you are an arm
maybe a hand or finger
as important as a toe
or rib
but not God.
you have a place, a role, a duty
crafted from God’s own hands
you must
sense it, love it, keep it
and remember that it takes more
than a pinky to flourish.
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Al “Very Good Boy” Allen
Grieving is weird right now. It seems silly to write about, lament, and ultimately mourn the death of a pet while the world is on fire around you, but I need to do it for my own sake. I have discovered rather quickly that I am a public griever. When I feel like I am breaking inside the only thing that gives me peace is sharing the burden with others. So I hope you will indulge me.
Albert Allen passed away this morning peacefully at the Triangle Veterinary Referral Hospital. He was just over eight months old. We found out a few days ago that the pain and sickness Al had been feeling stemmed from an incredibly rare liver disease that affected him his entire, short life.
Al and his brother (from another mother) Vinny, were mine and Haley’s first pets. They made us a true family. It is not that Haley and I weren’t family before, but I speak for her when I say we felt “whole” with them. We felt new responsibility and now new grief, but a whole lot of love. They came into our lives at the start of the New Year and have been the bright spot ever since. During this time of being at home 24/7, we basically spent every waking minute with the dynamic duo.
Even though they were not truly brothers, they hit it off right away. So many people remarked how they had never seen two cats, related or not, love on each other like they did. They helped bathe each other, but most adorably, they took naps together, cuddled up in a ball. Our hearts melted every time.
Al loved laying in the back room where the sun poured in. He loved hiding under the couch when the sun was hitting him too hard and he needed a break. He loved new people. He loved tearing up blinds. He loved being held. He loved dramatically jumping on the dinner table when he was hungry. He loved sleeping under the covers with one paw on me and one paw on Haley. He loved letting out the sweetest meow when it was time for a treat. He loved trying to find the worst place he could scratch me on my body. He loved flying down the steps in the morning when the first person woke up. He loved watching TV with us for some reason. He loved laying on laundry like it was his palace. He loved wagging his stump of a tail as if he had one as long as Vinny’s.
The last picture we have of Al is him being held by Haley with his hand on her face. It was taken in the brief time he came home in-between hospital visits when we thought he was going to be OK. I like to think of it as Al telling Haley that it is all going to be all right and that he will see her again. Either that or he is just really flaunting his new fur boots the doctors gave him.
When we got the boys, I jokingly said they needed to have middle names. I declared that Vinny was now Vinny “Cheese” Allen and that Al was now Albert “Very Good Boy” Allen.” Last night, as I held Al in the vet on the operating table and was an unrelenting blob of tears, the doctor told me we had done all we could do and then looked me straight in the eyes and said “He is a very good boy.” She had no idea about his middle name, but it made me feel a little bit of peace.
A Very Good Boy he was and always will be.
2010s
My favorite movies of the 2010s in order by release date:
THE TREE OF LIFE (2011)
FRANCES HA (2012)
THE MASTER (2012)
THE PLACE BEYOND THE PINES (2012)
WHIPLASH (2014)
BOYHOOD (2014)
MANCHESTER BY THE SEA (2016)
HELL OR HIGH WATER (2016)
LA LA LAND (2016)
MOONLIGHT (2016)
LADY BIRD (2017)
ROMA (2018)
ONCE UPON A TIME…IN HOLLYWOOD (2019)
MARRIAGE STORY (2019)
Eat your hearts out.
dwelt among us
when will we wake up
to
the lord
in the garden
who sweats and prays for strength
when will we wake up
to
the son
in the wilderness
who sees past the material
when will we wake up
to
the baby
under the stars
who cries and screams
when will we wake up
to
the Christ
on the couch
who praises the anointer
when will we wake up
to
the logos
on the mount
who blesses the peacemakers
when will we wake up
to
the healer
at a pool, in a home, on the road
who corrects our blindness
when will we wake up
to
the king
at the table
who breaks the bread
when will we wake up
to
the mother father
on a knee
who calls for the children
when will we wake up
to
the man
in the river
who is blessed by the dove
when will we wake up
to
the shepherd
in the field
who never abandons her flock
Famous Flower of Manhattan
One of my favorite Avett songs deals with the natural tendency to want to hold on tightly to something meaningful and beautiful and stow it away for onseself. Scott Avett writes about finding a flower in the middle of New York City and wanting to take it home with him. To tear it from the bricks that it lay in and save it from city strife. Instead he leaves it there, realizes his selfish desire to uproot it, sees it flourish from afar, and notes how the flower is much prettier than here with me.
It is a lovely tune with a great banjo part and it feels more like a story than a song most times that I listen to it. He gives another example about how people want to put bluebirds in cages, but then the world can’t hear them sing. I have always loved Famous Flower of Manhattan because the story Scott is telling is my own in many ways.
While Scott finds something he holds dear and wants to keep it for himself, so too am I notorious for finding something I love deeply whether it be a band or a movie or a place and become so passionate about it that I don’t want to share it with anyone else.
Sometimes I can’t help myself and I eventually force Place Beyond the Pines or Al’s Burger Shack onto everyone I come across, but a lot of deeper, more meaningful things than a movie or a good burger I struggle with presenting and want to pluck up, like Scott’s flower, and keep. So, when the time presents itself to speak on behalf of this thing that is so dear to me, I flail. I balk. I hesitate.
This happened recently to me when I stumbled across Bob Crawford at a local church and had the hardest time expressing to him what he meant to me. How is it possible to explain the peace Don Sutton’s voice calling an Atlanta Braves game on the radio brings to me? Or the deep resonation that Wendell Berry’s The Mad Farmer Liberation Front brings to my soul? David Foster Wallace touches on this when he writes, “How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.”
This period of my life has really engulfed me into these types of feelings. I am graduating from UNC, which is home, and my family is moving out of the house I grew up in, which is home.
There is so much there to talk about. The friendships I have made, the moments I will forever remember, the walks home from campus, the wonderful teachers, the brilliant classes, the sprints to Franklin Street, how? How? How is it remotely possible to attempt to eloquently explain what these four years have meant?
The backyard baseball, the sprinkler in the front yard, the meals in the kitchen, the laughs in the dining room, the songs in the den, the games in the computer room, the thousands of days spent with my family in that house, how? How is it remotely possible to attempt to eloquently explain what that house has meant for 19 years?
My first inkling is to keep these things to myself. To withhold emotion. To contain the sorrow. To forbid reminiscing. To pluck the famous flower. These thoughts are too meaningful, too important for me to attempt to elucidate what is bubbling beneath the surface.
But instead, as graduation comes and the move begins, I will do my best to let the flower grow. To appreciate the place UNC and 1414 Deborah Circle will always have in my heart. To allow those places to forever remind me the space they have had in my life over the years, for good and bad. To yearn for the good ol’ days and fight for what is ahead. For we must practice resurrection.
— 27 —
pray
without ceasing
they said
but
there is
life to live
people to love
places to go
books to read
music to hear
flowers to smell
rivers to see
mountains to climb
the well
runs
dry
there
in
the days
with no numbers
amongst
the morning breaths
and enemies
the city fights
and bad harmonies
the unmade beds
and crying babies
the poisoned streams
and wet tent memories
pray
without
ceasing
Change in Direction
Some personal news that I felt may be worth sharing as I head into my senior year at UNC.
- I am giving up my sportswriting responsibilities. Surely there will be moments in the next year where I may do a little bit of writing on the side for extra money or writing for a publication because of something pressing, but I’m going to be stepping down from any positions I hold. I have greatly enjoyed my time with both The Daily Tar Heel and Sports Illustrated Campus Rush, and am very grateful for the opportunities that I have been given with those outlets. However, it seems pretty clear to me that pursuing a career in sportswriting is something that I am no longer interested in, which means I should probably start focusing a little harder on the things I want to do. And with that…
- I have dropped my journalism major to a minor. In all honesty, once you decided you are done with something, you really want to be done with it. I have already fulfilled my journalism minor and that will be it for me at Carroll Hall, it appears. I have met many close friends and mentors in the J School and am lucky to have spent three years there, but instead I will be spending my time…
- I am going to write a thesis. So my last year at UNC is going to be one of a lot of reading, writing, and researching. I am writing a thesis with Dr. Bart Ehrman. You have probably heard of Dr. Ehrman before, either because a Christian at UNC told you he was an evil agnostic teacher of the Bible or because he is a New York Times best-selling author and writer of over 30 books. I hope it’s the latter. Dr. Ehrman is in no way an evil agnostic teacher, and is in fact, a really great man who does incredible amounts for the community and is extremely thoughtful and caring toward students. He is going to teach me a lot. He has very graciously decided to be my thesis advisor even though he is extremely busy, and I will spend next year writing on Jesus’ treatment of women in the canonical gospels and its reception in early Christianity.
- I am interning at Chapel Hill Bible Church. Next year I will be interning with the Bible Church’s college ministry. I am lucky to call the Bible Church a home, and I am really excited to be a part of the leadership team, lead a life group, and grow as a member of the church. I don’t have a clear outline of exactly what my duties will look like, but I am really looking forward to being more involved at church and getting to be a friend to our entire college ministry. As I continue to think about what I want to be when I’m a grownup (haha), the idea of working in a church is one that comes up often. And as I get closer to applying for Divinity Schools, I really am pumped to get some first-hand experience in the work we do over at the Bible Church.
- I am still attempting to write a book this summer. I have seven locations spanning from North Carolina to Washington State that I will be traveling to this summer over a five-week period. The Morehead-Cain has given me three wonderful opportunities in the last few summers, and this, to me, is the one I’m most excited about. I am pumped to start meeting incredible people living and working at loving places, and I’m praying that I can do their communities justice in my writing. Whether or not this ends up as some perfectly woven together book or not, I know that it is going to be a fruitful experience for me as a person and writer. And I’m even more excited about 6,800 miles on the road!
I think that’s it! It’s been a busy year.
“Everyday do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it.” –
-da
The Stories We’ll Tell
The most amazing part of the scene on Franklin Street last night wasn’t any fire or tree-climbing hooligan. It wasn’t a camera or a stolen street sign. Nor the sweat dripping from the 55,00 feral bodies littering the streets.
Instead it was the thousands of stories playing out in front of my teary eyes.
There were sons on dad’s necks, with hands raised toward the sky in elation. There were couples kissing. There were sighs of relief. There were grandparents in jerseys. There were grown men brought to their knees. There were tears of joy — and tears for our beloved Marcus and Brice.
Each one, with a different story to tell.
Of course, all of them were elated, but to each of us it means something different. There were no two people on that crowded street that felt the same thing.
For many, it was about redemption and the difference a year makes. For others, it was about seeing that big grin on Theo’s face. For some, it was crying as Roy Williams cut down the nets.
For me, I will remember this team as a bunch of guys who were fun to be around. Sure, I will remember the pain I felt walking into the locker room after the loss last year, but now it will be filled in with the beauty of the confetti falling on their faces.
For Kennedy, Isaiah, and Nate, it was the storybook ending.
It wasn’t a flawless journey and maybe they would do things differently if they had it to do over again, but their journey ended at the pinnacle of their sport. Kennedy cleaned the glass, Isaiah turned it on when we needed him most, and Nate was a calm, steady hand in the backcourt.
For the rest of their days they will say they finished their careers in Chapel Hill as champions.
For Justin, Joel, and Theo, it was their team.
You can make the case that this class will go down as one of the most decorated ever, if they all choose to come back, especially. Justin, a record-breaker, an all-american, a quiet assassin. Joel, the hardest worker I know, a put-the-team-on-my-back type of player, a terror to defend. Theo, a class clown, an incredible passer, a heart and soul of the team.
For the rest of their days they will say they fell, fought back, and found glory.
For the youngsters, Luke, Tony, Seventh, and Brandon, it was their pleasure.
To assist the guys who had been here before, to hit daggers to save the season, to provide crucial minutes off the bench. They learned what it meant to be a Tar Heel. To fight and to rally and to redeem the very depths of a city.
For the rest of their days they will say they learned, executed, and performed when it mattered.
For Roy, it was his life.
It may sound extreme, but you could see it in his eyes. After the Georgia Tech loss to open ACC play. After the big time wins against Louisville and FSU in conference play. After the trials and tribulations of a season. This team, this chance at a title, this journey of redemption — this meant the world to him. To get this group of men, the most fun he’s ever had, on a ladder, in Phoenix, with a pair of scissors in hand.
For the rest of his days he will say he coached a team who believed in him.
Who knows how many people flooded to the streets after the final buzzer. Who knows what was really in the minds of the players and coaches on the floor. Who knows when we’ll be here again.
What I do know, though, is that we all have one hell of a story to tell for the rest of our days.
And once more, a banner to raise.
-da
The Book
As daunting and absurd as it may seem, next summer I will be spending my days writing a book.
I will be traveling across the states (and possibly across the pond) to write a book about loving your neighbor as yourself. To paint a broad stroke, I will visit people, churches, and communities that are doing a great job of loving their neighbors, as we were called to do by Jesus.
The very core of my idea came from Wendell Berry’s “Blessed are the Peacemakers” which outlines the concept that it is fashionable to be a Christian, but not fashionable to act as Christ taught. And although Mr. Berry goes onto specifically discuss the concept of peace and war, he brought me to my own idea: Why do we so often neglect the central tenant of Jesus’ teachings to love our neighbors. From gender to race to socioeconomic status to much more, I hope to find places where people are taking a step further than writing a check once a year, and are desiring and living in a community centered on loving those around them, as Jesus taught.
I am very gracious of the Morehead-Cain for funding and giving me the thumbs-up to road trip around the country and write and meet great people and see beautiful places.
Although I have quite a few people set in stone that I would like to meet, speak with, and spend time with in their respective communities, I am always looking for other ideas and would love to hear any people or places you’ve come across.
–David Ray
“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.” –Henry David Thoreau
Truth and Action
Often it takes moments of backbreaking pain or breathtaking ecstasy to bring us to realizations. Often in the mundane, in the day-to-day, in the nine-to-five, nothing changes. Often it takes victory laps, sunsets, or concession speeches, for us to wake up to the world around us.
At the mountaintops of life, the moments of confetti and kissing in the kitchen, you find this to be a pretty good world, after all. It all worked out, just like they said it would. And in the canyons and valleys, the moments of cold pillows and empty seats, you find this to be a pretty cruel world, after all. It never worked out, just like they said it wouldn’t.
This week, a lot of us have found ourselves at one of these two points. Elation for some, desolation, for others. And although it took me a few days to come to grips with what has happened and put my fingers to these keys, I have found some solace.
From E.B. White, this:
“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”
This is a quote that resonated with me when I was in the mountains in Maine, a few summers ago. I underlined it like crazy, drew arrows, the whole nine yards. It just made sense. There are only so many hours in the day, and there are so many places I want to see and so many things I want to do. Is it possible to save the world and savor it? Is it bad to want to do both?
I would say this is innate for us, to try to find a happy medium.
But I can tell you now more than ever, it should be easy to plan our days. We should arise in the morning with the desire to save the world.
It’s not always quitting jobs and packing bags, though, it’s driving across town when your grandson has a flat tire and sitting with that man at church who has dialysis twice a week. It’s acting. It’s living out love does. It’s not trying to fix people and what they think or do, and just being with them.
From 1 John, this:
“We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us — and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses to help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”
A chapter that I often turn back to in times of doubt and confusion, 1 John 3, has never felt more apt. There are plenty of things we can get bogged down with in life. Many of them good things to worry and think about, like who our president will be and work and play and beauty. These things happen.
But here in 1 John, we get a beautiful reminder. A reminder that we ought to get more often. Jesus painted love on the cross and told us to be love and hope and a bastion of peace for our neighbors.
How can we not do that in return for Him? How can we not try every single day to arise as the moon rests its head and be better. And do better. And speak truth. And love. And never forget why we get to arise, in the first place.
Because we are called to love, like he loved us.
David Allen, Jr. 