The backstage in which we rush about making preparations at the departure terminal for the next crowd, adjusting our fittings, wigs and make-up. Touchdown. The curtains open. The slight possibility that the crowd might cheer if you're a good act. Besides that, they watch intently for a pop, flop, flip, slip, spill or a spelling mistakee. Heehee...point made.
Apparently, most of us dance our hearts out to win theirs. Or at least try to. Others march to their own drum by not marching at all. Or rather, indifferent to what the audience thinks [this relates to the idea of making a statement, by not making one]. Our eyes swiftly pecking glances at the audience for a giggle or a boo. Carry on now, carry on. And if you've saved up enough, it's back to the airport for a makeover to cunningly adapt to please the upcoming crowd once you've landed. I love airports though.
Tough crowd this time around. I've used up my whole bag of tricks. I just might join the laid back un-marchers sitting at the curb eating gourmet food watching the others juggle flaming knives doing handstands atop a huge rubber balls rolling across tight ropes after being shot out of a canon. I don't mind actually, to be on opposite side of the audience (I sorta am). I strive for a good show. It gets tiring when the audience follows you off stage only to gross out about how you cook instant noodles with butter and italian herbs with a slice of cheese on the top. High class tea sippers. I'd love to try that life sometime. I rest in the fact that the God that I know, needs no show...bro...yo (I get pretty darned lame don't I? In fact, He shuns it. It doesn't matter whether you've donned your Giordano shirt/Hugo Boss perfume/7-in-one Listerine/Loreal Paris hair-dye raising your hands to the most recent heart mushing Hillsong or if you break down runny nosed kneeling under a shower singing Everything by Lifehouse...sweat, tears shampoo and all. Speaking of showers, I need one. Physically for the body odor, mentally for the face paint I've layered on in a rush for this next crowd. Maybe this time i'll join neither the clowns nor the chillers. I'll join the handful of runners stopping by anyone who cares to receive the uncomfortable news of the flood plus a ticket to the lifesaving ark of heaven.
Heaven.
Home.
The last stop.
I await the airport of death.
Oh, how morbid!
Jane, it's your fault ;)

Okay...chup...Darren...are you here?
You're in there somewhere I know. Speak man...speak your heart. What's really bursting at the seams tonight? He's listening. Embrace vulnerability for a few seconds. Okay...here goes Father.

All I need is You.
The idea of me being unaware of my outward appearance when I get lost in pleasing you, Jesus, still pushes me away.
All I need is You.
This very breath then I take, this clean blood in my veins, the skin on my every complete limb, the bank of accomplishments, the wurlitzer of emotions that I despise and crave for, the fact that You are always and will always be near, these things I overlook so so easily.
All I need is You.
What plans have You for your ignorant, prideful, and arrogant son who constantly runs from your love so infinite and free? You chose me? Really God? Me?
All I need is You.
You know my words are stemmed from the limits of my human understanding, somewhat fake, unexperienced, and unsure. But for all it's worth as I think about You, You my Jesus who would give anything and everything for me, You who watches every drop that streams from these eyes now, You who grabs and wrenches my whole being with Your beckon to be something that rises above it all. To be something greater than my own capacity. To shout your praise louder than my voice may carry. For all that jargon is worth Jesus...here's me.
I love You,
All of my hope is in You,
Jesus Christ take my life,
Take all of me.

This! My heart sings this louder than a thousand amps may magnify any sound.