the life and times of a twenty year old designer

Archive for April 2011

As promised, it’s New Music Monday!

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It’s been a while. But it seems the general theme of New Music Monday used to be hope. So we’re going to continue in the vein. It’s nice to see an almost entirely hopeful album from a band that’s written some of the most depressing songs I’ve ever heard.

This one’s called “Waiting for my Chance to Come” by Noah and the Whale.


It’s encouraging to hear, especially going out into a summer that’s a blank slate of possibilities and unknowns.

Well it takes real guts to be alone
Going head to head with the great unknown
But there is no sweeter sound, on the kings round I’m bound
And just waiting for your chance to come

Your immortal smile is burned in me
When I close my eyes its all see
Among the canyons and the stars
You’re the guide inside my heart
I’m just waiting for my chance to come


Written by Taylor Webster

April 25, 2011 at 10:57 pm

Posted in Music

Tagged with , ,

One Dark Night

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I promise, I’ve got a post about design coming down the pipeline. And tomorrow will be New Music Monday. I know it’s been a while. As a teaser, I’ve started working on my scenic design thesis, and it’s been fantastically exciting. But it’s the end of Holy Week, so bear with me.

Sitting in a dark room, coming through a dark night, at the end of a darkened week full of frustration.

A thought appeared. Clearer than the written word can describe. In brief…

“Do not let the imperfect love of a flawed and broken people distract you or separate you from the perfect, eternal, and self-sacrificing spirit of Christ.”

Sometimes we let the imperfect, human actions of those we know, especially those who profess a certain faith, to distract us from God, and from how far He is willing to go to chase after us.

Think about it. A young, vibrant teacher, at the peak of his ministry. Crowds of thousands follow wherever he goes. He could have risen up an army, become the most powerful man in the world, directly impacted the lives of millions with a message of love and peace.

But if he hadn’t died. We’d all be shot to hell. Literally.

If all he had done was come and been a perfect man and a fantastic preacher, and lived out his days to a natural end, we would still have been inspired. We would still be telling his story and sharing his parables. But like any contemporary, popular pastor whose name may come to mind, his wisdom would have been temporary. And at the end, none of us would have been able to live up to his message. None of us would have been able to come close. We would have been left with a good story that would have continued to frustrate us because it was impossible for us to attain. Clearly, we didn’t need a teacher. We didn’t need a role model. We needed a savior.

So that’s what he did.

He was rejected, more deeply than any of us have ever been. He was betrayed. He was beaten, scorned, cast aside, and murdered, because we could not understand. He was punished fully for crimes he had never committed, crimes whose blame rests solely on our hands. At any point he could have stopped, cried “Enough!” and returned to a peaceful life preaching in the countryside. But he chose to endure out of love. He sacrificed out of love. He gave up everything he earned and deserved out of love. And he did it for us. Because he loved us. It was the only way to get our attention. It was the only way finally connect us to a Father whose standards we will never meet. It was the only way to stand against the message of a world whose most prevalent messages are despair and separation.

He descended fully into a darkness he had done nothing to deserve. And again, if that is all he had done, we would still be inspired by his story. Because three days after committing the ultimate act of love, loving as no man ever has and no man ever could, he attained the ultimate victory. Three days later, he conquered death. Death. The deepest fear in our hearts. The ultimate unknown. The prospect of dying alone and being separated from all we love and hold dear is terrifying enough that we will do anything to prolong our earthly lives. But this man. This man beat it. This man rose from the grave. And he came back for us. He came back to share with us the message that death no longer holds sway. Darkness is conquered. Love has won. And now the universe cries out to us to join in the celebration of victory.

I think that’s a story worth giving thanks for. It’s a story worth celebrating. And it’s a story worth talking about. As always, I’d love to continue the conversation. As it has always been when I write, my only desire is to share what I know and perhaps provoke some thoughts. Thank you for reading.

Written by Taylor Webster

April 24, 2011 at 7:36 pm

Posted in Life of the Spirit

Afflictions Eclipsed by Glory

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I wrote this about three weeks ago, and was hesitant to post it because I didn’t want to paint a post-mountaintop  experience of a rosy euphoria that didn’t last. My intent tonight was to go back and edit it, but I didn’t want to lose any of the raw joy in attempting to bring everything up to speed.  So. Here’s how it’s been. One month ago I was just arriving in New Mexico, unaware of the love that week would bring into my life. Today I’m writing to you strengthened, encouraged, and excited for a future that’s brighter than any I could have imagined. I’ll be writing soon about the past month, but I’d like to send this out as a teaser. Or maybe it’s the main point. Either way. Get excited. Because what’s best about this story is that it isn’t at all about me. It’s about Him.

Who is this man?

“Hey! How was your spring break?” Hmm. Never had to think harder about how to answer this question. The most succinct answer? Jesus changed my heart and taught me what it means to live in His love for me and for his people. In the right context, this could spark an incredible discussion of faith. But most people don’t talk like that, and good news is hard to declare, especially if you believe it’s got anything to do with Jesus.

Any mention of Jesus is enough to quickly silence a roomful of close friends, or spur them to heated debate. I’ve often wondered just how much these people know of Jesus, and how much of their firmly held opinions and convictions are based on what they have been told by other people. In diving in to an intensive study of the book of Mark this week, I came to the realization that many of us meet Jesus in an odd way. We believe as true what people say about Him rather than looking for ourselves to see who He is.

In manuscripting (dissecting and studying) the first half of the book of Mark at the rate of about 15-30 verses per two hour session, my new friends and I learned a valuable lesson.

He loves us.

This is the love we spend our whole life searching for. It is a love which is constant and unfailing.  A love which pursues relentlessly, working in new and surprising ways, some of which we’ll never understand. A love which calls us out of our lonely, self absorbed shells into a family and community unlike any other. A love which breaks the bonds of old traditions and calls us into a new kingdom. A love which is perhaps best described in song.

I’d like to thank John Mark McMillan for writing these incredible, passionate lyrics.

He is jealous for me, Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree, Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy. When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory, And I realise just how beautiful You are, And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so, Oh how He loves us, How He loves us all Yeah, He loves us, Whoa! how He loves us, Whoa! how He loves us, Whoa! how He loves.

We are His portion and He is our prize, Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes, If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking. So Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss, And my heart turns violently inside of my chest, I don’t have time to maintain these regrets,When I think about, the way…

This love eclipses all afflictions, and passionately overwhelms doubt and regret. It is for us all. Each and every one of us. We’ve got to use poetry and music to express it because there’s often no other way. This is who we are and where we were all made to be. This is the fulfillment of every desire and want and ache. Check out for another piece of music that expresses the journey into powerful love.

I’m looking at everything differently now, standing in this light. Skepticism is being weeded out and replaced by truth. Because this is so true. All of it. It is so real and so fresh and so passionate and so intimate. Often we are caught up in familiarity and miss the incredible beauty and truth behind the stories. What goes on between God and man within the human heart is almost impossible to describe. But it is absolutely and completely beautiful.

So. Who does that make me?

I’ve been finding my identity the same way I’ve been attempting to find out about Jesus – in the words and actions of others. Isn’t that true for all of us? We look to our friends, peers, and mentors for affirmation. Our spirits are crushed when relationships fail, our beliefs wither if they are not supported by our friends, our hearts are cast down by the constant reminders from the world that we are simply not good enough.

I’ve never felt part of a community. I’ve never felt free to fully be myself in an extended family. I’ve partitioned off parts of my identity and given them to individuals, only accessing them through those friendships and struggling to find myself. I took this self-centered, partitioned and separated heart with me for a week. And halfway through the week, it broke down. The most powerful story I can tell you is one that two weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed. I’m always the first one to say “God doesn’t really work like that. He works the ways I’ve seen Him work, and that’s it.” Oh, how wrong I was. Here’s the story.

Fifteen students and three young staff workers from two Colorado university campuses sit around a large square table, studying the story of a woman who had been unclean for twelve years, and who was healed by faith in reaching out to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment and in telling the whole truth. The leader, struck by the value of telling the whole truth in healing, proceeds to share with the group a personal story of struggle and healing, the likes of which is rarely shared in even the most intimate of circles. He then asks if anyone else wants to tell the whole truth about anything. A few minutes of silence pass, and a quiet, reserved young man begins to speak, sharing a similarly intimate tale of struggle for healing. He finishes, and as one the group rises, goes to him, and lays hands on him and prays. They return to their seats, and a young woman begins to share the struggles of her heart.

From eight in the evening until two in the morning, this group of near-strangers continues to share parts of their heart they had felt compelled to keep hidden, and praying for each other in their struggles. Frequent opportunities to leave the group and go to bed are rejected, no one leaves until everyone who wants to share has been heard. In the midst of sharing so much pain, the overwhelming feeling in the room is not one of despair, but of hope, love, and acceptance. When the community reconvenes in the morning, having shared the secrets they’ve held out of fear of being ostracized, what they find is not increased distance, but increased community. A family. God’s family.

Finding this community was more than I could have hoped for. But God wasn’t done there. Because a day and a half later, I met Him. I can’t describe it. But I finally understood. Faith has been primarily intellectual for me because I’m so afraid to open up my heart. But when I stopped talking and arguing and finally listened, He showed up. And in that moment, I absolutely knew, with all of my heart, that I was loved beyond measure, and that God would never stop working to build a new kingdom in my life. If you’ve had this experience, you’ll recognize it, and if you haven’t my prayer for you is that one day you will. I’d been trying for years to follow Him without letting Him all the way into my heart. And what I learned that day is that the only way to find peace is to let Him in. All. The. Way.

This community, this family, this love, is more than I could have ever expected from a conference. I retreat into myself at conferences, attempting to find the lessons God has for me without any of the messy business of dealing with other people. In sharing things I’d thought no one would ever understand and being met with a profound and suprising love, I’ve been pushed to live into it. I’ve since spent long hours in unfamiliar communities, more focused on how to best serve others than on what I needed out of the situation.

My mind is still plagued by doubt and fear. In that sense I’m no different than I was before. But in those moments of doubt, I have a previously unknowable hope. I have a love which meets me in the darkness and acknowledges my fear, but does not condemn me to stay there. A love which has not diminished since returing to school, but is sustained and growing. It’s hard to tell this story as a transformation, because in trying to access the dark places, the depths to which I’ve sunk in the last few months, I find that they’re no longer there. I look at journal entries from a mere month ago and, while I can recognize those feelings and remember those moments, they no longer feel like a part of me. In short. I’m free.

A brief acknowledgement to all the skeptics out there. It has never been my natural inclination to believe friends who return from conferences claiming life-changing encounters with Jesus. Let me tell you, from a heart that knows the depths of cynicism, that what happened was more real to me than anything I’ve ever experienced. I met Jesus in a way I’d only ever read about. This stuff is real. This has not been the work of a moment, nor can it be solely attributed to one powerful night. God’s been preparing me to enter into His love and His community for a long time. It’s exciting to look at the road behind me as a promise that the road ahead will be equally challenging and marked by a passionate push towards His love.

I could write books about how powerful the last few weeks have been. Perhaps the current state of my heart can best be summed up by a comment from a friend a week or so ago. We hadn’t seen each other since before Mark Camp. She simply looked at me and said “You are full of joy” Yes. Yes I am. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

Written by Taylor Webster

April 12, 2011 at 9:38 pm

Posted in Life of the Spirit