Hearing Something

My other favorite song that I have written lyrically reached out and slapped me today. Really. I wrote it to an unbeliever. It was originally titled "Hearing Something (A Letter From God)". It didn't occur to me that "unbeliever" is simply someone who doesn't believe. And lately, I have been an unbeliever in parts of my relationship with God. Not trusting. Not learning to lean. So Brad, this song is to you and to other "believers" who cry out "Lord, help my unbelief."

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Hearing Something – Words and Music by Brad Irons
Copyright 2006 - Brad Irons

I can see that your head keeps turning because you think that you're hearing something. Well, you don't know Me. Still, I've been watching you from a distance but oh so close to you. You look lonely just like the color blue. Cold and frozen from all you're going through. Pain in present... tense. Fear that follow and now your pride is too hard to swallow...

And you can't seem to stand on your own. But you still try to go it alone. So I stand here and let you feel strong, though I know you're hurting. And you can't see Me here in the wings. How I long to be all that you need. Tell me how long until you will see how much I love you?

Yes I know that your life's not easy. You're counting scars just to mark your journey. And some are hurting and some are healing and some you hide 'cause they're too revealing...

And you can't see that I have them too! Scars I have suffered for you! So you would not have to go through this life alone. And I want to be there when you call. Catch you whenever you fall. Let Me be your all in all! Just let Me love you!

I'll keep knocking here at your heart's door until you see what I made your heart for. 'Cause I can see that your head keeps turning because you think that you're hearing something..."

Joy and Pain

"The most creative art is inspired through deep pain..
and most believers do not go that deep.

so, why cant believers create art inspired by deep elation?
because most will not go that high." - Keith Mohr

I think this may be the most profound thing I have heard said in years!

Prayers of A Prodigal....

I usually wrestle with listening to my own songs. But I love the words to Prayers of a Prodigal. These have to be my favorite lyrics that I've written ever in my life. They're copyrighted finally so I'm placing them here. I think the new CD is probably, maybe, kind of a good walk through my head. You will hear my highs and lows. My struggles with God shine through with my hope and faith. From feeling lost to feeling found to feeling... feelings.
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Prayers of a Prodigal – Words and Music by Brad Irons - Copyright Brad Irons, 2006

I took a wrong turn on a street called Straight and I walked away from Innocence. It was a hard hoe up a hill called Hate where I found a field of bitterness. And as a cold wind blew through my soul, I wandered into the wilderness. And like a lost child without a hope I cry to You. Yes I cry to You and I wonder if You even listen to The Prayers of a Prodigal.

It was a cold day in a really warm place when I walked away from everything. And took a fast train from the state of Grace where I found a friend called Misery. And as he smiled at me it was plain to see all he wanted was some company. But then I heard him say there's no escape and I cried to You. Yes I cry to You and I wonder if You even listen to the Prayers of a Prodigal

I saw the sun rise through the early morning skies and it woke me from my reverie. I came face to face with my disgrace and I cried for what I used to be. And through the fading night I could see the lights that pointed me down to Mercy Street. But would I find a place at the gates of Grace when I cry to You. Yes I cry to You and I wonder if You even listen to the Prayers of a Prodigal.

I took a right turn on a street called Love and I found a hill called Calvary."

An Ode to Barch (A Birthday Recital)

AN ODE TO BARCH

This poem to Mark, my right hand man
Who plays guitar better than I can
Who encourages me and keeps me straight
And keeps Ton's in business with his family dates

A better friend few could fine
And I am proud to call him mine
His open heart and honesty
Is only matched by his integrity.

I know this cheesy diatribe
Could never hope to or begin to describe
How much his friendship means to me
But I had to give a shot you see.

So with this belated birthday rhyme
(I'm sorry that it wasn't on time)
I thank you for being a friend to me
And happy half a century!

Happy Belated Birthday Mark Barch

Heh heh heh

Good News for Fellow Insomniacs

Ok, so we don't get enough sleep....

And that's bad! 2-4 hours per night is a little excessive in the sleep deprivation category.

But maybe... with a stretch... we can get it to six hours.

Here's a quote from new study...

"A six-year study Kripke headed up of more than a million adults ages 30 to 102 showed that people who get only 6 to 7 hours a night have a lower death rate than those who get 8 hours of sleep. The risk from taking sleeping pills 30 times or more a month was not much less than the risk of smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, he says."

So come on! We can do it! Stretch it out! Sleep just a couple of more hours! What are you reading this for? Go to sleep!!!!

And for you others out there... Wake up! It'll do you good!

Here's the link
Sleep Deprivation: The Great American Myth

Remember Me - Thinking Out of the Box

So as you log in to blogspot, enter your password, etc., there's a little check box a the bottom that says "remember me?".

Poor little check box! So insecure! So worried that he'll be forgotten that he has to ask the same question every time someone comes around.

I tried to sit down and analyze him. "Excuse me Mr. Check Box". I said with a disarming smile. "My name is Brad. I know I haven't been here in awhile but I'm glad to be back. Anyway, I was wondering. Why do you ask the same question over and over and over again?

He was quiet. No response. I waited. Not wanting to seem pushy. No... no response.

"I was just thinking," I continued, "Is this is a deep seated psychological problem or a deep spiritual truth that you're trying to teach." Nothing. But suddenly, I was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. This may not be paranoid psychosis. It may be quiet strength... Maybe he was trying to say something profound.

"Are you trying to refer me back to the story of the communion dinner between the Lord and His disciples. Whoa! That's deep." He said nothing, but I sensed the hint of a smile, even as my monitor flickered. That must be it.

"So knowing the temptations and distractions of the web, you have set yourself up as a reminder that as we surf, we should do so remembering Christ. What would Jesus do? Where would Jesus surf?" The point was hitting me now. "You also are trying to remind me that before I log in and surf the universe, I should ask myself 'have I remembered to spend time with Jesus? Maybe I shoud spend more time with my Bible and prayer than I do on the web." Conviction... from a hollow polygon on a computer screen! Wow, he really knows how to use silence to drive a point home.

"Ok. I get it. I'll finish typing this and go do the devotional I neglected this morning. Thank you for your dedication to doing the one thing you know to do. Your use of your one talent has encouraged me. See you later. And thanks! Maybe you're not such a square!"

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"Preach the gospel at all times. Use words if necessary." quote attributed to St. Francis.

Stopping by the woods on a Snowy Evening...

This is one of my two favorite poems by Robert Frost. And as I look out the window at the sunny sky glistening through the glass and feel the heat pushing through the window pain, I stop to ask myself a question. What happened to winter?

Then I remember that I am in Texas...

My blogs have been few and far between as the album nears completion. I am finding that I have perfectionist tendencies... (Stop laughing!) I really do! So I will continue to wade through them while you enjoy this classic poem.

Stopping by the woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.