Working Working, Making Money

So, this Friday I get my first paycheck from my new job at TACF. It feels so good to be working again, full time, making the dough. I worked part-timeish for free for the church for a few months, and loved it, but it's so great to have a real job there. I have my own desk and my own phone, my own extension and email address, a staff badge, and all that jazz. I feel so appreciated, so loved, so acknowledged for the practical and worky stuff I can do.
I think that part of it is a guy thing, we like to work and provide, even if just for ourselves. We want to make our way and bring home the bread. I don't have a family or anything, but it's nice to know that I'm at least going to be able to be self-sufficient soon, instead of living off of others (my parents).
I'm planning to move out soon, preferrably in the fall, I think. I really hope I'm able to, it's something I've wanted to do for quite a while, and something I'm looking forward to. Much of it is a faith thing though, I beleive that God is behind me and supports it, so I'm believing he's going to help me find a great place for a great price and great roommates to live with. He's just cool like that.
Back to the whole job thing though. I struggled with the fact that I felt useless and empty without work when I didn't have any, but I continued to struggle with the idea that I was so shallow when I started work. It bugged me that I based my contentment, and perhaps even part of my identity, on whether or not I'm working. I know that God makes me wait long periods of time for work frequently and then rewards my patience with a good job, it's kind of been a pattern. I'm really praying and hoping and having faith that this will be a lasting job though, and that if and when I move on, it's not because I have to leave, but because God is calling me to something bigger. I hope that it wouldn't be this weird and sucky period of unemployment, but moreso a transition. I don't know why I'm thinking about that already, I just started two weeks ago. I guess I'm weird...
Why is it though that we base so much of our selves on our jobs? They don't define us, they're just our livelihood, but who really believes that? I try to, I really do, but I find so much contentment in the fact that I'm working somewhere I like and stuff. I don't know, perhaps I just need to grow up and learn what it's like to really know who I am despite what I do or don't do. Though, I think we all do...

This is fun

So, I've recently started blogging again regularly.  I forgot how much fun it is!  How liberating a feeling it is to let your thoughts and feelings and crazy ramblings be free!  Now that I've discovered that you can blog via email, it's awesome!  I don't even have to log in, I just have to send this blog to my secret posting email and it's automatically up!  How cool is that!?  I KNOW!

Back to my point...  I think that people like to blog for the same reasons I do.  We have all these thoughts and feelings and dreams and ambitions that pop in and out of our head.  How many of these do we wish we could just tell everyone about?  Like when we have revelations about God or life or the aerodynamics of McDonald's hamburgers, we just want to tell the world, don't we?  I do.  When something good happens and I want people to know, so that they're happy for me, I can blog it.  When something troubling has happened, I want to let people know, so they can pray with me.  Now, I don't say this because of any need of my own, per say.  Rather, I think of it this way...  I love my friends, and I want to know what goes in their lives.  If they see a success, than I'm happy for them and my heart is elated, perhaps my faith is even encouraged!  If they see a troubling time, than I want to hear about it so I can pray with them and talk to them and give them a hug and do whatever I can to help them through it.  Shouldn't I then expect my friends to have the same desires and expectations of me?  Yes, I do enjoy the fact that my friends want to know about my life and join in on it, but I don't need a blog for that.  That's what I have my cell leaders and cell members for, as well as other friends that I keep in regular contact with about such things.  The purpose of blogging about these things is to open that same connection up to others to enjoy on a more general, corporate level.  This way, we're all still in contact and we're all still joining in together on each others' ups and downs.  After all, the Bible says "And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honoured, all the members rejoice with it."

So, I invite you, friends, suffer with me and rejoice with me!  Right now, you can rejoice, things are looking fairly well.  God is doing lots, really stretching me and working on my character, but it's for the best.  I'm becoming more and more the man he wants me to be!  Also, I got a job!  (HOORAY!)  I've been hired on as a Customer Care Representative at TACF, and start my first day of work as staff on Monday!  I'm very excited!  

I invite you also friends, to share your times of suffering, and your times of rejoicing with me!  I want to be there and help you in your time of need, and be there to party in your time of success.  Let's do it!  This is the body, we suffer together, we rejoice together.  In unity, we are one, we have power, we have joy, we have revolution.

Before The Judge

So, I know that this has been done before, but I wanted to write my own.  Here it is...

Before The Judge

By Matt Mitchell

The time has finally come.  All his law breaking has finally caught up with him.  Last thing he knew, he was sleeping, when suddenly he is awoken by the sound of sirens, and is forced into the police car, hands behind his back, being taken straight to the courthouse.  He isn't alone though.  There are two others in the back of the car with him.  The man beside him has his head hung low, his skin is pale and sickly looking, his countenance is gloomy and depressed.  The other man, in the seat by the other window, looks perfectly content however, he even has a smile on his face.  Why is he so happy?   Has he no remorse for his sins?  Does he feel no guilt for his crimes?  He just sits there, his hands in his lap, with a smile on his face.  Listening carefully, he's humming a song.  It almost sounds like "Amazing Grace".  How strange.

  He looks to the front of the car, to get a glimpse of these mysterious police officers who have arrested him without telling him why, without reading him his rights, just telling him his time is up.  They don't have faces.  He's never seen people without faces before.  

  He thinks to himself,  "Is this a dream?  How could it be that people don't have faces?  Surely this is a dream."  He knocks his head against the window on his left to try and wake himself up, but just ends up with headache.  

  "It's not a dream," says the officer.  His voice is deep and flat, and he speaks with a hint of sorrow, and yet he seems to be mocking the poor, confused man.

  "They always think it's a dream," says the officer driving.  They laugh.  Their laughter is cruel and harsh, it sends chills down his spine.  How did they know he what he was thinking?  Does everyone who gets in the car knock their head against the window to try and wake himself up?  Or are they somehow able to read his mind?

  The car ride is taking a long time, so long in fact, that the man starts to feel hungry.  The hunger is sharp and strong and causes his stomach to grumble and twist.  The officers laugh again at the growling of his stomach.  He doesn't understand.  

  "How did I end up here?",  he asks himself.  "What have I done?  I mean, I've done a lot things that are illegal, and a lot of things that are just wrong, but how would they know?  I've never been arrested or anything before."  He looks out the car window.  Everywhere he can see people are being thrown into police cars by officers without faces.  People are being arrested in their homes, in their cars, walking down the street, everywhere.  What is going on?  Why is everyone being arrested?  Even the little old ladies are being thrown into cars like meat.  This is terrible!  And why is it still dark?  When they barged into this house to arrest him, the clock said it was nine 'o clock in them morning, and there were no clouds in the sky!  Something terrible has happened, something very very wrong.

  After what seems to be forever, the car stops in front of a white courthouse.  The building is huge, and there is a long line up of people protruding from the entrance.  He looks to see that most are just like him and his gloomy conrad, depressed and shackled with handcuffs.  Some though, are just like the third man in the car, smiling and content, singing to themselves, waving to each other.  Why aren't they in cuffs?  And why are they so happy?  How strange.  

  He's so hungry.  His stomach is aching, he wants to sit down it hurts so much, but there's no place to sit, and there's a sea of people in several lines waiting to get into this building.  The faceless officers are walking up and down along the lines, with their batons in hand, tapping them gently in their opposite palms.  Occasionally, someone will try and make a run for it, but he's always caught immediately and punished severely.  Who are these ruthless cops?  Taking a look around at all the people waiting to get into the courthouse, it seems like the whole city is there!  And there are more coming, the police cars and their shackled prisoners seem to stretch as far as the eyes can see. He even sees children and youths in handcuffs!  

  He yells out, "Hey!  Why are you arresting those poor children?  What have they ever done?"  

  "Shut up!", a nearby officer calls out, as he walks over and and smelts him over the head with his baton.  The sun is still not risen, in fact, it's not even on the horizon, and the moon is dark.  It's a full moon, but instead of its standard whitish glow, it's a steely grey.  He's so confused.

  After what seems like yet another eternity of waiting, he is at the front of the line.  He can see ahead into the lobby.  He counts the people ahead of him, there are four.  The first two go in, and in front of him is the smiling man from his car.  

  "Do you know what's going on?",  he asks the man.

  "Oh yes, I've been waiting for this a long time," the man replies.

Just as he's about to ask further questions, the doors to the courtroom open and the man and him are ushered in by officers.

  "Follow," one of the officers tells him at the door, as he escorts him behind the happy man to the front to stand before the judge.

  The courtroom is massive, close to the size of a football field, and the seats are filled with faceless observers.  The walk to see the judge seems to take another ten minutes.  The judge's bench is also quite large, and very tall and ominous.  It's painted white, and seems to made from fine woods.  On the judges is left is a very large book, and on right his gavel and its block.

  "Wait here," the officer says at the gate to the front of the courtroom.  There are two tables on either side where the prosecution and defense sit.  The prosecutor is a very angry looking man, he has pale white skin and jet black hair.  He has a medium build, and is quite tall with sharp facial features.  He is a handsome man, yet there is something very, very ugly about him.  He wears a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie, standing very straight and he has piles and piles of files beside on and beside his desk.  The files seem to stack to the ceiling.

  The man at the defense is a simple looking man.  He has long brown hair, but not too long, it almost reaches his shoulders.  He has a soft and friendly face, and piercing eyes.  He is wearing a white button-up shirt and simple, plain khaki pants.  He has no briefcase, no files, no documents of any kind.

  The happy man steps up gladly to the middle of the court.  

  "What charges are laid against this man?",  says the judge.

The prosecutor looks at his large pile of records, he seems to be carefully scanning them his eyes.  He focuses his gaze at one particular place in the pile, and carefully and skillfully pulls out a very thin file.  He opens it.  There is only one page in it, and it is blank.  He curses.  "I have none," he says.  "This man's record is blank."

  "You are pronounced innocent," says the judge.  The happy innocent man goes over to the defense table and hugs the man in white and thanks him.  He then walks to the door in the corner of the courtroom labeled "Innocent".

  "Next case!", yells the judge.

  The man is pushed forward through the gate by the officer who brought him in.  He walks to center court.  He looks over to the defense, and the man in white is looking at him, he has tears in his eyes.  Why is he crying?  He then looks over the prosecutor, who has already found a large file for his next argument, and he has a menacing smile on his face.

  "What charges are laid against this man?", says the judge.

  "Your honour," says the defense, with a slight cringe following, "this man has quite a large record of charges that have been kept."

  "That can't be!  I've never been arrested before in my life!", cries the man.

  "He has lied and stolen and cheated.  He has been loose with his words, cursed his friends, cheated on his taxes, fought with his fellow man, he has done drugs, he has dishonoured women and taken advantage of them and broken their hearts.  He has even spoken crude things about you!  I have proof your honour, it's all here in his record.  This man has not been absolved of any of his sins before you, your honour."

  The man is in shock.  How does he know these things?  Then it hits him. 

  "That's not true!  That can't be true!  I go to church sometimes!  I must have been forgiven at some point!"

The man in white is still fixed on him, still with tears in his eyes.

  "Your honour, this man's name is not in the book!  He must be sentenced to death", cries the prosecutor.

The judge opens the large book to his left, and peruses through it to look for his name.

  "Indeed, his name is not in the book.  He has never repented before me and confessed that I am his judge."

  Suddenly he remembers all the people in his life who tried to tell him about God and the forgiveness of his sins, about how Jesus died for him and only wanted to have relationship with him and make him new.  Why hadn't he listened?  They told him this would happen someday!

  "Your honour, you said it yourself, 'The wages of sin is death.'"

  "I KNOW what I have said!", The judge shouts at the prosecutor.  "I'm afraid, despite the efforts and open door provided by the defense, this man never took those steps towards me, and was never removed of his sins.  I must sentence you guilty."

  The judge bangs his gavel on its block.  Two of the faceless officers come alongside him to take him away to the door marked "Guilty".  As he is walked to the door, he looks back at the defense on last time, and Jesus, the man in white, still with tears in his eyes, waves goodbye and turns away.

Mini-Jumbo

My Dad bought a "mini seedless watermelon" yesterday, and it caused me to think about something.

Our society is obsessed with changing things. We feel the need to make things that are big, like watermelons, "mini, and things that are small, like berries, "jumbo". Why can't we just be content and let nature do what it's supposed to? God designed these things to be how they are, let's just be content. Of course, it could be argued that our obsession with change comes from our own insecurities about ourselves and our lack of a solid identity in who we are and why we are. As a son of God, adopted by the blood of Jesus unto the Father, and filled with the Holy Spirit, I know my identity, and I'm secure in it. Do I still have things I want to change about myself? Yes, but my motive is to be the best I can to best live out the life God has for me and best reflect who HE is. The world seeks to change and "improve" themselves to look and feel and appear to be what everyone around them tells them to.

I love Jesus.

-Matt

Music

I love music.  It really influences my moods and feelings.  

It can calm me, or it can agitate me

It can make me feel good, or make me feel sad

It can edify my spirit, or make me feel ill with the evil it spews

It can help me focus, but it can also distract me

It can help me wake, or help me sleep

It can make me think, or make me feel

It can worship God, or it can spit in his face

It can bring unity, or cause division

It can express our love for each other, and the lack there of

It's composed of systems and rules, yet it can be so freeing

It can be predictable or spontaneous 

It is endless, there will always be music, and there always has been

It cannot be avoided, it's everywhere

It is in our very souls, and it's transient from outside us to inside us

It gets "stuck in our heads", but we can't help but let it out

It can be whatever we make it, it is subject to our decisions, it is ours to shape

Music came from God, he made it, and he gave it to us.  Music always has been, and always will be.  It is an immersing media that all people can receive and relate to.  It entrances us, it is what we make it, but we can't help but make it certain things.  We control its fate, but are we not controlled by the things it tells us?

Out of all the creative outlets I've tried, music is by far my favourite, which is probably why I've stuck with it longer than the others.  I love listening to it, and I love making it.  I feel so honoured to be able to produce it and write it and share it with others and give it to God.  Call me a cheesy Christian, but worship music is my favourite music.  Even music that isn't straight up "I love Jesus", but gives glory to God, is worship to me.  Worship music is the original music, and it's the only everlasting music.  Worship is my favourite thing to do with music.

Don't get me wrong, I love non-worship music, I listen to tonnes of it, and I write some of it too, it has its own dedicated beauty and expression and purpose that's completely unique and necessary.  But worship music, is just that, it's worship music.  Other than spending time with people and building relationship, worshipping God is my favourite thing to do.  It's just...  fun.

"Music is powerful"  -  Jarred Dunn