You read poetry. You write poetry. You try and form a bluegrass band. You stay up all night in a truck stop drinking coffee with a homeless woman. You light a candle next to your bed and plead with God to show you the way. You tour Jerusalem. You go to church. You go to lots of churches. You walk out of church each time you realize that everyone's pretending. You read the Bible -- especially the strange parts like Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon. You go to an opera. You let yourself weep uncontrollably, without knowing why. 

You look at old buildings. You get a job working drive-thru at McDonald's. You give a year as a volunteer in Central America. You chain yourself to gates of the White House. You grow tomatoes. You push and challenge every teacher, every campus minister, every spiritual guru to see if they know anything -- anything truthful, anything real, anything that makes sense of the children who get their hands cut off in Sudan, anything that explains why the sixteen-year-old Palestinian girl straps a bomb to her waist and scatters her flesh all over a market square. 

In the 1960s, Abraham Heschel, a Jewish rabbi and holocaust survivor was asked if he had a word for the youth of America, here's what he said, "Live your life like it's a work of art." I like that. So live your life like it's a novel. Pay attention when you're getting bored with the main character. Don't be afraid to walk out on your own movie. When it gets stifling create a new plot line. Quit your job. Leave school. Ask the girl across the hall to elope. Fast for three days in the desert. Try to be a saint. Volunteer to care for meth babies. Learn to tango.

In other words let life loose in you. Free the Jesus who remains trapped within your heart (and mine) . . . let him walk around within you. Let him sit among those places in you that cause you to feel stuck or ashamed. Watch as he sits in those places and feels comfortable. Watch how he talks to those parts of you that are so deeply fearful. Notice that he's not afraid of anything within you? See how he not only accepts but actually sees the good in those parts of you (and me) that make you so uncomfortable? See how he befriends them? Don't recoil. Just watch. And then notice that somehow, through and in spite of your efforts, you're being set free.  

Then you may be surprised to notice that like Jesus, you too have the power to befriend all that is hidden in the world -- the drunk, the abuser, the A student who tortures himself with visions of perfection. Notice that you actually have the capacity to sit with anyone -- everyone who feels ugly and unwanted. Notice that you actually like sitting down and talking with these undesirables. Notice that you can share a Coke with these folks and that somehow, somewhere within you, you're coming to life. Your novel is becoming rich and complex. You're living. You're keeping the walls of your heart soft and pliable. You're capable of receiving love from people. You're capable of trusting and receiving love from God. You have the capacity, in the middle of a workday, to walk outside and enjoy the breeze and the spring blossoms and the dandelions growing up through the pavement. 

Let this be the start of a great work of art, David. Live something beautiful. Live the life you've admired in others. Live the life that you'd be proud to live, because believe me, there are enough people playing it safe. Go out and try and then fail and try and fail and then forgive yourself (or receive God's forgiveness) and then try a different angle. Go out in the glacier waters, out in the churning river, out where the middle-aged men sit taunting you to stay back on the shore. Go out into that river and sit and wait and trust and then you'll see. There's real strength in you, David. There's real hope in you, too. You carry a kind of humor, and compassion, and lightness of spirit that can warm even the most frigid of rivers. I've seen it. And it makes me feel good to know you're out there in the world.