and we stare at the sun.

The poetry may not be coming, but the thoughts are, thronging in by the hundred thousand, making me question myself, the things I hold dear, and most importantly, the things that I don't. I feel like I'm staring at the sun, gazing into the most glorious thing I can think of in sheer desperation for some motive or inspiration to move forward. I am static; stationary but never still.

So, let's talk through a few of the things that have happened this week, or, better said, are in the process of happening. Pardon my wars with semantics.

On Sunday my parents came into town, on their way out of it. From Sunday to Friday, our 5 precious last days, they are here spending all of my free moments with me. Today is Thursday.

I feel now like I have something to offer an orphan: a simple "I understand."


Monday night I got my world rocked by Andy Marin, a guy who wrote a book called "Love is an Orientation" and who has dedicated his life to living among and serving the LGBT community. Whoa, right? Who does that? Not a lot of Christians these days. I'm still really struggling through what ministry without compromise would look like in a situation like that, and yet I feel drawn to the oft-misunderstood and ultimately the hurting.

Andy brought up four people who were either gay or lesbian and Christian as well, which I found to be an interesting combination. (I've never really known how far those two could really intersect. I remain confused.) These 4 wonderful people came and talked to us and these 4 wonderful people broke my heart. How can we not see them and love them? How can we reject them and turn them away?

At the same time, none of them were anywhere near where they probably "should be". All of them honestly believe that God will supply someone for them in the future (except for, of course, the bi Roman Catholic monk), same-sex or otherwise. I can't imagine being in their shoes or needing that kind of mental fortitude, and yet...

It's the "and yet" that gets me.

Sunday night we had a belated birthday party for me, which was fun and dysfunctional. We invited both brother floors, which was very lucid of us. Everyone left about midnight, and that's when my Mexican brother and his hippie friend showed up for some late-night pizza and jam session. It was totally impromptu, which is always the best, and we got to hear the angelic tunes of a folk master in hiding. (That would be the hippie boy.) We conjured up some three-part harmonies and some cool new friendships in the meanwhile. It was like our old Sunday nights all over again. My parents are so good at this hospitality thing, this loving kids thing... and I guess I just don't fully understand.

Why leave something you can do so well?
Why leave somewhere where you already making a profound difference?

I guess it's not mine to understand. It's their call, not mine.

Still.

Wednesday night we repeated Sunday night, although this night was much more intensely worshipful. Mom and Dad went to SMF first, and got prayed for hardcore. It was great - I even prayed for them aloud - and that's not something I typically do. Then we went back to the apartment, and there was hippie boy with his guitar, and Mexican brother too. We grabbed a couple guitars and a djembe and rocked out with some mad vocals.

I have to learn how to play the guitar. This is getting ridiculous. Music is my passion and I can't accompany?! Things have got to change.

Everyone left, but hippie boy stayed for a little bit longer, running a couple circles in my mind. He did it again this morning, which was rather an inconsiderate thing for him to do. I told him to stop, and hopefully he did.

and we stare at the sun.
You'd think we would notice our eyes were burning out.