The last thing I remember is whiteness. I don't know where it came from-- it was like a flash, but slower, fading in like a morning sunrise, filling up everything around me and inside me, its light touching the deepest corners of my soul. It felt beautiful, neither warm nor cold, but tender and lovely. I closed my eyes. Nothing changed. Whiteness surrounded me. This wasn't a sunrise. This was the end.
"What is your name, Isaac Middleton?"
The voice was like a cannon firing far away, like the memory of a thunder clap in the night sky. It was comforting. It was terrifying. If anything, it was confusing.
I looked around me. Nothing. Pure whiteness. Who spoke?
"Isaac Middleton, what is your name?"
The question. What could it mean? Was it a joke? Was I supposed to laugh? I did not. I was terrified, yet calm. Shaking, yet perfectly still.
For the third time the voice echoed into my ears, or my mind, I'm not sure which: "What is your name, Isaac Middleton?"
"Isaac Middleton" I called out into the whiteness. I felt very foolish, yet too far apart from myself to worry about my self-esteem.
There was silence in the whiteness-- not the silence of a city, where even in the quietest times you can still hear traffic or the general buzz of city lights, nor the silence of the country, where crickets and wind unceasingly sing. No, this was absolute silence. Thick and overbearing. I couldn't even hear myself breathe, but then I tried to and realized I didn't know how.
"Isaac Middleton, do you know where you are?" the voice was deep and beautiful, like the roar of a lion, but not quite as terrifying.
"No, Sir," I quaked. I'm not sure why I said, "Sir." The voice just seemed so royal and honorable, and I felt so very dismal and insignificant that I couldn't help but say it.
"Isaac, you have died."
I would have gasped. I would have stopped breathing if I knew how to start. My heart beat would have risen, but I had no pulse at all.
I began to cry. I still had tears.
It was all over. I tried hard to remember life before death. Nothing. Before the flash, I might as well have never existed. How old was I when it happened? Did I have a wife? Kids? Did I live a good life?
"How did I die, Sir?"
There was a pause and the silence thickened.
"James Kingly shot you seven times in the back of the head."
I tried to shudder, but had no spine.
"Why?" I sobbed.
"You slept with his wife, Isaac."
"I did?"
"Yes. For years."
Silence.
"Your real wife was in intensive care for twelve years. She was in a coma." There was sadness in the voice, as if tears were swimming inside the words. "She loves you very much, Isaac. She talks to me about you whenever she's awake. She always looked forward to your visits, when she was able to see your eyes when you leaned in to kiss her on the forehead." The words were slow and piercing. I felt like screaming for him to stop, but felt terribly unworthy to ever break the Voice's words. What a terrible person I must have been. My stomach clenched to itself. I felt like vomiting.
"Isaac, do you know who I am?" the Voice rang in the whiteness quietly, as if hoping for the right answer, yet already knowing what I am going to say.
Words could not come to my mouth. I was transformed instantly from tears into terror. This was God. Him!
"You are God," I said. I'm not sure how I said it. It might have been a mumble. It might have been a scream. I was too frightened to notice myself. If I had knees, I would have been on them. I was shaking, terrified. I was in the presence of The Creator.
To Be Continued...
I'm tired.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
To: Child. Love, God.
Whew... I'm on a roll.
Today, the December the twenty-fifth, I, Isaac the Bradley Middleton, otherwise known as Somebody, Somewhere, have completed an entire song in one day. It's a layered song, the first one that I've actually used electric guitar on-- which I think sounds quite sexy.
This song represents the style that I'm striving for-- beautiful, yet somewhat hardcore, electronica, yet folky in some places. There's a name that I've come up with: Folktronica. Like it? Witty, I know.
Darn you, Google.
I just googled Folktronica to see if I was indeed original with my lingo. I wasn't. Apparently there's already some folktronica bands out there that i haven't heard of. I wonder if we sound alike.
Hmm.. anyways, the song is called To: Child. Love, GOd.
I couldn't find a way to make the punctuation look less confusing, but i think it gets the point across.
Pretty much the song is a Love letter from God (Terribly original, I know). The words just sort of came out. It was very challenging for me to write this and record this, because I had to really deal head on with the question of if I really believe that God truly loves me, despite me.
My conclusion is: i think he does.
Anyway, what else... Oh! here's the words.
Today, the December the twenty-fifth, I, Isaac the Bradley Middleton, otherwise known as Somebody, Somewhere, have completed an entire song in one day. It's a layered song, the first one that I've actually used electric guitar on-- which I think sounds quite sexy.
This song represents the style that I'm striving for-- beautiful, yet somewhat hardcore, electronica, yet folky in some places. There's a name that I've come up with: Folktronica. Like it? Witty, I know.
Darn you, Google.
I just googled Folktronica to see if I was indeed original with my lingo. I wasn't. Apparently there's already some folktronica bands out there that i haven't heard of. I wonder if we sound alike.
Hmm.. anyways, the song is called To: Child. Love, GOd.
I couldn't find a way to make the punctuation look less confusing, but i think it gets the point across.
Pretty much the song is a Love letter from God (Terribly original, I know). The words just sort of came out. It was very challenging for me to write this and record this, because I had to really deal head on with the question of if I really believe that God truly loves me, despite me.
My conclusion is: i think he does.
Anyway, what else... Oh! here's the words.
Follow, follow Me
I am all you need
I offer Love so deep
And it comes for free
I love you so much
that I sent my only son
to live perfectly, then die
that you might have eternal life
My child, I love you
I've made you free
My child, I love you
Come follow Me.
My child, I fixed you.
I've made you clean.
My child, I fixed you.
Come worship me.
I offer love so deep.
And it's your's for free.
This is a life you find on your knees.
All you need to do now is believe Me.
My child, I love you.
I've made you free.
My child, I love you.
Come follow me.
My child, I fixed you.
I've made you clean
My child, I fixed you.
Come worship me.
And so on...
Really, it's just a call to look at God and his love and instill a desire to follow after God, through the use of John 3:16 and good ol' first-hand experience.
I'm very excited about this song.
Oh, and the vocals are smothered in auto-tune. I don't care about those synical many who despise this nifty little device. I love the sound. It's very unique and pure. My philosophy is: as long as it's completely obvious that the vocals are auto-tuned, then have at it. It's just the despicable few who use it and don't admit to it that I find snivelly and unmusical.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Graduations
For some reason, the phrase, "friends come in odd places." came to mind right when I opened this new blog. I'm not sure why. No friends have come to me in odd places recently. But if you're lonely and you need a friend, I'm sure there's one somewhere in an odd place. Just look in the places you would least expect to find anybody. There... There's my two-cents worth.
Right now I'm sitting at a perfectly symmetrical wooden table the size of a big, perfectly symmetrical wooden table you would find floating at sea and float on to survive. You know? One of those.
I'm at Barnes And Nobles in Bowling Green, Kentucky, surrounded by the ironic ambiance of thick southern accents and many, many intellectually thick books. Most people consider us Kentuckians to be stupid, one o' them slow folk. We're quite the opposite, actually. Sure, you can find a couple idiotic buffoons with crooked teeth and crooked smiles and crooked clothes and crooked everything, swaggering around in a crooked swagger, tipping a half-empty bottle of Bourbon crookedly into their stenchy mouth. But that's a small population. Actually, Kentucky's filled, absolutely filled!!!!... with intellectuals that most people assume to be not-so-smart'ns. But don't be let the southern accent or anything else southern-like to fool you. Us Suthernours ar smart!!.
Anyway, it was my sisster's graduation today. She's officially smart and intellectual and intrepidly awesome, if I may use the term correctly. She's a nurse now. And not just any nurse0=-- a graduated nurse.
I never thought graduation ceremonies lasted so long, or were so big. Three hours!!!! Oh my gosh my golly.
I come back to Mexico in two days. In the mean time, David Copperfield waits to be read and friends in odd places wait to be found.
Right now I'm sitting at a perfectly symmetrical wooden table the size of a big, perfectly symmetrical wooden table you would find floating at sea and float on to survive. You know? One of those.
I'm at Barnes And Nobles in Bowling Green, Kentucky, surrounded by the ironic ambiance of thick southern accents and many, many intellectually thick books. Most people consider us Kentuckians to be stupid, one o' them slow folk. We're quite the opposite, actually. Sure, you can find a couple idiotic buffoons with crooked teeth and crooked smiles and crooked clothes and crooked everything, swaggering around in a crooked swagger, tipping a half-empty bottle of Bourbon crookedly into their stenchy mouth. But that's a small population. Actually, Kentucky's filled, absolutely filled!!!!... with intellectuals that most people assume to be not-so-smart'ns. But don't be let the southern accent or anything else southern-like to fool you. Us Suthernours ar smart!!.
Anyway, it was my sisster's graduation today. She's officially smart and intellectual and intrepidly awesome, if I may use the term correctly. She's a nurse now. And not just any nurse0=-- a graduated nurse.
I never thought graduation ceremonies lasted so long, or were so big. Three hours!!!! Oh my gosh my golly.
I come back to Mexico in two days. In the mean time, David Copperfield waits to be read and friends in odd places wait to be found.
Monday, December 14, 2009
An Illusion
It's funny how perspective changes things. For some time now I have been living with the idea that Christians are being illusioned, brainwashed, possibly by crafty bearded men living in caves centuries ago. However, for some time now, it has been me living in an illusion.
Listen to this verse and tell me what you think. Christ wants us to "destroy speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God." Thoughts? Interpretations? There are various ones...but that doesn't matter. That's not the point.
The point is this. To me, for the longest time it's seemed that Christ doesn't want us to listen to, or even consider any idea that opposes itself to Him. And these could even be valid questions like "Do you even exist? Do you really care about me? Did you really die on the cross? Do you really have complete control?" It seemed like Christ wanted to be unquestioned, he wanted us to be like the proletariate with our heads down as he goes along and sets up his kingdom for us that we might all be equal someday, or something. To me, his kingdom started to look like the Third Reich and he became the unquestionable, unstoppable dictator with a smidgeon of a mustache. It felt that if I were to ask questions, I would be questioning Jesus Christ, and this was bad, because Jesus Christ is not someone you ask questions of.
But it was more than this. Not only did it seem like he didn't want me asking questions, he wanted me to bark away any questions that might arise about him, as if i was his bulldog that he was training or something. It all seemed so very much like brainwashing, and I didn't like it.
Like I said, it's funny how perspective can change things.
You know what else was happening while I felt like this? Well, lots of things.
My homework started slipping, I wouldn't do things just because I was lazy. I was pouting that I was sick, and that God wouldn't heal me, even though I asked nicely. I would stare at some cute girl as she walked down the street, just because I could and nobody was watching. I never talked to God, and then wondered why I felt so empty and hungry all the time.
Honestly, what it comes down to, I began to worship myself, as I so often do, and expected God and everybody else in my life to do the same.
Again, perspective changes things.
And you know what my perspective was?
From the outside.
I was on the outside, and it's that simple. I didn't know God anymore, even though he knew me very well. I isolated myself from his relationship and his love and this is what happened: I started feeling cold and hungry for something, but i didnt know what it was. I was synical about scripture, about anything about God, and it's all because I was on the outside.
On the outside, I thought it was brainwashing to think that God wants us to put down every speculation and argument that raises itself against Him.
I broke down a couple hours ago. It's strange what causes these things. This time, it was a Jon Foreman song.
I don't know. I just began to cry. Not sobs or anything, but just kind of small tears. I wrapped myself in this momentary feeling, listening to the music. "Your love is strong." The words pierced deep. It felt like God was calling me back, or had been for a while, and I just now decided to listen to him. Take a moment. Listen to it. It's such a powerful song.
Anyway, God broke me down, and I now feel myself on the "inside" again, like I can talk to God with swear words, with sincerity, with love. (I don't always talk to God with swear words. Only when I'm really passionate about something. And I don't think he minds).
And it was when I found myself on the inside again that I look back and think about how silly I was, about brainwashing.
When I was on the outside, I forgot who God was. On the inside, God feels powerful and strong, and it just seems too silly to me to even think about questioning him and his power or control or love or whatever-the-case-may-be. I find it a terrible thing, a very sad thing, to question God and his existence, even though I was in that same position a day ago.
Perhaps this conglomeration of sentences and fragments and run-ons served no purpose to you whatsoever. If so, then I'm sorry. If nothing else, you found out that I do indeed use...Hell... *gasp!*
And I hope you can somehow put your questions aside and come to God with complete happiness and worship. I learned to the hard way, and I will probably forget to someday and learn this the hard way all over again.
Don't be illusioned, and don't be on the outside. It's a cold, hungry place.
Listen to this verse and tell me what you think. Christ wants us to "destroy speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God." Thoughts? Interpretations? There are various ones...but that doesn't matter. That's not the point.
The point is this. To me, for the longest time it's seemed that Christ doesn't want us to listen to, or even consider any idea that opposes itself to Him. And these could even be valid questions like "Do you even exist? Do you really care about me? Did you really die on the cross? Do you really have complete control?" It seemed like Christ wanted to be unquestioned, he wanted us to be like the proletariate with our heads down as he goes along and sets up his kingdom for us that we might all be equal someday, or something. To me, his kingdom started to look like the Third Reich and he became the unquestionable, unstoppable dictator with a smidgeon of a mustache. It felt that if I were to ask questions, I would be questioning Jesus Christ, and this was bad, because Jesus Christ is not someone you ask questions of.
But it was more than this. Not only did it seem like he didn't want me asking questions, he wanted me to bark away any questions that might arise about him, as if i was his bulldog that he was training or something. It all seemed so very much like brainwashing, and I didn't like it.
Like I said, it's funny how perspective can change things.
You know what else was happening while I felt like this? Well, lots of things.
My homework started slipping, I wouldn't do things just because I was lazy. I was pouting that I was sick, and that God wouldn't heal me, even though I asked nicely. I would stare at some cute girl as she walked down the street, just because I could and nobody was watching. I never talked to God, and then wondered why I felt so empty and hungry all the time.
Honestly, what it comes down to, I began to worship myself, as I so often do, and expected God and everybody else in my life to do the same.
Again, perspective changes things.
And you know what my perspective was?
From the outside.
I was on the outside, and it's that simple. I didn't know God anymore, even though he knew me very well. I isolated myself from his relationship and his love and this is what happened: I started feeling cold and hungry for something, but i didnt know what it was. I was synical about scripture, about anything about God, and it's all because I was on the outside.
On the outside, I thought it was brainwashing to think that God wants us to put down every speculation and argument that raises itself against Him.
I broke down a couple hours ago. It's strange what causes these things. This time, it was a Jon Foreman song.
I don't know. I just began to cry. Not sobs or anything, but just kind of small tears. I wrapped myself in this momentary feeling, listening to the music. "Your love is strong." The words pierced deep. It felt like God was calling me back, or had been for a while, and I just now decided to listen to him. Take a moment. Listen to it. It's such a powerful song.
Anyway, God broke me down, and I now feel myself on the "inside" again, like I can talk to God with swear words, with sincerity, with love. (I don't always talk to God with swear words. Only when I'm really passionate about something. And I don't think he minds).
And it was when I found myself on the inside again that I look back and think about how silly I was, about brainwashing.
When I was on the outside, I forgot who God was. On the inside, God feels powerful and strong, and it just seems too silly to me to even think about questioning him and his power or control or love or whatever-the-case-may-be. I find it a terrible thing, a very sad thing, to question God and his existence, even though I was in that same position a day ago.
Perhaps this conglomeration of sentences and fragments and run-ons served no purpose to you whatsoever. If so, then I'm sorry. If nothing else, you found out that I do indeed use...Hell... *gasp!*
And I hope you can somehow put your questions aside and come to God with complete happiness and worship. I learned to the hard way, and I will probably forget to someday and learn this the hard way all over again.
Don't be illusioned, and don't be on the outside. It's a cold, hungry place.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
We Are Sandcastles
The, yes, I'll say it... blessing of a Macbook has come very in handy: recording a song became so incredibly much easier. I have a new song up. It's called We Are Sandcastles. Have a listen. It's different.
The Lyrics:
I know something you don't.
I know something the whole world doesn't know.
Now where did my pen go?
Sandcastles in the sun.
Sinking lower one by one
and we think we can only blame the ocean.
Everybody's changing.
But I still feel the same.
We all turn different ages,
But I'm still playing games
that no one wants to play.
Fools gold in our pockets,
Pictures of Children in our lockets
and we hope they will always be little angels.
Everybody's changing.
But I still feel the same.
But I'm still playing games
that no one wants to play.
Ooh...
This song is obscurely about childhood and growing up.
The "I know something you don't" really doesn't have any meaning inside itself. I just liked it because it's a very childish thing to do to boast about something that nobody else in the world knows. I dont know... I liked it.
Sandcastles in the sun, sinking lower one by one, and we think we can only blame the ocean.
This is why the song is called We Are Sandcastles. Really, this is just about how nobody wants to blame teenagers any more for ruining their lives, or sinking. Instead, they blame society, or the ocean.
Fools gold in our pockets, pictures of children in our lockets. And we hope they will always be little angels. Again, parents fooling themselves that their kids are genuine "gold," and they'll always be perfect in every way.
The chorus is simply how I feel. Everyone around me seems so put-together, like a shiny new macbook pro or something. And then there's me, little old awkward Isaac, still picking his nose in class (true story). And yet, I'm a senior, somebody people actually look up to. I still play super smash bros on the gamecube and talk to my imaginary friend Pal every once in a while. He says hi. I constantly loose important things, like watches and pencils, and I'm still late to class, even though Mr. Baxter considers that "vary cheeldish thing ter do." Maybe I'm just imature, and I think that might be right.
I did this post more for my own benefit than for your's. I'm not completely sure as to what the actual meaning of this song is.
And consider this a rough draft-- the vocals are squeaky and the timing is a little off.
Nevertheless, enjoy
http://myspace.com/somebodysomewhere
The Lyrics:
I know something you don't.
I know something the whole world doesn't know.
Now where did my pen go?
Sandcastles in the sun.
Sinking lower one by one
and we think we can only blame the ocean.
Everybody's changing.
But I still feel the same.
We all turn different ages,
But I'm still playing games
that no one wants to play.
Fools gold in our pockets,
Pictures of Children in our lockets
and we hope they will always be little angels.
Everybody's changing.
But I still feel the same.
But I'm still playing games
that no one wants to play.
Ooh...
This song is obscurely about childhood and growing up.
The "I know something you don't" really doesn't have any meaning inside itself. I just liked it because it's a very childish thing to do to boast about something that nobody else in the world knows. I dont know... I liked it.
Sandcastles in the sun, sinking lower one by one, and we think we can only blame the ocean.
This is why the song is called We Are Sandcastles. Really, this is just about how nobody wants to blame teenagers any more for ruining their lives, or sinking. Instead, they blame society, or the ocean.
Fools gold in our pockets, pictures of children in our lockets. And we hope they will always be little angels. Again, parents fooling themselves that their kids are genuine "gold," and they'll always be perfect in every way.
The chorus is simply how I feel. Everyone around me seems so put-together, like a shiny new macbook pro or something. And then there's me, little old awkward Isaac, still picking his nose in class (true story). And yet, I'm a senior, somebody people actually look up to. I still play super smash bros on the gamecube and talk to my imaginary friend Pal every once in a while. He says hi. I constantly loose important things, like watches and pencils, and I'm still late to class, even though Mr. Baxter considers that "vary cheeldish thing ter do." Maybe I'm just imature, and I think that might be right.
I did this post more for my own benefit than for your's. I'm not completely sure as to what the actual meaning of this song is.
And consider this a rough draft-- the vocals are squeaky and the timing is a little off.
Nevertheless, enjoy
http://myspace.com/somebodysomewhere
I'm Ugly At Parties
Today was the Christmas party. I was reprimanded countless times for my attire, which consisted of my best jeans, favorite shoes, an argile long-sleve shirt over a white button up shirt. I have to say, I think I looked very stylish. But apparently semi-formal is the same thing as formal, minus the tie, and I guess I missed that part.
It was a great party...
Afterwards I recorded this. I hope you like it. It's one of my favorite songs.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Today Was A Profitable Day
Today I feel very artsy. I made my first video on iMovie, and I wrote a paper on Les Miserables. Here are both of these in that same order.
Isaac Middleton
American Literature 11/12
December 10, 2009
Merciful Men in Les Miserables
“Life, misfortunes, isolation, abandonment, and poverty are battlefields which have their heroes; obscure heroes, sometimes greater than the illustrious heroes” (224). In Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, Jean Valjean is one such hero. Crushed by the “millstone of our social system” (193), Valjean is a convict and an enemy to the society which “spat him out” (36). Yet, by being shown mercy, Valjean becomes a changed man whose mission in life is to be merciful and forgiving. Through the character of Jean Valjean, Victor Hugo expresses in Les Miserables the theme of the power of life-changing mercy and forgiveness.
“Who is this man?... He is a man who saves others” (414). In the beginning of the story, this statement is not true of Jean Valjean, for he is, in fact, a convict, having served 19 years in the galleys for stealing a loaf of bread. Though he is eventually released, he is not a changed man. What changes him is the mercy of the bishop Bienvenu, who excuses and forgives Valjean for stealing his silver plates; Bienvenu even reprimands Valjean for not taking the candlesticks as well. Through this mercy, Bienvenu challenges Valjean to “become an honest man” (30), a challenge which Valjean takes to heart and determines to live up to.
It is only after receiving this mercy that Valjean becomes the “man who saves others” (414), full of mercy and forgiveness. One recipient of this mercy is Cosette, a young girl who Valjean takes into custody because of a promise he had made to her dead mother. Valjean raises her himself and finds that it is not difficult to love her.
Another example of Valjean’s mercy is seen in Cosette’s lover, Marius. This is important because it is the first time that Jean Valjean’s desire for mercy conflicts with his feelings of hatred towards someone. Cosette loves Marius with deep romantic conviction, and Jean Valjean is jealous of this. Valjean loves Cosset “as his daughter, ... as his mother, ...and as his sister” (403). Cosette is the only person Valjean ever loved in his life; the attention he receives from her on a daily basis means everything to him. Now, what with a stranger receiving just as much love from Cosette, Valjean feels as if both he and the ten years he had spent raising her are pushed aside to make way for a newer, more romantic lover. Within this context, the degree of the mercy given to Marius becomes even greater. Marius is trapped in a skirmish taking place during the French Revolution in Paris and is on the verge of dying. It is right at the moment when Marius gives up hope, bruised and bloody, that Valjean rushes into the deadly line of fire of his own free will, heaves Marius upon his back, and travels for three hours through the sewers of Paris to deliver him safely home. This is but one example of Valjean’s merciful character.
The greatest example of this mercy, however, is received by none other than the man who is after Valjean’s blood, Javert. This police inspector follows Valjean’s trail through the entire story, from the tiny town that Valjean makes his start to the monastery where Valjean and Cosette live for nine years in hiding. In reality, Javert is the only person separating Valjean from being a free citizen. The opportunity to eliminate this man is given to Valjean; as he is in the process of saving Marius from his death, he is given the duty of assassinating Javert who is a prisoner at the time. What an opportunity was Valjean given, to eliminate Javert, the only wall between him, Jean Valjean, and complete freedom! But does Valjean take it? The answer is no; and why not? Because this is not the way of life which Valjean had promised the bishop he would live. In that great skill of mercy which Valjean had acquired over the years since his meeting with the bishop, he lets Javert, his natural enemy, go free.
By receiving undeserving mercy from a bishop, Valjean understands how powerful compassion and forgiveness is and in turn sheds that same mercy and forgiveness to those around him. Through the character of Jean Valjean, Victor Hugo shows how the power of mercy, compassion, and forgiveness can transform convicts like Jean Valjean into “obscure heroes... greater than the illustrious heroes” (224). (730)
Isaac Middleton
American Literature 11/12
December 10, 2009
Merciful Men in Les Miserables
“Life, misfortunes, isolation, abandonment, and poverty are battlefields which have their heroes; obscure heroes, sometimes greater than the illustrious heroes” (224). In Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, Jean Valjean is one such hero. Crushed by the “millstone of our social system” (193), Valjean is a convict and an enemy to the society which “spat him out” (36). Yet, by being shown mercy, Valjean becomes a changed man whose mission in life is to be merciful and forgiving. Through the character of Jean Valjean, Victor Hugo expresses in Les Miserables the theme of the power of life-changing mercy and forgiveness.
“Who is this man?... He is a man who saves others” (414). In the beginning of the story, this statement is not true of Jean Valjean, for he is, in fact, a convict, having served 19 years in the galleys for stealing a loaf of bread. Though he is eventually released, he is not a changed man. What changes him is the mercy of the bishop Bienvenu, who excuses and forgives Valjean for stealing his silver plates; Bienvenu even reprimands Valjean for not taking the candlesticks as well. Through this mercy, Bienvenu challenges Valjean to “become an honest man” (30), a challenge which Valjean takes to heart and determines to live up to.
It is only after receiving this mercy that Valjean becomes the “man who saves others” (414), full of mercy and forgiveness. One recipient of this mercy is Cosette, a young girl who Valjean takes into custody because of a promise he had made to her dead mother. Valjean raises her himself and finds that it is not difficult to love her.
Another example of Valjean’s mercy is seen in Cosette’s lover, Marius. This is important because it is the first time that Jean Valjean’s desire for mercy conflicts with his feelings of hatred towards someone. Cosette loves Marius with deep romantic conviction, and Jean Valjean is jealous of this. Valjean loves Cosset “as his daughter, ... as his mother, ...and as his sister” (403). Cosette is the only person Valjean ever loved in his life; the attention he receives from her on a daily basis means everything to him. Now, what with a stranger receiving just as much love from Cosette, Valjean feels as if both he and the ten years he had spent raising her are pushed aside to make way for a newer, more romantic lover. Within this context, the degree of the mercy given to Marius becomes even greater. Marius is trapped in a skirmish taking place during the French Revolution in Paris and is on the verge of dying. It is right at the moment when Marius gives up hope, bruised and bloody, that Valjean rushes into the deadly line of fire of his own free will, heaves Marius upon his back, and travels for three hours through the sewers of Paris to deliver him safely home. This is but one example of Valjean’s merciful character.
The greatest example of this mercy, however, is received by none other than the man who is after Valjean’s blood, Javert. This police inspector follows Valjean’s trail through the entire story, from the tiny town that Valjean makes his start to the monastery where Valjean and Cosette live for nine years in hiding. In reality, Javert is the only person separating Valjean from being a free citizen. The opportunity to eliminate this man is given to Valjean; as he is in the process of saving Marius from his death, he is given the duty of assassinating Javert who is a prisoner at the time. What an opportunity was Valjean given, to eliminate Javert, the only wall between him, Jean Valjean, and complete freedom! But does Valjean take it? The answer is no; and why not? Because this is not the way of life which Valjean had promised the bishop he would live. In that great skill of mercy which Valjean had acquired over the years since his meeting with the bishop, he lets Javert, his natural enemy, go free.
By receiving undeserving mercy from a bishop, Valjean understands how powerful compassion and forgiveness is and in turn sheds that same mercy and forgiveness to those around him. Through the character of Jean Valjean, Victor Hugo shows how the power of mercy, compassion, and forgiveness can transform convicts like Jean Valjean into “obscure heroes... greater than the illustrious heroes” (224). (730)
Monday, December 7, 2009
A Blessing
So I was (shall I use the term blessed? That word is used too loosely. Maybe I'm just being skeptical. But no. There is no room for skepticism today. I shall use that word) blessed by the money people who love God. I was in need of a Macbook Pro, and they gave me 1,000 dollars just for that. They had recently sold their house ( a really nice house) and are now full-time missionaries in Honduras (keep them in your prayers pleeeeeeeaaaaaase. They're running this house-orphanage thing and the kids aren't really taking to them that well. They're great people, the Brewsters).
Anyway, so now instead of blogging on my usual 1999 Dell Laptop that runs as fast as something that's really slow, I blog now upon a silvery, beautiful piece of technological craftsmanship. Such a...yes, I'll say it... blessing.
And you know what this means?
Video blogging.
And even better... Facebook Video Wall Posts.
And let's not forget skyping. We shall skype.
And one of the main reasons I got this thing is to record without any unnecessary technological setbacks. I shall be coming out with music much more frequently, I shall.
Yes, I shall.
Anyway, so now instead of blogging on my usual 1999 Dell Laptop that runs as fast as something that's really slow, I blog now upon a silvery, beautiful piece of technological craftsmanship. Such a...yes, I'll say it... blessing.
And you know what this means?
Video blogging.
And even better... Facebook Video Wall Posts.
And let's not forget skyping. We shall skype.
And one of the main reasons I got this thing is to record without any unnecessary technological setbacks. I shall be coming out with music much more frequently, I shall.
Yes, I shall.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Concerts and Bar Owners.
Last night I got a taste of fame-- a smidgeon of the glory. Last night I was universally known as a musician.
A lady with a big puffy microphone introduced us, "Isaac Middlenon y Sonia Bauman." Yeah... she got my name wrong.
I played two songs with Sonya. Both of which the mixing was terrible. And my mic! What a mic... It kept slipping down and down and down and down until, as Mr. Willcock says, I really did look like a typical English musician, hunch-backed and bended knees with my chin glued to my chest. The microphone was my enemy.
Other than those minor setbacks, the concert went fantabulous. We sang Yesterday, by the beetles, and Fix You, by coldplay, both of which "sounded exceptionally well," so la gente says. You can never trust la gente. Sometimes it lies.
Sonya left the stage and, once I fixed my rebelious mic, I sang Viva La Vida, by Coldplay, and Hey Jude by myself. I think Viva La Vida was necessary, because it caught pretty much everybody's ear, and they started listening. Tada!
And then was the kicker... Hey Jude. At first the croud was a little unresponsive, but then they all started getting into it. By the time I got to, "Na, na, na, na...Hey Jude...", well, let's just say, the feeling was incredible. There was a group of 20 or so kids about my age in the back, swaying, all the guys trying to impress like two girls who sat trapped in the middle. All the NTM missionaries sang right along. Mr. and Mrs. Murray sat secludedly in the midst of everything and kept trying to catch my eye while they held their hands in the air and swayed back and forth. And then, of course, the old men, closing their eyes as if in prayer, feebily clapping their hands together in front of their nose, mouthing the words, "Na, na, na, na, na, na....Hey Jude..."
I ended the song with Elton John's chorus, "I hope you dont mind, I hope you dont mind, that I put down in words... How wonderful life is now you're in the world."
I left the stage.
A 30 year old guy with a 100% bald head and a painfully spiky ring on his finger met me back stage and grabbed my hand and shook it. "I have a bar," hey says. "You're good. I want you to play at it. What's your cell phone number?"
I don't remember my cell phone number.
Emily's right beside me. "Emily. What's my cell phone number?"
"Uhhhh...." says Emily. "Oh! It's *** *** *** ****"
Hah! Fooled you! Would I really give my cell phone number away to the world just like that? No. No I wouldn't.
The bar owner types the unsaid numbers swiftly into his shiny blackberry. "We'll keep in touch," hey says.
After that, everything was kind of a haze. I do remember getting pictures with... what was it...three girls? I dont remember. And I played the musician, asking the girls what their names were, shaking their hand, telling them it's good to meet them. Honestly, I only remember one of them. She was Laura. Or was it Lola? I don't remember.
Oh! and I also got to sign an autograph. Which is slightly ironic, because I don't have a signature. I decided simply to print my name, and kind of swirl everything together at the end. It looked poetic.
I promise i wont let this temporary fame get to my head. I'm one of the little people, just like you.
I'll remember the little people, I promise.
A lady with a big puffy microphone introduced us, "Isaac Middlenon y Sonia Bauman." Yeah... she got my name wrong.
I played two songs with Sonya. Both of which the mixing was terrible. And my mic! What a mic... It kept slipping down and down and down and down until, as Mr. Willcock says, I really did look like a typical English musician, hunch-backed and bended knees with my chin glued to my chest. The microphone was my enemy.
Other than those minor setbacks, the concert went fantabulous. We sang Yesterday, by the beetles, and Fix You, by coldplay, both of which "sounded exceptionally well," so la gente says. You can never trust la gente. Sometimes it lies.
Sonya left the stage and, once I fixed my rebelious mic, I sang Viva La Vida, by Coldplay, and Hey Jude by myself. I think Viva La Vida was necessary, because it caught pretty much everybody's ear, and they started listening. Tada!
And then was the kicker... Hey Jude. At first the croud was a little unresponsive, but then they all started getting into it. By the time I got to, "Na, na, na, na...Hey Jude...", well, let's just say, the feeling was incredible. There was a group of 20 or so kids about my age in the back, swaying, all the guys trying to impress like two girls who sat trapped in the middle. All the NTM missionaries sang right along. Mr. and Mrs. Murray sat secludedly in the midst of everything and kept trying to catch my eye while they held their hands in the air and swayed back and forth. And then, of course, the old men, closing their eyes as if in prayer, feebily clapping their hands together in front of their nose, mouthing the words, "Na, na, na, na, na, na....Hey Jude..."
I ended the song with Elton John's chorus, "I hope you dont mind, I hope you dont mind, that I put down in words... How wonderful life is now you're in the world."
I left the stage.
A 30 year old guy with a 100% bald head and a painfully spiky ring on his finger met me back stage and grabbed my hand and shook it. "I have a bar," hey says. "You're good. I want you to play at it. What's your cell phone number?"
I don't remember my cell phone number.
Emily's right beside me. "Emily. What's my cell phone number?"
"Uhhhh...." says Emily. "Oh! It's *** *** *** ****"
Hah! Fooled you! Would I really give my cell phone number away to the world just like that? No. No I wouldn't.
The bar owner types the unsaid numbers swiftly into his shiny blackberry. "We'll keep in touch," hey says.
After that, everything was kind of a haze. I do remember getting pictures with... what was it...three girls? I dont remember. And I played the musician, asking the girls what their names were, shaking their hand, telling them it's good to meet them. Honestly, I only remember one of them. She was Laura. Or was it Lola? I don't remember.
Oh! and I also got to sign an autograph. Which is slightly ironic, because I don't have a signature. I decided simply to print my name, and kind of swirl everything together at the end. It looked poetic.
I promise i wont let this temporary fame get to my head. I'm one of the little people, just like you.
I'll remember the little people, I promise.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Concierto
Tomorrow I have a concert. Pray for me!
I will sing these songs:
Yesterday- the Beetles.
Fix You- Coldplay
Viva La Vida- Coldplay
Hey Jude- the Beetles.
And if the crowd appears ecstatic about this show and shouts encore, (i'm not sure how that is in spanish...) I will sing Bodies. I like all of these songs.
I shall wear my pea coat and a white shirt with a black tie.
I will sing these songs:
Yesterday- the Beetles.
Fix You- Coldplay
Viva La Vida- Coldplay
Hey Jude- the Beetles.
And if the crowd appears ecstatic about this show and shouts encore, (i'm not sure how that is in spanish...) I will sing Bodies. I like all of these songs.
I shall wear my pea coat and a white shirt with a black tie.
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