It was a simple motto. I shared it with a few of my close friends, and we used it as often as we could manage. In eleventh grade English class, we had to write a collection of poems, each in a different form. In typical melodramatic fashion, I called mine Ode to Alcatraz;  each and every poem was about the mindless prison that I perceived school to be. I can hear Miss Davidson’s voice even now: “Tucker, you’re killin’ me.”

For years, both while I was breezing through high school and while I was dragging myself through college, my parents told me that I would miss education, and that I would want to pursue my education beyond my undergraduate studies, to the Masters and Ph.D levels. They thought I would be in school much of my life. I scoffed sardonically at this preposterous suggestion; as soon as I was done with school, I was done with school.

(Side note: I think it’s interesting that to me, as I’m sure it was to all my friends, a college degree was not optional. That was simply the extent of compulsory education. Kudos to my parents and teachers for valuing education to such a high degree that a college education was a foregone conclusion.)

A realization that has stuck with me recently is the reality that I did not get as much out of my education as I should have. I did not make the most of it. This was not my teachers’ fault; most would have been more than willing to challenge me, and many tried. Some, like Miss Urban and Miss Davidson, viewed me with something you might call amused frustration—excited by those rare moments of complete engagement, and yet also frustrated because they came so rarely. I think they liked me, but I also drove them crazy. Some, like Mr. Johnson, were driven to strongly disliking me, angered by my success in his class despite my apparent disdain for it. One managed to really get the most out of me, and consistently so—though I suspect that I could even have gotten more from Miss O’s classes than I did. I didn’t care. It wasn’t usually all that necessary to try all that hard.

My parents were right, of course. I’m now almost 29 years old; high school is long past, and I have completed my college degree. But now that I have finally put compulsory education behind me, I realize that there is just so much more that I want to learn. There is so much knowledge out there, and I want to know it all! I find myself soaking in every ounce of information, of every kind, that I can. I wish that I had a dozen lifetimes, because I’d like to go back to college at least that many times. There are at least a half dozen areas in which I’d like to pursue a Masters and a Ph.D. I want to read every book ever written—well, every good one, at least.

I find myself looking up auditing costs at local universities, to see if I can afford to take some college classes in some of those areas I’m dying to immerse myself in. I’ve got a list of links the length of my arm of online resources for free college classes. I create lists of books to read, writing my own curriculum for learning the subjects that interest me most—because hey,  I can get a great education for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library.

I have no evidence to support this, no studies or statistics, but I suspect that if you surveyed adults who have been out of college for more than, shall we say, five years, you would find that an overwhelming majority of them, like me, would kill for the opportunity to go back to school. Most of them, I think, have discovered the same thirst for knowledge that I have—all too late. But it’s harder now than it was then. There is work, family, responsibilities—there is life, and it is so much busier than it used to be.

School is no longer my full time occupation; “student” is no longer my job description. That was a luxury I possessed for years, but I was too foolish to enjoy it. I squandered those years. Here’s to my wasted youth, and my scattered attempts to get it back. If there are any students reading this, I know that it’s hard to get past how much you hate school, but get past it anyway. This opportunity doensn’t last forever; take it as far as you can.

Here’s a new motto: “I miss school.”

I decided that that’s just the way I am is a horrible, terrible excuse, and it’s not good enough. Correspondingly, I decided that I ought to have much more control over who and how I am than most people seem to want to recognize. I decided that I ought to be able to decide who I want to be, and be that person.

That year, I changed who I was in quite a few ways. I don’t remember all of them, specifically, but a couple things do still immediately come to mind. For years, I had been very quick to anger; my fuse was extremely short, and my temper was quite loud and demonstrative. I was easily angered not only when anger was justified, but also when it was completely preposterous (not to mention wildly inappropriate). I decided early that year that I didn’t want to be so quick to anger. I was also, as are most teenagers, driven by jealousy. This did not seem to me a positive character trait, and so I decided not to be a jealous person.

My process was simple enough: I looked at other people, and I thought about the character traits I saw in them. When I saw things that I did not consider admirable or attractive, I sought to remove those elements from myself. At the same time, I also thought of the people I looked up to the most, and I asked myself what I admired them for. I then tried to incorporate into myself those things about them that caused me to hold them in such high regard.

The effects of these decisions were life-changing. I certainly was not a perfect person by the end of tenth grade, nor am I yet anywhere close. But by the end of that year, I was a different person. To this day, I still vividly remember an incident near the end of that year that made me realize how profound the decision to decide who I would be was. One of my classmates did something extremely hurtful to another of my classmates, the latter being my very good friend. I remember sitting in my dorm room with my roommate, Seun, who was also infuriated by what had happened, as a cold anger built slowly within me.

Slowly.

I became very angry, but I did not lash out or act rashly and pugnaciously, as I would have not so long before. Quite the opposite, I determined coolly and slowly (there’s that word again) how we ought to proceed, and I even held my friend back from acting much the way I might have in the past. Instead, we acted maturely and wisely (though not at all timidly) to address the situation. I was proud of us.

As the anger of that moment subsided and I processed what had just happened, I realized how much I had changed. I realized another thing, also; I looked back over the previous months, and I discovered that I had become someone who was not only slow to anger, but who was very difficult to make angry. In particular, it had become virtually impossible to anger me by doing something to me. To engender that kind of emotion in me, you had to hurt my friends.

Over the years, I have at times forgotten that I have the ability to choose who and how I will be. At other times, I have returned to it, as I do again now, and reminded myself that, “That’s just the way I am,” is the lousiest excuse I can think of.

I see this as a very common problem in our society—though, admittedly, it may have less to do with our society and more to do with human nature. People are quick to blame their nature for their shortcomings (that is, when they’re willing to place blame anywhere near themselves, at all), but few recognize—or are willing to recognize—the power they have to decide their own nature. Most of us are aware of our failings; few are willing to just stop it.

(Side note: It doesn’t have to be something negative that you do; you can make the same simple decision about a failure to do something positive. What is it that you wish you did, but you don’t do? And more importantly, what is it that causes you not to do what you should do? Is it laziness? Fear? Stop it.)

Give it a try sometime. Think of what it is that you don’t like about yourself, and just stop it. It may not be easy, at first, and you may not be consistently successful immediately after making the decision. But keep making that decision.

One day, you’ll become aware of something about your nature that isn’t natural or accidental at all, but is instead something quite deliberate, because you decided to be that way. Because instead of blaming your shortcomings on “the way you are,” you decided to just stop it.

Hey, at least I’m not writing about how much I hate the assignment.

The reason for this is likely the same as the reason for which I’m even doing the “assignment” (since it’s no longer compulsory): I actually don’t hate it. Oh, I still can’t stand journaling in the traditional sense—that is, writing about your day, or what’s going on in your life, or what you’re currently thinking about—but this isn’t exactly that, to my great relief.

This is somewhere between that and the kind of journaling seen to be so vitally important in classroom’s across America today, wherein students write daily on some random (and usually inane) topic their teacher has chosen. (The absurd hyper-emphasis on this activity in high school English Language Arts classes across this country drives me batty.) This will be less about the personal and the day-to-day than the former, but more open-ended than the latter.

The bottom line is that I struggle to write. More accurately, I struggle to start writing. You can read more about that issue at Miss O’s blog (mostly here, and some here), where this issue was first raised (and where I received the assignment). The reality is that there is only one solution to my laziness- and intimidation-precipitated writer’s block: I have to write more.

For now, that may mean that I’m not yet writing about the things that I want to write about, the really good stuff. It may also result in some pretty awful writing—as in the case of this piece, for example. (Seriously, if you’re still reading this, then I apologize for thoroughly wasting minutes of your life that you’ll never get back.) But I remember when I first started writing song lyrics; the first songs I wrote were truly horrendous. No, really. The third song I ever wrote is still one of my favorites, to this day, but let me tell you… the one that came before it? It’s on this site, but it’s marked “Private” so that none of you can ever see it. And the one before that one, the very first song I ever wrote? So bad I literally threw it away at some point. I no longer have it, and I have yet to regret that.

It’s the same lesson I told to one young guitarist and aspiring song writer back in high school, one Jamie “Little T” Tjosvold: Your early work will suck, but you have to write it anyways, or you’ll never get to your best work. That’s the goal here. I’m out of practice, and it’s hard to get back into practice. The only way I know of to do that is just to start writing, even if I sometimes cringe at the result.

And I promise I’m done writing about the assignment.

If God is omnibenevolent (fully good), omnipotent (all powerful) and omniscient (all knowing), why does evil exist?

Put differently, the problem asks how a good God, fully aware of every evil and fully capable of preventing it, could allow evil to exist.

To answer this question, philosophers and theologians have taken a variety of approaches, leading to a field of study known as theodicy, which specifically attempts to explain and/or prove how a God with these three qualities can coexist with a world rife with evil. However, in thinking about it, I can’t help wondering if we’re not getting ahead of ourselves by posing the question in this way.

Central to my thinking on the matter is this fact, which I consider to be incontrovertible: All evil in our world is perpetuated by human beings. With this in mind, it seems to me that the “Problem of Evil” is operating on a faulty assumption: that the responsibility for evil belongs to God. Only with this assumption already made can we then ask how a good God could allow evil. With a proper understanding of humankind’s sole responsibility for evil as our defining premise, it no longer makes sense to ask how a good God could allow evil; instead, one must ask why God would create this world — specifically, one with human beings (beings capable of doing evil) in it.

To answer this question, it is necessary to consider the nature of what we refer to as “good.” In questioning why God might create a world in which created beings might do and perpetuate evil, the assumption may be that God should simply have created a world populated by creatures not capable of doing evil. The common objection to this is that human beings with free will are superior, their existence more good, than “puppet” beings incapable of choosing how they would act — even though that free will is what leads to evil. However, while I do think that explanation has merit, I would again like to back up and examine the primary assumption of the line of thought that presumes that a world where evil is impossible would be better than one where it is possible.

The nature of any thing or any concept is that, by definition, its existence requires the possibility of its absence. That is, if a thing is, then it must also be possible for it not to be. It is in this context that Albert Einstein is said to have made the point that there is no such thing as darkness, for it is merely the absence of light; and there is no such thing as cold, for it is merely the absence of heat. (It was not, in fact, Einstein who said this, nor did he make the correlating point regarding good and evil, but they are commonly attributed to him.) Light and heat are the things in question, but their existence also creates the possibility of their absence, and darkness and cold are what result wherever they are absent. Similarly, “Einstein” stated that evil is not a thing; it does not exist in and of itself. Rather, evil is the absence of good.

With that in mind, let us return to the question of why God would create a world in which it were possible to do evil. This question relies on a faulty premise, because it assumes that it is possible to create a good world in which evil is not possible. However, since evil is the absence of good; and since the existence of good, by its very definition, requires the possibility of its absence; it follows that without the potential for evil, it is not possible to create a good world. In fact, I would posit that without the potential for evil, it is not possible to make anything good. This question, then, becomes, “Why would God create a good world?” Or, similarly, “Why would God create good?”

Since the very premise of this entire discussion—the Problem of Evil and the subsequent question, “Why would God create a world where evil is possible?”—is the assumption that good is desirable and evil is not, this would seem to be a question that does not need answering. Why should God create good? If that is the question, then the Problem of Evil is irrelevant, for the Problem of Evil takes for granted the goodness, and therefore the desirability, of good. Put another way (because it may seem strange to suggest that good is desirable because it is good): Integral to the definition of good is the fact that it is desirable; better, which is more good, is more desirable. Therefore, the question of why God should create a good world answers itself — because it good, by definition, is desirable.

Working backward from the above, our conclusion must be thus:

Good is necessary, and it is both desirable and praiseworthy that God should have created the thing and concept of good, as well as a world that is good and creatures capable of doing good.

Since good is necessary and its existence is desirable and praiseworthy; and since the existence of good necessitates the possibility of its absence; and since the result of its absence is evil, then the existence of evil is necessary. To eliminate evil would require the elimination of good, which is not an acceptable answer to the Problem of Evil.

In a world where good is possible—and therefore evil, or the absence of good, is also possible—the perpetrators of evil are human beings, not God. Thus, God is responsible for creating a world that is good, populated by species that are good, and that is both good and praiseworthy. The responsibility for evil lies with those who perpetuate it; that is, with human beings, not with God. Therefore, the existence of evil is not contradictory to the goodness of God.

Finally, even with the understanding that God is responsible for creating a good world, and humans alone are responsible for perpetuating evil, there is a more basic, emotional response to the concept of a God that would allow evil. It is rooted in the idea that the result of evil is that people get hurt. How could a loving God allow people to be hurt by the evil actions of others? I believe the points above answer this question more than satisfactorily; nonetheless, I think that there is yet a further answer to this question, and once again it comes down to a faulty assumption.

The assumption is that a loving God would not allow any harm to come to those that he loves. But is this true? In many ways, the relationship between God and people is seen as comparable to that between and parent and a child. Would a parent always prevent harm from coming to his child? Any parent reading this is probably having the following knee-jerk reaction: “Of course I would!”

Would you really?

As a parent, at least for the first 18 years or so, you have the power to control virtually everything your child does. Will you prevent her from getting a broken heart? To do so would be to forbid her from dating; in fact, it may even require preventing her from ever interacting with boys, ever. Would you prevent him from making bad decisions? You could do so, but it would be at the expense of his ever learning to act responsibly for himself. What is the greater good? The reality is that any truly good parent, as much as it pains them, recognizes that they cannot save their children from all pain, harm, and even evil — nor should they. This belies the faulty assumption that a responsible party who is capable of preventing harm and evil from befalling those for whom he is responsible, if he is to be considered good, must do so.

To conclude, I actually believe (though not to such a ridiculous extent, nor in such a ridiculous fashion) that our world is in fact that “best of all possible worlds” that is satirized in Voltaire’s Candide, primarily through the character of Pangloss. While evil is unfortunate, the only way to be rid of it would be to also be rid of good — and that is not an improvement on the nature of our world in any way.

Around the same time, something happened that raised in my mind a number of questions that I considered very serious, which completely shook my world and threatened tremendous possible ramifications for my faith as a Christian. A series of unexpected sources of inspiration, confusion, and clarity took me on a journey filled with numerous difficult questions, considerable doubt, ample inaction, and far too much wasted time. I questioned Christianity at a level more basic than I had ever before thought that I would, and as my old roommate Dave recently said to me, “I tell you, if you’ve never had to question even the most basic tenets of Christianity, it can be brutal. Really brutal.” Dave was unequivocally correct.

Somewhere along the way, answers that had not seemed suitable to me, when I had first asked the questions, began to make sense and became acceptable. No, that’s not quite correct— saying that in the passive voice makes it sound as though I figured it all out. The truth is that these answers that had previously seemed unsuitable were made to make sense by people smarter or (more accurately and importantly) wiser than myself.

These things—the questions that I asked; the effects that those questions had on my faith and, by extension, on my life; and the answers that I eventually found—are what I am trying to articulate here. And to be honest, I have waited far too long to do this.

As you may recall, my disillusionment with the traditional church, followed shortly by my dissatisfaction with the primary alternative I’d had exposure to, led me to disconnect from the church in general, and more importantly, to remove myself from the conversation altogether.

In hindsight, this is something that I regret quite a bit. From a certain perspective, you might see it as a sort of perfect storm in my life: my departure from the church, my inability to find a suitable replacement, and my complete removal from the ever-ongoing discussion on religion, faith, philosophy, and spirituality— all culminating, with perfect timing, in a state of spiritual isolation and apathy. What better moment for a crisis of faith? The result was a spiritual problem that I was either unable or unwilling to solve. Probably both.

In retrospect, I wish that I had at the very least continued to write. I wish that I had remained involved in the conversation, that I had attempted to address these issues and to seek answers to my questions. Instead, as much as possible I avoided all things faith-related, because it was impossible to involve myself in such things without confronting the very uncomfortable questions that waited tirelessly beyond the wall of spiritual paralysis that I had raised. Facing my doubts, and the questions which had caused them, would be a time-consuming and difficult process, not to mention a frightening one; ignoring them was much easier, and enabled me to put on hold my fear that the answers to my questions might turn what was as yet only doubt into full-scale disbelief. This potentiality terrified me.

In time, spiritual limbo became less and less tolerable. I mentioned my struggles to very few people, and even to them, only in bits and pieces. The reason for this, again, was that complacency was both easiest and safest, and that required spiritual isolation. Explaining what was going on with me would have required me to do the one thing that I was trying to escape — to face and confront the issues that I was struggling with.

Eventually, feeling as though I were living in secret and isolation grew less and less bearable. The possibility that I might not like the answers to the questions I was repressing contributed largely to the paralyzing fear that kept me from seeking those answers. The ramifications of that possibility ate away at me. What would that mean for my marriage? How would I raise my kids? What would that mean for me, for “my eternal soul,” if I was ultimately wrong? When my wife fell in love with me, I was a youth pastor and a former missionary kid, the son of a Bible scholar, and on my way to a degree in Biblical studies and church ministry. I felt guilty for not providing the spiritual leadership that I knew my wife had expected when she married me. Fear and discomfort had led me to procrastinate facing my issues; but eventually these nagging questions, the loneliness of being so disconnected, the emptiness and tension of living without spiritual resolution, and the guilt of what I was surely putting my wife through all finally forced me to get my hands dirty, to put in the work, and to face the risk of finding some answers.

So it is, if we stick with the cliché-but-effective idea of a journey as metaphor for this spiritual crisis (and its eventual resolution), that this one was actually fairly short in distance, but long in travel time. I spent most of the time in rest stops, gas stations and hotel rooms along the way, living adequately but not well, until the malaise and guilt of irresolution outweighed the discomfort of the journey itself, finally propelling me into action. Now, on the other side, I’m trying to pick up the pieces, to put it all back together, and to feel the resolution I now know. I have spent the last three years allowing the doubt in my mind to take root in my heart; now that the doubt in my mind has been replaced with knowledge and belief, I find that translating that belief from my mind to my heart is not a switch that can simply be flipped, but a process that takes time. I have become accustomed to the feeling of doubt and disconnectedness, and it is taking some time to once again get used to the feeling of belief and, eventually, spiritual enthusiasm. Writing my experiences and articulating outside of my own head the ideas that I struggled with will hopefully be part of that process.

This journey, for me, began in the Baptist church where I had, for two wonderful years, been a youth pastor. I had just gotten married, and needing a job with more hours and better pay, I had given up my position as youth pastor and gotten a “real” job.

In the final months of my time as youth pastor, I had helped my head pastor and my church start a ministry to the homeless, using our fellowship hall as an overnight shelter for homeless women. I was very involved in the entire process; I honestly can’t remember, but it’s not impossible that it was even my idea, originally. Not that it matters.

What does matter is that it was part of a larger movement happening in the lives of myself and several of those closest to me. Many of us were becoming increasingly frustrated with the primarily inward-focused nature of traditional church, and had a passion for reaching out to people the way we believed Jesus wanted us to, the way the early church did. We wanted to be the sheep in Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats, and we didn’t feel like that was the case with the status quo.

The homeless shelter happened, and I was very excited about it, but at the same time, my frustration with the established church continued to grow, as I became more and more aware of ways in which the church, to me, seemed to completely miss the boat. The entire Christian experience seemed inward-focused and self-seeking. The Christian faith had become about “me” — about experiencing certain emotional highs and lows, about nurturing our own personal growth, and above all, about safe-guarding our preferred corporate Christian experience. A church, it seemed to me, should be one large ministry team, equipped and commissioned to go out into the world and share God’s love, grace, and mercy with those who have yet to experience it — again, to be the sheep in Jesus’ parable, not the goats. Instead, it seemed to me that church tended to be little more than a social club, with little interest in the world outside, except on Missions Sunday.

Being a youth pastor intensified these feelings. The average age in my church was quite high, and I felt that ministering to our youth was one of the most important things we could do. Most people who become Christians do so before the age of 18; meanwhile, the college and young adult demographics were (and still are) leaving The Church in droves. If our church didn’t find a way to reach out to its youth, it would die with its current members — most of whom were on the last leg of their journey here on earth.

And yet, it was like pulling teeth just to get our church to sing some more contemporary songs. I have never bought into the idea that meaningful ministry has anything to do with singing the newest songs or implementing the fanciest programs — but consider the message it sends our kids when the church isn’t interested in worshipping in a way that they enjoy. It says to them that they don’t matter. It is that message, not the songs themselves, that really matters. Do we really expect them to stick around when we’re essentially telling them that they don’t matter, that their wants and needs aren’t just as important as anyone else’s?

These people had been doing what was comfortable and enjoyable to them for 50 years! Wasn’t it about time for them to show a little consideration and let another generation have its turn? All this, to me, was typical of what I saw as an attitude and a mindset that plagued the church at large, through and through. How could they reach out to those beyond their walls if they couldn’t even reach out to their own children and grandchildren?

(At this point, I’d like to point out that as a missionary kid, I have attended dozens of churches, and I considered this church to be one of the best I’d ever been to, its members some of the best people I’d ever known. Of course, this only discouraged me more:  If one of the best churches I’d ever been to still struggled to see beyond the end of its own nose, what could I expect of all the others, which paled in comparison?)

As a result, my wife and I left the church, becoming involved to a certain extent in the “Emergent Church” movement. I helped launch and participated frequently in Epinoia Cafe, and attended several gatherings, of various sizes and in various locations, of like-minded people. These folks shared much of my frustration with the church, and seemed to be interested in the same kind of outward-focused approach to the Christian lifestyle. It was right down my alley, and I was excited.

The result, however, was an increasing irregularity in the spiritual component in my life. We didn’t find another church, for I wasn’t interested in church anymore. We simply stopped going. I wrote some at Epinoia Cafe, and I talked some with my close friends. For a while, I was still taking once-weekly classes for my Biblical Studies & Church Ministry degree. The classes provided moderately stimulating faith-related discussion, though discussions with my classmates outside of class were far more rewarding.

Eventually, my degree program ended. By that time, I had already stopped participating at Epinoia Cafe; as I’ve explained elsewhere, it ended up not really providing anything that appealed to me. Meanwhile, I was married and working that “real” job, which tended to demand anywhere from 10 to 40 hours a week of overtime. I was exhausted, and what free time I had was spent laying next to my wife, watching our favorite TV shows.

It had happened gradually, but I’d reached a point where I was completely and entirely removed from and uninvolved in the discussion, experience, and work of Christianity. That would be the case for the next couple years.

I’m a sucker for radio and television preachers. It’s not that I actually like or agree with much of what they have to say, but I have some sort of strange, almost morbid fascination with them. Any time I come across a radio or television sermon, I have to stop and listen — not for long, but just until I they say something completely outrageous, and I declare to myself, for the millionth time, that these people are nuts.

This is something that I always do. It’s almost compulsive. I can’t stand radio preachers, and as an aside, I would caution anyone not very knowledgable about the Christian faith that media preachers should absolutely not be taken as representative of Christians, nor should their teaching be taken as indicative of Christian theology. Me? Apparently I’m just masochistic enough to want to confirm it, each and every time.

On this night, I came across a radio program featuring Christian author and women’s minister Nancy Leigh DeMoss; she might not call it a sermon, but it was close enough. Even worse: She was teaching on Revelation, Chapter 1.

I absolutely hate when pastors, especially radio preachers, start talking about revelation. There are two reasons for this:

1. I do not ascribe to the eschat0logical interpretation — that is, that it is an apocalyptic and prophetic foretelling of the end of the world. Instead, I believe that it was simply another epistle, written by an apostle (John, in this case) to a specific church (or seven, in this case). I believe the apocalyptic imagery and symbolism is not meant to be taken literally, as an exact prediction of what will happen at the end of the world, but rather, that it was a way of communicating in code. When Revelation was written, persecution of Christians in the Roman Empire—in which these seven churches existed—was rampant, and quite severe. John was encouraging the Roman Christians in their faith, and reminding them that the Roman Empire would not last forever. It, too, would one day fall, and the churches would come through the persecution they were suffering at the time. But remember, the climate in the Roman Empire wasn’t friendly to Christians; had these Christians been discovered with a letter from John assuring them that the Roman Empire would fail, it would almost certainly have meant their deaths. Therefore, John wrote using metaphors and symbolism that only his audience would be able to interpret.
2. Unfortunately, we are so far removed from the time of Revelation, and from the context in which the letters were originally written (and read), that we lack much of the contextual and intimate cultural knowledge necessary to fully understand the book. Any true scholar on the book of Revelation will tell you that even the world’s greatest expert on the book could not possibly understand all of Revelation. Remember, it was intended to appear as complete nonsense to most of the contemporary world, able to be understood only by those to whom it was written; if most of the world at the time it was written could not understand it, it’s natural that we, separated by 2,000 years and a vast gap in cultural and political context, would also be limited in our ability to truly grasp the book’s meaning and message.

Unfortunately, most people I hear preaching on Revelation don’t seem to be at all aware of either of the above. The “popular” interpretation is the eschatological one, and most evangelical Christians take the imagery quite literally. Furthermore, I can’t say I’ve ever heard a preacher express even the slightest bit of doubt regarding anything they have read or interpreted in the book of Revelation. Their interpretations are conveyed with an absolute certainty that a wiser man would know to avoid.

It drives me crazy.

This is the mindset in which I was placing myself as I geared up for a stretch of radio nonsense. Certainly, no good could come of this.

I was pleasantly surprised shocked. While I haven’t heard anything more than her interpretation of about half a chapter of Revelation, and therefore cannot say with certainty that she would handle the rest of the book the way she handled this passage, I can tell you that she deftly avoided the two mistakes that I was certain she would make.

First, she made the point that Revelation was simply a letter, written by John to seven specific churches. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never heard any preacher mention this before about the book of Revelation. Second, the extent of her interpretation was all sound and reasonable, not going beyond what we are really capable of knowing or understanding about the book. Even more importantly, when she came to a word or concept of which we honestly do not know, with complete certainty, the meaning … she admitted it. Instead of bumbling forward, presuming to know what none of us possibly can, she explained why we could not be certain of what was meant by a certain word or verse, presented the possible interpretations given by scholars, and then concluded with what we could take from it.

I was thoroughly impressed. I found no fault in her handling of the passage, and those who know me could tell you how strong a statement that is.

That’s when her message took a turn that really surprised me — one that was extremely relevant to me, and that really got me thinking. She began talking about church, and the Christian’s responsibility to the church. Rather than try to recap, I’ll just quote her:

It’s not to say that the Church is perfect—far from it! We’re going to see that in the remaining days of this series. But we cannot walk away from it.

I read another report that says,

Alarming number of stayaway saints affecting today’s church. [This report, based on another study by the Barna Group, said,] An alarming number of Christians are staying home on Sunday mornings. . . . A recent study by the Barna group . . . found that about 13 million Americans whom the researchers identified as being born again were “unchurched.”

The definition of unchurched was they have not attended a Christian church service other than for a holiday at any time in the past six months. Thirteen million Americans who identified themselves as born again are also unchurched by that definition.

David Barrett, author of the World Encyclopedia, estimates there are about 112 million “churchless Christians” worldwide. He projects that number will double by 2025.

Now let me just tell you that biblically there is no such thing as a churchless Christian. The biblical pattern is that every Christian is a part of the entire body of Christ. Some would call this the universal Church. And I know I’m going to get on some controversial ground with some of our listeners here. Go ahead and write us. We love to hear from you.

But the biblical pattern is that every Christian is also a part of a local assembly of believers and under the care and the teaching of the leaders of that assembly. The New Testament knows nothing of Christians who are not part of the local church.

People are saying today, “Yeah, I’m a part of the whole Church.” Well if you are a child of God, that’s true. But the New Testament knows nothing of Christians who are not also a part of the local expression of that Church, a local body of believers.

Now they may look different in some places. They may be very tiny. They may not meet in a building we may call a church. I’m not talking about all those trappings. But I’m saying there’s a local expression of those baptized believers who join together for worship, for the ministry of the Word, and who come under the leadership, the teaching, the authority, the feeding of biblically qualified leaders.

Let me go out on a limb a little further and say that media ministries like Revive Our Hearts are no substitute for your involvement in and your commitment to a local congregation of believers. Being a part of a local church does not mean that you just park your body in a seat on Sunday morning, sit there as a spectator as the worship leader and the pastor minister to you. It means more than that. It means being an active, engaged, contributing part of that body of believers, using your gifts to serve others in that body.

Click to view the Full Excerpt from Nancy Leigh DeMoss, which is well worth reading. She speaks quite a bit more about this concept, and about Biblical teaching on the matter — and, in this case, the teaching of Revelation at the beginning of Chapter 2.

She is unequivocally correct. Her point about the non-existence of such a thing as a churchless Christian in the time of the early church is a very poignant one.

As I have written previously, I am one of those churchless Christians. I have been for about 3 years now. (I went to my in-laws’ church for a year upon moving here to Kansas, but it’s not at all my style. My heart was never in it, so I don’t count it. Now that Anna and I have stopped going there, we’ve been doing some study on our own, but haven’t tried to find our own church.) Now I realize that this is not okay; I need to find a church.

Back to Nancy Leigh DeMoss for one last point. When she finished, I spent several minutes pondering what I had just heard. The decision to begin looking for a church had already been made; even before she was finished talking, I was so convinced that she was absolutely right that I decided instantly that I would do as she said and get involved again in a local church. But as I thought about everything I had just heard, another thing occurred to me, and I made a connection that I had been too blinded by frustration to see before.

My parents have told me several times of a time when I was a small child, when Dr. James Dobson urged all Christian parents—for the sake of their children’s spiritual futures, I presume—to pull their kids out of public schools and either homeschool them or send them to private Christian schools. My parents did no such thing.

A few years later, as they tell the story, they heard Dobson criticizing the public schools — lambasting them for being so heathen, immoral, unsafe, evil, etc. My parents’ reaction: “Well… duh.” At Dobson’s urging, droves of Christian parents had taken their kids out of public schools; what else did he expect? When the salt is removed from the world, how can it be salty? When the light is removed from the world, it becomes a dark, dark place!

Dobson was either incredibly audacious, or incredibly stupid. Had he really taken the Christians out of the world, and then turned around and criticized the world for being so un-Christian?

But that’s what myself and millions like me have done with the church. We’ve been so intensely frustrated with it, so deeply hurt by it, that we’ve stopped going; it has become so infested with problems that we’ve preferred not to take part in it. How hypocritical of us to talk about the change that needs to happen in the church, when those of us who see the change, who want it, and who are passionate about it have left the church! How, then, can we ever expect this change to happen? How can the church ever fix its problems if all of those who can see them, and who wish to see them changed, have already abandoned her?

This Sunday, Anna and I will begin church shopping here in McPherson, Kansas. It’s time for us to be involved in the local church again — first because we, as Christians, need to be plugged into the local body of Christ; but also because the church needs people like us. And because the world needs a strong church, and that can only happen if people like us stick it out and commit to being part of the change that needs to happen in the church.

The other day, I was thinking about why that is. After all, I helped Josh Kagi and Anthony Doheny start the thing; it wasn’t my idea, but I was in on the brainstorming, and at one point, I was very excited about it. Early on, I both wrote and responded frequently. But as far as I can tell by browsing through the archives, that lasted but a few months, dwindling off sometime around February of 2007.

What happened to me?

The most obvious answer would that I simply don’t have the time I used to have. Married life caught up with me, and let’s face it — I am no longer the single college student with a fairly relaxed part-time job and no other demands on my time. With a full time job that demanded significant overtime, my days were busy, and my evenings were spent with my wife. I quickly found that I no longer had the time or energy for all of the things I used to do in my spare time. Writing at Epinoia Café—in fact, writing in general—was one of the things that took a back seat to the new and more important aspects of my life.

Still, I don’t believe that a lack of time and energy fully explains my complete absence over the last two years. So I asked myself, What does? What I’ve settled on are three personal reasons, beyond a general lack of time and energy, for which I no longer write at Epinoia Café.

The first of these was a personal struggle with the intellectual validity of Christianity and the practical relevance of the Church, which resulted in a sort of spiritual limbo for me. That began a journey that I will be articulating in depth over the next several posts, a key characteristic of which was my complete removal from what I like to call “the discussion,” which I have avoided for at least a couple of years.

Second is the fact that, as an optimistic cynic, my critical disposition has led me to become every bit as disillusioned with the “emergent” movement as I already was with the traditional Church — though I will concede that this happened well after I had already stopped participating at Epinoia Café.

Both of these are issues that deserve to be examined in greater depth, and with any luck (and a bit of spare time), they will be the next things that I write about — and hopefully before three more years pass. But these aren’t the issues that I want to focus on today. Instead, today I want to focus on the third, though certainly not least important reason for my absence from Epinoia Café.

I’ll jump straight to the point:  I am not interested in what the Emergent Church has to offer. It is not what I need. The Emergent Church seems to advocate a way of interacting and “doing church” that doesn’t work for me, any more than the traditional Evangelical church model does.

The model in question here seems to revolve around two primary buzzwords: relationship and community. I’m sure it has been described dozens of different ways, but essentially, the emergent movement would seem to suggest that the heart of Jesus’ and the disciples’ ministries was relationship with people, and that the essence of the Christian walk is relationship with God.

As a result, the emergent movement advocates a church model that emphasizes and highly values community as a way of cultivating relationship. All other things—theology, doctrine, worship, discipline, even morality—take a back seat to relationship in community.

Quite simply, I don’t need that, and I’m not interested.

I don’t need to meet for coffee and talk about my life. I don’t need to “belong” to something else. I don’t need to talk about my issues, share sob stories and commiserate, nor am I interested in preaching to the choir or having the choir preach to me.

I’m not looking for support, affirmation, sympathy or empathy. I don’t need another place to socialize, and I don’t need another meeting to keep during the week.

The one Epinoia Café gathering that I attended, at Rick Dancer’s house a year or so back, did little for me. It simply wasn’t what I needed, and the kind of interaction that seemed to naturally result from the gathering of so many people with similar experiences did not appeal to me any more than the traditional church model. In fact, I believe it appealed to me even less. In truth, the sharing of frustrating and painful experiences with the traditional church that seemed so cathartic for most of those present was, for the most part, quite boring to me.

I’m not suggesting that these things are bad, or that needing precisely these things that don’t appeal to me makes someone anything except different from me. Nor am I suggesting that these ideas of relationship in community are bad. All I’m suggesting is that these issues do not fully encapsulate the gospel, or the values and priorities of Jesus, the disciples and the early church. It is not the complete picture, and it does not minister to everybody.

I’m simply trying to point out that people are different.

Of course, we all know this — in theory, at least. But in practice, it often becomes apparent that we are not as aware of this fact as we may think ourselves to be. In any situation where the question becomes, “What is the right way to do this?”—and rest assured, that is always the question in contexts such as this—it has been my experience that most people focus on one or two issues in what may be a much larger and more complex picture, and proceed to insist that these few issues that they have decided to emphasize are the only ones that matter.

They settle on one of many potentially valid ways of “doing things,” and then insist that their way is the best or only acceptable way. This is not in keeping with an insightful understanding of human nature. For as many different types of people as there are, there are often just as many valid ways of doing any given thing.

(A brief aside: even more disturbingly, perhaps, is the reality that, when responding to a felt need to seek something other than that in which their previous experiences consist in, most opt to ride the pendulum all the way to the other side of its swing, resulting in an equally unhealthy excess. Perhaps I should have known better than to become involved in anything with the word “movement” attached.)

Where am I going with this? In American culture, extroversion and an outgoing, social demeanor are encouraged and looked upon favorably. Introversion, non-social behavior and any desire or attempt to seclude oneself or seek solitude are scorned, seen as negative character traits, and looked down upon. Those characterized by such traits often find themselves envying the outgoing extroverts, wishing they had the advantage of favored American social characteristics.

This is unrealistic and unfortunate. The truth is that people can be extroverted or introverted, social or non-social, outgoing or shy, “people persons” or “loners.” None of these character traits is inherently better or worse than its opposite.

The Emergent Church model, with its emphasis on relationship in community, is much more suited to the extroverted, social, outgoing “people person.” It should come as no surprise that most of those who have come to emphasize “reaching out” and “caring for people,” and concepts like community which possess an inherent social quality, are naturally social, outgoing people. But I am a severe introvert, often quite non-social (or even anti-social), usually very shy, and in many ways a loner. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But, to be frank, I’m just not interested in a church that would try to minister to me (or ask me to minister to others) from within a framework designed for those who are my complete opposites.

Now, all of this would be of much lesser concern to me if the emergent movement, and its proponents, possessed the humility and perspective to recognize that it is but one of many valid ways of doing things. But a movement is a movement is a movement, and like any other, this one reacts to the status quo by thoroughly renouncing and condemning it, and then presenting itself as the best, and perhaps even the only good and acceptable way of “doing church.”

It is neither of these things.

There is no one size fits all model, which means that anyone who would claim without qualification that their model is the best is either a fool or a liar. While a traditional church may feel dry, dead and useless to some, there are millions of others out there to whom it ministers very deeply and profoundly. Most importantly, I believe that both the Emergent Church movement and the current institutional Evangelical church suffer equally, if inversely, from a severe imbalance, elevating certain aspects of the Christian faith beyond their place while diminishing, ignoring and even outright denying other aspects that are equally critical.

Perhaps it would be wise for any who are concerned about how to do church properly to focus less on how the alternative they advocate is better than all the others, and more on how it falls short.

And if you’re wondering what does appeal to me, what type of Christian experience I want and need, it is this: intellectual communion. I am a very intellectual, rational person; my faith expresses itself intellectually, and I find ideas more deeply moving than any emotion. To be honest, I can’t say that I’ve ever “felt” my “relationship” with God, the way that most Christians seem to, and the way that I do with other people. I experience God through intellectual thought, through the wrestling with and debating of ideas, through learning and growing to understand God, myself, this life, and this world we inhabit, in different ways. That can come through a book, an essay, a conversation with an intellectually capable friend, or an uncommonly insightful sermon. (Basically, I miss my old roommate, Dave.) It can also come simply through the process of my own thought and study.

Every now and then, I find that in a church. Rarely, I find it in a friend. So far, I’ve never found what I need in any sort of “Emergent” setting. Most of the time, I’m simply on my own.

So I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
I will find my way home

I said, life is like a road
Changing as it goes
And like a river that flows
It will carry me home

And I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
I will find my way home

And I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
I will find my way home

I say, love is like a rose
Fairer as it grows
And wherever you go
I will follow you home

And I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
I will find my way home

And I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
I will find my way home

Well who really knows
Why it comes and where it goes
But wherever you go
I will follow you home

And I will find my way home
I’ll find my way home
I will find my way home
To you

Though that time should seem forever
memory shall bless my heart anew
Though the distance be an endless mile
may God bring me back to you

Send a postcard to the dark side of the world
Trade a phone call for a hundred dollar bill
And was it just a dream, to me?

Was it just a dream
A song too sweet to sing
Was it just a dream, to me?

Conversations on an imaginary page
Faceless fingers bridge the distance ‘cross this space
And was it just a dream, to me?

Was it just a dream
A song too sweet to sing
Was it just a dream, to me?

But it was worth the wait
To be with you here today
To look in your eyes and say
That I love you

Will you stay with me tonight?
And stay until the end of time
Will you tie your life to mine?
Until the sun falls from the sky

Will you stay with me tonight?
And for the rest of our lives
Will you tie your heart to mine?
Forever

Maybe it was just a dream
Maybe it was a dream
Come true because we believed

And I can’t help wondering
If tomorrow might not bring
The wistful whisp’rings of my mind

Tragedies of secrecy
Unveiled in your sympathy
And can you see how much you mean to me?

I sit and talk to you
And heaven listens too
And hears the words that I can’t say

So I sing these songs for you
And sometimes I wish you knew
The way you hold me in your sway

Tragedies of secrecy
Reflected in your sympathy
And can you see how much you mean to me?

So I will wait forever
Never say never
Dreaming ever of you

Tragedies of secrecy
Reflected in your sympathy
And can you see just who you are to me?

So I will wait forever
Never say never
Dreaming ever of you

So I will wait forever
Never say never
Dreaming ever of you

I sit and sing to you
The heartsongs sent up to
The skies, my silent prayers arise

Tragedies of secrecy
Reflected in your sympathy
And can you see you’re everything to me?

I stopped to find it worth my time
to stay a little while,
Surprised at how it brought to mind
a long forgotten smile

Desires finally confessed
upon that hollow ground,
My loneliness I laid to rest
and there some solace found

So from this endless journey long
I am at last released,
For in this place I can belong
This wearied soul finds peace

Stand still, sing silent
By my side
Stand still, sing silent
And say you won’t leave me

‘Cause I don’t want the world to see through me
‘Cause I don’t believe that they care
What would you do if you knew me
Would you still be there?

And I’ve done all that I can do
To keep this inside of me
Tut the closer that I come to you, I find
I just can’t hide me

Stand still, sing silent
By my side
Stand still, sing silent
And say you won’t leave

‘Cause I don’t want the world to see through me
‘Cause I don’t believe that they care
What would you do if you knew me
Would you still be there?

Stand still, sing silent
By my side
Stand still, sing silent
And say you won’t leave

‘Cause I don’t want the world to see through me
‘Cause I don’t believe that they care
What would you do if you knew me
Would you still be there?

And I want to let you see through me
Because I believe that you care
And I know what you’d do if you knew me
Because you’re still there

And I’m gonna let you see through me
Because I believe that you care
And I know what you’ll do when you know me
Because you’re still there

I’m living in the strangest dream
That’s made my world a blur
And I cannot control the things
That cause my heart to stir

Stand still, sing silent
By my side
Stand still, sing silent
And say you won’t leave me

And say you won’t go
And say you’ll still be here

There’s a raccoon dying in our yard
And I’m starting to feel kinda bad
And I’m trying not to laugh too hard
‘Cause I think it should make me feel sad

Oh! dead raccoon
But wait he’s not dead yet
Oh dying raccoon
How much longer? Place your bets

Then I looked into his eyes
As he lifted up his head
And it made me realize
Maybe he was better off dead

But suddenly what’s this I see?
He’s up and looking all around
Came back to life miraculously
And now he’s walking across the ground

Oh! not dead raccoon
I guess I lost that bet
Not dying raccoon
Maybe I’ll make him my pet

There’s a raccoon leaving our yard
Watch him, there he goes
And this goodbye sure is hard
When we’ll meet again, God only knows

Oh! not dead raccoon
I sure did lose that bet
Not dying raccoon
Maybe we’ll meet again yet

Maybe we’ll meet again yet
Maybe we’ll meet again yet
Maybe we’ll meet again
Maybe we’ll meet again
Maybe we’ll meet again yet

Someday

To leave it all behind, lost in time
Let the music ease my mind
And follow the road as it unwinds

Midnight drivin’
Freeway flyin’
Silver starlight guides the night
To the open spaces
Endless places
Countless graces of the Light

To leave it all behind, lost in time
In silent prayers that ease my mind
To follow the road as it unwinds

Into the night
I set my focus on the Light
And when I do
I realize it’s not You
That I can run, and I can hide
Look to the skies and wonder why
But when I see
I’ll come to find it’s just me

Midnight drivin’
Morning risin’
New horizons find my eyes
Searching for somethin’
Reaching for Heaven
Arms wide open to the skies

I leave it all behind, lost in time
The whispered secrets of my mind
To follow the road as it unwinds

Into the night
I set my focus on the Light
And when I do
I realize it’s not You
That I can run, and I can hide
Look to the skies and wonder why
But when i see
I’ll come to find it’s just me

Let’s leave it all behind, lost in time
With silent prayers to ease our minds
And follow the Road as it unwinds

Into the night
I set my focus on the Light
And when I do
I realize it’s not You
That I can run, and I can hide
Look to the skies and wonder why
But when I see
I’ll come to find it’s just me

It’s just me, it’s just me
It’s just me, it’s just me
It’s just me, it’s just me
It’s just me, it’s just me
It’s just me

I don’t understand what you do to me
I can’t feel the ground, I feel so free
With dreaming eyes, let love arise
Chasing twilight sunrise into the night

How can this be real
Can heaven be so free
How can you be real
How can this be me?

You are the fire that burns in me
You’re my desire, you are my dreams
You still my mind, you leave me breathless
You spin my world around, you blow me away

How can this be real
Can heaven be so free
How can you be real
How can this be me?

So come with me, we’ll fly away
Across the seas, in heaven’s sway
Where starlight comes to hold us one
Painting midnight skies across the sun

And everything beneath the stars just fades away
And everything beneath the stars just fades away
And everything beneath the stars just fades away
And everything beneath the stars just fades away

How can this be real
Can heaven be so free
How can this be real
How can this be real
How can this be you and me?

How can this be real?

You cannot forget the past
But you can’t spend your life remembering

‘Cause yesterday has come and gone
Forever past, you must go on
Now come with me, so much to see
The day is short, but the night is long

So I stood up and turned away
To let old scenes begin to fade
And Now I’m Here to face the wind
And Here a brand new Now begins
Not for tomorrow can I live
Nor to the past my thoughts now give
So out to Here and Now we go
And always still this much I know

I will not forget the past
But I won’t spend my life remembering

‘Cause yesterday has come and gone
Forever past, I must go on
The world is wide, so much to do
The day is done, but the night is young

I find myself just looking back
From time to time, at what I had
But not to hold to what it was
All that matters is what is
Turn back around and there you stand
Holding out to me your hand
So as to me someone once did
I pass along the words once said

Do not forget the past
Just don’t spend your life remembering

‘Cause yesterday has come and gone
Forever past, we must go on
So come with me, so much to see
The day is short, but the night is long

The world awaits, and calls us out
To find no more to wish about
So come with me, so much to be
The day is past, but the night is now

The rain calls my name
I can feel the rain calling my name
To bring me back to warmer days
To where the rain calls my name

I close my eyes, and yesterdays gone by
Return through time to life again
To share a smile, to listen to our lives
To walk in the dream

The rain calls my name
I can feel the rain calling my name
To bring me back to warmer days
To where the rain calls my name

I close my eyes and I can feel
The memories washing over me
Thunder rolls and lightning crashes
Like children running endlessly
Suspended out of time to be
Alone together, honestly
The world stands still to watch and see
To soak it in and be set free again

They say some things are just too good to last
I guess that’s why this had to end
But perfect dreams remind me of the past
Could this be meant to be again?

The rain calls my name
I can feel the rain calling my name
To bring me back to warmer days
To where the rain calls my name

Can you feel the rain?
Can you feel the rain?
Can you feel the rain?
Can you feel the rain?

It’s the end now
We’re moving on
And we can’t wait
It’s the end now
We’re taking off
And we just want to stay

This is our goodbye
Thank you for these years
This is our goodbye
Thank you for these memories

Looking back through everything
We’re perfect in this moment
As we face what our fears may bring
We see this was Heaven sent

It’s the end now
We’re moving on
And we can’t wait
It’s the end now
We’re taking off
And we just want to stay

This is our goodbye
Thank you for these years
This is our goodbye
Thank you for these memories

As dawn moves into day
We wait for what’s to come
And as we leave may
You stay in God’s love

This is our goodbye
Thank you for these years
This is our goodbye
Thank you for these memories

This is our goodbye
Thank you for these years
This is our goodbye
Thank you for these memories

But then the world stands still around me
And for a moment I can see
And in this silence, all is forgotten
And all that is is you and me

But once again the madness sets in
And I’m thrown to the ground again
I think I see me running
Trying to fix this mess I’m in

But then the world stands still around me
And for a moment I can see
And in this silence, all is forgotten
And all that is is you and me

And now my mind is racing
I feel my world begin to spin
I think I feel me falling
Reaching for your hand again

And then the world stands still around me
And for a moment I can see
And in this silence, all is forgotten
And all that is is you and me

So make my world stand still around you
Give me a moment here with you
That in this silence, I am forgotten
And all that is is me and you

And then my world will be still around me
And for a moment I will see
That in this silence, all is forgotten
And all that is is you and me

All that is is you and me
All that is is you and me
All that is is you and me
You and me

Freedom rider pays his fare
Then climbs aboard to face their stares
And though they laugh at him
He holds his head up high

Freedom rider, where do you go?
Freedom rider, why this show?
Freedom rider, don’t you know?
They hate you now

Still he rides into the night
Asking only what is right
And if it kills him then
He’ll die fighting this fight

Freedom rider stands alone
With nothing he can call his own
Fighting for the right
To think himself a man

Freedom rider knows this pain
They’ve taken everything away
And though they hate him, still
He holds his head up high

Freedom rider, where do you go?
Freedom rider, why this show?
Freedom rider, don’t you know?
They hate you now

Still he rides into the night
Asking only what is right
And if it kills him then
He’ll die fighting this fight

Still he rides into the night
Asking only what is right
And if it kills him then
He’ll die fighting this fight

Freedom rider’s seen the world
He knows the violence that it holds
But he’ll keep riding on
Until this fight is won

Freedom rider knows their game
He knows their violence and their rage
And though they beat him down
He holds his head up high

Freedom rider, where do you go?
Freedom rider, why this show?
Freedom rider, don’t you know?
They hate you now

Still he rides into the night
Asking only what is right
And if it kills him then
He’ll die fighting this fight

Still he rides into the night
Asking only what is right
And it will kill him, still
He’ll die ‘cause his is right

This is my struggle
This is my struggle

In my memory lives a day
I knew exactly what to say
And now my thoughts become confused
But I just cannot turn away

This is my struggle
This is my struggle

And then it all comes ’round again
It never makes sense in the end
What’s right is wrong, there’s no escape
And all that’s left is my mistake
And through this fog that clouds my mind
I search for nothing left to find
For all that once was now is lost
I’m holding onto what is not

So I must carry this alone
I must do this on my own
For to all this pain unknown
So by the Grace of God go on

This is my struggle
This is my struggle

And then it all comes ’round again
It never makes sense in the end
What’s right is wrong, there’s no escape
And all that’s left is my mistake
And through this fog that clouds my mind
I search for nothing left to find
For all that once was now is lost
I’m holding onto what is not

So many voices speak to me
Which most approaches sanity?
For since this never really was
We do our best with what must be

This is our struggle
This is our struggle

And then it all comes ’round again
It never makes sense in the end
What’s right is wrong, there’s no escape
And all that’s left is my mistake
And through this fog that clouds my mind
I search for nothing left to find
For all that once was now is lost
I’m holding onto what is not

This is my struggle
This is my struggle
This is my struggle
This is my struggle

For who gives heed to clear blue skies,
Who’s awed by mid-day sun,
That act for life as happy guides
But thanks are given none?
But Dawn and Dusk, though brief and rare,
Or tempest raging near,
Leave all that watch in captive stare
In wonder or in fear.

So all the small things seem to fade
And daylight seems to wane
But though the storms through life pervade
Content my thoughts remain.
So now to one who reads my heart
Beware, as not to think
That since my pen my thoughts writes dark
Dark be my thoughts as ink.

And this is how it goes
This life tears you away from me
I have to let you go
I wish this didn’t have to be

I watch you walk away
And I can’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

I watch you walk away
And I won’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

I turn away from your eyes
So you can’t see this pain in me
It hurts so much to say goodbye
Why must this be?

That I watch the sunset
For the last time as this night sets in
And I walk into this darkness
Never to walk out again

I watch you walk away
And I can’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

I watch you walk away
And I won’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

So go now and don’t look back
This is as this must be
So go now, I wish you well
And don’t you worry about me

So go now and don’t look back
This is as this should be
So go now, don’t cry for me
Don’t make this harder than it must be

I watch you walk away
And I can’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

I watch you walk away
And I won’t keep you from going
And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

And I miss you more today
Than I did when you were gone

I can’t remember your face
And I can’t hear your voice

This picture speaks to me
Of days long past
Just how it had to be
Too good to last
To live this memory
Is more than I can ask
Why does this have to be
Just a memory

I can’t remember your face
And I can’t hear your voice

I remember stormy skies
I remember fearless nights
I remember afternoons spent laughing careless at Forever
Staring far out of sight

But I can’t remember your face
And I can’t hear your voice

Memory comes to me
When everyone else is gone
She keeps me company
Singing this song
There’s nothing left to see
As Time drags me along
Wish that this could be
More than a memory

I can’t remember your face
And I can’t hear your voice

She stares around her, feels confused
There’s no one there that she can turn to
She’s lost herself inside this mess
Can never fit it with the rest

As shapes around begin to blur
She feels the pain of the world laughing at her
Everything she has she’d give away
If she could just be normal for a single day

Cold and cruel this world she hates
A single Teardrop stains her face
She walks alone and hangs her head
Would anyone notice if she were…?

What have we done?
Was it really worth it in the end?
What have we done?
Can we ever know what this has been?

Fleeing under clouds of anger
Darkness crushing her forever
How much longer can she stand alone?
Another night another morning
Sun outside still isn’t shining
How much longer can she live this death?

Another day just like the rest
She dries her eyes and does her best
To force a smile to meet the day
She’s never known another way

Stare into the night
This world I’ve never seen
Away with you I fly
Feels like a dream

But if this is just a dream
Then I hope I never wake
Here forever let me sleep
I am happy just to stay

To linger for a little while
Ever standing here with you
Forever living in your smile
And fading into you

As I lose myself in you
As with you I am set free
There’s nothing else I’d rather do
There’s no where else I’d rather be

In you I find forever
In you I see new life
With you there is no never
Because forever now we fly

And if this is just a dream
Then I hope I never wake
Here forever let me sleep
I am happy just to stay

To linger for a little while
Ever standing here with you
Forever living in your smile
And fading into you

Watched it all slide past
Everything so fast
And I would give the world
If forever this could last

So stop the hands of Time tonight
Let this moment never cease
Together we can take this night
And hold it to Eternity

Walk with me one last time
This last road by my side
For as the End draws near
We approach this last Goodbye

Where to now I do not know
But I don’t know how to let you go
And if I could keep you here with me
I’d hold on to this life and never let go

So stop the hands of Time tonight
Let this moment never cease
Together we can take this night
And hold it to Eternity

Because in one short moment this life is going to end
In the blink of an eye everything’s going to change
But as we make a new life in a new world far from here
I hope these paths will cross again

So stop the hands of Time tonight
Let this moment never cease
Together we can take this night
And hold it to Eternity

And I would give the world
If forever this could last