Building to Burn the Bridge

I've been told by a few people recently that I need to juice up the battery on my blog again; that I apparently have things worth saying and things worth reading. So, because I care, I'm hear to share some soul with you, my good friends. Yes, it's long overdue, and this will probably be the only thing I write for the next six months, so let's drink deep and make up for all the lost time we could have shared. I could be doing numerous things right now, things that are more important than the itching and anticipation provoking my fingers into pounding this coffee-stained keyboard, but I am here, here because the heart is heavy- because the heart is haunted by something that wants to make beauty and bravery in all the places I'm ugly and useless. I tell you friends: I am tormented by The Truth. I am haunted by the holiness of God. And I am forever chained to the bloody Cross of Jesus Christ.

I should be doing homework for a class that hasn't even started yet (pre-class homework literally makes my insides shiver).

I should be calling one of my best friends over and over until she answers the phone, because I'm an ignorant slut, because I need to apologize for being about me when I should have been about her. Hopefully she'll call soon, at which point I'll shutdown the blog to say I'm sorry.

I should be showering because I smell homeless.

I should be watching the Olympics because they've been awesome and they only happen every four years.

I should be blaring Dave in candlelit room, lamenting over the loss of Leroi Moore, and paying my respects to one of my all time favorite musicians.

I should be doing things.

But I'm not.

I'm here... right here... right now... because I have to respond to a question. Because an artist has to paint a picture when he's tormented by the colors in his head. Because a poet has to write a poem when he can't shake the weight he wears on his shoulders. Because an opera singer has to belt out the beauty of song from her lungs when she's breaking down. Because every once in awhile, between skipped beats and missed breaths, the thing that stirs your soul, the very passion that pumps your heart, will pull and push at you until you paint the Mona Lisa. Or until you write Shakespeare's 116 Sonnet. Or until you sing out the soul from center stage. So I am here, not to paint the Mona Lisa, or to shoulder up with Shakespeare, or to step out on center stage and try my hand at the opera, but because I just have an itching to tell you what rhyme and reason the heart has been harmonizing with recently. I just want to walk with you. That's all. So, please, bend and ear and bleed with me just a few, short moments.

And when we're done, we can all get back to doing things...

A little over a week ago, I had some very, very, very (x10) good friends of mine come to Fayetteville for the night. We had a twenty-first birthday to celebrate, and, well... celebrate we did. These friends of mine, they're unreal; I'm talking straight up, out of this world, drop-dead, crazy beautiful good. Find friends like these girls, and it just gets really hard for you to ever want more; these girls, they're enough. I was crazy to leave them so soon, and even crazier to risk things the way I did. But, these girls, they'll make you speed up, step out, and risk things. They'll make you walk out on ledges, be a bit too brave, and jump just to see what happens. They'll make you stronger, bolder, more of the man most men never get to know. I am convinced, because of these fine women, that man always has something soul-shattering to learn from a beautifully staggering woman. I think a good woman will always leave a good man a little weak in the knees with a little goofy grin on his face. Boys, good women will melt us into good men. Atleast the good women I've got close to over the past few years have helped melt me into one. I don't know how to say thank you to them enough, and quite frankly, all my ideas just seem downright pathetic. I am grateful for them, for the way their laughs still ring loud in my ears long after they've gone. For the way the sunrise in their smiles shines still in my eyes, even when I can't see them. For the way they do soul. It's beautiful. It's good. And it makes me small. But that's what it means to be man. I'm getting way ahead of myself here, though.

I mentioned a question I felt provoked to respond to earlier. The question was raised beneath neon bar lights, the star shine sparkle of beer bottles, and in between the love-drunk laughter of these dandelion-like girls. I don't quite remember how the question got brought up, or even why it was asked, or even if anyone remembers what it was, but like I said before, I secretly get seduced into torture by these things that other people forget. I wish it on no one. It sucks.

The question?

...."Ryan, do you believe in the one?"

Now, when I answered this question that night, I about got hanged for it. I mean, maybe I'm still a bit old school, and I'm still a bit of a romantic, and I smile and laugh like a lunatic and have to take horse tranquilizers just to calm down my heartbeat every time I think about seeing my bride walk down the aisle, all dolled up in that wedding dress, with stars dancing in her eyes, and the sunrise tracing her smile. Really, I have this box of tranquilizers I stick myself with everytime she shows up inside my head. But I believe in "the one." I believe very much so in "the one." Now, by "the one," I mean one husband, or one wife. Like, you meet one girl, she's amazing, you fall in love, get married, and that's it; she's your one- she's the one for you. Now, maybe you don't believe in that. Maybe you're of the school that thinks there are many; that there's two, or three, or whatever. And I'm not knockin' that school. The majority of the table that night goes to that school. Maybe you've seen them in the halls. Talked to them at their locker. Even might have thought that at one point they could have been "one" of the many for you. And that's totally okay. Enroll your kids in that school for all I care. It's not a sin, it's not wrong, it's not life-threatening to not believe in the one. I'm only writing today to tell you that I think she exists, and that I cannot wait to see her in that wedding dress. And out of it too, because white will look good on her, but naked will look better. (...Reaching for the tranquilizer...)

There are a few reasons I still believe in "the one." And they have nothing to do with romance, or emotions that eventually evaporate before you even get a taste. I don't believe in romance. I believe in the covenant, in the companionship, in the promise we make when we slip that wedding ring on. That's what I want. I want the wedding ring; not the romance. I want to exhaust myself into loving one girl; not exhaust my heart on a bunch of different ones. I don't want the disappearing emotions of romance; I want the everlasting commitment of saying for all eternity. Don't get me wrong, romance is good, but I'm convinced that forever is better.


She's calling... deal with it. The one can wait. I'll be back when she's sick of me.


Be patient...


Okay, she finally got sick of me.

See, I think the difference between romance and the covenant is the thing that sparks my commitment to the one. There is a difference and it's what distinguishes it for me. Honestly, I think romance is a bunch crap. I don't think romance is a product of real, genuine love. And I think this because romance wears off, just like the color of a rose, or the curves of Heidi Klum when she turns eighty. Romance just gets old and boring after awhile. Let me set this difference up for you. There are a lot of people out there in this world who want romance; they want to feel wooed, they want to be chased, pursued, wanted, and reached for. People feel the need for intimacy. We want the ketchup fights and the tickling (Michael Scott). And that's what romance comes down to for me- just a bunch of ketchup fights. See, the thing about romance is if you ask anyone what it is, they really can't tell you. It's just one of those words that we've forgotten the meaning to. It's become this word that's lost all its worth. Just some word we use when we want to sound poetic or feel soft. Guys will use this word when they want to impress some girl, and some girl will use this word to describe the pathetic guys who use it.

Take this hypothetical true story I just made up about Charles and Charlotte.

Charles: "Wow! That Hugh Grant movie was full of romance and passion. More guys should be like he was in that movie!"

Charlotte: "Oh, Charles! You're so romantic! Have my babies!!"

See what I mean...

I was a real romantic guy in middle school. I'm talking total Casanova. I would always ask the girl I liked to be my girlfriend through her best friend. If she said yes, I would write her a note telling her thank you and that I would call her that night so we could listen to each other breathe. This went on until my senior year in high school, by the way. Over a few days of her being my mute girlfriend on the other line of the telephone, I would finally man up and walk with her in the hall or some crap. This was always a huge deal. You would have thought she was pregnant with my child. A few days later I would actually talk to her when we walked down the hall. This was an even bigger deal, like the baby had been born or something. But, then a few days later, I would meet with my "girlfriend's" best friend by her locker right before lunch to tell her that I didn't like my "girlfriend" anymore and that I wanted to "break up" with her. It was all very business professional and mature, let me assure you. After this happened, her friend would go to lunch, tell my gfriend what I told her, and then all hell would break loose; which just means I would write a note before 7th period rolled around telling my girlfriend it was over between us. She would cry for a few days and I'd listen to a 98 degrees song in my room on repeat all night, lamenting over the love I'd just lost. Two days later, I'd get over it, and repeat the process with my ex-girlfriend's best friend. It was real romantic.

I tell you about my middle school love life because this is the picture I get every time I hear or think about romance. I think about how romantic I was and how permanent it was. I think about how long the romance lasted; about how the flame burned on and on and on. Romance is such a middle school concept isn't it? It just doesn't last. It's not sharp. It's not strong. It's not enduring. And it's not the right kind of exhausting. It's elementary, and young, and foolish. Romance is written in the barely legible handwriting of an unshowered, creek-stinking 7th grade boy on the notebook paper he ripped out of his friends binder in english class. Romance is not committed; it's still got turtles to chase and unmapped forests to explore with his friends. She's got slumber parties to have, more make up to wear, and A-team quarterbacks to dream about. And this is what I see when I hear about romance. I see me at thirteen with mud on my shoes, listening to 98 degrees. And I can't help from laughing.


One of the things that really confuses me is when I hear a pastor talk about Jesus being a romantic guy. What does that even mean? How is God romantic? Does he mean that Jesus wants to take us on long walks down the beach or take us out for picnic lunches beneath oak trees? Because if that's what he means, I want nothing to do with Jesus. If Jesus wants to have long walks with me down the beach, then I am questioning Jesus' intentions. When I read the gospels, I see no trace of Jesus being the ultimate romantic. I don't get it. I don't see Jesus wooing anyone into a relationship. I see him completely surrendering himself so we will have a relationship. I don't see any traces of me in my middle school days. I don't see any Jesus making deals with our best friends, negotiating for silent conversations on the phone later that night. Nor do I see any traces of God being romantic with His people in the Old Testament. I don't see this concept of romance exercised anywhere in the Scriptures. I see God making ridiculous guarantees, and Jesus making equally absurd promises to us. And a promise is never, ever romantic. A covenant is never ever sexy. I see promise after promise on page after page. I see blood. And wherever you see blood, you will never find romance. Romance is not willing to bleed, to get messy, or prove itself. Romance is not willing to take the beating or the broken bones. Jesus isn't romantic; He's committed to keeping us His forever. He's committed to keeping the covenant that the Cross married us into. And He will not break the promise to be romantic for one second. Jesus will never light a candle for us. He'll never walk sandy beaches with us. He'll never pack us a picnic. He'll never write our name in the sky. He'll never listen to 98 degrees. But He will bleed for us. He will break bones for us. He will take on Golgotha for us. He will do what it takes to keep us His. He will be full of mercy to keep His covenant. And He will be wrathful too. He will sit with us at campfires and listen to our heart beat. He will call us His forever. And He won't do these things because He's romantic, or passionate, or sexy, or in 7th grade. He'll do these things because He doesn't break promises. And He'll go to a cross, and get crucified next to criminals, to make sure that the covenant meets completion; to make sure that he keeps these absurd promises. Romance doesn't prove itself, but Jesus does. Every single time.

Now, you're probably asking yourself what any of this has to do with me believing in "the one." And you're probably asking yourself how much longer could this blog be. Well, it has everything to do with me believing in "the one" and I'm not even close to closing the bar, so go ahead and buy another beer.

My conscience tells me that those being sanctified by Christ are called to stay subject to this covenant He's made with us; that we are called to mimic the promises He's made with us; that we should stay committed to bleeding and breaking bones for our brothers and sisters, and our wives and husbands. We, man and woman, are to model Golgotha. There are really two chapters in Scripture that really convict me into believing in the one. And I have to reiterate that these two passages are written by Paul, and one of the chapters are the words of Paul's conscience, so it's basically just words of advice. But it's dang good advice. And I think it totally echoes the covenant of complete devotion Jesus has made with us. Check out 1 Corinthians 7 with me. And bookmark Ephesians 5 because we'll go there in a just a second.

Before we sit in the Scriptures for a little while, let me just say this about the one. Let me just talk about her for a second. I think we make a lot mistakes before we find the one. Maybe you meet someone that you think is the one; that you think you're going to marry, raise a family with, and get old with. But it doesn't workout. Something happens. Your feelings wear off. His feelings wear off. He cheats on you. She cheats on you. She turns out to be a raging lunatic. He turns out to be an arrogant asshole. He turns out to be full of romantic talk, but no covenant. She turns out to be full of tasty kisses, but no soul. And your left alone again, listening to 98 degrees in your bedroom, wondering what went wrong. And some of us sink into depression, or bitterness, or anger, or hate, feeling like "the one" for us got away. Feeling like fate or God or whatever made a serious mistake. And we shut ourselves in, fortify our walls, dig moats with killer alligators around our hardened heart, and we never let anyone in again, just hoping that the one we lost realizes what they've lost. But they never do realize. They get married to someone else. They stop calling us to hear us breathe. They stop taking us to dinner. They forget our names. They stop bleeding for us. And what we never stop and realize is that the only thing we lost in the whole mess was just a bunch of romance; just some boy who still has mud on his shoes or some girl still playing dress up. What we don't realize is that what we had with them was never covenant, never commitment, never Golgotha. So we lose this guy or this girl, and we feel like we've lost our chance at love forever. But what if we didn't. What if we just get closer to what forever actually is when stuff like this happens? What if we were supposed to love that person and then lose that person? What if this happens so we can find covenant? What if we have to walk through the storm of romance to find the sunrise of forever? What if? What if it happens like this on purpose? If the mistakes we made were right? If these mistakes just bring us closer to "the one?" To the one who is willing to stick with you? The one who is willing to smell old age coming on with you? To the one who wants to hold hands with you in heaven? What if that guy you loved- that guy you thought was the one- was just a brick in the bridge that gets you to the man who's willing to do church with you? The man who's willing to play Christ to your Church? The man who's willing to man up, climb Golgotha, and hang on that Cross for you to make sure that he doesn't break his promise to you? What if? What if losing love was a means for actually learning what love really is? What if we have to have the tickle fights to learn how to carry a cross? I think there's so much hope in losing him or her. I think it just gets us closer to the covenant of marriage. I think it gets us closer to forever, closer to the wedding ring and the relationship. Maybe this guy or this girl was never the one. Maybe they were just one, but not THE one. But maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe these mistakes weren't supposed to happen. Maybe he or she was never supposed to leave you. Maybe your love story is missing pages. Maybe we just have to move on and find another one. Settle for some other guy, or some other girl. But I don't think I'm wrong. I think she's still out there. And I think she's making mistakes with me. I think she's building the bridge and eventually she'll be finished and it'll be me waiting on the other side of the water. And I can't wait to tell her that I'm fresh out of romance; that no more mistakes have to be made. That all I have left in the tank is forever- a covenant, a commitment, and a wedding ring. I can't wait to tell her how ready I am to do Church with her. And I can't wait to prove it- and to prove it with some blood and broken bones. I can't wait to sacrifice for her. To hand myself wholly over, just like Christ.

I can't wait till the bridge is finished. And you know what's really awesome when it is finished? Evetually the both of us stand in front a pastor, in front of all our friends and family. She's wearing a white dress and I'm wearing a tuxedo with pit stains the size of Alaska because I'm so damn happy. And we say our vows, slip our rings on, and have our first kiss for the last time. And we turn around, holding hands with one another. And on that day-when that kiss happens- the bridge we both spend our whole lives building blows up. Grace happens on that day. All our mistakes, all those ones we thought were "the one" go down in flames. And the both of us, as bride and groom, hand in hand, walk into the sunrise of forever. And we make the promise to never let go. Just like Jesus.

You know what? We'll talk about what Paul has to say about "the one" some other time. Just know that I believe in the one because it seems like Jesus lived like there was one. I mean, He never leaves His bride, His "one," right? It seems like He sticks it out with her, even when she gets real ugly towards Him. Even when she crucifies Him. So, just know that I believe in the one too. Even if she tries to crucify me too. And nothing's splitting us up when we say "I do." Except adultery. Then I'm out. But other than that, I'm not bailing out on burning down that bridge with her. I made a promise to be like Christ to her. And like Christ, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I don't break it. Even if it means Golgotha.


Well... we've got bridges to build for burnin'.

And things to do.

Let's get busy.

See you in six months.



And you, wherever you are, I'll see you on the other side of the water...