profile of the latter artist, I mentally screamed, "SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THIS PERSON. SHE IS SERIOUSLY MESSED UP."

And then, I had to think a while.

Is she really any more messed up than me? Granted, I don't think I've gone as far as to believe that my love life with my computer is as fulfilling as a relationship with a human being, but I've done other things, things that are as unholy.

I have a duality (we use that word a lot in this class) in my mind: on the one hand, I am disgusted with this perversion of art. I am outraged by this abuse of what I believe to be a characteristic of God.  Righteous indignation, I guess.

And on the other hand, I wonder if I should catch myself. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." God would not have me believe I am any better than another sinner. Maybe I haven't gone as far, but my sin is just as black. Me sinning differently does not make me any more holy. Holiness is all-or-nothing. Only God is holy.

I haven't exactly felt very close to God as of late, but I guess my subconscious has really been contemplating that David Crowder CD I play in the car for white noise. It's so strange- as I meditate on my unholiness, it makes me want to praise God. Me. Praise God. On a whim.

^That's a big deal, guys. That's a big deal for me.

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, 4 even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love 5 he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, 6 to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.7 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses,according to the riches of his grace, 8 which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight 9 making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ 10 as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth."~Ephesians 1:3-10

Praise the Lord.

basic art classes

I think Eugene Delacroix would be mortified to know he started the modernist art movement...

"The use of linear perspective had had a great influence upon the development of art in the western cultures, but, in the art of today, it is being cast aside by many who feel that art is more an extended expression of themselves than a mirroring of nature and reality. In some cases, I view this as a lazy excuse to avoid the hard labor of learning to draw."- some book on perspective that I failed to write the title of for future reference, I didn't know how often I would recall this quote
"They muddy the water to make it seem deep. "- Friedrich Nietzsche

"Life is deep and simple and what our society gives us is shallow and complicated. "- Fred Rogers

On The Death of Robin Williams

I haven't written in a while, but I wanted to voice this thought to a more personal void than Facebook so here goes:

I get it, Robin Williams. 

I mean, I don't understand what exactly prompted you to take your life, whether it was the reaction to a moment of overwhelming sadness or the buildup of pain over many many years or something else entirely. I don't know why you took that step, but I can honestly say that I would've, too, if it weren't for one, lone truth.

"The devil's singing over me an age old song

That I am cursed and gone astray

Singing the first verse so conveniently over me

He's forgotten the refrain

Jesus Saves."

I am sorry that you didn't feel the full impact of this truth, but I am praying that you had a small knowledge. After all, a bruised reed he will not break; when we are faithless, he remains faithful. 

As I go off to college- a big college, a "hell-hole," a college I did not want to go to at all- at least I have this confidence, that God does not abandon us, even if it feels like it. Don't worry, Abi, 'cause I'm going to be okay. I know the truth and even when I choose to live in guilt and misery, there's always a voice in the back of my mind that reminds me that it can't be that bad, that there really never comes a moment when there is no hope. God does not bring to the point of birth and fail to deliver. So I'm gona be okay. I love you.

Musings By the Fire

Was P. L. Travers really such a sad person?  Did she love her father that much to change her name, or was it out of some deep regret she wished to mend?  In the movie, Saving Mr. Banks, she hated pears because her father loved them, and she failed to give him pears before he died.  Was that a fragment of fiction?  And if she really didn't hate pears, suppose she did, would she have thrown them out her window?  Is that within her character?

I enjoyed that *English country dance thoroughly, though I might have wished my feet wouldn't have hurt.  I love that sort of thing.  How nice they preserved such a tradition for us modern people.

What kind of person would I be like if I grew up in Regency times?  Would I have been a terrible flirt, since my family would surely have been different and they influence my morals so?  Would my family really be so very different?  If I grew up then, marriage was the expected.  Would my family expect me to marry well, to not be a burden on my father?  You know, I bet my father would be very like he is now.  He would still feel the burden to take good care of us.  I should think my family would want me to marry for love, but I wouldn't say they expected it.  I certainly would marry, but who?  Would he be a great gentleman, meeting moral standards to a tee?  Would he be coarse and dutiful, or would he be tender and gentle?  Perhaps he would be very very rich, or mayhaps I would end up a clergyman's wife.  I don't think I am suited to such a position.

Mother sleeps, her eyes restful and her skin peachy.  She looks like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty.

The log from the fire just fell.  I hope it does not burn a hole in the chimney.  Oh well.


^Such were the musings of my head as I watched our family's fire tonight.
*I recently attended an English country dance with some friends, where we danced in regency fashion like Jane Austen.

Dead Hearts

I've been thinking about the team that just went to Ukraine for Christmas and wishing I could have gone with them.  They went to Kharciv and saw all the kids from two summers ago: David, Oksana, Stam, cont.  My sister was with them.  This is like the eighth time she's been to Ukraine.  Every time she's come back, she always listens to this song and since she is interning away from home, she hasn't been here to play it.  But it came on when I had my ipod on shuffle and I haven't been able to get it out of my head...

"Dead Hearts"

Tell me everything that happened
Tell me everything you saw
They had lights inside their eyes
They had lights inside their eyes

Did you see the closing window?
Did you hear the slamming door?
They moved forward, my heart died
They moved forward, my heart died

Please, please tell me what they look like
Did they seem afraid of you?
They were kids that I once knew
They were kids that I once knew

[Chorus]
I could say it, but you won't believe me
You say you do, but you don't deceive me
It's hard to know they're out there
It's hard to know that you still care
I could say it but you wont believe me
You say you do but you don't deceive me
Dead hearts are everywhere
Dead hearts are everywhere

Did you touch them, did you hold them?
Did they follow you to town?
They make me feel I'm falling down
They make me feel I'm falling down

Was there one you saw too clearly?
Did they seem too real to you?
They were kids that I once knew
They were kids that I once knew

[Chorus x2]

They were kids that I once knew
They were kids that I once knew
Now they're all dead hearts to you
Now they're all dead hearts to you

They were kids that I once knew
They were kids that I once knew
Now they're all dead hearts to you

I miss Ukraine.  I miss the kids I met there.  I wish I could go back to let them know that I have not forgotten them.  Sometimes, it's heartbreaking to think of them because I don't know if anything has changed for them, if their circumstances have gotten any better.  I think I also wish I could go back to relieve myself of the guilt of knowing how often I have forgotten them, how I have taken my circumstances for granted and ignored how hard life is for them.  Or, just forgotten about them, forgotten that they are out there still.  

Isn't it great to know that God never forgets?