Behind The Keyboard

The other night I had coffee continuously in my mug for about 6 hours straight; it wasn't because I didn't drink it. I'm pretty sure I could have drained it about three times, but the constant in/out flow and draining and refilling from multiple locations with who knows who many types of coffee, creamers, flavorings, and finally a bag of chai spice tea "just because" ensured my coffee mugs are definitely getting their fair share of use. This is a normal occurrence for me, though. Even right now, I'm drinking a dirty chai as I write this; after a busy day, this is exactly how I want to spend my evening: drinking some hot, caffeinated beverage and writing up my next blog post.

I started a blog for much the same reason as many other people: I love to write.

I've been writing since I was 12, and much of my early writings came in the form of plotless short stories and half-witted attempts at novels. A large part of my mind is glad that I no longer possess the notebooks that contained my earliest writings, because I'm certain they were terrible to behold in a literary sense. Still, there remains the small portion that would like to revisit some of those old writings to see how far I have progressed in the last decade. When I was 16, I joined a website called Booksie and to this day have been publishing writings that I either determined to be good enough to publish or simply didn’t want to lose.

Still, there were things that are difficult to express through song, poetry, and short stories. While Booksie offers a creative outlet, I sometimes grow tired of expressing myself in cryptic form. Sometimes, I grow tired of waiting for somebody to come along and decipher the coded messages. So when I was 20, I started a journal that I use intermittently and it is something I've found to be incredibly useful. However, the journal has a singular drawback: it feeds my natural tendency to be hermit-like and secretive. After reading blogs by others that I've known, I thought it might be a good idea to gander into the open and start my own.

Like a journal, a blog allows me the opportunity to let solidify some of my abstract thinking into concrete form while generally forcing me to write (and think) cohesively. Unlike a journal, it offers me an outlet through which I can share bits and pieces my life with others. I have two blogs currently; one is home to academic papers I've typed and happened to like enough to share with others, while the other is more recent and home to more personal things, such as thoughts and stories from my own life. The title of this blog is Epitome of Toast. "Toast" also happens to be one of my online screen names. Unfortunately, some people do not share my fascination for this delicious substance, and I get asked the question.

"Why do you call yourself toast?"

To be fair and honest, the alias "Toast" resulted from a brief fascination with the famous song by Bob and Tom and initially held nothing more than arbitrary significance to me. However, there is another bit to the story: I honestly love toast. Peanut butter toast and tea (earl grey, Irish breakfast, or chai spice, please) happens to be my favorite snack. Fortunately, this is a fairly cost-effective snack. Unfortunately, toasters are not dorm-approved because they are considered to present a fire hazard. As a result, toast simply does not happen right now. Sigh.

Now that, you know where "toast" came from, I will explain where "Epitome of Toast" originated. I did not think of "epitome of toast" on my own. On the forum I frequent the most, my screen name is Ben Toast and there is a section for personal journals. When I joined, I titled my journal "Insert Title Here". After a while, one of the moderators thought it funny to change the title to "Insert tile here ------>> I AM THE e·pit·o·me of TOAST". Shortly after, somebody somewhere (I honestly do not remember who or where) first asked me the question:

"Why do you call yourself toast?"

At this point in time, I was all about quick, witty, sarcastic answers, and so spouted a response that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would slowly begin to change the way I think about life.

"Without Him, we're all toast."

A quick, in-the-moment reply planted itself in my mind and, like a seed, began to grow. I didn't grow into the idea; it just grew in my mind and, as I would read the Word, little snippets here and there would feed it. Phrases like "apart from Me you can do nothing" and "no one comes to the Father except through me" began to take on meaning in my mind; that is, they were more than simply words on a page. This led me to begin examining the way I was living and the things I was actually doing. What I found was that my lifestyle was inconsistent with the truth of the statement I made; I was living without Him. What seemed at first an intangible concept was coming to life, and the implications prompted me to make a choice between knowingly (and thus intentionally) living on in sin, or repenting and surrendering myself to Christ. It is a choice I must still make every single day.

Now that I've explained that, let me explain to you why I've chosen to name my blog "Epitome of Toast."
 

e·pit·o·me

1. A person or thing that is a perfect example of a particular quality or type.
2. A summary of a written work; an abstract.

Toast (slang)

1. Destroyed, terminated, ceased functioning, ended abruptly be external forces.

Perfect example of being destroyed. That is what I am without Christ. Being a sinful person, without Christ, I am toast. How could I measure up to the standard of perfection? Apart from the grace that is found in Christ, I am left to be measured up the impossible standard set by the Law, a standard with one purpose: to show that it is impossible to please God on my own. Outside of Christ, I'm toast. I believed it in my mind, but it wasn't until later that I came to these three scriptures that show it to be true:

For the Law made nothing perfect. (Herews 7:19)

For by works of the Law no human being will be justified in His sight, since through the Law comes knowledge of sin. (Romans 3:20)

Nevertheless knowing that a man is not justified by works of the Law but through faith in Christ Jesus, even we have believed in Christ Jesus, so that we may be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the Law; since by the works of the Law no flesh will be justified. (Galatians 2:16)

Without Him, we're all toast.

Yet there is hope:

But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them. (Ephesians 2:4-10)

It is a hope comes through a promise given to us by God Himself: He cares for us and will never leave us (Deuteronomy 31:6, 8; Hebrews 13:5; Joshua 1:9; 1 Peter 5:7), and He is always with us (Matthew 28:20) So even though I'm toast without Him, He will never leave me. All I have to do is stay near to Him with everything I have in me. But it takes everything, and it costs everything. To say it could cost anything less than everything to follow Christ would be to sell myself short of the truth; anything short of the truth is hopeless. But my hope is not for what is within today, but what lies on the other side of tomorrow. To quote one of my favorite songs, "Forever seems so far away, but we're on the brink of eternity." The hope of eternal life in Christ is what I have my eyes set on.
 

And that hope is what keeps me going on. To quote another song, "Until my time arrives, love is the reason I'm alive."

I hope this explains the name of my blog. If not, then trust that it's not just a silly name. I write because I love to write, but not only that, I write because I know that even if I see my own story as insignificant, to someone else it could be just the encouragement they need. I write because each person has a story that is invaluably important. I write because I want to share the things that I have come to terms with in hopes that somebody else might be spurred toward Christ as a result. Beauty from ashes, life from death, hope from hopelessness; that is the epitome of toast. 

Later edit: of course, "epitome" is also defined as "a summary of a written work; an abstract." So, if "Toast" is me, then the epitome of toast could also be an abstract of my life. That seems much more simple.

Driving to Work: A YouTube Trend?

Apparently there is a "trend" on YouTube of people uploading videos of themselves driving to work. Of course, this comes as no surprise to me, as I have spent many nights wandering through the depths of all the strange videos that YouTube has to offer. Still, many of these videos have several thousand views. I suppose one might find it about as fascinating as watching Go Pro footage from somebody flying their model plane around outside (because, yes, I've watched a few of those myself).

So, while I work on my next "actual" blog post, here is a video of me driving to work in Silver Spring, Maryland sometime during July 2013 that I found buried somewhere in the depths of the footage I got when my boss lent me his Go Pro for a couple weeks.

If there are other funky video trends on YouTube that you think I should check out, comment and let me know!

Now Playing

I love listening to music.

I own two stereos; one is my room with speakers that stand waist-high while the other, smaller system currently resides in a friend's dorm room. I also own two sets of headphones, have invested hundreds of dollars into physical CDs (call me old-fashioned, but I like them in the car), and love going to local music shows (because without local talent, there would be no music industry). The internet has become a very useful tool in discovering new artists and in expanding my taste in music. Even as I write this, I've got my Marleys on while listening to my playlist on—you probably guessed it—Spotify. 

Since acquiring a Sony Walkman CD player at 12 years old, I've immersed myself into the world of music. My taste has changed over time, and my involvement in music has gone from being a passive spectator to being an active participant, but music has been, is, and will probably continue to be a prominent part of my life. I'm even social about music; if I find a song that I like, I'll share it on Facebook or Twitter. Here's what I'm listening to right now as I write this sentence. That round, orange icon at the top of this page will take you to a magical place where you can listen to some of own recordings. The green Spotify icon will open my Spotify profile where you can listen to my playlists; I also have some of my playlists listed to the side of this post. I could go on and on about this, but I think you get the general idea.

I really enjoy listening to music.

Music is a beautiful thing, and I believe it reflects God's creative nature. The world would be a pretty boring place without art, and Western culture is rather Athenian in how much art plays into our everyday lives. Do you even know how many different genres and subgenres of music there are? Even using 12-point font, I could cover every square inch of wall, ceiling, and floor space in my dorm room attempting to list artists, from famous to unknown, from 1900 until now and probably still fall pitifully short. Think of how many songs each artist or band has put out. A 2011 estimate states there are approximately 97 million (and counting) recorded and published songs out there. That's a lot of music. It's all part of our culture, and we're all a part of it.

If you're reading this, odds are you probably enjoy listening to music a great deal as well. If so, that's great; comment below this post with some of your favorite artists and we'll compare tastes! I'm always looking for more artists and styles to color my musical canvas. But still, if the odds are true and you enjoy listening to music like I do, then I have a very important question to ask that will set the tone of the rest of this blog post.

What's in your 'Now Playing'?

Put another way, what are you listening to? There's a phrase I've acquired from my mom: garbage in, garbage out. Though I'm sure she wasn't the first to coin it, it's incredibly true. What you take in greatly affects what you put out. This is scientifically shown when it comes to music. The tone and feel of music does have an impact on your thinking depending on where you are in a moment of time. There's a reason why we each have our favorite styles of music, while saving other kinds for rarer occasions. It's important to be mindful of how various styles and tones of music will affect you during different moods.

Here is how this presents itself personally. There are times where a certain kind of music will spur me toward Christ, while there are other times where that same type of music just irritates me and makes it difficult to focus on Christ. Some people over-spiritualize this and say that if you're not "feeling Jesus" (or something to that effect) while hearing/singing "worship" music, there's something wrong in your relationship with Christ. Fortunately, this is not true. The fact is, this is a psychological phenomenon that is normal. Even if little is known as to why, your mood affects your taste in music, and thus music affects you differently depending on your mood. This is why I enjoy a wide taste in music. Also, if I might confess, I sometimes find "worship" music a bit off-putting. Stone me.

Lyrics also play a very (and, I might argue, more) important role in how music affects your thinking. This much I can tell from personal experience: lyrics have a substantial impact on your thinking. If you're pumping messages into your ears that aren't pointing you toward Christ, guess what: they're pointing you somewhere else. No matter how innocent a song may seem, if the message is not pointing you toward Christ, then it's time for it to go. I used to make excuses for this all the time. "Well, really, any song can point you toward Christ in some way…" Yes, but is it really pointing you toward Christ, or are you justifying compromise? "But this song fuels me and gets me going."  Music will definitely fuel you, but what is it fueling? Ask yourself: Is this fueling my passion for Christ, or is it fueling my flesh?

The same could be said for movies, TV, video games, etc.

There is no one-size-fits-all solution to this. Each person is wired differently and it is important to spend time figuring out how music affects you personally. On the one hand, don't let anybody tell you that you shouldn't listen to something just because they don't like it (I've even had pastors try to pull this on me); on the other hand, be sure that what you're listening to isn't actually distracting you from Christ. If you're just not sure, try silence. God often speaks in whispers, and sometimes what is needed most to be able to hear Him is silence.

We live in a noise-saturated culture, and we're willingly pumping it into our ears. Admittedly, I am no exception; on Friday I exhausted a 9-hour playlist as I spent the day sitting in my room while working on designing my blog and doing assignments for class. However, I'm very meticulous in censoring what I'll purposefully put into my ears because I know that it will eventually make its way into my heart and, little by little, shape who I become. It doesn't happen overnight; the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and each willful step will leave an imprint on your heart, whether good or bad.

It comes down to what you're willing to intentionally take in. Exposure for the sake of understanding is one thing; I frequently check out all sorts of music so I can understand the messages that teens are pumping into their ears. However, intentional repeated exposure, purposefully subjecting yourself to it over and over and over, continually pumping it into your ears, is going to have an influence on your thinking and leave a lasting impact on your heart. As Proverbs 4:23 says, "Above all else guard your heart, because everything you do flows from it."

I may not be the most "churchy" Christian; I hang out with a lot of people that some 'churchgoers' might scoff at, and I hang around a lot of places that some folks might not approve of. I greatly enjoy attending (and performing) open mics at bars, and some of what I sing is 'secular' for the sake of connecting with people in a way that they can understand. Admittedly, I still listen to music that I probably shouldn't be listening to, and it's something that I'm still wrestling with and trying to understand for myself. I don't know if this is something I will ever master.

A pastor of a church I used to attend would frequently say, "If you don't like what you're growing, then change what you're sowing." The music you purposefully listen to on a daily basis is packed full of seeds which you are willingly sowing into your own heart. Eventually, and inevitably, it will bear its fruit. Suddenly, 'innocent' doesn't appear so innocent after all. So, again, I will ask (to you, and to myself).

What's in your 'Now Playing'?

Cutter

My teenage years could be summed up in the scars which adorn my body.

I can feel them when I fold my arms. I see them in the mirror every time I take off my shirt. There's a reason why I prefer to wear jeans instead of shorts. I look down and see exactly where and how I slashed my left arm open in the bathtub, the way the lines start thin on one side and become thicker toward the other. The story continues in the white dots flanking alongside two of them, telling of how my arm was sewn back together. Another scar, near the bigger of the two, tells its own story of a morning before school. I remember resting the box cutter against my arm and flicking it downward, watching for the first time as my skin split open. Another scar on top of my forearm stands as witness to a week spent scratching myself with a blade I had removed from a pencil sharpener. The stories could continue on for pages.

Each scar contains a memory, some of which still cause me to cringe upon remembering. Admittedly, some memories are clearer than others, while some I no longer remember at all; for the most part, though, I'm still able to recall when, how, and even why most of them came to be. Each scar had its own reason for coming to be; some were placed out of boredom while others were conceived in depression or anger. Each stands as a reminder of a life once lived, loathed, and nearly ended. Each scar reminds me who I used to be.

Cutter.

That was the label given to me during my junior year of high school by the powers that were in what seemed a pitiful, if concerted, effort to objectify my need for help. Dangerous, Unpredictable, Unstable, and Untrustworthy were other names I frequently heard used to fill in the blank after "Ben is…" I was surrounded by teachers, counselors, a therapist, and a social worker. Each had their own two cents to throw in about what I should or shouldn't be doing and who I should or shouldn't be spending time around. Ironically, it was in the company of those I was told not to be around where I found acceptance while those who were put in place to help me didn't seem to want to be around any more than I wanted them around.

The school board placed me under continuous supervision after finding razor blades in my backpack so they could make sure I wouldn't hurt myself "or others". This meant I couldn't be anywhere on school grounds alone. I had to go straight to the office every morning upon my arrival at school, where I would sit and wait for a teacher to come and escort me to my first class. At the end of each class, while all the students filed out of the room, I had to wait for that same teacher to come and escort me to my next period. I was told it was for "protection." When I inquired, "Whose?", they said "Ours." When I asked, "From whom?", I was told, "From you." Shortly after, I was expelled because I was labeled as a liability.

Cutter: that is what they called me.

It was in the isolation of my bedroom that the depression grew deeper and the cutting more frequent. I developed a staunch preference for jeans and dark shirts because they hid fresh wounds. I became an avid internet-dweller as well, and it was during this time that my penchant for online forums came into being. I developed "online" friendships with people all over the world (some of whom I still talk to today) and spent a lot of time talking to people from behind a keyboard. Since I wasn't going to school, I spent several hours a day playing guitar while my dad was at work, and my musical abilities grew. If I wasn't playing guitar or tooling around on forums, I was writing and publishing short stories, poems, and songs.
 

I had plenty of positive, constructive outlets through which I could vent emotions, yet the cutting continued. There was plenty to keep myself occupied with and people from multiple time zones to talk to at any time I wanted, but I still spent the vast majority of my time trapped in self-loathing. Ironically, it was a place I came to feel comfortable in, with walls that I built myself and carefully maintained. I spent so much time in my room that it felt like a prison and I had to get out. I spent so much time in my mind that it felt like a casket, one I didn't want to leave because it had a nice pillow. At one point, the lines between abstract and concrete blurred, I lost all sense of time, and I didn’t even leave my room; simply going to the kitchen became a frightening endeavor, and the back yard exhausted my energy.

I had cut myself off from the real world.

Eventually, thanks to my dad and my therapist, I was somewhat forced to get out. This presented itself in the form of a job. Still, the cutting continued and it was during the summer of 2008 that the two most prominent scars on my arm came to be while I laid in a bathtub. I only attempted suicide one time; I couldn't bring myself to do it again. I couldn't even bring myself to cut again after that. It took a long time to forget what the inside of my arm looks like, but I still remember watching my blood literally pour out. It was a very gruesome experience, and one that I will spare you the disgusting details of. Nevertheless, my days of self-mutilation were over.

I began to change after that. Christ began to slowly work in my heart, gradually drawing me toward salvation. It wouldn't be for another six or seven months that I'd finally respond to that prompting, but when I did, my thinking began to transform. I was still primarily focused on negativity like I was before, but this time I began to see an alternative to what I was doing. I knew I didn't have to stay stuck in the same cycle; I could choose to pray and ask God for help. This simple knowledge would save my life on numerous dark occasions during subsequent years. To some it may seem like a crutch, and frankly, it was.

It still is.

I'm not ashamed to admit that there are times when I have to use Jesus as a crutch. I'm not perfect; I fall down, and I need help getting back up. To say anything different would be a downright lie. Sometimes I sustain an injury and I need help walking afterward until it heals; sometimes, I need a crutch. And it's during those times that I'm reminded how blessed and loved I am that the King of the universe would want to be that crutch for me. It's just as humbling as it is helpful, but that's what my Father does for His kids (1 John 3:1).

Yet the cutting continued.

Wait, what? But, the cutting had ended, right? Ben, you're not making any sense here.

Though I wasn't cutting myself physically, I was doing so in other ways. I would look at my scars and say things like, "If I wasn't so stupid, I wouldn't have these scars. If I had done it right the first time, I wouldn't be alive to see where I was sewn back together." I traded razors for damaging relationships, broken pieces of glass for the bottles they came from, doubt for drugs, and dove deeper into self-loathing. I wasn't cutting myself physically, but I was still a cutter at heart. The only difference was that I had traded immediate, short-term self-harm for progressive, long-term self-harm. Though I knew of better alternatives, I was still convinced of the idea that what I was doing was all I deserved. I longed for better, but I couldn't bring myself to accept anything more than what was right in front of me.
 

This "cutter" mentality, as I'll call it, blinded me to anything beyond a moment in time. I clung desperately to anything and everything that I could immediately take hold of. I felt like my life was spinning out of control. To an extent, it was; to another extent, it had always been spinning out of control and I was finally realizing it. I can't pinpoint exactly when things began to change, because the truth is that coming out of the "cutter" mentality was a long, slow, and painful process. I had listened to stories of people who had virtually "changed overnight", as if something clicked in their sleep and they woke up with a totally new outlook on life. All these stories told me was, "If so many people are experiencing this, what's so wrong with me that I can't break out of this?" It all made me feel worthless.

I wasn't cutting anymore, but I was still a cutter.

Even today, it can be difficult. There are times where I have to slow down, get away from everything and everyone, stop, and listen for that still small voice that speaks light into my darkness. There are still times where I have to humble myself and listen to God reminding me that I am His child. There are still times where I want to cut myself off. I'm not sure if this desire is fed by my introversion or the desire feeds my introversion, but I do know that if I'm not careful, I can get trapped in a cycle where both become true simultaneously; at that point, it takes somebody stepping in and pulling me out. This actually happened just last semester. It took pneumonia to slow me down enough for two good friends to intervene.

I don't think I'm alone in this. The cutter mentality is something that I think a lot of people struggle with. There are some that I can see it in just as clearly as I can see my face in a mirror. It's one thing to know what the Bible says about how God sees us, but it's another thing entirely to believe it. I confess that my number one struggle is believing that the words recorded in Scripture which speak of who I am in Christ are actually true. Even as a fourth-semester advanced Greek student who is able to dissect the original texts and see what the English language is incapable of expressing (which, by the way, blows my mind every single time), there are times where it feels like nothing more than words on a page. Just like my past sometimes feels like nothing more than scars on my arm.

It's true: my past could be summed up in the scars which adorn my body.

It very well could be, but that's not the end of the story. Yes, there are scars on my body that speak of a life once lived, loathed, and nearly ended, but that's not all that they speak of. They speak of a kind of grace which can only come from God. Anyone who has heard my testimony has heard me say this: Jesus found me in a bathtub full of my own blood. And it's true; that's the day when He started to stir in my heart. But Jesus isn't the only one who found me there; it was my dad who pulled me out of the tub and took me to the hospital. I can't even imagine what that felt like; how much more does Jesus agonize over us while interceding on our behalf to God?

When I look at old photos of myself, I scarcely recognize who I'm looking at; not because of what I looked like, but because of who I was. I'm sure many of you can relate. Who I am is nothing like who I was, and that is by the grace of God. If you're like me and find yourself sometimes stuck in that "cutter" mentality that says "I don’t deserve anything more than this," then I have 20 things that have been shared with me which I would like to share with you.

 

1.   You are a new creation in Christ. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

2.   Your new self is righteous and holy. (Ephesians 4:24)

3.   You are a friend with God. (John 15:15)

4.   You are a child of God. (John1:12; 1 John 3:1)

5.   You are an heir with Christ. (Romans 8:17)

6.   You are justified and redeemed by Jesus Christ. (Romans 3:24)

7.   You are not condemned by God. (Romans 8:1)

8.   You are chosen to be holy and blameless before God. (Ephesians 1:4)

9.   You have been accepted by Christ. (Romans 15:7)

10.  You have been set free from the law of sin and death. (Romans 8:2)

11.  You are redeemed and forgiven by the grace of God. (Ephesians 1:7)

12.  You are a member of Christ's body and a partake of His promise. (Ephesians 3:6)

13.  You have wisdom, righteousness, sanctification and redemption in Christ. (1Corinthians 1:30)

14.  You are the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

15.  You are no longer a slave. (Galatians 4:7)

16.  You have been set free. (Galatians 5:1)

17.  You have access to God through faith in Christ. (Ephesians 3:12)

18.  You are one who overcomes in Christ. (1 John 5:4)

19.  You are chosen and loved by God. (1 Thessalonians 1:4)

20.  You have been made complete in Christ. (Colossians 2:10)

I am not who I used to be, and if you are in Christ, neither are you. I may have to remind myself of this on an almost-daily basis, and I may sometimes need other people to step in and remind me of it, but it is true nonetheless. There will always be the voice from my past which whispers names that I used to be labeled with: "Cutter, unstable, unpredictable, untrustworthy, untrustworthy, dangerous, depressed…" The list could go on. I can choose to listen to that voice, or I can choose to listen to the only Voice that really matters, which speaks names like, "Loved, Worthwhile, Made New, Redeemed, Chosen, Complete, Accepted, Free, Heir, Partaker, Righteous, Friend, Son, Forgiven…"

I know which voice I choose to listen to.

What about you?