Challenge Accepted

(Current writing music - Everett - Destination EP, click for free download of awesome ambient music)

In a few days, I'm going to pull off the riskiest financial venture I've ever taken part in.

I'm moving into my own apartment.

"Now, Aaron, you silly, daft fool, why in the name of Robin William's beard are you pulling such a stunt? Your budget consists of gasoline money and Monster Rehabs. What are you going to do when everything is crashing down on you at once? What happens when your car breaks down and you have to repair it? How are you going to save up for your wedding? What about school? What if you can't afford to continue your education?"

Continue, ad excuseum.

Everyone that has told me anything similar to this has said it with the utmost amount of love and care, so please don't think I feel that common sense is the plague that flattened the medieval world. I just happen to have different views on the subject.

Now, how to put this without making myself out to be the aforementioned daft duck*...

I'm something of an impetuous person. If something passes my filters of possibility, I'm generally gung-ho about it. No use in doing something, as the kids say, "half-butted". And trust me, I'm scared to death. I'd be the dual-aforementioned daft dolt not to be. This opportunity, much like my musical career, is something that seems fascinatingly improbable.

Here's my two reasons:

Number one, and least important:

What's there to lose?

If I fall flat on my face, if I flub everything up and end up back in my parent's basement, what have I truly lost out of my life? I've gained experience, and my life will go on, allowing me to apply a possibly embarrassing situation to the rest of my life. If I succeed, hooray, go me, I win a bunch of bills and quite possibly an Oscar (currently in the running for Best Whining Performance While Losing A Game of MLB 2K11). Again, life goes on, I apply what I did right, improve on it, and be a wiser person for it.

Number two, and most important:

I feel God is guiding me down this path.

Whoa. I just felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up as you menacingly reach for your keyboards. You believe I shouldn't toss God's supposed divine calling toward things I want to, twisting it to my own will and forcing God into my chosen path.

As it so happens, I feel the exact same way. Trust me, I've been around enough Bible college students that have gotten a mate that way, enough evangelists and Christian artists that line their holy drawers with a divining rod of a silver tongue. It's not pretty, it's not right, and it's not a viable method of planning your life.

I say with all the meekness I can draw from a willing and broken soul that this ridiculous venture is part of my ridiculous life calling. An opportunity has opened for me, and with fear and trembling, I'm stepping through it. Not as cop-out for forgetting responsibility, but with an open heart that truly believes that God has His hands in silly little things, like where you live.

It's an adventure. I wouldn't have it any other way, and I will boast in my shortcomings so Christ can be glorified through a terribly trivial life like my own.




*According to Proverbs, it's keeping your piehole closed, because it's better to have people think you're a fool than to open your mouth and prove it. But that wouldn't make a very good blog, now would it?

Dreams Will Destroy (Your Pride)

300 plus hours.

300 plus hours that we can't get back, and we can only move forward.

Sheldon and I have been going through something of an emotional roller coaster the past 12 hours. Our day started brightly enough, with UPS dropping off our new equipment. A new mic and a few odds and ends may not sound much to most, but to home studio metalheads, it literally felt like Christmas. Our minds were sharp, our hearts were eager, our ears confident and ready to hear the newest sounds that we were going to create.

We were invincible.

My voice apparently didn't get the memo.

Take one with the new microphone was a sparkling example of a failure (see also: Robert Pattinson's Twilight character). Take two wasn't any better, and within ten takes, I had stormed out the door, spitting verbs and subjects that indicated I was going to take my hissy fit to the streets of Brewer.

I power-pouted for a good quarter-mile, questioning my ability at every single step, and every step a new burden on my mind.

Was this really the dream I had given up stable footing at my job for?

The notion for which I watched my grades drop while I threw everything I had in me at excelling at this this quote-unquote "noise"?

The ministry that just days prior had come just a few words away from ending my relationship with my fiance?

It's humiliating; watching your dreams destroy you with the very gifts you've been given to pursue them.

I looked to the heavens for evidence of my sanity. I poured my broken heart out to my Creator, the God that gave me this gift of vocal destruction. While there weren't any bright lights, sandstorms, or Nazi scientists getting their faces melted, I felt peace grow, if but a tiny bit, in the core of my 5'10 being. I was still on the right track.

It just wasn't going to be nearly as easy as I thought it was going to be.

You know, God doesn't infuse the language of a people into the minds of missionaries. He doesn't shove the entire text of the Bible into the memory of a pastor. These things take time, they take perseverance, they take dedication.

Why in the world did I think I was any different?

There's an old saying, one that states that God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. It doesn't mean that everything will be smooth sailing just because you're called to your purpose. Missionaries must study the culture and language of the people they intend to minister to. Pastors improve on their speaking techniques and double-and-triple check their words to the flock. Metal vocalists have to learn techniques so they can take care of their voice and make it sound the absolute best for a God that deserves our absolute best.

I was humbled.

Unfortunately for me (and fortunately for future me), my slippery humility slide still had a few twists and turns left to crush what little was left of my pride.

Looking for different ways to develop my vocal technique and the recording thereof, we stumbled upon a Swedish young man that was recording his own album, in a home studio much like ours. What little of his material completely blew an ego-sized hole in our once-mighty works.

We had been so proud of what we had accomplished. We threw around adjectives and superlatives like they were money in the bank. Our confidence in our abilities told us that we were better than any of the bands in our area. Our pride said we could break down walls with naught but the power of our guitars and growls.

Within five minutes of Scandinavian shredding footage, our egos had deflated to nothingness. We sat in stunned silence for those few minutes, breaking the silence only to remark on the guitarist's ability.

Once again, destroyed by our very dreams.

Sheldon turned and looked me in the eye with an incredibly strange mix of both depression and determination.

"We need to scrap the EP."

I was too stunned to not agree. We had both been flattened by this cosmic bus of a wake-up call. Our eyes looked up after being knocked down from our self-built pedestals, and we saw the weakness in our ways. Our months of practice and writing were not enough.

From that moment on, we've aspired to change. We are casting more and more aside to chase this dream God has given us, to hone the talents He's given us. We want His approval more than earthly glory, to change lives more than we want to pat ourselves on the back.

It's a painful process, tearing yourself out of the equation and planting your hopes into hands bigger than yours.

It's so worth it though.

Our wounds are still fresh. This loving chastisement has opened our eyes, and they are fixed on the prize even more than ever before.

The audible manifestation of our dreams will destroy not only our egos, but barriers into dark places for the light to be seen.

Aaron Is A Band Name Dispenser

Over the past few months, I've been brainstorming for band name ideas. Whilst we've come up with one we're keeping, I figgered I'd show you the remnants of that mental battle. Enjoy.

Descent

Asgaard's Ruins

Stromboli

Terrificate

Sedanimation

Infinite Descent

Saipan

Regen

Xenomorphosis

Centaurniquet

Struggulation

Elecstronomer

Necropantser

Om-Nom-Nomicron

Start Running

Wedblock

Demoncology

Combo Number Seven

Inertial Combustion

Strings Shall Break

Mark Harmonic

Wrecking Ballistic

Yanni Depp

Wok

Daniel Has Amnesia

Lyrium

Burning Power Ballad Yodel

Ventricle

Yeh Scallawag

Return Return Return

Eschoral

Quantum PhysIcal Education

Pluto Is A Planet

We Are So Very Pretty

Jayne

Sudden But Inevitable Betrayal

Disperse

Iceberg Rush

Glacial Pace

Insomnimanical

Tekoa

Sven

Wepon

Final Boss

Tallest Sheeple

Brute

Kilimangymnastic

Ignorant Bull

Veni, Vidi, Velocity

Destroy The Face of Aphrodite

Well, We Tried

Northern Destruction

Years of Burden

Awaken The Day

Jumping The Shark

Veteran

Reconciliation

Optic Dance

MacManus

Went Too Far

Ender's Blame

Quick, Where's Home?

Rest Assured

Tremble

Waicary

Finisher

Fire Meets Fire

One-Armed Man

Stein

Some Sort of Fungus

Here Lies Shark

Commonality

Dense Minds Think Alike

Center of Gravity

Sheldon's Gone Missing

I Am Error

Endure

Yandell

Trend Burner

Meridian

Treadmill

Sev

Symphonic Breakdown

Infinite Return

GG Uninstall

Braver Than I Thought

Reprimand

Corpsestacker

Phil Cosby

The Gigantic Ego

Remnant

Lost For Turds

Herobrine

Chapter 2

Frail Attempt

60/40

A Lot of Pidgeons

Gaggle

Murph? Murph!

Even In The Darkened Night

The Potatoes Are Nigh

Tubers

Centipediatrician

Leveler

Diptherapist

Ram

Scent of Violence

Xenomorphine

Whims of Kings

RJay

Obvious Subtlety

We Don't Need Roads

A Toast To My Former Self

Bring Back The Fro

Arm The Voiceless

Calloused Eyes

Denmark Smells Funny

Methinks

Benjamin Todd

Schwab Is A Dream Crusher

A Second Taste

Sad Machines

An Ageless Question

Pain Is Destined

Confrontation Makes Me Poop

Y U NO BELIEVE

Disappearing Hobo

Werewolfenstein

And The Sky Wept Pandas

The Legend of Beard

Active Time Battalion

Helpless

Kingdom of Beard

Heartless Beatallion

Mama Lopez

Shepherds We Shall Be

Meh

Senility Comes Soon

Hillsonombulism

Deep Thoughts From Shallow People

Mighty Fighty Shushbugs

Green Lamp Urn

Incredulous Cypher Pan

Incredible Bulk

Edison Awestruck

Rez Please

Fear and Trembling

Great, Now What?

We Roll Horde

Sleeping Beardface

Off With Your Head

Light Viking

Freedom Comes In Battle

No One Gets Out Alive

Such Is This Mortal Coil

Sez Me

Underwhelming

Control Is Irrelevant

Depression Band

Big Ole Sammich

Super Mega Destroy

O Rly?

Zappa's Corpse

We Halp Yoo

Merch Is Moronic

See The Sunset

Repossession

Stay The Path

Removed Herobrine

Sky Dimension

The Tenants of Rinfret

Ramen Zealot

Nagry

Religion Has Failed

Redemptive

That's Not A Knife

Circuitry

Kinetic Theory

Garciaparra

Return to Arms

Nope

Fear The Facade

Microscopic Reasoning

Seemingly Inocuous

Wake Up And Die Right

Skies

The Captor and The Consuming

As you may have known, I've been working with one Sheldon Cary on some musical stylings. I'd like to give you a couple of the scripts for a three-part concept song collection. This also ties in with my Public Speaking assignment, so if you were there, you'll get a deeper look into what I was talking about. Without further ado:

The Captor

I saw her sway from a distance

Her eyes were assaulting mine

And her from longing gaze I saw

She was beauty personified

Her hands tenderly took hold of mine

My spirit within her grasp

She brought her lips up to my ear

Her name in a seductive gasp

“Aphrodite”

“I am your wildest dreams

I am the desires your mind holds

I am the lust that burns your heart

The veil of black that covers your soul”

I had no idea

As I took her hand

My eyes opened wide to

This beautiful filth

That this journey

Would take me to the depths

Of my own depravity

The Consuming

Within a moment she consumed my mind

Her long fingers manipulating my thoughts

She was beauty and terror

Ecstasy and destruction

And she was in control

I never wanted this, Aphrodite

You have revealed your demonic aim

Self-destruction flows forth

My hands shook with fear and desire

As her eyes enticed mine with passion

She was joy with poison

Laced with temptation

I screamed for deliverance

She dragged me down

Again and again

Those beautiful, unfufilling hands

Wrapped around

My eyes held open, the whore

Had scarred my innocence

Just when I was most consumed

Light poured over my soul

Incandescent purity struck with force

Aphrodite wailed in agony

The Lightbringer had come for me

He does not abandon His own

That have abandoned Him

Mechanoissues

(Pre-note to reader: This was one of my submission pieces to Blistered Thumbs when they first asked for Culture Contributors. Hope you enjoy!)

(Note to reader: parts of this story are true, and a few of them have been humorously exaggerated for the sake of making the most of my Jenn's oh-so-infamous red-headed temper flares. She really does understand my gaming habit, even if she doesn't understand it, and she's been more than supportive. Just wanted you to know she's not really a wench.)

"It's a robot chicken. How is this cool?"

My girlfriend's tone showed her disparaging attitude toward my favorite pixelated addiction. Her left eyebrow scrunched down, and I could almost swear her hair turned a darker shade of red as she contemplated the notion that I would rather spend my time running around on a noisy, dilapidated "robot chicken" than say, go shopping, watch a chick flick, or (heaven forbid) go line dancing. I tried to explain myself, but not to much avail:

"M’dear, it's a mechanostrider, and..."

Oh, fudge. Good job, Aaron. Do the geek rant, do it like you mean it, insist on the full and proper names of things like a Trekkie talking about Next Generation with his mom, and cement your place as a dweeb (albeit lovable) in her mind. You get a gold star. She, like most females that see a chink in the grammar armor, took full advantage of this, and fired back her retort:

"IT'S A CHICKEN, AARON. A STUPID CHICKEN. YOU'D RATHER SPEND TIME WITH A CHICKEN THAN WITH ME? I SEE HOW IT IS. I SEE HOW IT IS."

"...izza mechanostrider..."

"CHICKEN."

And with that, my small, beautiful bundle of fury flounced off to talk with the rest of my family, leaving me with my ego in the proverbial dumpster, and my mechanostrider rumbling in the midst of the Trade District. It almost seemed to be cowed by her statement, its smoky fluctuations almost seemed to sink to a saddened level. I put a supportive finger on top of my poor, trusty steed, shaking and depressed after such a callous insult.

"It's okay, you'll always be a mechanostrider to me."

Softly as I said it, I should have never underestimated the power of my girlfriend's hearing.

"IT'S A CHICKEN, AARON WINFIELD WAITE, A STUPID ROBOT CHICKEN THAT YOU'D RATHER SPEND TIME WITH THAN YOUR FAMILY! IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE YOU LOSE YOUR JOB, LIVING ON JALEPENO POPPERS AND CRAPPING YOURSELF SO YOU CAN STAY IN A BIG GROUP THINGY!"

"...izza raid..."

"I HEARD THAT, YOU DORK!"

Ah, young love...

Well Done, Good And Faithful Retweeter (Being A Christfollower Instead of a Christian)

If you ascribe to the Christian belief, and you are a part of the social networking juggernaut/productivity slayer known as Facebook, you may have had your news feed assaulted with a status something like this:

"Why are you such a bad person, when you claim to be a good person? Why do you mess up, and you shouldn't? You wanna make up for it? Post this in your status, and Jesus will like you again. 99% percent of people won't repost this. If you don't repost this, Jesus will deny you in front of God and the devil will chase you with a pitchfork for the rest of eternity. Now doesn't that make you feel bad?"

Now, I know that various groups and organizations use something similar for their ends (and trust me, it's annoying), but it doesn't aggravate me nearly as badly as when Christians use it. It's a Pharisee move, a ploy to make your status holier-than-thou.

And yet, many of us fall for it, and not just on Facebook, either. It's just a symptom of an all-encompassing disease of legalism. This bravado, this front we place to guard our broken hearts is prevalent in our everyday lives.

Think about it.

When's the last time you messed up in public, and you felt you needed to make up for it?

You swore, so you need to join the choir to purge yourself of the terrible words.

You lied, so you need to throw yourself into the youth ministry to cover your faux pas.

You cheated on your taxes, so you feel guilted into volunteering at the soup kitchen.

You know what the biggest problem people have with Christianity?

Inconsistency.

We are one person in the pulpit, another at work, and another at home. People have no idea what to think of us, because we are so many different people that they can't lock the down the Jesus we're supposed to represent. We feel that if we admit we have problems, we will tarnish the image of God, and so we (sometimes unassumingly) become two-faced. Instead of working out of a love for God, we work for His grace.

No wonder so many people hate God.

If I thought God was a dishonest, lying, cheating, raping disaster of a Deity, I'd hate Him, too.

As the song "Sanctuary Hum" by Project 86 states, "God save us, God save us from Your chosen ones."

Grace sets Christianity apart from other religions.

We don't have to work for it; we inherit it. We don't have to be perfect; we're perfected in the sight of God. We don't have to pay for our sins; our sins are paid for.

And yet, we flaunt that grace. We step on it, we desecrate it, we spit on it, we defy it, we are entirely ungrateful wretches. How? We try to work for the grace we have accepted as free instead of humbly opening our lives its changing power. We revel in our sins instead of confessing and turning from them.

I would know.

I am one of those wretches.

I fight with my sinful nature everyday. I fight the Aphrodite of lust. I fight my own building anger. I fight the urge to throw it all away, to give up on this narrow road and leave it all behind me. I want to destroy those that bring me down, I want to be bitter and spiteful, and I hold the guilt of past misdeeds in my heart far too often.

But I strive for consistency, to not hide my problems, but to boast in the fact that God's not done with me yet. Even though I may stumble, I will get back up because of the strength that God gives me every single day.

I am not perfect. No one follows Christ perfectly. No one ever will.

The problem comes when we use that as an excuse, a crutch.

"I'm always going to be this way, but at least God will save me in the end."

Christianity isn't a crutch for weak people.

Christianity isn't a bandage, a heal-all for the broken life.

Christianity doesn't make your life peachy.

Christianity is a commitment to the God that saves you, a commitment that draws strength from the God that upholds you, a love that can overcome any hatred this world heaps on you.

Christianity isn't for the frail.

I hate to break it to you, but Christianity is hard.

But in spite of the challenge, we need to be consistent. Our lives should be open, vulnerable, and transparent. We don't want our hearts hidden behind church doors, like we're perfect people in a perfect place, but people changed and motivated by the Spirit.

If we hide our sins behind our deeds, we lose our witness.

Let's be honest.

We fall.

We break.

We fail.

We get crushed by the weight of our stresses.

But greater is He that is in us than these temporary setbacks.

If Christians would strive for God's perfection instead of striving to appear perfect, I think we wouldn't be the laughingstock of society.

A hypocrite is someone that claims to have grace, and doesn't live by it.

A true Christfollower is someone that claims to have grace, acts on it, and doesn't hide the fact that they're not quite there yet, that they NEED that grace.

We should be stretching out a helping hand, not a using the Bible and the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross as a way to plague someone's life with countless rules and regulations.

To quote Rob Bell's controversial yet fascinating book Velvet Elvis, do we know what we're doing with the Bible?

We have been using the Bible to create a prison for both ourselves and those we wish to save, yet we're surprised when no one wants anything to do with us. Who wants to be saved into a prison?

I want to end this with a few questions.

Jesus said to come as you are.

So why on earth do we feel the need to put on the proverbial fig leaves whenever we approach Him? Why throw up a facade when He knows our hearts? Why do we desecrate His grace by trying to earn it? Why do we devastate the guilty, and not the guilt?

Why do we live as if we are offering a burden to the world instead of life more abundant?

Ever Get That Feeling That You Started A Band At 6AM?

It started about two months ago.

I was feeling an incredible lack of motion and forward movement in my life. Daily drudgery was reaching its peak point, and the exhaustion of the Christmas season wasn't quite cured by my lack of hours at work yet.

Actually doing something worthwhile with my life seemed out of my league. I felt trapped in this maze of what amounted to menial work for "the man".

A glimmer of hope came from a seminar I attended during the summer at Soulfest. The speaker showed a chart that would help us determine our "personal inventory"; our gifts and talents we may have not even realized yet.

Sitting in the Wal-Mart break room, I started to write these things down. Any direction was better than no direction at this point.

The first column was entitled "Things I'm Good At (Gifts)"

So I wrote down the following:

Making people smile

Having a decent singing voice

Having a decent metal voice

Being an awesome medic in Battlefield

Screaming at strangers

Random humor

Collecting the different pieces of a song and putting them together

Writing lyrics

Making ramen

Defending video games and heavy music

I sat back and looked at my list, and being satisfied with the contents, I leaned forward and wrote out my second column, "Things I Like (Passions)":

Ramen

Video gaming

Playing guitar

Screaming at strangers

Destroying stages

Breakfast

Making my fiance giggle

Driving around with metal blaring

Shiny video games

I kinda left it at that until right now, where I find myself filling out the third column, "Things I Want To Do (Goals/Dreams)

Be the best husband ever (soon enough)

Be the best father ever (after a certain wedding ceremony, thank you kindly)

Be a vocalist in a metal band

Be a vocalist in a worship band

Be a vocalist in an acoustic band

Inspire people with my lyrics

Draw people closer to God with my lyrics

Make people think with my lyrics

100% Super Meat Boy

See Project 86 in concert again

Leave college with a 4.0 GPA

Get a tattoo

Make my wife giggle every day of our marriage

Get into shape

So from here, I get a fuller picture of my inventory; what I'm good at and how it ties into my dreams.

Starting to see the trend here?

I'm gifted in the area of music.

I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh.

I love constructing lyrics to a song.

No one dies on Mama Lopez's watch during a Battlefield match (a self-inflicted moniker for my medic).

I really want to do something with music.

I REALLY want to do something with music

I REALLY, REALLY want to do something with music.

And yet, it seemed like every project I was involved in seemed to fall apart soon after we gained a little steam.

It felt like my dream was dependent on other people and their schedules and their agendas and their ideals and their preferences. *

It was all their fault that I never got to use my talents to their fullest.

Or was it?

What I hadn't realized (or even thought of, at this point) was maybe all of those weren't God's timing and God's people.

Huh.

What a novel concept.

So here I was, full of ideas and lacking ambition, I finally got sick of myself and decided something.

I was tired of whining.

I'd been whining about how no one wants to start a band, no one wants to collaborate with me, my brother isn't metal enough, blah, blah, blah.

At 6AM, I decided to step out in faith, to let God take my talents and bring people to me that were the ones He wanted me to partner with. I took all responsibility for my future off my shoulders and put them on the everlasting arms. With humility and brokenness, I followed the dream I felt that God had placed in my heart.

I started a band.

Fame Is Infamy was born, a tiny two cents in a world of millions of dollars.

And I have no idea where it's going. I've completely left this in God's hands, letting Him use my humble offering, or not.

I'm keeping my eyes and heart open, letting God lead me and others however He chooses. If He closes the door, there's another one around the corner. I'm not worried. I'm not going to fret.

I'm just stepping out in faith on this one.

*Kids, that's a terrible way to write a sentence. Don't do that. I can do it because I'm a trained blogger with years of experience that keeps me safe. You'll shoot your eye out.

Here's looking at you, Kendall.

The past week, I've been hard-pressed to remind myself that there is an end in sight, somewhere on that frigging horizon.

Between my beloved Ford Escort (affectionately known as Eberta) going to car heaven, tossing myself between rides into Bangor like a drunken mule, and a host of other annoyances, I have been a goteed ball of stress the past week. I have had a poor attitude, I've been on edge, and I've been close to breaking under the weight of innumerable tiny problems.

That all changed on Sunday.

I charged into the hospital as soon as I got the call, my fiance in tow. The elevators wouldn't climb fast enough. My feet wouldn't walk fast enough. Doors wouldn't open fast enough. I had to resist the urge to sprint, such was my anticipation. I stepped into the room, and for a moment, time stopped.

I saw Kendall.

Curled into my brother's arms, making teeny sounds that were her absolute best attempts to cry, was my niece. She had been born not 3 hours before I got there, a tiny, pink, noise-making bundle. Her unopened eyes were cinched shut, hiding her baby blues from the light that encroached on her happiness. Innocence seemed to radiate from the bright pink blankets that held this beautiful, fragile girl. The tired glow from Nick and Hailey was unmistakeable, both of them overjoyed that Kendall was healthy and here.

I knew at that moment that, along with her father and mother, I would strive to protect this gift from God, that she would always know that I was there for her, that her family would be a sanctuary in this ever-darkening world.

I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I'm a dad. I can't imagine the overwhelming feeling of love, rushing to overtake every single sense in your body.

But I think I got a small taste of it on February 6th, 2011, when I met my niece, Kendall Reagan Waite.

Yes, I'm still going to be everything an uncle should be; I'm still going to be the mischievous, funny Uncle Aaron that teaches her how to catapult coffee creamers into the upper atmosphere using naught but a spoon. But at the same time, I feel privileged to just to be close to her, to watch this life develop and mature, to discover how her personality evolves. She's already one of the most fascinating people I've ever met.

Kendall, I know you can't read yet (you're probably still getting a grasp on the whole "seeing" thing), but I want you to know how amazing you are and what big plans God has for you. Your mom and dad love you fiercely, and they'll always have your back, no matter what life hands you. Your Aunt Ami is going to spoil you as much as humanly possible, and I can't promise that your Uncle Aaron and Aunt Janelle are going to be much better. Your grandparents will watch over you, offering wisdom and open arms, just like they did with your parents. You are safe. You are protected. You are loved.

And that's never going to change.

You've already changed my life, and you just got here four days ago.

Welcome to this broken earth that's brightened with your presence.

Love,

Uncle Aaron

(PS: Your father is a LEGO nazi. Make sure you keep all the wing pieces, or he'll steal them.)

These Are My Sins

I am not what you think I am.

I am not someone you can walk on.

I am not without merit.

I am not blameless.

I am not a burden.

I am not irresponsible.

I am not uninspired.

I am not someone to be brushed off.

I am not unimportant.

I am not damned.

I am not lost.

I am not without hope.

I am not oblivious.

I am not a monster.

I am not fearful.

I am not without confidence.

I am not without purpose.

I am not without help.

I am forgiven.

I am loved.

I am supported.

I am confident in the God that guides me, that He will also uphold me.

I am no fool, for I give up what I cannot keep for that which I cannot lose.

All's Fair In Love, College, and Occasionally, Checkers

(Author's Note: Hurro, and welcome to the new blog. I've gotten annoyed with posting notes on Facebook, so I've moved my electropapyrus scrawls over here. This note wasn't tagged on Facebook, so there's a good chance you missed it a few weeks back. When I post online, I usually don't say everything that's on my mind. Why? One of the main points of me posting on Facebook is to make your day. I love getting messages telling me of how my humorous commentary on life has made their day, I thrive on that, so generally, I don't post anything too serious. This is one of my rare unguarded posts, pouring my soul out in a moment of weakness. I hope you find solace in knowing that someone else struggles just like you.)

It's two in the fricking morning. This past weeked has included the hardest days of my life, bar none. I have Relient K cranked in my ears and some sort of inkling of hope in my heart. And in this dark, snow-covered solitude, I'm discovering one of my worst fears:

I am terrified of failure.

Not just terrified, but so completely and utterly broken to the point that I don't want to start anything that has any weight to it because I might screw it up, because I might do something to stumble, to make myself the fool.

As anyone that knows me is aware of, I'm good at a few things. I can make people laugh, I have a passable singing voice, and sometimes I can make the mechanical beasts known as computers do my bidding. I can lead a paintball squad with a boisterous tone, I can beat your time in Super Meat Boy, I have a knack for noticing odd details about people. I'm a lyricist, a lover, a good friend.

But ask me to go beyond that?

Oh, HECK no.

I have an inability to function outside of my comfort zone, and as soon as that zone is breached, I devolve into some childish, whimpering form of myself.

Outside of my box, I can fail, I can mess up, I can screw something up, I can embarrass the people I care about, the people that brought me up, the friends that have my back. I am frozen.

For instance, college.

I've been saying for years that I'd go. Years. I'm just now starting my first year of college at NESCOM come January. I just discovered an invoice from them, a gargantuan amount of money plastered on it, a gorilla of numeric preportions.

Freeze. Whine. Cower. Rinse. Repeat.

What happens if I can't pay this? What happens if I start, but can't finish? What will my fiance think, her family, my family, those closest to me? Isn't it just easier to just stay put, hunker down at my job and make a living out of retail, living out my small, quiet life with my wife-to-be? Wouldn't that be less risky than this grand unknown of college payments and years of student loan repayment?

And speaking of wife-to-be, my word, Aaron, what are you thinking? You proposed to the girl that has done nothing but captivate you for the last three years, but seriously, what the frick were you thinking? Don't you know that marriages fail all the time? Don't you know that you're going to be confined to a daily grind just to provide for your family? Who in the world are you to have the nerve to take a daddy's only daughter? And my word, children? What qualifies you to be a parent? You are entering the deepest reaches of your ability to fail.

Eventually, I calm down, find out what I can do and drive towards it.

But the fear, the fear stays.

My confidence wanes outside of this box I've made for myself. "The only things I will truly be able to do," I tell myself "are contained in this tiny box."

Oddly enough, I always believe myself.

I never think to break the cursed thing.

I never stop to think that the God I claim as my own, the God I say is the Lord of my life, the Savior of my life, has made sure that I'm not damned to a life of mediocrity, that this God I lean on for my daily needs just might be big enough to handle my failures.

I never even ponder that maybe my fiance will still love me even if I fall on my face, that our love is pure and will last a lifetime, that maybe her parents don't completely hate me, but are just concerned for their child's well-being.

I don't stop to meditate on the strength my family has provided me over the years, that I'm never going to be a failure in their eyes, no matter how hard I try, and that their arms are always extended to me, a safe haven in a world of storms.

I never notice the friends that are my support structure, my rocks of common sense, ready to listen, to help, to comfort.

No, no, this rotting crate that I confine myself is much too strong. It's safe here, I reassure myself.

There is nothing more exhausting than living my life in fear of letting the ones I love down.