Rick Hill asked me tonight if I had done any blogging and I realised that I hadn't so I shall try harder from now on..
Hiddenness
2 days ago
Tuesday 17 February 2009
Friday 9 January 2009
To Write Love On Her Arms..
This is a charity that I've admired, loved, supported, contributed to, and promoted since I just heard about.
www.twloha.com
Here's the mission statement and story..
To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.
VISION:
The vision is that we actually believe these things…
You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known. You need to know that your story is important and that you're part of a bigger story. You need to know that your life matters.
We live in a difficult world, a broken world. My friend Byron is very smart - he says that life is hard for most people most of the time. We believe that everyone can relate to pain, that all of us live with questions, and all of us get stuck in moments. You need to know that you're not alone in the places you feel stuck.
We all wake to the human condition. We wake to mystery and beauty but also to tragedy and loss. Millions of people live with problems of pain. Millions of homes are filled with questions – moments and seasons and cycles that come as thieves and aim to stay. We know that pain is very real. It is our privilege to suggest that hope is real, and that help is real.
You need to know that rescue is possible, that freedom is possible, that God is still in the business of redemption. We're seeing it happen. We're seeing lives change as people get the help they need. People sitting across from a counselor for the first time. People stepping into treatment. In desperate moments, people calling a suicide hotline. We know that the first step to recovery is the hardest to take. We want to say here that it's worth it, that your life is worth fighting for, that it's possible to change.
Beyond treatment, we believe that community is essential, that people need other people, that we were never meant to do life alone.
The vision is that community and hope and help would replace secrets and silence.
The vision is people putting down guns and blades and bottles.
The vision is that we can reduce the suicide rate in America and around the world.
The vision is that we would learn what it means to love our friends, and that we would love ourselves enough to get the help we need.
The vision is better endings. The vision is the restoration of broken families and broken relationships. The vision is people finding life, finding freedom, finding love. The vision is graduation, a Super Bowl, a wedding, a child, a sunrise. The vision is people becoming incredible parents, people breaking cycles, making change.
The vision is the possibility that your best days are ahead.
The vision is the possibility that we're more loved than we'll ever know.
The vision is hope, and hope is real.
You are not alone, and this is not the end of your story.
The story is about a girl called Renee... I'll let it tell itself..
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
To Write Love On Her Arms are such an amazing charity. They have an awesome of raising funds for their cause, through selling clothes. These are cheap, boring clothes.. they are actually quite cool and trendy looking. I have bought a t-shirt and hoody already. Please help TWLOHA because we all know someone who is or who has suffered.
VISION:
The vision is that we actually believe these things…
You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known. You need to know that your story is important and that you're part of a bigger story. You need to know that your life matters.
We live in a difficult world, a broken world. My friend Byron is very smart - he says that life is hard for most people most of the time. We believe that everyone can relate to pain, that all of us live with questions, and all of us get stuck in moments. You need to know that you're not alone in the places you feel stuck.
We all wake to the human condition. We wake to mystery and beauty but also to tragedy and loss. Millions of people live with problems of pain. Millions of homes are filled with questions – moments and seasons and cycles that come as thieves and aim to stay. We know that pain is very real. It is our privilege to suggest that hope is real, and that help is real.
You need to know that rescue is possible, that freedom is possible, that God is still in the business of redemption. We're seeing it happen. We're seeing lives change as people get the help they need. People sitting across from a counselor for the first time. People stepping into treatment. In desperate moments, people calling a suicide hotline. We know that the first step to recovery is the hardest to take. We want to say here that it's worth it, that your life is worth fighting for, that it's possible to change.
Beyond treatment, we believe that community is essential, that people need other people, that we were never meant to do life alone.
The vision is that community and hope and help would replace secrets and silence.
The vision is people putting down guns and blades and bottles.
The vision is that we can reduce the suicide rate in America and around the world.
The vision is that we would learn what it means to love our friends, and that we would love ourselves enough to get the help we need.
The vision is better endings. The vision is the restoration of broken families and broken relationships. The vision is people finding life, finding freedom, finding love. The vision is graduation, a Super Bowl, a wedding, a child, a sunrise. The vision is people becoming incredible parents, people breaking cycles, making change.
The vision is the possibility that your best days are ahead.
The vision is the possibility that we're more loved than we'll ever know.
The vision is hope, and hope is real.
You are not alone, and this is not the end of your story.
The story is about a girl called Renee... I'll let it tell itself..
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Travelling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.
To Write Love On Her Arms are such an amazing charity. They have an awesome of raising funds for their cause, through selling clothes. These are cheap, boring clothes.. they are actually quite cool and trendy looking. I have bought a t-shirt and hoody already. Please help TWLOHA because we all know someone who is or who has suffered.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
I recieved an e-mail from Xtaster, a band promoting company I do some work for, asking me to complete a short survey. I sometimes do these to up my status to get to bigger gigs =] but this one really got me thinking...
Here's what it said...
A quarter of young people say they are often down or depressed, according to a report by The Prince's Trust.
Based on interviews with 16 to 25-year-olds, the trust said the survey revealed an "increasingly vulnerable generation" without family support.
More than one in 10 young people in Wales claimed life was "meaningless", with many feeling stressed.
The Action for Children charity said children had to be given a say in issues that shaped their lives.
More than 2,000 young people across Britain were interviewed online for the report, including a sample from Wales.
The Prince's Trust Cymru director Michael Mercieca said: "The index reveals an increasingly vulnerable generation. Young people tell us that family is key to their happiness, yet too often we find they don't have this crucial support."
Billy-Joe Millward, 20, from Penarth in the Vale of Glamorgan, was bullied at school and her parents split up when she was 14.
She suffered from depression after leaving school when she was unable to get a job.
"I ended up getting into a bad sleeping pattern, sleeping in the day and staying awake all night because I was depressed," she said.
"I wasn't really eating much, I wasn't drinking anything practically. I would either just sit there in my room for nine hours straight and then go to sleep or just continuously sleep.
"I never really did anything. I never watched films, TV, nothing. It's quite difficult going through all that, it seems like there's nothing out there for you - there's no help, there's no nothing."
Ms Millward managed to turn her life around by taking part in a 12-week team programme run by The Prince's Trust.
She won an award for her efforts, became a volunteer and was later employed by the trust to help deliver the course to others.
"Up until that point, I had very little self belief, was severely depressed and didn't think I was good enough for anything - a result of the years of bullying that I had suffered," she said.
She has since left the trust but hopes to go to university later this year to study child psychology and eventually help other young people.
"Now, I'm in my own flat, I've got a car, a full-time job. Even if somebody told me this time last year I was going to be here, I wouldn't have believed them," she said.
"I can't believe where I am."
Peter Kellner of YouGov, which carried out the research on behalf of the trust, said: "Most young people have a positive outlook on life, but our youth index reveals a significant core of unhappy people under age 25.
"Their concerns need to be addressed, and not only for the sake of the youngsters themselves, for if we ignore their concerns, we shall be storing up big problems for the future."
The Action for Children charity's head of public policy, Ross Hendry, said: "These issues affect children across the UK. Our own research shows that young people often feel confused, frustrated and misrepresented when they are not empowered to play a positive part in society.
"Children must be given the chance to speak out, be heard and participate in setting the political agenda about issues affecting their lives, if we are to build stronger, safer and more inclusive communities."
The Prince's Trust was set up by Prince Charles in 1976 to help young people develop skills and move into work, education or training.
Survey Results:
· 12% of young people in Wales claim life is meaningless
· 26% say they are often, or always, down or depressed
· 39% say they are less happy now than they were as a child
· 21% feel like crying often or always
· 44% say they are regularly stressed
· Those not in work, training or education are twice as likely to feel their life has little or no purpose
· Across the UK, young people feel relationships with family (56%) are key to overall happiness
Friends (52%), emotional health (29%), money (16%) and work (14%) are also important
What do you think?
Is life really that bad for young people these days?
---
I want asked to leave some feedback on this article.
The statisitics amazed me to be honest but at the same time they didn't. It got me thinking.
Sex. Drugs. Image. Alcohol. Must Have.
These are a few of the things that I, as a young person myself, is bombarded with every single day. It’s not good for the head.
With all these things bombarding me, I find myself asking myself these questions..
1. Billy, why are you so fat? You need to lose weight because girls won’t like you the way you are.
Billy, you cannot wear those jeans! People will laugh at you.
Billy, take one more drink. You might be tipsy but nobody will know.
Billy, you need to get a mac, everyone has one!
My head goes into an absolute pickle. I can’t be happy the way I am. I need this to be happy. I need to be this way to be happy.
I know that this is wrong...
Philippians 4 verse 4 says...
“Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice!”
I love this verse. It’s one of my favourite verses in the Bible.
It really speaks to me about this whole topic of “Is Life Meaningless?”
Joy. What is joy?
To me, joy is contentment. Being content. If you’re joyful, you are content.
People expect you to be the best you can be. People sometimes need you to be the best you can be.
Look like this.
Speak like that.
Be like him.
Go with girls like her.
Buy this.
Buy that.
Get rid of that uncool thing.
The list is endless.
What do I do to these things thrown at me? I try to become it. I fix my hair a certain way. I speak a certain way to look “cool.” I try to be like a certain celebrity or person to fit into a group. I go for the stunners in the clubs. I go out to buy iphones, macs, or whatever latest gadget is on the market. I get rid of my favourite Primark jacket because everyone is wearing a Superdry jacket.
It’s so hard not to fall into the pit of want, want, want. For a young person nowadays, you have to be the best, look the best, have the best.. if you don’t, you’re uncool and the pressure on you to be “cool” is so difficult.
What this world needs is contentment.
Content to being yourself. Content to know that no matter what, even if I look a certain way, don’t have certain things, that you can be happy. Being joyful in what you have.
I think contentment is the start of happiness. Real happiness.
If only the world could do this, but I know, it’s easier said than done...
Sunday 4 January 2009
A New Year...
I've not blogged in quite a while so I thought I'd post some reflections on the year just pasted..
2008 was a funny year. Alot of ups, downs and even a couple of those wiggly lines where you're not sure if it's up or down.
Here's the run down..
January 08 - March 08
Headed to Canada to work up north Ontario in the Muskoka Woods Sports Resort. I never thought I'd ever see so much snow and temperatures hitting -35 degrees some days and wind chill of -47 degrees. Met loads of new friends and learnt alot about myself. I know it challenged me to get fitter, healthier and endure hardship. While I was there, I was stuck with the dreaded gallstones so that cut short my time by a month.
April 08 - May 08
I came home from Canada. Worked a bit for YFCNI in Belfast and took part in a missions trip in Killyleagh. The craic was ninety the three or so weeks I was there. Met an amazing group of guys from John Brown University from America.
June 08
June was a bit of a blur. Worked alot for eventsec. Got to see Leonard Cohen, Damien Rice, Avril Lavinge and Jonas Brothers as well as standing in a remote car park looking at steel scaffold for twelve hours on end. Not exactly my cup of tea.
July 08
The summer always seems to be quite eventful. Summer Madness was alright. I think I'm getting too old for festivals like Summer Madness. Maybe thats just me. After SM, I went to work security at the Oxegen Music Festival outside Dublin. It was absolutely amazing but at the same time it was hell! Stuck in a metal blue shed with one window that doesn't open watching a single television for 14 hours on end was death but afterwards I got to see some amazing bands like Kings Of Leon, We Are Scientists, The Verve and loads more.
Summerserve was two days after Oxegen and it was an experience to say the least. I was assistant leader to a lovely girl called Melanie and we had an awesome team. Thinking back, Summerserve was great but I wish I did more you know? I guess alot of us come out of missions like that. I'm not sure what I learnt, if anything but it was great to say the least.
August 08
August was a quiet month though a bit of partying and loads of chineses were on the cards.
September 08 - 31st December 08
The first of September begun Y-One for me. Two weeks of training. One week of retreat.
I was placed in Lisburn and I love it. It's been hard and stressful at times but I do thrive on the work. It's been hard behind the scenes but whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger I guess. I think I'm learning loads of stuff but I know I've alot in my head so hopefully by August we'll see what the outcome is.
2009 I hope will be a good year. It's a new year, new start, a new thought process..
I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions because everyone breaks them. It's like a new years resolution is to break your new year's resolution.
So what I want/need to do in 2009:
Early 2009
1. Talk less, listen more.
2. Learn how to empty my head of junk, those stupid dead thoughts you don't know that just become a burden.
3. Lose weight, get fitter. I'd love to go for 18 stone that I am now.. to about 14-15 stone. I'd like to start playing football again.
4. Grow up.
Late 2009
1. Move away from Northern Ireland.
2. Become better musically. I'm starting to regain my love in music.
3. Make money, learn to save.
I wish everyone a happy 2009 and bless you as you attempt your own new years resolutions.
Wednesday 17 December 2008
'Mon The Biffy!
Biffy Clyro. A long time in waiting for me to see one of my favourite bands. Alot of hype and excitement from my friends told me that this was going to be a cracker. Wasn't I right?
Travelled down to Dublin around 5pm and was lucky enough to hit no rush hour traffic. Breeze.
The Academy was tonight's venue. Intimate and perfect for my first live Biffy experience.
Fighting With Wire were the support. The local lads from Derry were off the hook. I remember watching these boys rock out the Empire in Belfast many years ago and boy have they got better!
Cahir's crunchy, hard driven guitar work and "let's kick the dung out of you" vocals exploded through the Academy and the Dublin crowd were left in awe of this newly signed band. "Everyone Needs A Nemesis" certainly a highlight as was the new single "Sugar." You couldn't ask for a better support act and I tip Fighting With Wire to big things. Fighting With Wire set the standard for Northern Irish acts in my opinion. Breathtaking.
Then onto the reason we live. Biffy Clyro hit the stage. In excitement what they will play first.. "Living Is A Problem Because Everyone Dies" is the perfect introduction and I'm left in utter excitement after only the first song. "Saturday Superhouse" follows and, being one of my favourite Biffy tunes, didn't disappoint. Playing classics like Just Boy and Joy. Discovery. Invention brought back those memories why I love rock music.
A beautiful chilled out acoustic set from Simon Neill in the middle was pure bliss. I've been to many gigs before but never have I heard a crowd sing along so well to a band than I did tonight.
Back to rock. A good mixture of classics and new tunes went down a treat. Highlight of the night was when they played "Only One Words Comes To Mind." This was the first song I heard of Biffy Clyro. From this, I fell in love with the music of three Scottish lads. They've changed over the years but still blow me away with their music and album after album.
Good to see Biffy on for an encore playing "57" It just couldn't of been a better night without it.
This definitely was the best gig I've ever been to. Tops Maiden and Leonard by miles.
10/10
Sunday 14 December 2008
Emerging?
I hear alot about these churches that go under the name "emerging church."
I don't really get it. I hear stories of Mark Driscoll, Rob Bell's churches etc being the "emerging church."
I don't really understand. What is the emerging church? Is it a modernized version? Is it something completely different? I hear a friend this morning say that his youth group is describe as like an "emerging church."
For some reason, I have a problem with the term. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I don't understand. I quite like church how it is. I love the old school organs, choirs and pulpits. It's my thing.
I do like a bit of rock and roll worship, hands raised, bums shaking..
How is the "emerging church" different from this? How can you call the "emerging church" the better way of doing church? I have heard this statement from people.
I love church. I used to dislike it. I think people put too much description on church. Church to me is people. A community. A family. A fellowship.
Can you call people "emerging church?"
Wednesday 10 December 2008
Graphic Design Freak
Recently I have become somewhat obsessed with graphic design. I love it! I find graphics interesting and very beautiful. I'd love to be one.
Here is some graphics I found recently that I adore...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
