This Side of Paradise,

Things lack color. 
Everything's gray. 

This Side of Paradise. 

Things don't quite taste right. 
They always come up bitter. 
No matter how much sugar I add. 
The milk has a strange after taste. 
Like the fridge was unplugged. 

This Side of Paradise, 

Things don't always make sense. 
I've got more questions than I have answers. 

On this side, 

We've got hospitals,
Prisons,
Cemeteries,
Orphanages. 

This Side of Paradise,

We have the cures for all our aliments, 
Or at least the side effects. 
We pull the weeds, but leave the roots.

On this side,

All our mirrors are cloudy and cracked.
We can't ever see things quite right. 
Our memories are lacking. 

On this side. 

On This Side of Paradise. 

But on the next...

There's this website. It's called Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency. And every once and awhile there are so really funny things on there. This one has got to be one of my favorites. I think everyone should read it. Just because who doesn't love to laugh. (Because I'm worried most of you will skip out on reading this little gem, I've highlighted in red the ones that you really should read, even if you skip the others. Come on, just do it.) 

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Better than You Normally Do
By: Colin Nissan 

WRITE EVERY DAY
Writing is a muscle. Smaller than a hamstring and slightly bigger than a bicep, and it needs to be exercised to get stronger. Think of your words as reps, your paragraphs as sets, your pages as daily workouts. Think of your laptop as a machine like the one at the gym where you open and close your inner thighs in front of everyone, exposing both your insecurities and your genitals. Because that is what writing is all about.

DON’T PROCRASTINATE
Procrastination is an alluring siren taunting you to Google the country where Balki from Perfect Strangers was from, and to arrange sticky notes on your dog in the shape of hilarious dog shorts. A wicked temptress beckoning you to watch your children, and take showers. Well, it’s time to look procrastination in the eye and tell that seafaring wench, “Sorry not today, today I write.”

FIGHT THROUGH WRITER’S BLOCK
The blank white page. El Diablo Blanco. El Pollo Loco. Whatever you choose to call it, staring into the abyss in search of an idea can be terrifying. But ask yourself this; was Picasso intimidated by the blank canvas? Was Mozart intimidated by the blank sheet music? Was Edison intimidated by the blank lightbulb? If you’re still blocked up, ask yourself more questions, like; Why did I quit my job at TJ Maxx to write full-time? Can/should I eat this entire box of Apple Jacks? Is The Price is Right on at 10 or 11?

LEARN FROM THE MASTERS
Mark Twain once said, “Show, don’t tell.” This is an incredibly important lesson for writers to remember; never get such a giant head that you feel entitled to throw around obscure phrases like “Show, don’t tell.” Thanks for nothing, Mr. Cryptic.

FIND YOUR MUSE
Finding a really good muse these days isn’t easy, so plan on going through quite a few before landing on a winner. Beware of muses who promise unrealistic timelines for your projects or who wear wizard clothes. When honing in on a promising new muse, also be on the lookout for other writers attempting to swoop in and muse-block you. Just be patient in your search, because the right muse/human relationship can last a lifetime.

HONE YOUR CRAFT
There are two things more difficult than writing. The first is editing, the second is expert level Sudoku where there’s literally two goddamned squares filled in. While editing is a grueling process, if you really work hard at it, in the end you may find that your piece has fewer words than it did before, which is great. Perhaps George Bernard Shaw said it best when upon sending a letter to a close friend, he wrote, “I’m sorry this letter is so long, I didn’t have time to make it shorter.” No quote better illustrates the point that writers are very busy.

ASK FOR FEEDBACK
It’s so easy to hide in your little bubble, typing your little words with your little fingers on your little laptop from the comfort of your tiny chair in your miniature little house. I’m taking this tone to illustrate the importance of developing a thick skin. Remember, the only kind of criticism that doesn’t make you a better writer is dishonest criticism. That, and someone telling you that you have weird shoulders.

READ, READ, READ
It’s no secret that great writers are great readers, and that if you can’t read, your writing will often suffer. Similarly, if you can read but have to move your lips to get through the longer words, you’ll still be a pretty bad writer. Also, if you pronounce “espresso” like “expresso.”

STUDY THE RULES, THEN BREAK THEM
Part of finding your own voice as a writer is finding your own grammar. Don’t spend your career lost in a sea of copycats when you can establish your own set of rules. If everyone’s putting periods at the end of their sentences, put yours in the middle of words. Will it be incredibly difficult to read? Yes it will. Will it set you on the path to becoming a literary pioneer? Tough to say, but you’re kind of out of options at this point.

KEEP IT TOGETHER
A writer’s brain is full of little gifts, like a piñata at a birthday party. It’s also full of demons, like a piñata at a birthday party in a mental hospital. The truth is, it’s demons that keep a tortured writer’s spirit alive, not Tootsie Rolls. Sure they’ll give you a tiny burst of energy, but they won’t do squat for your writing. So treat your demons with the respect they deserve, and with enough prescriptions to keep you wearing pants.

The wind sweeps across fields from on top of those beautiful mountains. Much as water would find it's path. It's a beautiful cool night in Nasugbu, Batangas. It feels like home. 

Recently my team and I were serving at an orphanage in Taytay near Anitpolo City. It was such a moving heartbreaking couple of weeks. The stories of these kids were terrible. So many had been abused living on the streets, or abused by families that had picked them up on the streets, they'd been abandon by their parents, or sold into slavery as babies. These kids had seen the darkness of the world. 

At the orphanage we would take turns on the night shift where we'd sleep up with the kids because many of them will wake up from nightmares from their times on the streets or they'd wake up crying asking for their mom or dad. It would be our job to comfort them and get them back to bed. I simply cannot say how hard it was to hear these kids crying out asking for their dads and me having to be the one to be there. It simply isn't right. 

As beautiful as it was to see these kids being truly loved in the orphanage it just wasn't right. That's not where these kids should be. They should have homes. They should have a mother and a father. It broke my heart. 

But it opened my eyes to see us as we really our. To see what the Father sees. 

This world is filled with the fatherless. But not since He has left them but because we ran from home, chasing ourselves. And the Father is waiting there, all through the night, waiting and watching for us to cry out. And in that moment, He is there. He does not delay in His coming, He is there. 

It was such a moving and beautiful picture that He revealed to me. Oh what a privilege it is that I get to serve this man named Jesus. What other calling or what else could I ever do that would surpass this. 

I really couldn't imagine doing anything else with my life. I've found what I was meant to do. Where ever it is, whatever it looks like, with everything that I have, to serve and know God, and to make Him known. 

I am one in seven billion
You are one in seven billion
I am carbon
the stars of the sky and I
We are made of the same dust

My size in the relative spectrum of things
Is a dot with 133 zeros after it
And then a one

But in those 545,910 quintillion miles 
That you stretch across my known universe 
You noticed me

My God. 
My God! 

I am full of light
Of oxygen
Of carbon 
Of water

I have lungs that filter air through my body
Capillaries to take life through my veins 
And marrow to live inside of my bones

You are one out of seven billion
You are millions multiplied 
And multiplied more

When I do the math
Numbers with so many zeros come out
That I don't even know their names

But you know mine
You know me and are calling me

You love me

Even while I was content 
Sitting on a couch in apathy 

You hung in the balance
You hung

For what? 
For me? 

For the joy set before You
You went to the cross 
Enduring its pain
And scorning its shame

My God. 
You're a better poet than I am 
And a better lover too

You are beautiful 
You are a billion squared 
There is a river of life 
That flows through you. 

The stars are hidden in your skin
Oceans in your stomach 
And a story that is older than time
Hidden within everyone of your cells 

You are a miracle among miracles 

That you can stand? 
Balance. 
Run! 
Walk! 
On a ball. 

That is spinning in circles
At thousands of miles and hour
And spinning some more

You are an incredible balancer

And wonders upon wonders 
You have sight
And with that sight 
You can look back in time
Eight minutes at a time
Sometimes more

And You, You use that eight minute old light to:
Let me see
Be warm 
To live

You are a billion times a billion 
Millions multiplied over and over again

You are a miracle 

And You- Jesus  

You are incredible

My God! 
You're incredible. 

You are the smell of home
You are the embrace of my bed
You're two dogs to welcome me at my door

You are a green door
A red wall
And a blue house

You are home to me
You are a bench in the back yard
Eucalyptus plants
Green grass for most of the summer
Spotty for others

You are two maps
A blue room
And a black bookshelf 

You're a rug that gets caught under the door
You are home 
I love Your smell 
Your touch

The hiding spots only I know
The top shelf of the closet 
Under the bed with closed sides

You are the crawl space which holds
The boxes of my memories and past 

You are a tear soaked pillow
A room full of screams 
A table full of laughter
And walls which saw me at my worst
And still held the roof over my head

You are the tree in the back
The one I always tried to summit
In You are my initials poorly carved all throughout 
I've marked my name down on You
We have a history 
And I love it

You are the big blue couch 
You are tennis in the garage
And roof ball in the back
Golf in the yard
And extreme croquet in the summer

You've never stopped holding me
You've always welcomed me in
You are home
You are home   

"May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart. May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace. May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain in to joy. And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done."

-St. Francis of Assisi  

Tonight is a night to remember. 
Not to remember. 
But to remember. 
The verb. 
Well I guess they both are verbs. 
But this verb is a verb of the present. 
Instead of future. 
Tonight is a night to do the act of remembering. 

In a search through many boxes of memories I stumbled upon something. 
 
I found a note. 
It was one I slipped in my dad's suite case before he left on one of his trips. 
It was from when I was ten. 

"Hi dad its Michel 
if you get this mesegge
it mens that you are 
not dead and I can
spell well dad I love 
you. 
Mike" 

Two things stick out in this little note:
1. I was horrid speller at the age of ten. I misspelled my own name. Dyslexia can only justify so much. I mean come on. 
2. I had a darker sense of humor than your average ten year old. Still I think it's kind of funny. 

I'm so blessed to have a dad like mine. 
And a mom like mine. She's amazing. 
Dad, I love you. 
Ma, I love you. 

In life. There are three things.

things i love & things i hate & things i am apathetic about.

The game mafia is without question in the middle category.

I absolutely hate the game mafia. I loath mafia.

To me it is even a shock at the fact that people enjoy playing the game.

Statistically speaking there normally is a better chance at you being something fun in the game rather than an unimportant character. But for some reason I have never managed to receive a card of significance.

In the room to my left there are roughly eleven people playing the game.

Church.

I've been thinking a lot about the purpose of church lately.

What is it?
What's it suppose to look like?
What's the point?

You know, the good stuff.

I think what we have today, however comfortable and "right" it feels, is a long way from what the apostles had in mind when they had church. I think we've missed some stuff over the years.

I love hearing people's stories. I love knowing where they've been and where they've come from.
But when I ask someone their story the main thing I want to know is where they are now. Both in their struggles and triumphs. And it's probably the thing I hear the least.

But truthfully it's also what I share the least.

Since starting this blog I've realized somethings.

1. I have a lot of feelings inside of me that I thought were strange but once putting them out there I've seen that much of what I feel is common among humans.

2. I have a lot of feelings in me that straight up just strange.

3. I definitely should not be the voice for the masses. 


4. And lastly, it normally takes me three or four tries plus the assistance of spell check to spell the word "definitely" 


I think, at least for me, the reason I cop out and only share what God has done in my life is because it's a completed work. (at least in my eyes) It's easy to talk about the sin in my life God dealt with, because it's been dealt with, it's not a struggle in my life anymore. The past is distant. It's safe. It's all in the past.

But you know what is hard?