This is an instance in which I'm thankful no one else reads this anymore. I just want to get this off my chest, because it's been on my mind all weekend. 

See, I play in a band. We're not the greatest band in the world. We put a ton of heart and effort into our music, and we love what we do, but sometimes we have rough shows. Today we played a show that went pretty poorly despite having to sell 40 tickets at $16 a head. It was an all-hardcore show and we're a pop-punk band, so it basically went over like a steel balloon. I say that to emphasize this; we're not perfect. We have a tendency to debut songs too early, leading to performances that are somewhat of a roller coaster ride as we go from old material that we play perfectly to new material that really needs a few more practices to be perfected. I'm the lead singer, and I don't have a voice even remotely strong enough to carry a band. I do my best and we get by, but it's far from the ideal situation. Overall we do what we do because we love to play music and we want to have a good time hanging out with people and running around. 

But the scene around here is positively laughable. Here's what happens. We play a local show with several other Bowie-based hardcore bands. We provide the PA, agree to go before all of them for the second show in a row, and even don't bitch when one band doesn't bother to show up until minutes before the show is starting (despite the fact that they are bringing the drum set). The other bands who are playing have no shows aside from these local shows that get planned because they refuse to actually put forth the effort of selling tickets and working hard for opportunities. Instead, I get bitched at when they blast my equipment into oblivion and then wonder why the microphone isn't working. People laugh behind our backs, make nasty remarks when we're not listening, and then expect us to just let it all happen. We invest countless personal hours throwing battle of the bands only to get accused of rigging them and not having fair judges. I spent several hours carefully replying to all of the complaints from these bands, only to get a "oh yeah thanks" in reply. People think it's cool to post vague, snarky facebook statuses about my PA or our music, because obviously we're just lousy, worthless human beings who don't have emotions and don't struggle with wanting to improve our music and get somewhere. 

I'll admit the truth here; it gets to me. Sometimes when another band member sits in practice and jokes about getting in their faces, I want to encourage him or even plan how to participate. Back when I was in high school, the punk rock scene here was friendly, inclusive, constructive and pretty damn fun. I played in a pretty lame Christian punk band, but you know what? People loved us. They came out to our shows, moshed to our songs, and danced around with us, just because it was fun and we were a bunch of teenagers trying to have some good clean fun. Bands genuinely liked each other and helped each other out. People stopped to thank me when I brought PA equipment or loaned out a guitar. Now let me say; this does still happen. We've got some bands we play with a lot who are the coolest guys alive. But there's this cluster of people around where I live who just think music is about being bitter and wanting other people to fail. I don't know if it's a personal thing, a jealousy thing, or just a desire to create controversy. I really don't get it, and in the end I don't really care. I just wish people would realize that music is about what you love. It's about unity, togetherness, community, and every other damn cliche word you can find that means people coming together and just having a great time. 

I'm sure all of the guys I'm complaining about are good guys in many respects. I don't judge people based on such limited interaction, because it wouldn't be fair. But I want to play shows with people who believe in music as something that builds people up and accepts everyone, whether they love hardcore, punk, rap, jazz, or anything else. If you love it, go for it; give people the opportunity to share the experience and never let yourself lose sight of the fact that no great show was ever played without humility and grace. I hope eventually we'll find a group of bands who can share that approach to music.

This is often the place where I feel the most comfortable when things are uncertain. The beauty of a blog that contains so much history is that you can go back three, four, even five years and almost watch a rerun of your life. (Think of it as a flip book, of sorts. It's not exactly an HD-quality re-airing, but rather a simple synopsis that covers all of the good parts, most of the rough patches, and a lot of random spots in-between). (I would also challenge you to write a sentence that contains three hyphenated words). It allows a certain element of perspective. Sure, I'm a little frustrated right now because the job I desperately want still hasn't given me an answer and I'm typing this at a much slower rate due to a broken middle finger on my right hand. But is my heart in pieces? No. It's doing quite well, actually. Am I feeling depressed and upset over my decision to come home from Week of Hope staff? No; I've come to terms with my decision, accepted it, and continued to trust God to guide me through. My life is solid and generally favorable, if not terribly interesting or eventful.

I will be candid here and admit that in all likelihood, my grandfather is dying. My mom has begun talking about traveling out as a family sometime soon to say our goodbyes; she puts on a brave face like she always does, but it is her father and I can tell it is weighing on her a tremendous amount. I want my grandfather to live and be well again, but the medical reality of the situation is that sometimes cancer wins, and it is eventually going to prevail; most likely sooner rather than later. I've found that in situations like this, the only outcome that is proper to wish for is peace, in whichever forms it chooses to appear. If my grandfather finds peace in heaven with his Savior soon, I will rejoice in his life and look forward to seeing him again down the road. If he can find peace and physical comfort for more years here, I will rejoice in an extension of the time I have with him at this stage in life. But I pray for peace for my mother; she is the rock and cornerstone of this family and a foundation of unmovable concrete that gives others strength on a routine basis. She will kick your ass, help you up, dust you off, and help you get where you're going, all before dinnertime. I have yet to meet another human being with more strength than her, and I'm confident I never will. 

When I sit down to pray before bed every night, I pray for a lot of things. I pray for my parents and my brothers; the people who mean more to me than any friend or item could possibly eclipse. I pray for friends all around the world; those who I talk to on a daily basis and those who I have drifted from. Recently, I dedicate time to pray for the Week of Hope crews who became my family for that one week of emotional highs and lows in Colorado. I pray for Trinity Lutheran; the only church I've ever known. I'll even admit I usually add in a little prayer for a White Sox win tomorrow (but only if it is God's will, of course). I pray for the humility and discernment to share my faith in a way that others can respect and relate to. 

But above everything, when I reach the end and focus on myself for a few minutes, there's really just one thing I ask for. (Technically, you can break it down into two parts). First of all, I ask for another 24 hours, as nothing is ever certain. But most importantly, I ask that if I am given those 24 hours and I return to pray again the next night, I will have gone through those seconds and minutes as if they are both the first and last I will ever receive. I wish them to be my first so that I am an infant; blind from prejudice, stereotype and bias. I wish them to be my last so I am oblivious to fear, hesitation and procrastination. 

Do my failures far outnumber my successes? Of course they do. I'm just like everyone else in that regard. But as someone who frequently goes to bed just as the sun is rising, I find comfort in the symbolism of the earliest parts of the morning. As I'm drifting to sleep, putting to rest the wonders and frustrations of my day, many others are waking from their rest and preparing to meet whatever challenges await them. It is the exact same time both for myself and them, and yet we may as well be on different worlds. 

My meaning? Time, space, and life wait for no one. They don't stop or adjust themselves to fit where you are. So why bother even acknowledging their existence? 

I haven't written here for a little while now, and I guess it's about time. See, there's a lot that has gone on over the last month that I can't write here. I've poured it out in private entries, but so much of it weighs on my heart that I can't quite allow myself to expose it yet. For now it will stay tucked in that little corner we all have in our hearts where we shield our weakest moments. But allow me to share this one thought.

I worked for eight months to get a job with Group Workcamps, and came home exactly eight days after leaving. I felt like the world's biggest idiot. I was depressed, angry, upset, and terrified at why God had chosen to send me home from something I had prayed for and asked so frequently to be given the opportunity to experience. I still look at the Facebook pages of my former co-workers every night, smiling and laughing at their joyous moments and spending extra time in prayer each evening for their safety, health, and the incredible and everlasting message they have been tasked to share. They are a link between my existence here at home and the alternate reality I still consider on an hourly basis; the reality that would exist had I not made my decision to leave Colorado and return to my home of twenty years. There's no point in being brave here; life is terrifying. I sat at baggage claim in BWI the day I came home, waiting for my mom to arrive, and I cried. In front of strangers and people passing by, I allowed myself to break down and show tears of pain because there was simply no other way for me to express what I felt. I had left that airport eight days earlier with enough passion and strength to lead an army into battle. I returned barely a week later completely lost. It was a painful and stark reminder that I was about to plunge back into my stagnant life approximately two months earlier than expected, with a lot of personal struggles to confront. 

The main song for this year's Workcamps program is "How He Loves" by David Crowder. It's pretty standard Crowder; deep and meaningful, but also different enough that only certain people can really relate to the song as a whole. Typically I find myself turned off by David Crowder music; it just isn't my thing. But this particular song was shared with me for the first time when I worshiped with my co-workers on the first evening in Estes Park. It was also one of the last songs I heard as I worshiped around the campfire with my co-workers, the evening before I came home. Since arriving here in Bowie, I haven't listened to it. It represents too many things right now; too many different emotions and recollections that I just can't quite make sense of; at least not yet. But Pandora saw fit to send that song through my speakers tonight. I'll admit; my initial reaction was to quickly reach for the mouse to move on to the next song. But I paused for a second and then decided to let it play. I stopped what I was doing, closed my eyes, and let everything wash over me for a few minutes. And here's the surprising part; no tears. No goosebumps, heartache, sobbing, or self-doubt. Only the reminder, firm and simple, that He does love us, and He loves me. Even when I'm lost, searching, hurting, struggling and questioning, He loves me. 

It can't get much more simple than that.

Someone recently asked me this question. "Ben, what would you say is your biggest flaw?"

I had to think about it for quite some time. I have many flaws, and it is nearly impossible to judge which one sticks out above the rest. However, after several hours of soul-searching, I found the answer.

I enjoy doing laundry. I'm not sure exactly what that says about me, but I honestly do. Sometimes I'll put a load in the washer, grab a book, and perch myself on top of the dryer until the washer cycles through and I can get another load started. It's just a relaxing place to be. I started doing my own laundry several years ago, and the benefits were immediately obvious. When I wanted clean clothes, I just took care of it myself. Seems pretty simple, right? 

But here's the flaw. For some strange reason, I will delay the simple process of putting away my clean clothes for weeks, and sometimes even months, at a time. I'll grab my pile of laundry, toss it on my bed, and makes sure everything is neatly folded and ready to be hung up. But then, for the next several days, I'll practice an elaborate balancing act between my computer chair and my bed. It's complex, so follow closely. When I'm using my computer chair, I move my clothes to my bed. When I'm using my bed, I move my clothes to my computer chair. I will literally maintain this absurd laziness until it is no longer possible because every item of clothing in the pile has been worn and is now in the laundry hamper. The cycle will then repeat itself. I'm sitting in my bed right now, typing this entry, and there is a pile of clean clothes sitting on my computer chair. I can promise you that when I go to move my computer back to my desk before bed, I will move that pile of clothing onto my bed for the brief seconds it takes me to plop down into my computer chair and reattach my laptop to my external hard drives and power supply. I will then climb into bed after moving that pile of clothing back to the computer chair. 

I'm pretty sure of what you're thinking right now. I'm no different than any college student; in fact, I do laundry and wear clean clothes, so I may be several steps ahead of the typical college male (or the occasional college female). You're absolutely correct. But in my special habit of taking the simplest things in life and overanalyzing them to the point where they reach a near-catatonic state from the weight of my absurdity, I can take this flaw of mine and recognize a larger and more meaningful trend in my life. See, I've never suffered from a lack of general motivation. In the most modest way possible, you would be very hard-pressed to find an individual who can out-work me when I set my mind to a task. My problem in life has always been selecting the tasks I need to set myself upon. I have failed either to recognize or acknowledge areas of my life that desperately need attention in order to facilitate some form of future success. 

So how in the world does that compare to laundry? Well, in my mind, it's pretty straightforward. See, when it comes to putting away my clean laundry, I've already done the hard parts. I've taken the initiative to have clean clothing by washing and drying it. I've taken it from my room, to the laundry room, and back to my room. But with every process, there's always a final step that takes all of the hard work and makes the final connection. And that, my good friends, is where I have struggled the most in life. I've done the hard work, pushed through the challenges, developed the patience, and completed the important tasks. I just haven't been able to cross the finish line. It's something I still struggle with, and I don't intend to give up any time soon.

So there you have it, in case you were wondering. My biggest flaw is that I don't put away my laundry.

have you ever been in love with a picture?

The truth is that you never really forget something like that. You push it away, you let it leave your mind for a period of time, but you don't let go.

I want to let go so badly. I want to clear my mind, open up my future, and sleep again.

I just don't know how.

My grandfather may very well be on the verge of death. Our family is exhausted, overworked, and taken advantage of. This play that I've worked so hard to make successful is requiring me to go to ridiculous lengths to help it succeed, even to the point of filling in for a major part. Yet I still get accused of not honoring my commitment to the play by doing the one thing that helps me relax and escape: playing music. I'm so damn ready to get out of here for the summer and find something to live for and care about. I haven't written a song or a decent batch of lyrics in months because I can't seem to find the peace I need to accomplish things that require concentration and determination. I miss you, a lot. A lot more than I ever thought I would.

I'm desperate right now, and nothing is changing.

I learned a few things over the previous days and weeks.

One of them is that I hate cameras. Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind pictures. A cute pose at prom, a fun shot with a friend, a few pictures to remember a fun day; all of that is great. But it seriously annoys the hell out of me when people sit there and take stupid pictures for the sole purpose of pressing buttons on their super-awesome camera that they love to talk about (and then take said awkward pictures and post them on Facebook). A picture is supposed to capture something. Pointing a lens in some random direction and snapping away may give you a neat image occasionally, but it didn't take any effort. Anyone can do that. The photographers I respect are the ones who take less photos and simply have confidence in their ability to find the right shot without needing a thousand spares.

Second, I get annoyed when people several years younger than me think that our age difference means nothing in terms of understanding parts of life. I have lived for nearly 21 years now, and I've seen a pretty solid variety of different things. I've seen my fair share of personal struggles and rough times within an active and constantly changing family. Whether you like it or not, you embrace your true adult personality from 18-21, and I'm close to exiting that time period.

Third, I made the wrong choice, and I can't undo it anymore. And I regret it. A lot.

please get me through this Mayhem (and mayhem).

please help me see the right answer when i really have no clue what is happening or what should happen with my life and my feelings and emotions that seem to keep coming back.

please help me find some peace in knowing that You have a plan, even when it seems like i'm just laying on the floor playing with matchbox cars while everyone else drives a corvette.

please help me to find the right balance between this constant insane worry for the people i'm thinking about right now and the knowledge that eventually people have to take responsibility for their own lives and actions.

finally, please keep me focused on You. i've got nothing else to stand on.

love,

ben.

So it's about 3:30 AM right now, and Zach is about to leave on the choir trip to San Francisco. I originally thought I was going to spend some time reminiscing about my choir trips, particularly San Diego and how it basically shaped the next two years of my life. But to be honest, I'm not sure that nerve is quite ready to be touched yet.

I'm really frustrated right now, and I'm letting it impact my mood and the way I treat people. I'm so excited for the summer and what God has in store for me, but right now I feel like dead weight. To be honest, my mom has been great at making me feel worthless lately, and it's not her fault. I don't know what to do with myself right now. I'm considering getting a simple job to tide me over until I leave, but I don't know if I really feel like settling for a lousy job for two months. That sounds so whiney and selfish, and I don't mean it to be that way; I'm incredibly blessed. But since my entire school situation essentially collapsed in the matter of three days and a snowstorm, I've got nothing in the present to live for. Sure, I've got the future and what it holds, and the band is slowly moving forward and making progress, but I feel like I'm not living for a purpose right now aside from just to take up space. There's not a lot of people here to spend time with, and a lot of the people I used to talk to and see have just moved on in life. I've never been one of those people who gets all emotional about friends moving on; sometimes people are just meant to be in your life for a little while or a few years. It's not that big of a deal. But I don't have that constant social exposure that allows people to interact and feed their general sanity, and it's getting to me.

There's a lot on my mind these days too, most of which I can't even begin to explain here. I'm confused, and even though I've got a path and a motivation, I'm starting to believe I'm looking in the wrong place. I think the summer is going to have a lot of answers for me, and I'm considering a pretty radical change of pace right now. I just can't decide if its quite right.