Gasp!

My volunteering job, selling books. Yes, a bookworm, a writer selling books. How fitting?

Heres a more theatrical view:

Let the light flood into your eyes for the first time. . . 

Sitting at the table, I observe small pockets of people running in a chaotic mess in fruitless efforts to solidify last minute items. A pristine white cloth still drapes over the books on the table. I don’t try to remove it.

“Hello.” I look up. “Sorry, I’m running a bit late. My name is Will.”

“Katie,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” I smile, glancing into his eyes. On his lips a smile forms too. “I guess I should begin with telling you a little about my father and me. Or should I call him Tony? I don’t know how to address him around others.” A wisp of a chuckle passes his lips. He glances thoughtfully, almost whimsically at the glossy covers neatly organized in stacks. Silence follows—as much as silence there can be with people walking and chatting throughout the concrete hallways.

Reaching for one of the books, Wil hands it across the table. “Tony wrote Gasp! a few years ago in hopes to introduce others to a path. A path to new life. Our afterlife. What you and I consider heaven.” I nod, prompting him to continue.

“We’ve been traveling the country for about six or seven years now to spread his ministries. Proclaiming his word by surrendering our entire lives to God, we can save our life and heal our soul. By spiritual word as their food, we nurture those who know God. And we help those who have not met God, find him. We are the light that shines in their darkness because God has chosen to shine through us. We have the love of his word. And you, you have the compassion to bind us together.”

. . .feel the blood course through your veins. . . 

            People walk, strut, meander past the table—each person with their own unique style. Some decide to dye their hair spectrums of the rainbow, while others use their skin as canvas to convey art, and even others follow a gaggle of people huddled together. I observe, but don’t call out.

            With shoulder length chestnut hair veiling her face, I watch as she carefully handles the book. Meticulous in her movements, she flips over to the back cover. Yet, I don’t speak. I wait, knowing her eyes scan the words, absorbing his message.

            Her eyes meet mine.

            My cheeks flush, while heat rises to my face. “Are you interested in buying the book?” I ask tentatively ready for the rejection to come. It wouldn’t have been the first time tonight, if she places the book back on the table before leaving. That’s happened more times than I would like to count.

            Her immediate response of “yes” is the only encouragement I need to retell the background of the book.

             “Tony Nolan is our inspirational speaker for tonight’s event,” I begin. “He is encouraging our faith in God. We need less of ourselves, more of God. Our plan is not God’s plan. In the end, though, God’s plan will have us right where he wants us to be, for he knows better than ourselves.” I feel a spark of light arise in my heart.

“It is our relationship and understanding with God that Tony wants us to build, maintain and preach. Yet in our lives, social norms confine us. We want our friends, our family, our peers, our co-workers even if they are not our favorite, to join the kingdom of Heaven--our afterlife. But it would be ridiculous for us to say scream it to the world because unfortunately we want to keep our relationship with our friends, families, peers, co-workers. To touch on the topic of religion and afterlife could form a barrier.

             “This book, however, with a dedication box on the third page, is meant to be a gift.” This light inside of me grows with each passing word, becoming brighter. “It’s meant to be shared. It is meant to have an impact. And it’s an easy way to approach the subjects we are hesitant to speak about.” The light, I feel has flooded my body, taking every path through my veins. With light comes warmth. And with warmth comes happiness and fulfillment. “For that, God is able to touch lives that otherwise may not ever hear his word.”

. . .find the truest version of yourself by knowing the one who knows you even better than you know yourself.

A constant flow of people cycle through, grabbing a book or two, giving me cash before filing into the autographing line. Some bills crisp. Some folded. Some crinkled.

Tony’s black marker scribbles across the title page. Happiness and smiles is equal to the amount of tears shed--tears of sorrow, relief, joy, redemption. I watch in awe as the millions of emotions mingle in conversation. Light that initially radiates from Tony and Wil envelopes the people surrounding them. And knowing that I can help cultivate, alight and brighten the non-existent or dim light from others, gives a new meaning to God’s purpose.

The line dwindles to the last few people, Wil sets a stack of books onto the Tony’s small autograph table. Each book is given to a new owner with their own message of preserving hope.

He turns to me. “And you name is?” Tony asks.

“Katie.”

“You know, Katie, people ask me all the time why I write ‘God Bless You’ in all of the books I sign. And I write it because it’s my prayer for you. I am always praying for you.” His loopy handwriting wrote a reference to the bible: Psalm 147:3.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

“That’s what you’ve been doing today, Katie. You’ve been healing others by spreading our ministry and God’s word. You have compassion that you’re willing to share. That’s why God granted you to be here today. It is volunteers like you who allow this tour to be a success.” I smile. “And to you I will be forever grateful.”

I place my hand on the glossy cover. “The pleasure is all mine. It is by God’s will that I have served you. And by all means a pleasure to place my life with God.”

. . . And [his] love will always remain.

The bolded phrases are part of a monologue cited from “O God Forgive Us” a song written by for KING and COUNTRY

Smallbone, Joel; Smallbone, Luke; and Mosley, Seth. "O God Forgive Us." YouTube. YouTube, 16 Sept. 2014. Web. 21 Feb. 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3Rn9FOOHl8>.

When Opportunity Knocks

Vibrations fill my chest, and songs fill my ears. I am breath taken as I look to the stage.

How did I get here,  I wonder, to experience this opportunity? Not on my own. Only with the help of two friends was I able to secure a volunteering spot for this year's Winter JAM Tour.

Winter JAM is a Christian music tour featuring 10 bands as well as an inspirational speaker. Throughout the winter months, these bands travel the United States proclaiming their faith and engaging thoes who are willing to listen.

I was able to join in with the ministry for one evening, and it altered my life for the better.

Although I was not able to see every set preformed, since I came to volunteer, I heard every song, felt every vibration, and sensed every emotion. The performances from all 10 bands including Jeremy Camp, Skillet, Francesca Battisetlli, Building 429, for KING and COUNYRY, NewSong, Family Force 5, Blanca, About a Mile and VERIDIA were budles of energy. Each had their unique aspects,  in which I was (and still am) blessed to have experience.

Thank you to the two people, Tori & Anna, who heared a calling to invite me to volunteer. These girls give me strength and confidence. Ultimately, they share this undeniable bond of a positive message.

I wouldn't change anything for the world as I now follow my own enlightening path that had been strengthened through the messages proclaimed by these musicians.

UPDATE

So I know it's been a while since I've been blogging actively. And it's not that I don't have material, I do. As I was recently talking to a friend, my interest sparked to post a few of my experiences.

Within the next two weeks or so, be ready for me to flood this page with my experiences, meetings and music about the Winter Jam concert in Cincinnati, which came through town on February 20th.

Yes, We all have to be Vulnerable

 

 

I was given the opportunity to be introduced and watch Ted Talk videos recently--not that I have a ton of time on my hands (that's not the point though). The lessons are phenomenal and no doubt have a connection to everyone. After watching The Power of Vulnerability one distinct memory came to mind.

 

Looking back, freshman year could've been yesterday. I wonder where all the time has gone. Three years. Three years gone. And one more one the way. I cannot see myself, however, as a Senior and to those who came after me, you are all still freshman. I don't want to see you grow up. But just as it is hard for me to see you all get older, I do too. Next year I'll be gone, although, but as yesterday began one of many "last", "last" does not mean "to end"; it allows for new opportunities. Most importantly, "last" never means forgotten.

 

Memories from the freshman year are still clear as day.

 

Creative Writing had to have been one of my favorite classes. And fortunately it was 4th period, the longest class period. As the twelve weeks dwindled to two, my final portfolio had to be created. I knew it our final pieces had to be edited, not by just anyone though. My teacher was taking on one-to-one conferences to edit pieces. Small naïve me had no idea what to ask her or how to approach editing my creative writing. I just wrote. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. In my eyes it was not something for all eyes to see.

 

But let me take this moment to be vulnerable and let you read this piece:

 

Answer Me

            Whipping against my skin, the wind agitated me.  Autumn leaves colored the bleak path ahead, dancing in the gust while carrying hints of memories I once forgot.  My bare feet seeped into the softening soil, slowly suctioning to the gooey surface. 

            Distant thuds of waves rebounded off the cliff in a reverberating echo.  Oceans mixed with a slight hint of forest pine swirled into my nose, provoking tears that became suppressed behind my mask, hidden to the world.  A tight smile, wired and jagged, pricked at my lips waiting to be shown to my world of hatred, I permanently lived in.  Emotion left my eyes long ago, turning a warm spring meadow to an unrelenting sea storm. Brewing. Just beneath the surface as if one drop of rain could unleash overpowering anger.  Enraged.

            Seizing one last full breath, I tore away from the exposed trial dragging my mud-soaked feet from the ground.  Feeling lighter than a feather, I sprinted away to the last place I’d ever see.

            Thinning from a bushel of tangled trees, I gained speed aggressively.  Increasing.  Breaths became shallow pants.  Air fleeted my lungs, coursing my throat dry.  Crimson hair caught within the mangled branches unsuccessfully blocked a road I’d already started to race through.

            From smooth to rough, slick to rugged, rocks slit my feet open.  Gravel flew in the air just as unseen words.  No solid surface to find through thick or thin.  Current physical pain slipped unnoticed as I gasped for air to inhabit my burning lungs.  

Red flashed behind my closing eyes.  Scarlet slid from open wounds plaguing my damaged figure.  A disembodied voice collapsed my world. Words began rebounding off walls, slicing each gash deeper than the last. 

Holding back whimpers another impact rattled throughout my languished body.  Rage consuming eyes connected to mine. Power enveloped his pupil’s, feeding off freshly produced pain. Wanting more; fruitlessly.  Abandoning the first body, distorted by broken bones, a humorless laugh curled from his lips.  Lifeless.  Cruel.  Inhuman. 

“M-mom?” my voice croaked from my throat.  Screams echoed silently inside my head.  Unceasingly.  Ringing pounded my ears.  Endlessly. 

Boots incased my vision, hiding my non-breathing mother.  Cocking back the heavy leather boot, it collided into me, jolting myself away from my living nightmare.  Inescapable.  The edge loomed ever closer, awaiting my fateful decision.

            Dwelling in the horizon, a half disk sunk under the ocean consuming the clear blue sky in shades of zealous pinks and passionate oranges.  Sparse clouds decorated the crumbling sky allowing rocks to perish under my weight.  Whistling wind howled against my ears.   Ripping through thin cotton clothes, the gust tainted the temperature touching my chilling skin.

            Mere seconds passed before frigid ice water cloaked my body, scattering my mind of any coherent thoughts.  Pressure enclosed above me, shoving me beneath a crystalizing surface, with help of falling momentum.

            Time wouldn’t heal scars covering my suffering body, for it didn’t exist anymore.  Icing water numbed my skin.  A cold fire ignited within me alighting dusted memories to ashes. Vanishing along with the rest of me, I was nothing more than a hallucination.

            A wish granted.  A life taken.  For once death listened to my silent cries of despair.

That's the exact advice my teacher gave  me. Be vulnerable. For writing, it builds characterization and connections. And same for people. It opens up for all other emotions. But to numb vulnerability, numbs all emotions. Vulnerability is not something we like, and it's most definitely not something we want to give into. But if we want to live wholesomely with love and belonging there will always be sacrifice.

This vulnerability applies to every aspect in life, no matter if we want to believe it or not. Knowing when to allow ourselves to be vulnerable is the key.

Feels Like Tonight

Nos·tal·gia [no-stal-juh, -jee-uh, nuh-]

NOUN

A wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time; yearning for the return of past circumstances, events, etc.

 A negative connotation is linked to the definition, however, after reading Chuck Klosterman’s “Nostalgia on Repeat” I reflected on my views.

Klosterman claims, by transporting ourselves in to an earlier draft, it is up to the individual to find meaning to our repeated actions and miss the way things used to be. I agree.

I find myself always lost in music, running through phases of a few favorite songs. For me it’s natural to listen to one song repeatedly. I dive into the lyrics. I pick apart their meaning. I fall in love. But before long, I move on to find another intriguing song begging for my ears to listen.

Someday, though, my playlist—fill of songs I love, I hate, I admire, I despise—I reverse the clock for a moment, no matter the evoked emotion. A memory flashes behind my eyes and for a span of three, four, five minutes I wish I could return to the time. Weather I tell myself to live for the moment, learn, live, forget, songs are tied to moments I wish I could change.

One song that comes to mind is “Feels like Tonight” written and performed by Daughtry. I knew of this song at a young age. The carefreeness of it all overwhelms me. Yet instead of bring back time to when I first knew the song, I am reminded by the lyrics. I remember times where I could’ve not ruined a moment, an event, a friendship. I remember the days I could’ve made a difference, yet just let the moment slip through my fingers.

Now if my nostalgia is positive or negative, I can’t decide. But I see it more as a balancing point for me. For me, I am able to find equilibrium of my idealistic values.

If it’s obtainable, I highly doubt the perfect me—inside my head at least—to ever make an appearance. If it’s unobtainable, at least this nostalgic person is worth striving for.

Where the Wild Things Are

"Stay, don’t go. I’ll eat you up, I love you so.”

Quite a memorable line from Where Wild Things Are, so memorable it resonates. Resonates especially with Trenton Woodley, lead singer of Hands Like Houses.

In the song "The Definition of Not Leaving", Woodley quotes this particular line. And explains his connection in a recent interview with Sights of Sounds Magazine:

"I liked...the idea of the innocence of childhood which can be extended to anything. We are just human beings and while we learn different behaviors we’re still the same like, conscious soul. So I think I love the idea that this kid is just exploring what’s in front of him and he still wants to belong, he wants to rule, he wants to run, he wants to just experience everything. That idea of 'stay, don’t go, I’ll eat you up, I love you so' is just kind of reflective of not necessarily a negative side of humanity, but a side of us that is self-driven. You know we see the world through our own eyes and feel the world through our own senses? That’s kind of what it is. 'I’ll eat you up, I love you so,' is just me being who I am in my life. It means that it may have negative effects but I still want to love and be loved."

With this view on life, soon after signing with Rise Records, Woodley and the rest of Hands Like Houses approached a broader horizon of opportunity than just the city of Canberra, or even Australia. The horizon extended to America.

Jump starting themselves, they already had a fan base. Yet, credit goes to the 2012 American Warped Tour for solidifying the American fans. Not only is it a great place to launch a new album, according to Woodley, the lessons learned, the friendships gained and the fans interaction are the most rewarding part.

"It is a great way to interact and we like being out there and enjoying it on our own terms."

Rhythm guitarist, Alex Pearson adds:

"[This] was the first tour where we really got a chance to have “meet and greets” [air quotes]. Anyone can come up and talk to us but it just gave us the possibility for people to line up and just have some time to talk...We try to be as approachable as possible, and it’s the hardest thing to convey to people...When someone meets like either of us and they just sit there and don’t know what to say, but we are actually normal people."

After solidifying a fan base across the ocean, and a summer spent in our "foreign country", Hands Like Houses returned home. Capitalizing on their Australian Warped Tour, more fans recognized Hands Like Houses.

In 2015 the band hopes to return to the American Warped Tour. But who says you have to wait another year and a half to see them live?

No one!

Hands Like Houses were given the opportunity to headline an American Tour that begins May 6th.

And this is the song that hooked me...

This Is War

My eyes are opened.

Distrust, corruption, destruction are all under the radar. We turn a blind eye. Fixation is not in the equation, until Jared Leto took the courageous step to unveil the interworking of Record Labels.

After watching Artifact a documentary of 30 Seconds to Mars law suit for 30 million dollars with EMI’s record company, the corruption finally comes into view.  Not to say there have not been other law suits for artist being undermined—I could name numerous others, some even being with EMI—but Leto, the lead singer of 30 Seconds to Mars, documented the process.

It began with Leto, his brother Shannon, percussionist, and guitarist Tomo Miličević, deciding to break away from EMI. The original deal made in 1998 consisted of creation of five records. In California, though, even if the deal has not been satisfied, but has extended over seven years, which it had, the band has every right to breakaway. 30 Seconds to Mars knew this.

EMI on the other hand refused to accept their loss. Suing for 30 million, the band would still be in 2.7 million dollars of debt after paying.

With this in mind, Leto wanted to take this to court. In front of a jury, who would side with a musician opposed to a record label who obviously holds all the cards? Any label holds the cards. They have control of the money, even if they don’t exactly know how their industry fully works—the reason it is crumbling, and it has been since rock bands started in the 50’s and 60’s. In essence, the labels have been taking advantage of their musicians. For those who don’t care about the money and more about the music, and for new musicians who don’t necessarily know how the music industry works, this is a visual:

Credit to: Artifact Documentary Produced by Bartholomew Cubbins

The record label gives $250,000 as an advance to the artists, who then make the album. Say the album sells 500,000 copies at ten dollars. That’s five million dollars in revenue. But the record label takes 85% cut, removes the $250,000 advance, and all the money that has been given throughout the process of making the album—producing, marketing and touring. Leaving the artist $425,000 in debt, this carries from one album to the next.

This is not every case, though. The music industry has begun to fall as teenagers and others scam the internet for “free” music; therefore, record labels have created a new deal called 360. Instead of allowing the money from merchandising directly support the band, record labels are capable to collect money from every facet in which money is given.

Which is why I believe 30 Seconds to Mars should have stayed independent. They would be funding themselves, which they did during this law suit—creating a recording studio in the basement of a Hollywood Hills house, buying their own producers & technicians, marketing themselves. I have to have an omnimax view, though.  Leto brought it into perspective with one, simple, but not so simple statement. “Name one band that is independently labeled that has continued worldwide success.” Miličević could not answer.

Not to say people have not made it big over the internet because it has happened. But those people are sought out by the record labels. They’ve established themselves, and rarely turn down the deal. They are well aware of the opportunities that are available to them by taking the deal. Sadly, though, not everyone knows of the corruptness of the music industry.

If there is anything I wish I could’ve seen 30 Seconds to Mars create would be a new business. If they had taken advantage of their opportunity when EMI began to regroup by firing 2,000 employees, 30 Seconds to Mars had an opportunity to hire and create their own business. Their goal was to change music business, they did. But if they created their own record company with employees who had experience and be a welcoming, non-blinded business who clearly taught their artist and musicians of the interworking, eventually others would have to follow suit. There would be trust—no blackmailing, no suing, no undermining.

But 30 Seconds to Mars did a tremendous job in standing up for themselves. The long journey, stress-to-the-brim days, and sleepless nights paid off. After 211 days of disputing lawsuit a new contract was signed to terms written by 30 Seconds to Mars and accepted by EMI.

Although, 30 Seconds to Mars was never paid for their first two albums, their third album This Is War, inspired by the lawsuit sold over 2 million copies.