The Things in my Head

There is this epidemic that I’ve been noticing. It’s quite sad really.

It’s the idea that romance is connected to money. I almost every time I talk to someone from my generation when the topic of romance comes up they always mention how much money they are spending. Romance has nothing to do with money. Spending more money doesn’t come anywhere close to making you more romantic. Taking a someone you love out on a lavish date and showering them with gifts is not a romantic act.

What is romance? Romance is a lifestyle, a way of living. It changes every single action that you do. Romance is when you take something that you live for and you make it more important than yourself. Romance is when you make yourself last. It’s a hard thing to do, but luckily we have a perfect example. If you want to learn how to be romantic look at Jesus’s life. Look at what He did for the church. The church is his greatest love. He has romanced and is romancing us in the most perfect way. When you look at the love of your life and you long to make your life more romantic, your relationship more romantic, it’s not easy but you only have to do one thing.

Act more like Jesus. 

The young captain’s ears rang as his face smashed into the ground in front of him. Everything went straight to crap when the union soldiers pulled out that cannon of theirs. He could taste the blood in his mouth but it didn’t slow him down. Disoriented, he jumped to his feet and fired off his round. His bullet met the soldier in front of him with a killing force knocking the yank off his feet and to his death. The captain turned and pulled his knife out of his belt. Chaos was churning all around him. He didn’t have time to reload his rifle. He tossed it aside then jumped to his feet. Using his sleeve he wiped off the blood that had splattered all over his face. His sandy blonde hair tousled down to his shoulders half in a pony tail half free. His grip on his blade turned his knuckles white as he turned to the next union soldier charging at him. With no fear the captain moved forward. The soldier fired his gun hitting the captain in the top of his shoulder. The captain blew the wound off and kept running. With a solid dive he tackled the soldier to the ground and in that moment the adrenaline of war and carnage took over. He locked the soldier underneath him with his legs then raised the knife high into the air. The soldier’s face stank with fear but the captain made no mind of it. All he could think about was the debris and body parts that blasted cannon had sent his way. With all his might the captain shoved his blade deep into the soldier’s chest. The dark blue became darker as blood seeped up through his wound. With in seconds it was over. The captain leaned back with his butt on his heels. The pain of his shoulder was finally creeping into his thoughts. He looked around, battle was raging on every side of him. With each moment more and more of his men were falling. They were losing and losing miserably. They needed this win. The Confederacy needed this win. Once again he ignored his pain. He filled his lungs with air and yelled, “RETREAT! RETREAT!”

The captain busted into the small living room his men had taken over as their base of operations. He looked over to his lieutenant, “Report!” The lieutenant, who was much older than the captain yelling orders at him pulled out a small map and laid it down on the table in front of them. After a few moments of silence, he finally grunted his response.

“100 dead and another 50 wounded. That leaves us about 300 healthy men.” While the lieutenant spoke the rest of the captain’s platoon leaders came trickling into the room. “From what I can tell we are the last of what’s left holding the north back from the Mississippi. My personal opinion is that it’s time for us to retreat across the river and regroup with the rest of our army.”

“No one asked your opinion.” The captain grimaced and then pulled the rest of his hair out of it’s ponytail. “If we lose the river we lose the war. We need to mount another attack and fast.”

“No offense sir but that would be suicide!” The lieutenant yelled. “We don’t have enough men and we just got slaughtered.” As he spoke the rest of the room began to mutter in agreement. The young captain looked around the room at his men. He wondered if that’s how they saw themselves. He wasn’t supposed to be in charge. He wasn’t supposed to have this much responsibility. His uncle promoted him out of a favor then sent him to this outfit. “The Union will lose long before the war makes it to the Mississippi.” He had said. But now the captain was here leading what was left of the men and if his suspicions were right the entire war was resting on his shoulders, a war that he wasn’t even sure what side he belonged on. His cousin had traveled north to fight there. Maybe he should have too. No. He can’t think those thoughts right now. He has to be here in this room. A room filled with voices of despair and doubt. He has to prove himself to them.

“SILENCE!” The captain yelled. “That’s enough! I won’t hear anymore talk of retreat across the river. The Confederate States of America need us here and they need us to fight. These are battles we can win. We just need to get rid of the cannon.” He turned to one of his platoon leaders. “Jim you will take what’s left of your men. During the night you will sneak into their camp and decommission the cannon. The rest of us will arrive at sunrise. Your men will meet us in the middle. We absolutely cannot lose this river.”

“Sir.” The lieutenant reached over and grabbed the captain. The captain looked down at the hand on his arm. The lieutenant didn’t move. He saw the captain as a boy, that’s all. The captain needed to put a message out there that he wasn’t a boy. He was a captain and he deserved his promotion. With all his might the captain balled up his fist and hit the lieutenant in the chin knocking him to the floor.

“No more questions! I know this is—” The sharp sound of a bugle from outside interrupted him. Quickly he raced out the door with his men on his heels. Off in the sunset he could see a small army slowly marching towards them. From behind the soldiers a cannon fired. The ball smashed into a nearby house with an explosion. “GET YOUR WEAPONS!” The captain yelled.

“What’s happening?” One of his men ignorantly asked him.

“They’ve come to finish us off!” The captain yelled back. He rushed inside to grab his gun. While there he stopped to look out the window to see his men getting slaughtered. He quickly ran over to the fire place and pulled out a burning log. He then lit the curtains ablaze. Instead of joining the massacre outside he turned and escaped through the back door. He ran as far away from the town as he could. Standing on the edge of the woods he could hear the firing of guns and the screams of men, but all he could see were the huge pillars of smoke. He’d lost. Not just this battle but he’d lost the war. No one would ever trust him again. Everything in him told him to run far away. To never come back. Images of his wife and daughter flashed into his head. He couldn’t run away. He may have been a bad soldier and a worse captain, but he was still a good father. He couldn’t die. He had a reason to live. With his gun clutched tight in his hand he turned and ran into the woods. He didn’t care where he was going. He just needed to survive. Now that her face was all he could think about, he had to live. He had to touch her lips again. After miles of running, when he could no longer see the smoke of his greatest defeat. He laid his gun on the ground and then collapsed up against the tree. The sun had set on the captain as he closed his eyes to get some rest.

“Hard day?” The captain immediately jumped up and put his rifle to his shoulder as a stranger begin to walk out of the trees. “Put your gun away. I’m not going to hurt you.” The stranger had an endearing tone to his voice but the captain didn’t move a muscle. As the man got a bit closer the captain realized that he was only just a boy, in his late teens at the oldest. His skin was milky white and his long black hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail. He was wearing a white linen shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders and tight knit pants that sat on the top of his expensive leather shoes. Where did this kid come from and what did he want? The captain tightened his grip on the gun but couldn’t seem to bring himself to pull the trigger. 

“Who are you?” He asked.

“My name is Ethan.” The stranger said with a captivating smile. “And who are you?”

“Uh…um…Nicholas. My name is Nicholas.”

“Are you planning on shooting someone?” Ethan asked pointing towards the gun. For some reason Nicholas had the strongest urge to lower his  gun from his shoulder. After a few moments of silence he did. But he didn’t know why. “That’s right I’m not going hurt you.” Ethan smiled.

Dumbfounded, Nicholas asked, “How old are you?”

“Me?” Ethan said looking down at himself as if he had to check. “Well I’m around seven hundred years old, but I look seventeen. It’s one of the perks of the job.” He laughed but the laugh made Nicholas feel very uncomfortable. The whole situation made the captain uneasy. He was talking to a complete stranger, yet for some reason he had the strongest urge to trust him. He didn’t know what to say next. He kept thinking of a thousand questions but before he could ask them they would flitter out of his mind. In fact he was now noticing that all his thoughts were doing that. He could literally think nothing.

“I know you’re probably confused. I sometimes have that effect on people, but don’t worry. I’ve just come to ask you a few questions.” Ethan calmly explained.

“Questions?” Nicholas asked, still confused.

“Do you mind if I build a fire? This could take some time.” Ethan didn’t even wait for an answer. In a blur he was gone. Nicholas couldn’t believe his eyes. The man literally just teleported out of the jungle. Then in an instant he teleported back and a fire was built. “Go ahead Captain have a seat.”

Nicholas scooted next to the fire and took off his coat, which was now stained by the blood of the man he killed earlier. The fire was a nice warmth on his skin. He hadn’t noticed it but the night had an uncanny chill to it. He looked across the flames at Ethan who was sitting down as well. He had a very haunted look to him. His eyes were sunken deep in his sockets and they were so black that Nicholas could see the flames dancing in them. His skin, however, didn’t match his eyes or hair for that matter which was also as black as darkness itself. The skin was a very pale white and didn’t seem to have any blood pumping underneath it. Nicholas was absolutely mesmerized by the man who claimed to be seven hundred years old sitting across from him. Moments of staring passed and finally Nicholas asked a question. Once again he seemed disoriented. “How did you do that?”

Ethan looked up. He had a relaxing look in his gaze. It sent chills down Nicholas’ back but at the same time he felt all the tension leave his muscles. “Do what?” Ethan replied.

“The disappearing thing?”

“Oh that? I ran.” Ethan answered with yet another smile. Nicholas was extremely confused but he just let it slide and moved on to his next question.

“Why are you here?

Ethan waited a few moments as if he was contemplating his response, “I want you to come with me.”

“What?”

“It’s real simple. I’m fighting a war and I need you.” Ethan said with a lick of his lips. Suddenly Nicholas could no longer feel the warmth of the fire. The night was astonishingly cold and dark. He didn’t know why but he was getting the overwhelming feeling to go to Ethan, but somewhere deep in his heart he knew he shouldn’t. It didn’t matter though, because Ethan came to him. In the blink of an eye Ethan leaped across the fire lunging for Nicholas’ neck, but when he got their a gold barrier of light shimmered in front of him. Ethan was launched back against a tree. Nicholas had no idea what was happening. He reached over and grabbed his gun. He pointed it at Ethan and was about to fire when a voice seemed to speak from no where.

“You’re weapon is no good against him Nicholas.” The voice was deep and moving. When it spoke the night seemed to tremor. The coldness left and Nicholas was reminded of all the goodness in the world.

Ethan stood to his feet as he yelled, “You can’t protect him! You can’t!” Now Nicholas could see that Ethan had two large fangs sticking out of his mouth. Before he could think anything about it a bright light began to shine in the middle of the air. Then a man walked out of it or at least Nicholas thought it was a man. He was tall and large. His hair hung wildly in curls down past his shoulders. It was captivating in the way that it would change colors as he walked. First it was brown then a blonde and then a white. It was like living light. His skin was the same as he moved it would change from a deep pearl white to a bronzed golden tan. He demanded the respect of the world as he spoke.

“I can and I will. Until He makes his own choice he falls under my protection.” The man turned towards Nicholas and smiled. “You can go home Nicholas.” Nicholas’ eyes filled up with light and then in an instant he was gone. Ethan was left standing in the jungle with the beautiful stranger.

“Where did he go!?” Ethan yelled, “You can’t just send him away. I know where he lives.”

“He doesn’t want to be with you Ethan. He never will. He just wants to go home with his family.” The stranger calmly spoke.

“Fine then! I’ll get rid of his family.” Ethan snapped and then took off running. But it was to no avail, the stranger was now in front of him. He picked Ethan up and threw him across forest. Ethan’s body busted through a tree and it came tumbling down. Ethan stood up and pulled a dagger out from under his shirt. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should have just let me turn him. Now I have to kill you and then I’m going to kill his family. At the end of the night we are going to get to the same place but with a lot more blood. And Geoffrey that blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t do this Ethan. Not this one. Let him go home to his family.” Geoffrey pleaded with a sincere tone to his voice.

“I need him! In case you haven’t noticed we are at war. My side needs him!”

“He isn’t going to turn the war for you. No one is. I’ve told you time and time again. You have picked the losing side.”

Ethan stepped closer. “Picked!? I didn’t pick this side! This wasn’t my choice. I’m trying to survive! We can’t all be as simple as you.” With that Ethan had enough. He rushed forward towards Geoff at blinding speeds. Geoff began to speak out in an unknown language. When he did the trees came alive. Branches and vines grew from them and tried to grab Ethan, but he was too fast. With his dagger he hacked away each one. Then he slammed into Geoff tackling him to the ground. He jammed his knife deep into Geoff’s shoulder where the arm meets the chest. Light started to pour out of the wound as Geoff forces Ethan off of him onto the ground. Then he started punching Ethan in the face. Blood splattered all over his fists tainting his magical skin. He pulled the knife out of his shoulder and shoved it deep into Ethan’s throat. Blood poured out all over the ground but Ethan just laughed. His blood caught in is throat as he gurgled out his words. “What are you doing? To good to kill me?”

Geoffrey punched Ethan a few more times. “You and I both know that I can’t do that. Not right now.” Geoff then ripped the knife out of Ethan’s throat and spoke in his language. Vines jumped out the ground and wrap around Ethan’s body. Ethan lurched forward with his head and buried his fangs in Geoff’s neck. A blank terrified stare went over Geoff’s eyes as Ethan pulled a hole out of his neck. The vines let go of Ethan’s body and he stood up looking down on Geoff, light shined from his neck as he muttered his last words. “I may die, but you know I’ll come back. We always come back. One day, Ethan, he will pick someone new like he always has and when he does I’ll be there for you. I’ll kill you.” And with that Geoff exploded into a flash of light and was no more.

“Until then,” Ethan smiled and then raced off into the woods.

********

The door busted open and Sarah quickly turned to see who was entering her house. Ethan stood in the doorway with a body in his arms. She hadn’t seen Ethan in days. Like always he just left without explaining where he was going and what he would be doing. She hated that about him. Ethan walked forward and dropped the bloody body at her feet. Behind his silhouette she could see the sun rising.

“Get him cleaned up. We leave at nightfall and I don’t want to carry him.” She could hear that something was wrong with his throat. He needed rest to heal. “His name is Nicholas.” He then stumbled into the bedroom. Sarah bent down to look at Nicholas’ body. His hair was caked with blood to his face and his skin was turning white right before her eyes. She rolled him over to see the damage. That is when she realized he was still awake. The tears streaked his blood and soot on his face. He muttered the same thing over and over again. 

“He killed my family.”

Warm tears rolled down Sarah’s face. Underneath all of the brokenness she could tell he was beautiful. She went and got a pan of water and a wash rag. Then she picked his body up held him close and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re your family now. And no matter what happens we always will be. I promise.”

Tonight I read a story. It was one of those internet stories that you see get passed around a lot. One of my friends posted it on facebook. Rest assured, I completely understand that this story isn’t true, but it still moved me. It was the one about the adopted dog whose owner was a soldier that had died. You have probably read it. It has been around for years now.

There are lots of things that happen in this story that could move a person. I imagine that most people are moved when they read it, but there was something particular about it that truly touched my heart. Just in case you haven’t read it let me catch you up.

There is this dog named Reggie and a guy adopts him, but the guy and his new dog don’t really get along. Reggie just doesn’t seem to be happy. After a couple of weeks the guy remembers a sealed envelope that came with the dog. The envelope contains a letter and in this letter the original owner tells Reggie’s story. It turns out that Reggie wasn’t named Reggie at all. He was actually named Tank. After the new owner finishes the letter he begins to call Reggie Tank and then the dog comes alive. For the first time they were able to get along. This is the part that truly spoke to me. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the dog. He had the wrong name. He didn’t know the dog’s identity. He kept telling the dog it was Reggie when in reality he was actually Tank. 

Identity can be really complicated. It defines who we are and majority of the time what we do. Lots of times we find ourselves stuck in an identity that isn’t truly ours. We can never be happy because we are never being ourselves.

Your teachers may tell you you’re dumb.

Your boss may tell you that you’re lazy. 

A crush may tell you that you aren’t good enough.

You may tell yourself that you aren’t what you have dreamt to be.

No matter what it is. We all get identities spoken over us that isn’t really who we are. We all get called Reggie when we are really named Tank. Ever felt that way? Do you feel that way now? Do you feel like you’re stuck somewhere with someone over you that is consistently calling you Reggie? Don’t you ever wish that someone would just send the world a letter telling everyone who you really are, that you aren’t Reggie?

I’ve got good news. Someone has. There was a global letter sent to the world for all of humanity. It’s purpose was to declare the identity of us all. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ covered us in grace. God was screaming out, “Their name is Tank!!” All you have to do is live in that letter, live in that grace. Listen to it. It’s defining you.

You are beautiful

You are intelligent

You are forgiven

You are defined

You are loved.

Artists are unique people and most of us live unique lives. I’ve found that we usually go about things in life a different way. To outsiders we may make what we are doing, our art, look easy. For us, however, it can often be very hard.

Or at least it is for me a lot of times.

Don’t get me wrong it’s usually not the actual act that is difficult to do. It is getting ourselves to mentally go through the act of doing it. It’s believing that we can physically accomplish what we have mentally dreamt up. The hard part is crossing that bridge that connects our imagination with the world’s reality. Why is this the hard part? I’m sure there are lots of different answers to that question, but I think it’s because, for an artist, imagination is easy and reality is hard. Sometimes living in the fantasy worlds of our head is so much easier than trying to be apart of the real world of life. We have to overcome that fear of reality destroying what we have imagined. What if the story I’ve thought up doesn’t convey as well on paper as it does in my head? This fear is one of the biggest hinderances to artists. They are afraid that nothing they ever create will live up to what it should be once it’s created.

Then once they do get over that fear they have something else to contend with; Imagination is instant where reality seems like it takes forever. This is probably the biggest thing I personally struggle with. I can instantly imagine a huge world with hundreds of characters and an interesting story, but  to write that story out would probably take me two or three years. TWO OR THREE YEARS!!! I just went from instantaneous to forever. And for some reason when I realize that; I’m ready to move on to something that will take less time to get done, call it artistic ADD. The only problem is that every good piece of art takes time. So I just end up with a bunch of half finished projects.

What’s the point? Why talk about these things? Well it’s to get to this question. Why are you making your art? Is it so that you have created something or is it because you have a desire to create? It’s true art can be hard, but if as artist we can change are perspective to view the creating as something more important that the created we may find ourselves with a lot more finished projects.

Maybe you’re an artist out there with a bunch of half finished products. And like me you’re scared to pick them back up. Or maybe I’m the only one and I just needed to say this to myself. Let me know what you think.