RyanPayne

The light is short and the darkness closes in

It wreaks havoc on my soul

Shades of life have slowly passed away

Leaves falling into cold

Cascading warmth in winter’s hold

Of icy grey

And I

Wanna fight the time

Of change I endure

That brings a painful extraction that’s inevitable

But can I even find

A way to remind

Me that a season can only last a limited time

The time is here and but I struggle to let go

In spite of later gain

Without a death it cannot be reborn

But still I cling to safe

The numbing chill of life on hold

Awaits the spring

And I

Wanna fight the time

Of change I endure to bring a painful extraction

That’s inevitable

And now the time has come

I wanna run from

The very season of death

I must come through to rebirth

Neither does sex equal intimacy.

They’re not interchangeable.

Nor are they inextricably or symbiotically linked.

Unfortunately, the frequently misappropriated use of this word has caused a sad misunderstanding of intimacy in our culture.  As a matter of fact, when I asked one young person to look up the word intimacy, another young person’s immediate reaction was to laughingly mutter “oh kinky” under his breath—thus proving my point.  I submit that even the dictionary has it wrong when it defines intimacy as sexual intercourse.  (This definition was added after the word was quickly perverted and incorporated into common speech**).

As I stated before, one does not equal the other.  If you don’t believe me, just ask the wife who feels no warmth and connection with her husband who seems to only want sex; or the prostitute who is paid for the use of her body; or the rape victim whose innocence, dignity and sense of value have been depleted, degraded and stolen; or the man transiently drifting from woman to woman not even realizing the devastating wake behind him or his own innate longing for intimacy and connection that for some reason seem to elude him.  Sex may occur but these scenarios offer nothing in regard to intimacy.

Conversely, intimacy with a person or subject requires no sexual contact of any kind.  A meeting of the minds and hearts on deeper and deeper levels, deep familial affection, and close friendships are examples intimacy in our lives—though none require it and, in some cases are corrupted and destroyed by, sex.

Granted, sex and intimacy can be closely associated as in a marriage they should feed and grow from one another but for now I’m just making the point that they are separate entities.

This leads to a second thought.

The other day I was talking with a friend and as the conversation developed I said something about deeper connection with or friendship with a guy (I can’t even remember the actual statement) which, for some reason, prompted me to follow up with the disclaimer “in a totally not-gay way”.  Now, the following is neither intended to be an endorsement of nor an indictment against homosexuality—that’s a conversation for another day.

The point is that the corruption of the concept of intimacy has contributed to a fear and hindrance of it—particularly in relationships between heterosexual males.  For when intimacy, deep connection and affection are assumed to include some form of sexual connotation, the thought of them, in association with another male, are not tolerable.  Combine this with a hide-your-emotions-be-a-rugged-individual-male stereotype and the seeming assumption that any time two dudes walk into a public place having a serious soul searching conversation they must be homosexual, and you have a recipe for the continued lack of deep community and connection that, I suggest, most men want and need at their core.

The movie “I Love You, Man”, though crass and profane, does at least cleverly and humorously portray some of this problem as it depicts the blossoming friendship of two heterosexual males.  I think we should see more relationships like JD and Turk on Scrubs (who sing together about heterosexual “guy love between two guys”) or Shawn and Gus on Psych who have each other’s backs and can finish each other’s sentences in spite of their differences. If our concept of intimacy wasn’t so narrow, maybe we could experience the community, loyalty, affection, connection, accountability and encouragement offered in the relationships of David and Jonathan or Jesus and his disciples that we read of in Scripture.  Maybe we could redeem the term intimacy and broaden our view of it.

After all, intimacy does not equal sex.  Intimacy equals intimacy.

*Special thanks to Brian Kramer for pointing my thoughts in this direction.

**A quick search on google for the etymology of the intimacy shows this.

***Thanks also to Lindy Keffer from PluggedIn for the some insight into the movie I Love You, Man!

****I’m not so naïve to think that these suggestions are the cure all for the lack of intimacy in our culture.  They’re simply a couple of the contributing factors.

What was God thinking?

I feel tricked.

Disappointed.

I hate when this happens:  the deep disappointment of shattered hopes and plans.  It can cut even deeper when we think the hopes are placed on what we believe God has planned only to have them unfulfilled.  What are we supposed to do?  What deeper pain can be felt than one perceived to have been orchestrated by the One on whom all hope rests?

First, I’ve found that I have to go back to the basics of trusting that God will work all things out for the good of those who love him and are called by him.  I know it sounds cliché, but without it, I’m lost.

That’s good in theory and for encouragement after the fact, but what about when we’re in the thick of the emotional turmoil when encouraging words seem to fail?  I’ve learned that it helps to be honest with God.  Somehow, we’ve been lead to believe that we aren’t allowed to express negative emotions about God.  We’ve had to stifle our doubts and disappointments with God because “good Christians” don’t experience them.  I’d like to believe that the God I serve is big enough and secure enough in himself to take on our doubts and disappointments while concurrently inviting us to come near to him so he can walk us through them.  Maybe God would rather hear our heartfelt cries of pain and despair even if they’re directed toward him than hear a façade of positivity masking a broken spirit.

The smell became stronger—a rancid chemical burning.

“That’s not a good smell,” I said as I observed the obvious.

A very short time later it happened.  “Hey, it’s smoking!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, we better pull over,” said Mike in a bit of an intentionally understated way.

Stopped on the side of the road a few of us got out to assess the situation.  Smoke and steam were sizzling out from under the hood.  I opened the hood to a wave of that burning odor and steam.  Engine coolant was splattered over parts of the engine: the result of a blown water pump.

Well, that shot the gig to pieces…

Actually, it didn’t.  I mean, praise God for keeping us safe.  Praise God for a breakdown close to a town and not on a stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere.  Praise God for smartphones that help find garages, rental places and show us on a map where we are.  Praise God for a AAA account I wasn’t even sure I still had.  Praise God for a tow company that was connected to a garage that could look at the van on the day of.  Praise God for a little Jeep Cherokee that actually pulled our trailer (about three times it’s weight) to the garage to get it off the highway.  Praise God for an understanding youth pastor.  Praise God for people who had an available Suburban for the youth pastor to borrow and pick up the trailer and the band.  Praise God for a really quick and efficient set up time.  Praise God for a fun show.  Praise God for a sister who is at a college close enough to come to the show.  Praise God for a parent willing to sacrifice time and effort to drive and pick up the band and make sure they got back to their jobs the next day.  Praise God that the he had a vehicle big enough to tow the trailer.  Praise God for a clear schedule that allowed me to stay overnight and be available to pick up the van that was sitting finished at the garage.  Praise Jesus for His kindness and provision.

Yeah, it was a good day.

http://instagr.am/p/NEW7c/

1. Height: 6’3”
2. Minor pet peeve:  repeating himself
3. Never have I ever:  gone over 100mph
4. Day Job:  Barista
5. Favorite article of clothing: Tom’s Shoes
6. Favorite food: Chicken wings
7. Embarrassing moment: an explosive sneeze-fart in 6^th grade during math class while sitting next to a crush
8. A Hobby: hanging out with Seth Lourdon
9. Current favorite verse: Romans 6:14
10. Favorite owned guitar:  2010 Black Les Paul Standard

I remember being in elementary school and seeing pictures of senior classmen and thinking to myself, “those guys look like grown-ups!”  I mean they were bigger, looked mature, and had facial hair (well stubble since they weren’t allowed to have facial hair at my high school).  I remember wondering what it must feel like to be an adult.  Adulthood looked like a completely different realm, in which children are born, money is earned, bills are paid, cars are driven, people look older, act more mature, and have it together.

Interestingly, as I got older and moved into the upper grades, I remember looking at myself and my classmates and thinking “Man, we don’t look as old as the seniors looked back when I was little.  What’s up with that?”  I didn’t really feel as old as they looked.

Soon I progressed through college (I was a young non-traditional student) and have been working part-time as a substitute teacher and a singer in a band.  This brings me to an interesting place in life.  You see, I’m no longer an elementary student, a teenager, or even a college student, yet I’m single, with few obligations, and still look at other people as “the adults” around me.  My age, facial hair, relatively mature actions, and job allow me to be categorized as an adult, but why don’t I feel like one?  And, on that note, what does it even feel like to be an adult?  Maybe other people experience this, too.  Come to think of it, I remember my dad telling me one time that he didn’t even feel “old” or like he was old enough to have children and be doing all the adult things he did.

Maybe I just have a romantic notion of what it means to feel like an adult—an elusive and enigmatic feeling at that.  You know, that sense you have as a teenager that things are different as adults;  that the problems you face in school will fade and life will be better as an adult;  that the petty interpersonal problems and insecurities of youth will be transformed or erased by the passing of time and the new raiment of adulthood.  Like I said—romantic notions.

Recently I’ve had my attention piqued when in the presence of groups that I feel would be in the adult category.  As I observed these various interactions, something dawned on me.  I watched and listened to conversations in which the language and topics would rival a high school guys’ locker room.  I saw people leave a group early because they couldn’t stand someone else in the group.  I saw one man talking about himself in such a way that belied deep insecurity.  And, I heard complaining that sounded just like kids.  At least, these were my perceptions—possibly judgmental and biased—but sincere.

I just began to think, “wow, adults are just like teenagers, only they look older, have more money and power, and think their complaints are more legitimate.”  The insecurity is still there.  The grumbling and petty interpersonal problems are, too.  Furthermore , what mere mortal in any time or place has had it all together?

And, I guess the only difference between them and me, is that I don’t feel like the adult I feel they are.

Maybe I think about adulthood the same way others think about Christianity.   We see either super-Christians who have it all together, or we see believers who don’t match up to our romantic notion of what we think it means to be a Christian.  Is it possible that we’re just waiting for that feeling of being a “good Christian” or “close to God” when we’ll have it all together?  I suppose maybe I should stop waiting for the elusive “click” of turning into an adult, and concentrate more on the fact that I am one—along with all the benefits and responsibilities that come with that state of being.  Maybe we should stop waiting for that elusive “click” of having it all together as a believer and concentrate on the fact that we are, from the moment we turn to Jesus, already covered by Grace—along with all the benefits and responsibilities that come with that state of being—regardless of how we feel.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it was true?

Pop music is rife with romantic imagery, evoking thoughts of commitment, feelings of love, and emotional fulfillment. But I’m amazed at the number of audacious statements made by the musical word-smiths of our time. Has anyone else heard the song “Grenade” and thought “you won’t do it, Bruno Mars”? I don’t know. Maybe he would.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m ok with poetic hyperbole and passionate expressions of love, but sometimes the literalist streak in me comes blazing through and I wonder if all the claims and promises thrown about in songs might be contributing to the creation of unrealistic, impossibly high expectations within the minds of listeners. Further, what does that do to the average guy who’s just trying to be a good boyfriend or husband but feels he can’t compare to the ones in the movies or singing the songs?

Maybe love is just as strong or made stronger because of our flaws and having to love and be loved in spite of them. Maybe it doesn’t sound as romantic as it should. Maybe we should just keep looking for someone who’s perfect. Or, maybe we could count the hard work of the everyday as a form of love that contributes to, rather than takes away from, our feelings of affection. But that’s just a little too unromantic, isn’t it?

1. Eye Color: Brown
2. Embarrassing moment: Claiming God was his chaperone on an 8th grade field trip to a pestering parent.
3. Favorite classes in school: graphics and band
4. Enjoys spending solitary time in nature
5. Nicknames: R2, Bell, Bell-hop, Brotha, Cherokee, Bob o’ Ryan, Baby
6. Favorite Band: Dream Theater
7. Nervous tic: leg bouncing
8. Bucket list item: Embark on an expedition through the Mojave Desert
9. Favorite character besides Jesus from the Bible: King David
10. Alternative job choice: workout participant in Billy Blanks Tae Bo videos

I felt a little safer with him being off the stage, but that meant he was back with the audience — which included families with small children. Just a few seconds later his strutting caught my eyes again, only this time my eyes were drawn to his arms and hands which were holding tightly to a toddler held aloft his head! I saw panic sweep across some of the faces in the crowd (one of which was the child’s mother) and some cautiously made their way to the man — hoping not to spook him into dropping the girl. Fortunately, he did set her down gently, to the relief of everyone watching.

I’m surprised the efforts of the pastor and other concerned bystanders to peacefully calm the man down were not answered by the man’s fists because it sure looked like that might happen. However, after demanding 20 push-ups of himself and pumping out at least two of them, the man proceeded to leave the premises—much to the relief of the parents of small children and one slightly frightened, extremely awkward-feeling band that had just finish playing their song. Who said pop music isn’t exciting?