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onward

*sigh. what a productive day of thought and contemplation. Good news, I didn't fall under. Let's keep it moving. It's all about forward motion.

Cheatham's

Working with my brothers makes me see that we are the 4%. You gotta ask me what that is.

Coast to Coast in a Coffee Cup

I was at Starbucks this morning. Yeah I rolled out of bed and Anthony drove us. Such good stuff. We're standing in line, fresh from a conversation about how perfect Pike is (that's the kind of coffee they serve at Starbucks. Its their House blend. Ever go to a B&N Starbucks and get the house blend? Well it's not the same as hitting up a real Starbucks... Well we were discussing things like this) when I look up at the board and they're advertising a Gold Coast blend also. So I'm trying to decide if I want to take the risk. Go with the bold and trusty taste of the Pike or start my morning off with some adventure and shoot for the Gold Coast. It's such a hard decision. We're inching up in line, its 9am and I'm panicking. Which do I want? I love to travel. Where is the Gold Coast anyway? Is it Africa, gotta be. I love Seattle though. That's where the Pike Place originates from. Then I'm trying to decide which place I like more. Which coast will offer me the best blend for my morning fix? It's causing beads of sweat to make themselves visible on my forehead. Now I really look like I just rolled out of bed.
Then it hits me. Where else can the many differences between the Gold Coast (wherever it is) and the fisherman's wharf of Pike Place be narrowed down to coffee flavors? How many cultural and geographical differences are bound up on those two places? Pike and the Gold Coast. I feel like I went on an international journey this morning.
I ended up with Pike. No sense ruining a good morning over a shitty brew. Maybe I'll gather my guts and try it tonight...

argh-matey

oh my gosh. my fingers are like jelly. it's been such a long time since i've let myself write. but it's great to be back getting my sea legs again. damn land lovers ruining my romance with the big blue yonder... the frosted white page; where the ink is smeared by my knuckles and the hours it takes to slave over the slow dripping words. to write. to be written. words are water beading and dripping from my cupped hands. I drink them and wash my face with them. i ride them on my ship muse. Her name is Imagination and we've been apart for far too long. far far too long.

Joy Ride

I just took a late night bike ride through berrien. I passed all my old residences. I trapsed through center campus. I looked at all the old buildings for the last time. This place has been a huge chunk of my life, I'm so excited to make memories that blow AU out of the water. Yay for life. Yay for late night rides on my speed demon bike. If only school had gone by so fast... haha

i wish i was more than i am

Green Cathedral

You know my home pastor has 3 churches to minister in? I think the original idea of having a pastor whose entire job is to maintain and lead a church was put in place to stimulate community and family growth. Every family needs a leader. Every organization needs a president; someone to give the final verdict. Someone to unite when times are tough and to give encouragement.
Less pastors on the scene only reflects the dedication of the church body. Where are we? Why aren't we gathering? Whenever I walk into a church I see kids, some teenagers and old people. Where are the twenty-somethings? Where are the late teens? Where are the early thirty-something members?
To me all I see is one solid and saddening truth. The churches are dying.
I love religion. I used to love church... Today is the Sabbath and instead of going to church I rode my bike to the woods and soaked my feet in a stream. God was there, in the breeze till the mosquitoes started biting and chased me away. But what is it?
What are we running from?

balloons of thought

To me via Txt from Anthony:
Remember this is a growing living thing. For it to mature it has to stumble and even fail. I'm saying this because I know you want this experience to be perfect. You will want people to see the red balloon and get super excited! I'm really happy that your so focused but I just don't want you to be discouraged. This experience will be amazing but it may not go how we expect. But it will only make us learn. We will know what to do next time. This is still huge though. Our opportunity is huge and your doing a lot to make it happen. Just remember however this turns out it will only make the future better

To Anthony via Txt from me:
Thanks Anthony. I keep telling myself that but its good to hear it. There are all sorts of things I'm trying to battle subconsciously and i guess that faith is the only thing that can balance the doubt and worry with the passion and vision that I have. And that faith goes farther than succeeding, it stretches into failure as well. God is in it all. So thanks. I'm confident in Him.

bobbles

love is red
are you the one with the red balloon?

if love was a color, what would it be?
I think love is red

reaching

Let your guard down. Your shoulders need to relax. There is nothing else besides God. So if you continue to search here, or go back and search out there, you will not end up with a different verdict. Your heart knows it. Your body aches to know it. Jesus is the only answer that makes the equation of life logical.

The birth of a Muse

There are special milestones in the life of an artist that mark, shape, and help to define our careers. The truth is, an artist lives in the metaphysical realm of thought. And in this realm passions reign supreme. Most of the time we have more passion than creativity or means by which to make all that we feel become tangible. The huge task in the life of an artist is to somehow make the whirlwind of emotion inside of us become physical, touchable, and translatable to others.
The other part of an artists journey is simply discovering what it is we are trying to say. The best thing to do is to throw it out there, splash it on a canvas, record it on a track, or scribble some words onto a page, and hope that by some magical means it comes back to you complete and accepted by the world.
Today I feel that. I feel the metaphysical part of my being becoming a bit more, well, real. Like a hovering something just now after 24 years getting it's toes to touch the ground.
What brought this on? What makes today the day that my muse becomes part human?
Well, it's the day my creations came alive!
Yeah, it's that simple. Thank you Melanie. Thank you Anthony. Thank you God.

skinned knees and knuckles

Well. It's time to move on. I'm closing this chapter of my life. And now, ladies and gentlemen. The show must begin :)

I tried to climb the hill. I should have stopped when the dirt caked up my shoes and ruined what little traction I had. I should have turned around when it came all the way up to my knees and muddied my pants. Even once more I should have called for help when holes were torn into my clothes and my knees were skinned raw; from all that reckless climbing. But I kept onwards and upwards... and now my knuckles are just as blotchy as my knees and I fear the only thing I haven't given is the one thing that makes me, well, me.
So I've decided to leave the mountain climbing for those prepared to offer what the terrain demands. I on the other hand will ride hot air balloons, escalators, and jet packs to the top. Don't worry because I'm not. I will get there... I've always been the dreamer in a pack of reality thinkers and it's time I joined my natural crowd.
I will get there... and my skinned knees and knuckles will have healed.

Que sera, sera

It's finals week. Two tests down. Two more to go. Two papers to write, and an interview to give. Three days from now I'll be chillaxing in the wings of the Sabbath.
To tell you the truth I'm scared to death of my Spanish test tomorrow. There's so much I know and then there's a grand void of things I just don't know... The question is no longer about whether I will jump or not, now I'm wondering if I'll sink or swim. Nobody told me what would be on my test. I couldn't help but flip out a little bit to God this afternoon. I was doing my best to write conversation. I started to cry when I realized that I could read the language but was having trouble forming correct syntax on my own. Twas the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess. Before I stepped away from my work and took a break I opened my Bible. I'm claiming this passage here and now. So que sera, sera. From here on out whatever will be will be. I will not cry or complain because it's not so much about sinking or swimming, it's more about the assurance that I have a loving savior who is Lord of every element and every law... even those binding together the cosmos of Spanish. haha....
Psalms 105:7-
He's God, our God, in charge of the whole earth. And he remembers, remembers his Covenant for a thousand generations he's been as good as his word. It's the Covenant he made with Abraham, the same oath he swore to Isaac, the every statute he established with Jacob, the eternal Covenant with Israel, Namely, "I give you the land. Canaan is your hill-country inheritance." When they didn't count for much, a mere handful, and strangers at that, Wandering from country to country, drifting from pillar to post, He permitted no one to abuse them. He told kings to keep their hands off: "Don't you dare lay a hand on my anointed, don't hurt a hair on the heads of my prophets."
My heart thrives with this message because it is meant for me as well. If it is in his book I claim it as a promise for my own life. So even if God has to bless me with the gift of tongues for two hours tomorrow morning, I have faith in passing that test. Because He is God, and I am His Crystal.

passion supressants

I'm happy to see the celebration at the end of my last post. It is difficult but prayer and Ritalin allow those pesky anti-study emotions to settle down. No I'm not on Ritalin but I'm sure it would work. I just have to ignore this other life calling to me. Arghgh! The time will come.

gimme the bag

It's only July but for me the summer is drawing to a close. In 2 weeks I will test out of my classes and have the remainder of July to fiddle around till graduation day August 3rd. HORAH! I'm buckling down and getting my work done, but it's so hard to concentrate. I've had senioritis since my Sophomore year so you can only imagine how harrowing it is to crouch over Astronomy and write papers for American lit... aaahgghhh and repeat Spanish frazes. Oh gosh. But it's ok. I simply need to hyperventalate into a paper bag and get back to the books. And here I go. To graduation and BEYOND! haha

The 'Aha' Moment

God's plan has always been to give us hope and a future, to prosper us and keep us from harm, but His plan can never be separated from a life devoted to Him. There is no hope - no future or security - apart from resting in His arms. And the only lasting prosperity and peace comes as we walk in step with His Spirit. Why do we not trust Him to fully guide our path? And why do we seek His plan for our lives without bothering to first seek Him?!

-Steve Troxell

Looks like Girl with the Red Balloon is something God wants out there. I just got in touch with my old e-mailing friend Melanie. I was e-mailing her to find out if she'd be willing to send a painting she made for me a while back for the logo of GwtRB and she was contemplating designing logo and offered to repaint the prophetic painting! GOD IS SO GOOOOOD! haha! Man, that picture has been burning a hole in my heart for quite some time. I'm excited to see what God will do about these other things in my life. LIKE
I need a band
I need a photo/audio visual guy/girl
I need a backer
I need to graduate

So I guess Mr. Troxell is saying I need to consult Him before I start walkin that path. Silly me, I should have seen it before.

twenty-somethings asunder

Why is it that us 20-somethings are so disheartened? Is the view of our futures so bleak? Were our dreams so high and the reality in which we've found ourselves so low and far apart? We are blooming, and budding, and coming to an awakeness that is cold and chapped feeling. The difference between what we want and what we can achieve in this damp economic climate is so taxing on a young heart. I feel as though the scales from my innocent youth have finally fallen from my eyes, and what was once rose colored is now bland gray and black. It can't be depression because I know those other 20-somethings see it too. Is this what Eve felt and Adam too when they tasted of the fruit of truth?
So I ask, should we give up? What do we do when hope and reality are so far apart and the oceans that connect them are filled with piranha and brooding beasts? How do we bend the laws of gravity and thus vault our selves, our souls, to the other side without sacrificing the light we carry in our hearts? How? And who will guide us?
All I know is that there is a journey we must take. And those of us who choose to journey at all are only half of the population. And then there are those of us who will lose themselves along the wayside; giving in to vices, finding some mediocre ground to call home, or simply loosing heart. And what of us who make it finally to the other side? Will we alight there as whole as we were in body and soul as in the days of our youths, when our hearts were on fire with passions and alive with the world being as easy as right and wrong? Or will we arrive to our destinations only half of what we set out as? Will we become great people only as a shell of a person ourselves? Because the road is dangerous, and the pitfalls are many. The scars will be deep. Will we be OK?
I'm scared for us. Our only hope is that we can bend gravity.

Equate this!

I just traveled across the land to be right here-in this bed-snug in the hills of Pennsylvania. I woke up this morning with a cramp in my lower back. It had nothing to do with driving home today but everything to do with a math test that decides if I will graduate or not. It was wake up, pack the car, take the test, and then drive home. While I was cramming the last bit of formulas into my non-absorbent mind, all I could do was pray that God implanted the multiple choice answers into my brain instead of those wary formulas and percentages that kept eluding me. A, B, C, C, D, A, I can remember. But a-bx=34y to the tenth power is something that doesn't quite stick to my brain cells the way letters do... Regardless, I felt like I bombed the test. Each of the ten hours driving from the Springs to good ol' PA were like stepping out of a chilly day into a warm one... like walking across the pages of a boring book and right into those of my favorite book ever. Maybe it was 11 hours to get home (because I had to go the speed limit because I don't have a license... but that's another story all together), all the while I was claiming God as my God, my strength in my weakness. You know that feeling when you're nearing home. I get it every single time. The stores start to look familiar. The roads and turns are an imprint in your head, and for all the messed up stuff that can happen in a life... for all the confusion that goes with growing up, at least your home town is the same old same old... at least there is some kind of truth there. I really felt that tonight. Driving past the ball field across from our neighborhood pizza joint, meandering up my driveway; it all felt so good. So good I can't imagine a test score every dragging me down. Ah, home. I don't think I'll wake up with a knot in my back here.

to the limit

Today I finally finished intermediate Algebra. It sounds so lame, I know, but it took me MONTHS to get here. Tomorrow is the grand finale. THE TEST. Dear God, help me to knock this one out of the ball park.

Girl with the Red Balloon

Check out my new and upcoming site, Girl with the Red Balloon at http://blog.crystalcheatham.com
As soon as I get the page up and running it'll be my new home. Check it out and let me know what you think peoples.

God of the Angel Armies, do you hear us?

For those of you who don't know I work for a Baptist church as their music minister. The title sounds larger than the job, it's just me and Jane (my guitar). Yesterday on the way to the gym I got a phone call. The pastor's wife was in tears. She is a spirited woman, at first I didn't think it would be such an impacting call. It didn't take long for me to register her tones as inflections of grief. And the words that then followed have in fact followed me all day long.

There is a little boy. And Sunday we all giggled inside at his innocence as he scrambled like a wee little soldier up and down the isles on his belly, clutching crayons and peaking out from underneath the pews as we all sat respectfully trying not to ignore the pastor. But it wasn't too hard even for the the Pastor and we all started watching that little boy.

Tuesday night he was tucked into his bed. For some reason he got up, put his shoes on, and slipped out the front door. That precious little boy was hit by a truck and killed. And I think, why? How? Where did THAT come from?

I'm singing at his funeral on Sabbath. He was only three. His family was always at church. And all I can say, as I pout about my life and my needs is why, how, and where did that come from.

My, Faith

My creativity is a worn and dotted line. It’s been stretched out across my life span.
And although it’s been drawn poorly I still aim to use it—possibly to tie up some running shoes; the kind that win marathons and scale tall buildings in leaps so clean and tidy. I aim to use it as a rope; a strong climbers rope snaked through a pulley and hoisting all that weight in muscle and bone. I aim to use it as a wire run across a land so vast no eye has yet to see both coasts; a wire used to communicate messages to far off other lives and lands and worlds and places.
And yet, through all this aiming my wire is still a thin and dotted weakling; a spattering of line and blank page. But I cannot bother with that truth. Because as soon as I start to bother with it another truth is thrust up against it so crisp and towering-huge. This truth gives my faith leave to grow. Because when He is the dot and the stretch between my weakly spattered line, then my line becomes His line. And His line is not a line at all but a lace, a rope, and a wire.

the summer

this sumer

Oh Gravity

There's that song by Switchfoot. Actually they dedicated an entire album to it. "Oh, Gravity!"
They sing, "Why this tragedy? Why can't we seem to keep it together?
Oh! Gravity. Why can't we we seem to pull it together?"
In my haste to grow up I forgot the main ingredient in forming the adult version of my dreams. I most surely forgot to include reality. Reality is hard. But when you're free falling from the hype of a dream, the knowing that reality would come up quick and smack me in the face would have been a lot more comforting than the not knowing.
"In the fallout, the fallout. We found out the hype won't get you through. We're connected, connected. I meant it, the hype won't get you through."
I think that without reality we are subject to the tricks our ego's play on us. How do we bloom? How do we grow, of we are constantly being fed on the sugar substance of our ego's and not the whole wheatey-ness of reality?
"Oh gravity, Why can't week seem to keep it together?"
I was born a dreamer. I'm good at dreaming, at believing in the impossible. But all of that hasn't really gotten me where I want to be. I guess now it's time to be an expert at the hard and gritty stuff of life. Now it's time to work myself out of this mess I got into. It's ok. I'm not losing myself. I'm finding where my feet meet earth, so I can run and jump and not tumble on the moon. I guess gravity is a good thing... Oh gravity...

Loneliness

There is an old man who sits at my doorstep. I know him by the name of Loneliness. He sauntered onto my stoop one day and I’ve watched him from my window since. I sit, with a warm drink by my knee on the sill and let my keen eye wonder over his solitude. He sits quite comfortably over there between the brick of the step and the weeds of the flowerbed. I am most attentive as he picks at the scab by his elbow. I lean in closely as he rummages through the contents of his many, filth stained bags. I ache to know the contents of those bags. I watch this greedy man who goes by the name of Loneliness, and I never shew him away. When neighbors come to knock on my door, bubbling over with stories, news, and the happenings of life, Loneliness greets them. And I watch from beyond my window, shades lightly drawn, and peak between the blinds, as friend and foe interface. He guards his bags as if they were to take them. Although I’m sure my visitors would never try to touch those disgusting things. And after the new comer has scarcely a chance to grace the wood of my door with the skins of their knuckles, Loneliness stands in the way with his glassy eyed gaze, and oil slicked hair, turning a cold shoulder to their warmth. My eyes grow big because I ache for my friends to push past Loneliness, come in, and tell me what’s on their mind. But it is Loneliness who tells them to go away. I want for them to try just a little harder, but it’s Loneliness whom they’ve encountered. Having been spurned by his brute manner they hurry off to appointments less vexing than me and my smelly door man. I do not yell for their return. My hand does not leave the handle of my warm mug to bang fervently against the window pain. I do not rush towards the door to shew away the vagrant—this loitering lunatic—to call back my retreating friend. No. Instead my eyes flit from their departing steps. My senses are filled once again with the rustle of Loneliness rummaging through his bags. I watch as he picks at his scab, as he plays with a weed by his shin, as he turns lazily to grin with a broken smile at me with my legs drawn up and my warm cup of tea in my window seat.

just go

"Goodness. What do we have here?” she said as she gazed across the water. “Looks like I might be pointed and headed in a direction. All the discussions sound about right. The feeling is promising. The motives are properly supported... All I need now, is time."
She licked her finger, sliding it upwards into the clear blue sky. "I see the wind is nice and strong, for the sails. How convenient that it's pointing towards my planned destination. I have provisions enough for the trip. I believe all I need now is to commit and see it through..."

Withdrawing her hand from the sky she slipped it into the drawstring of her bag, gingerly stepped off the swaying dock and into the gently bobbing boat. "Are you afraid?" Her heart asked her mind. "No," the mind replied, "Father is with us.

Oh 24

It takes courage to be the person God wants you to be. It takes more than words can sum up. I've been around some 23 years. I'm knocking on the 24th. I'm disgusted. A little let down. But not disheartened to say that I'm not the best me I could be. I haven't given my all. I could try harder. It just takes courage. Oh 24. It's time to try again.

Family

They see stars

Mothers do

And some Brothers too

Like Father’s were taught to do

They see higher than mundane

They reach farther than Naysayers claim

They see stars

And the stars are written in their pours and framed in their lashes.

They are hopers they are dreamers. They are free and dance between the gravity.

They are ambitionists and willers and the stars are what come out when they pray

And time is no adversary

Failure is merrily an aid

They are super-dupers with the world laid out at their finger tips

Ah they see stars.

And those without stars upon thars

Those Naysayers and What-if Maybe-ers

Are probably right in their on right

But the reality of the matter is caught up in dreams

For they are firm in a foundation of a higher Reality

And their belly buttons are on cloud nine

And their minds are at one with the stars

They simply cannot fight the urge to strive

And see color where Naysayers see grey

For it is written in the constellations and beyond

That those mothers and brothers and lost fathers and daughters will dream and shine and reach and glow

You cannot stop them

It will always be true

That they see stars when they look out. And stars when they look back.

They see stars