I don't understand where you're going
but I said I would walk through the fire
with you
so I'm going to believe I am

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late night bright lights
every spin of the wheels punctuated by a bass vibrating through the leather seats and midnight beats
white stripes like an endless thread stitching the pavement up and down and up and down for miles
and we could just keep driving, you know
the air is still warm and the stars are out and this road stretches on even to the curl of the world
and we could just keep driving
I'll breathe in as you breathe out, asleep in the passenger seat
bright lights, big city, she dreams of love
staring out the window, tracing pictures in the stars with my finger and feeling the cold glass against my temple
you could take your shoes off and lay your feet on the dashboard if you want
let's pull over right here
asking questions, midnight thinking
laughter that curls and twists into the air like smoke from a candle just extinguished
and in the car, all the stars arrive on my ceiling
your hand on the steering wheel as we drive past another city
you look over at me and smile and I have to put my knuckles in my mouth
it's a minor thing with a major tag although I know I'm the one who always made you feel it
you were yes and I was no
I mindlessly put the car in gear and we double triple quadruple from zero to a hundred in just a few short conversations
the bass weaves a thread around fingers intertwined, interlocked forever
and I am absolutely terrified, slam my fist on pause but nothing happens
bright lights, big city
he lives to run

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and i wanna see all those places i’ve seen pictures of and i wanna walk the streets and live the adventure and meet the people and explore for myself

i wanna cry in a big city and fall in love with a stranger and only get that one kiss and then watch them walk away and still go out dancing or just sitting down on the sidewalk thinking until the next thing comes along

and i wanna find the roofs and special spots and vintage coffee bars and know when the local grocery store opens and greet the old man on the corner every morning on my way to work

i wanna have friends who invite me over and i wanna sing on some open mic in some country town and i wanna hear someone say i’ve changed their lives for the better and i wanna feel the sand between my toes and the pavement under my shoes

i wanna be able to pack up and leave when i’m done and go find the next place and do it all over again and fall in love with this world and see it all and hear it all and taste it all

and someday i wanna fall in love and do it all with someone who’s just as crazy about it as i am and who’ll bake candy pies in our tiny apartment and love me till it’s time to get up again

i wanna be old and tell stories of my life to my grandkids and i’m telling you they’re not gonna be stories of going to work and back again and stressing over stuff and putting dreams aside because other stuff came up

i refuse to believe there’s nothing more to this life than working nine to five and that my biggest accomplishment would be financial wealth

i refuse

i will not accept it

i will go after knowing and loving on this world with all i’ve got, because i refuse to believe that all i’m made of is to go into building structures that tear down people’s lives

i’m gonna see those places i’ve dreamt about and i’m gonna know the people and i’m gonna believe for bigger things and when other people don’t i’m gonna prove them wrong

you’ll see

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It's been a hard fall.

There's really no way to explain it, nor anyone to blame.

Still the transition from community living, practical service 24/7, Christ-centered relationships with people who are radical and passionate for Christ in their everyday lives, and living in the middle of a creation that sings its praises day and night

to a very individualistic way of living, a secular society, lukewarm Christians (or just unequipped, or just not that stoked), and a freezing dark hell of a country

has resulted in, maybe, the loneliest I've ever felt.

I can't really explain that either. It's like I've broken my heart in half by being unable to live & love the way I want to with the people I love. Because we don't believe we're significant. We're not about his business any more than our own. We don't think our faith is supposed to have more consequence for the people around us than making them uncomfortable and judgmental.

That breaks my heart. Not only because the people around me have lost their fire, but because I can feel mine getting weaker too. That is enough to send me on my knees crying at the cross, mourning the indifference of people who could be changing the worlds of hundreds, and desperately seeking mercy for my own fading flame.

More of you, Lord Jesus. More of you, and less of me.

And then, just when I think I can't stand it anymore, he changes the game. Last night I got together again with people who know what life with Jesus is about, who know the exact location of Ohai Street, who dare to worship with song and dance and prophecy. Last night He brought Surfer's Church to me, here in Sweden, to light me on fire again, to encourage, comfort and remind me he knows exactly what I need when I need it.

I love love love him. I'm grateful for the pain that's behind because I know it's been preparing & refining me for greater use and unprecedented joy.

I love him. I guess that's it. He loves me, and I love love love him.

That's really all there is to it.

I lean not on my own understanding
My life is in the hands of the maker of heaven

I give it all to you, God
Trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me

I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open

There's nothing I hold on to

I lean not on my own understanding
My life is in the hands of the maker of heaven



och jag vill och jag vill och jag vill men egentligen vet jag inte ens vad det är jag så himla gärna vill

mest av allt bara sova

få gå och lägga mig och vakna igen i en ljusare tid, i ett annat liv, där regnet inte väller in i skorna och halsduken blåser av huvudet och mörkret inte ligger kompakt klockan fyra varje eftermiddag.

vill tillbaka till den där klippan i havet. den vi åkte till mitt i natten, jagade varandra över sanden och skrek rakt ut när vågorna drog med oss ut i vattnet. där vi klättrade upp med bara händer och fötter och föll handlöst ner i den kristallklara oceanen och såg våra skuggor i månljuset. tillbaka dit där palmerna var skarpa svarta siluetter mot vintergatan och världen liksom stod still i ett enda långt andetag, in och ut över den vita sanden. vill springa längs med den där kusten, känna saltvattnet skölja över mig vid vartannat steg, värmen och natten och skrattet från vänner och ringarna på vattnet när vi föll i, en efter en, när vi övertalade varandra att hoppa.

åh vad jag vill tillbaka. jag vill tillbaka så det gör ont i mig.



So I asked him, why all this decay? Why does it have to get so dark? So bleak? God, what is the point of this?

Why does it hurt so much?

And then, just for a moment, it all shifted. It was like the sky went from grey to yellow to blue and the trees were no longer that mushy brown wet color but vibrant with all kinds of expectant greens and sprays of flowers lined the small lake, the surface of which was buzzing with splashes of fish and dancing insects with brilliant green and blue wings. It was like he opened my eyes to all the glory that would be coming to this place, once this season of decay and rest was over.

Then all of a sudden, it was gone. The veil was back over my eyes.

Only this time there was something different about the view from the damp, withering old bridge. Underneath the thick November sweater it was like all the summer lushness was hiding like a promise. Like a reassurance it knew what it was doing and would be coming back.

Somehow, there has to be both mountains and valleys. Whichever one you like the most, you can't have one without having the other.

See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
- Isaiah 43:19 -



har roat mig såhär ikväll. nånstans ger det ro i all ångest att få vara kreativ på ett sätt som inte ställer en massa krav.

do not let your hearts be troubled.



And if you're my daddy and I'm your child, not only will you rejoice with me when I play and laugh at your feet in the ray of light that is your presence. That same light uncovers all the pain and hurt and the wounds I'm carrying. How could you not see it when I trip and fall over, bruising my soul and my heart on the many broken things that lie scattered around me? How could you as a good good father do anything but lift me and hold me tight to your chest and let me cry all those healing tears against your neck? How could you do anything but soothe me and then do anything and everything in your power to make it well again? How could you be anything but compassionate with me? How could your heart not ache for me when I'm broken? How could you not try and point me to the things that will bring the joy and the purpose back into my life?

You are such a good father, and because of this I praise you. I choose to live out my life in your presence because I know right there is healing for my heart. I know you're not afraid to meet me in those deep places inside where the abused, mistreated, wounded little girl is still hiding, and because of that I'll trust you enough to invite you there. I'll let you cradle me in your arms. I'll let you take my hand. I'll drop everything else and run like a madman to you because I know the beat of your heart and the love in your eyes and the grace in your words have the power to remove the guilt and the shame and clothe me in white again.

And then we'll dance. The little girl that used to hide will twirl before you because she knows you delight in her. She knows you'll fight for her. She knows you desire her and will pursue her. She knows her value is found in your splitting seas and conquering death to win her heart. And oh, you've won it. With all it is and has and aspires to be, it's yours.



men varför kan han inte bara

I'd rather be a comma than a full stop,