Projection

There is a popular and fairly tame psychological phenomenon I have become intimately acquainted with in the last few days. Many have different names for it, ways of describing it, or remedies. Authors and thinkers have all take it in stride and the notion has filtered down into informal word bombs of avoidance when used peer on peer. Projection.

The real meaning on the concept has become somewhat lost as it has been bandied about, most recognized in its more infamous use between two arguing parties as someone tries to gain the upper hand by using a logical term in an illogical situation, “Oh, you’re just projecting!” The perfection of this usage can only truly be appreciated when it followed with “I know you are but what am I?!”
When all is said and done though, the tool of understanding projection has come in fairly handy in the last few days for me. That is when I am honest enough to admit it.

I was listening to a sermon by one of my favorite speakers regarding the Sermon on the Mount. The sermon centered on the beatitude of peacemakers. He made a point of calling out what seemed to be a large discrepancy, at least to me, in certain concepts of Jesus’ teachings. In one breath He calls everyone to peacemaking, and in the next He’s using the hubris of hating father and mother and swords dividing family and speaking of persecution. It begs for more exegesis, which I got.

The speaker was talking about coming to peace within your own life, your own story, your own experience; sounds cliché, until you start putting the ideas into practice. He started with a very simple statement, whatever you have a hardest time with in others, is most likely what you struggle with internally. Learning to come to grips with those things is not as easy as we would like to believe. It’s Paul’s lament in different terms: I do what I don’t want to do and don’t do what I do want to do. Two different laws battling it out within each of us. Swords, fighting, internal discord, external insecurity… it all seems to be flowing together and finally, something makes sense in the madness.

This, of course, is all in hindsight, or maybe it’s foresight before I knew it. Huh. Either way, the concept buried itself in my head and has been making its way back to the surface, slowly, albeit, painfully. All of the sudden, my actions, attitudes, feelings, thoughts have become magnified in gargantuan proportions. I find myself struggling to do what is right, only to literally spew something different into the atmosphere. As though the internal dialogue stops short just before my tongue. Damn it. The frustration of wanting so badly to be the person I see outlined in my head and then repeating the same patterns over and over again is an exercise in testing the veracity of the resurrection. Seriously? I need some help here.

Lately though, it seems to be over the top. Worse in so many ways. I can’t tell if it is just because I a finally noticing, or because the wounds have been uncovered now and I am actually overacting. It’s so hard to tell when everyone around you is already riddled with their own sense of deep defensiveness. It’s the blind leading the blind over a cliff, on purpose.

I digress, or divert, whichever you prefer. What is truly driving me? What beliefs, what thoughts, what rules, regulations and patterns? Are they internal messages, external, or just social imperatives? On a more specific level, why do I feel so responsible for the wellbeing of certain people surrounding me, but then swing to wanting to watch their demise so quickly? And who’s pulling the strings?

I have two nephews. I love them dearly. Sometimes I look at them and I think, “I could be happy not having children, just knowing I get to pass on to them whatever I have to give.” I love spending time with them and my heart literally breaks when they are hurting. I want them to have everything I didn’t, so I do everything I can to give them what I wish I’d had.

But that’s the saintly side of me. That’s the side we want everyone to see. There is a darker side and just as powerful (or maybe more). They were born when I was young, and subsequently, my world changed. I had always fought for my place in my family. I was always the baby and no matter what, at least I was the youngest and cutest.

Then, at thirteen, on the cusp of anger and resentment born of learning to walk on your own, my two sweet nephews stumbled onto the picture… and out I went. The little space I carved out for myself was lost, and so was I. My jealousy grew as it typically would. I assumed caretaker role, and spent a good chunk of nights waking up with them when my sister decided to wear earplugs so she could get some sleep.
Flash forward 14 years later. I’m haunted by feeling 13 years old, watching myself act like a spoiled brat, yet finally having the brain development to be able to actually see when I’m acting like a brat. Damn. Stuck between a hard spot and a rock. I am the walking conundrum of love and resentment and it sucks ass.

What does any of this have to do with projection? The only reason I actually saw any of this was because I started to see in myself the very things I say I hate the most; criticism of them, judgmental attitudes, ideas of superiority and defensiveness in gigantic arrays of spectacular narcissism. It was one instance where there was a discrepancy between my thoughts and my feelings. My past dictating my present and drawing a very large question mark over my future. I was becoming the system that had eaten me alive.

My heart broke as I realized I was projecting on everyone else the very internal dialogue, unrest and discord that was going on within me. The harsh, ugly things I had to say to others, the venom that flowed forth so easily, the pain I could easily cause and lash out with, it was all a reflection of what I is happening under my surface.

It wasn’t just the bad things either. I project pain onto people that isn’t there. Feelings of unworthiness, shame or rejection. I see shadows in people’s eyes that are only mirrors of my own, and I rush to bandage wounds that aren’t there. Ultimately, I’m trying to rescue myself, and ironically, it’s only making it worse.

These are the moments when hope gets tired. I look back at hurdles I’ve crossed, lessons I’ve learned, things I’ve done, and I realize, the road is so long and I’m scared to walk it. I’m frightened of what I will do, say, or be next, that is really just a poor reflection of who I am, and it will only makes things worse again. I’m scared of what rock will get turned over, what ugly thing will pop to the surface, what terrible criticism I will have for myself later. This is when I am most desperate for a practical salvation. This is when I need the Gospel the most. I know I am poor in spirit, with nothing of value to offer, I am no peacemaker, and I have spoken raca so many times. I wonder if there is any grace left for me, any shred of joy to find and I am bedraggled, exhausted, frustrated, guilty, ashamed, and wearing burdens far to heavy for my shoulders to carry.

And even more ironically, I’m almost grateful. There is just the tiniest sliver of release as I stop fighting and running from these truths and sit down on the path and say a gentle “Fuck it.” This is me. I’m all sorts of messed up, insecure, insane, unworthy, shameful, ugly and exhausted. My powerlessness overwhelms me and finally wrestles what little control I thought away and I’m sort of glad to see it go. But I’m also glad I put up the fight, because I’m tired of holding it all together. I’d rather someone else be responsible for a while. I’m not God, but I hate that sometimes, I think I am and right now, it feels good to know I’m the least of these.

Someday things will get better. I’ll learn how to forgive myself, to stop criticizing and maybe, stop criticizing others. I’ll stop judging myself and get off the roller-coaster and hopefully, stop judging others. I’ll let every last bit go, and find the peace of His life take over more and more, a little at a time. For now, I’m going to go home, put on some TV, condition my hair and work out, knowing how juvenile, self-absorbed and silly it is. I’ll ignore calls from my family in hopes of finding some peace, I’ll put guilt on the shelf for a moment and indulge in a cookie, pack my suitcase and head off to a weekend of sightseeing and champagne in Seattle.

And then, before I go to bed, I’ll download another set of sermons from my favorite speaker and hold my breath as I listen to the most beautiful words I have ever heard, the red letters of peace, and I’ll pray they become more true than a wounded past. And for now, that will be enough.

Merry Christmas

The perspective of counter cultural is usually saved for 1960 hippies living in the Haight Ashbury, celebrating hash and shrooms. Words have baggage. They always have, they always will, but, I wonder, what would happen if the pictures that seem to drag behind the phrases, switched? Or maybe just morphed slightly.

On Christmas, what we celebrate as the birth of Jesus, something picks up a bit of irony in the air. The story goes a King born in a stable of a virgin. So beautiful in it's double meanings, immaculate conception in the dirty straw of muck. How sweet. And perfect for our current screenplays. Tradition hangs in the air, Norman Rockwellian pictures of middle class suburban life equalling nirvana. Simple beginnings parallel the blue collar tradition, or even the need of a sinner.

We forget though. This virgin, she would have been labeled a whore. Everyone could have done the math. Who would have believed she hadn't gotten her freak on with someone? Besides, the word of a woman, in those times, was worth about as much as the word of the Inquirer. For the rest of her life, she and everyone around her would have had the stigma of a woman that just couldn't keep her skirt down. Including Jesus, later, as a bastard child. Even if Joseph took him in, Joseph would have been seen as the cuckolded man, kind but stupid. And thus begins the Christmas story.

Jesus grew up in a hick town, as far as we know, with no higher education, and when he finally came on the scene, past middle age. He was 30 when His ministry began. The average age of death was 40. His disciples ranged in age from teens to mid 20's. He would have been scene as a little beyond His peak, if you know what I mean. Let me put this in different terms, we say 40 is the new 30, but to them, that's like saying 20 was the new 10. Ah, just as life is beginning. He was old. And he had no wife. Weird.

He preached a gospel in a time of violence, of non-violence. When bread was in short supply, he ate with tax collectors. He made time for anyone and everyone. Women paid His bills. He spoke a message, not caring who or what it challenged. He constantly moved outside of the realm of predictable, frustrating those that life was about clear paths and should's and should nots.

He specifically moved in ways that were enough to be understood, while putting common thought to shame. He took everything to the next level, asking for deeper, stronger, more intimate understanding. He called for more, knowing the path would be narrow, but wanting everyone to find it, to find life. Real life. He shed the illusions that held everything in place and proved you didn't need someone to define your life, other than Him. It was revolutionary. It was the ultimate counter culture.

And we celebrate it... in culture.

But to, what was the most revolutionary thing He ever did, He moved within the system and revolutionized it. He never let it break Him, instead, He broke it. Never someone so comfortable in His own skin, the skin of a stigma'd whore, deemed incompetent by the educational system, His family struggling with who and what He was, I can't imagine what He went through, for all of His life. Never understood, never truly accepted, outside the system, and yet subject to it, in a few short years He changed the world.

Movies about Rudy, Juno, About a Boy, these are the depictions we credit with showing the underdog, the mediocre finding exception, but the greatest story of all time, we forget the power of.

My family drives me nuts. I mean that literally. They have perspectives of me that I find myself playing to, no matter how wrong they are. Damn. I hear the words of those that I loved and found no need to stay, echoing through an empty chamber in my heart, inciting a need to prove them wrong, igniting a deep sense of defensiveness. I find myself feeling so uncomfortable being me, since so many told me it wasn't good enough. I want to get out, of here, myself and everything, to push back, to scream, to fight, to make it different, and then I realize I can't and I wonder what I ever really amount to. It scares the hell out of me.

And I forget, the story of the Christ, that is. I forget that there was a One that came from a place and time that should have amounted to nothing, a nobody, a mist in the wind. I'm sure, He was a nobody, to everyone, before He was an anybody, to anyone. The son of a whore, the half brother to the legitimate, the backwoods hick that started a career too late. Thank God.

He literally broke every norm, every prediction, every typicality. And on Christmas, the real meaning hits me. Yes, it's the birth of the Christ, and it's the saving of the world, but what does that really matter if it doesn't mean something for each of us right now, right in this moment? I am the product of my environment, but that doesn't matter, does it? The miracle is here and now. I am not over, and neither was He. His miracle was how amazing He was in the midst of the unamazing. He was a miracle as much in His life, as He was in His death and resurrection.

I want to follow that guy. I want to follow Him. My example is not a Rudy, or some figment on an imagination, but instead a man that truly changed the world. He lived a life counter cultural, fighting the systems of family, friends, city and state, and He won. Amen, Merry Christmas.

Fight. That. Out.

It's always the way it is, isn't it? When some things start to make sense, others keep unraveling. Somedays I wake up, look around and feel as though I have been tricked for the last 27 years. Everything I thought was real, if pushed slightly hard, the propped background crumble. But I had bought it, and now that it's all crumbling, I'm liberated, angry, sad, confused, scared, full of a restlessness I can't name and a frustration that usually comes out in the form of yelling out the cuss words during a Mumford's and Son's song in the car.

Exiting the system isn't as easy as I thought it would be. Oh, side note, the "church" conveniently forgets to tell you that "not being of the world", really means not settling for the status quo.

Funny story, so it dawned on me today, there is a deep and abiding irony to my life. I was raised to conform. I mean, we all are. "Fitting in" becomes the manipulative ploy of life to keep everyone set in certain boundaries. Where this started, or who keeps perpetuating it is neither here nor there (though I do think often about what deep need within larger systems exists for the cultural norms to be as suffocating and binding as they are), what matters is, being apart of something is a desire each individual is born with. Powerful messages enter and tell us how to gain this illusive acceptance within the places, spaces and people we are born into. Home, school, city, state, church, country, etc. We define ourselves and others. All fine and good, but here's the thing, it's just like Scripture says, we are born with eternity and the finite we exist in doesn't satisfy, so we go searching. Some find, some die trying and some settle. Those that find try to bring others, those that die trying, well they die, and those that settle, well, I'm convinced they are jealous of those that have found, or are still searching, but instead, do everything they can to tell everyone else why they should stop looking, or why they have the answer, or why they are right and someone else is wrong, or why it doesn't really matter. I think this is the worst of all the scenarios. Because this is where the lie begins.

So anyways, in my situation, I encountered this volatile gospel at a young age. I was intrigued by the big promises and awakened to a sense that there was something that brought everything together. It spoke of deep love, mysterious hope and things that were true and yet I didn't know why. But the people that were talking about this God, this Man, these words that were "powerful" lived lives of false smiles, pretty faces, thin bodies and working hard. The best student, smartest, funniest and prettiest always got ahead. They said they were brought a gospel of freedom, but they seemed so bound, their words were hope, but their actions were despair and fear. Small worlds, small minds and smaller hearts. I spent years trying to understand Scripture through their terms, their explanations, their definitions. Questions weren't allowed, horizons were pursued, their message overall seemed to be "settle." Stop fighting, just "trust."

Here's where the irony kicked in, all I wanted to do was fit in. I twisted, squeezed, maneuvered, struggled. My emotional and mental development looked like an attempt to pull on a pair skinny jeans fresh out of the dryer after a night of binge cookie dough eating. It would fit for a moment, but eventually that damn button would pop. When I fell in love with someone that was in the thick of that culture, those people, that place, that church.... I felt accepted for once. Finally, I was validated. And then, those damn jeans ripped from crotch to crack. Fuck.

As I shed the past, the ways, the things I thought I needed, like new booties and a Christmas party dress, and instead I pay off debt, continue to consign very expensive dresses and generally just take myself out of the race, the gospel, the real gospel becomes a powerful message. Jesus, the real man, starts to make sense, bring a sense of true hope and I find the Scriptures aren't binding, but actually they are controversial, frightening, confusing on purpose and will jack with your mind in a powerful way (like how can God telling Israel to kill every man, woman and child in a different nation, and yet say don't murder?), if you let it. The Sermon on the Mount becomes a radical call to continue to put off a world that is constraining, chained and full of bullshit. That's right, I said it, bullshit. The world will tell you that you should feel stupid for loving with all of your heart. And when I say world, I mean the very people that turn on you. The world will tell you the prettiest and most entertaining win. The students with the best answers in class, the ones that have it "all together" the ones that have the easiest time are the ones closest to God. And that was just high school. "Blessed" becomes a word to strive for, humility a term to beat someone over the head with, righteousness, a weapon of mass destruction.

So I was rejected. I was rejected by the world. That's right. All I wanted was to be apart of the world, and it rejected me. Seriously? An explosive gospel that had somehow gotten in my soul, kept me off balance enough to not settle, but the only path to finding God I knew, was through the one the church had given me, but the church was nothing more than the world, with a cross around it's neck. The ways they showed only led to more confusion, more frustration and eventually, took me in a full circle back to the same questions, places and angers. Honesty takes a backseat to pretty pictures. They would rather have a "sinless life" than an honest one, and somehow, I think having one without the other, is impossible. Now, I'm finding the gospel in the one way the world and the church tells you to never take: failure.

Party too hard, spend too much, get arrested for peeing in public... just whatever you do, be honest. With yourself and God. Search for life, whether it is in a concert hall listening to an amazing band, rock climbing in the alps, reading first editions in the Cambridge library, protesting the 1%, or earning your millions. Fight for life, your life, for truth, for more. There is no fear in love, and if you have fear, you have not been perfected in love. You may find yourself in thousands of dollars in debt, waking up the next morning with a massive hangover, trying to remember the name of the person lying next to you, but eventually, if you are honest, you will realize where life is, and where it isn't. And the crazy thing? God will meet you.

What are we so afraid? What are we so afraid of? I don't regret a dollar a spent, or stupid thing I have done. You know what I do deeply regret? The years I spent in denial, trying to conform to a world (or a church), that would seek to strip me of any sense of angst and frustration. I regret time. I grieve for the years I spent believing the lies that I had to do things like everyone else, that I didn't fit and never would, that because I wanted more, there was something wrong with me. I regret trusting people that didn't trust themselves, or know themselves. I hate that believed their lines of BS that there was something wrong with me when I called out there double-sided beliefs. I regret not testing everything that people told me was "truth", but mostly, with to the bottom of my heart, what grieves me in a sort of wound that bleeds everyday, I regret believing I needed to settle. I'm 27 and every stupid after school special only now makes sense.

I haven't found my answers yet, but I know one thing for sure, I have found I'm comfortable searching for the answers. I don't want to know, but I do want to fight for the truth, through anything. And I will keep making mistakes as I search for His gospel everyday, but one thing is for sure, God won't associate Himself with that which isn't life, vitality, truth and eternal. So if you are struggling, leave whatever it is you are doing, and try something else, anything else. Stop reading a devotional everyday, pick the paper, the latest People, or better yet, a book on the opposite end of the spectrum as you. Challenge yourself, your perspective, your life. Then take those questions and if they don't fit with what you know of God, start asking more questions. And, when you do read Scripture, there is something that doesn't make sense, don't stop asking why not until you have your answer. And when your pastor doesn't have a good enough answer, don't stop there. He is not the last authority.

Fight. That. Out.

Food for thought: What does the abundant life really look like? Can it be defined more than "peace, joy and love"?

Pressure

Most of my life has been spent under pressure. Whether it was false or real doesn’t really matter. As I have started to wake up, to life, possibility, reality, whatever you want to call it, I have begun looking at myself and my responses in different ways.

Rather than action being easily deemed good or bad, a statement of grace has found its way in and I find myself becoming less defensive, at least with the voices in my head. That, in turn, has led to me being able to look critically at myself, my emotions and my reactions as something to understand, rather than change immediately. If I start a step backwards from the place of judgment and criticism, and instead, accept that I am going to be all the things I hate at any given moment, accept it and seek to give myself the space and permission to be whatever I am, I am much less anxious.

And since nothing is ever complete without an example…

I happen to be pretty sensitive. What? Shocked? I know, it’s hard to believe… and truth be told, there are some things this sensitivity breeds that I like about myself. I’m attuned to people, their needs. If I were in their position, what would I want? A shoulder, a word of encouragement? Or maybe it’s just the presence. I love people and a good sense of sensitivity can be a great tool. On the flip side, it can bring some seriously high maintenance tendencies. I’m defensive, I over react, I’m passive aggressive at times. I have high expectations that bite me in the ass every damn day. It can get ugly quickly.

So the best place to see that happen, work. I have about 25 women and 8 men that work in my office. It’s a vortex of cattiness and cliques. Since cliques and I have never gotten along, I find myself on the outside of the more than I would like to admit. It brings the childishness in me to a head more often than not. Good lord, do we ever leave high school? Apparently not. And rather than rise above, I dive right in with the best of them.

The good news is, I can joke about it. I don’t like it, but I also am starting to see myself as cohesive self, good bad, yin and yang BS. I’m doing the best I can. When I find myself struggling with making plans with people in front of others that have rejected me, I know it’s stupid and so ugly, but I also know it’s stupid enough to not get tripped up on. I do it, laugh at myself, feel stupid, and then move on. If someone points out something about me that has been an insecurity of mine, no matter what their intention is and I become defensive, instead of becoming defensive about being defensive, I appreciate where I have been and how the things I have been through have taught me to be defensive, relax knowing I will be immature and childish, probably forever, and let it go.

In a world where the pressure to be perfect, be it in looks, attitude, career or religion, embracing my imperfection has been some of the most freeing things I have experienced. If I stop caring about what whether or not people love me, knowing I will be fine either way, if I am imperfect with people, I can let go knowing I am fine either way. For most of my life that story has been change, mold, become what they want you to be so you don’t lose their love. Now, it is, either accept me, or not, but this is what I am. I’m ridiculous sometimes, over the top, and maybe I do need to be taken in small doses, but hey, I live life. I do like things on a ten. I like my music loud, my nights long and busy, my mornings late, my weekends jam packed with anything and everything I can get my hands on. I read ten books at a time, have 50 projects started and some never finished, I bite off way more than I can chew, and I never, ever give anything less than 100% to everything I do.
And for once, I’ve stopped making excuses, justifying, or explaining myself. I am what I am. What you see is what you get.

Even better? I’ve stopped expecting any less from others. They are mean, they are selfish sometimes. People are sensitive, defensive and manipulative for all the reasons I have been. I have a choice about whether or not I see myself as the catalyst. Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not, oh well, but I’m still here, and so are they. I will love because there is no other choice, if I want to live in freedom. Loving myself and others in all the stupidity that we bring to the table. They may be mean and passive aggressive, but so am. I can always choose to laugh and let go, even if they do judge me.

And the cycle continues that I don’t always do that well. I get hurt all the time, then I have to remember the grace, give it to myself, see it from God, and then the grace I give others isn’t grace, it’s just acceptance of life. It’s just belief in the infinite good of God, the heart of life and the up and down that I fall into and out of every moment. Sometimes I think we make grace more than it is, in a sense that it is so desperate. I guess I see it as less desperate, but more intrinsic. Grace isn’t difficult to give out when you have accepted your own need for it, and then laughed at yourself.

I’m learning. We all are. I get it wrong so much. I can’t even count the stupid things I have done today, but I’ve stopped seeing a line in the sand between the stupid and “smart” things. Instead I see it all as life. That is grace. That is mercy. There is no scale, no balancing game, grace and life absorbs what we think are the successes and failures and just passes the time on. Here it is, then it’s gone. It stops holding imperfection against itself, and instead expects nothing less.

There are millions of really nice people out there. There are millions of really intense people. But I am the unique expression of some story God is telling, the good and bad. The anger, the joy, the fear, the courage, they are all a part of His plan, His goodness, His understanding and purpose in my creation. And that, of all things, takes the pressure off.

On more than one occasion, my resolve to redefine myself has been tested and tried. Shopping has almost completely released itself from my life, except for when my birthday came around. I suddenly had the urge to “buy myself a gift.” Never mind that I spent oodles of money on skydiving. The upcoming Christmas party has also posed a perfect opportunity to splurge on a completely unneeded dress. I have stopped myself by remembering the dresses I have in my back seat waiting to be taken to the local consignment shop.

Today was the ultimate though. I had called my mother earlier asking her if she was going to be in the area, to bring something I left at home along with her. She said she had business at Apple and since it is around the corner, I agreed to meet there.
As I wandered the pristine white floors, admiring their use of Ipads as displays for the Iphone, I came across something I didn’t even know I wanted: the shuffle. The only item in the store that is under $100 and can play anyone of my crazy playlists, I was lured over by their pretty colors and shiny cases. It was so tiny! So precious clipped onto a display, all innocent and sweet with its double digit price tag. Uuuhhh…. I wanted one. Oh, look! Red! And green! And it has voice over! I don’t even know what that means, but I am sure it is awesome.

My mind filled with thoughts of what I could do with it. I could put it in my car and never have to use my iPhone again, I could use it at the gym, and since I haven’t been going much, I am sure it would motivate me back in. And seriously, I NEED it for the half marathon. No, seriously, I need it. I mean, I can’t take my phone with me. It’s WAY too heavy. How have I even survived without one until now?
My mind whirled and swirled with the infinite possibilities. I went so far as to think about what bill I could put off. I mean, what’s $50 not going to my CC, right?
My mother’s voice acted like a splash of cold water on my face, effectively breaking the trance. Damn! It was like I was literally pulled from my body and had been walking around in an acid induced state of hypnosis. I grabbed what I needed from my mother and ran out the door, feeling the tendrils of desires try and pull me back. I know I could even ask for it for Christmas… no! Get out!

It’s not the Shuffle. It’s not even the money. It’s the perspective that gets me. As though somehow, this thing is going to make life easier, better, more fun. When, if ever, has an item provided just what you needed for fulfillment… get your mind out of the gutter. You know what I mean. Never. I have gobs of shit hanging around and have never felt emptier.

The world, in all its glory, is supposed to serve us. The mountains, the stars, the rivers, the canyons, the deserts, they all have a secret they are longing to tell: we are the ultimate in creation. When God created humans, He breathed a sigh and rested. Not only had He created an infinite beauty in the world, but He created something to enjoy it, to master it, to be the ultimate mix of the eternal and finite, man. Why then, are we not recognizing how what is lower (things of tactile consumption), has somehow become what we (which is higher and more spectacular) find more valuable than our own lives?
Here is what I mean; why do we have
jobs? To pay the bills. Why do we have bills? Because we have to pay for things. Why do we have to pay for things? Because we need them. So, ultimately, what we are saying is, this endless cycle of buying, wanting, needing, making more, spending more, buying more and making more has us stuck in the endless loop, while we are missing our lives.

How many of us have been to Europe? And when I say “been,” I’m not saying “I took a vacation there,” but really, you have sat down, talked with, lived among and understood the glories of another country? When was the last time we decided a desire for a dream, or a goal, was more important than our career? We buy nice cars, nice clothes, go to movies, pay the bills, and miss it all. We scold the father that buys grand gifts for his kids but doesn’t spend time with them, knowing the relationship is more important, but we forget that life is more important than our jobs.

I met a guy on Saturday that spends half the year living and traveling from lodge to lodge in Wyoming, living in a car at times, teaching snowboarding. He spends the other half of the year couch surfing, actually surfing his way down the coast and back up. He has degree in Sociology, is not socially awkward, finds ways to not be a burden on others and lives debt free.

Not everyone can handle living that way, and to be honest, I am sure it is much more a male thing than a female thing, but I stand by the idea. Will he ever really regret a time in his life when he was doing something he loved, seeing some of the most beautiful things the world has to offer? Um, I doubt it.
If we really believe in the possibilities as much as we say we do, if we really believe God loves us as much as He does, if life really is about living it abundantly, why aren’t we?

All of this from a Shuffle yes, because I don’t need the shuffle. But I do need freedom. I want to keep taking off the chains that would keep me stifled down, unable to capture the illusive life that is meant to be lived. I want to be served by the world and its beauty, not serve it by being roped into an exist that doesn’t allow me to see the wonders, feel the passions, recognize the amazingness that is God’s gift to us.

To put it in Christian terms, I won’t serve to masters. Instead, I put down the pretty Shuffle, pick up my bag and walk out, knowing I am infinitely more complex, beautiful and valuable than two ounces of metal and memory and I won't remember if I had a Shuffle, but I will remember living in freedom.

Skydiving

I walked into one of my boss' office today and the first thing out of his mouth was "so I think your ex got a tattoo..." My heart sank and I got really quiet, which for me, is rare. He kept talking, clicking on Facebook pictures as he went along, oblivious to my discomfort. He came upon the picture he was talking about and it turned out to be just a fake tattoo from Halloween, or some such. On the way to that photo though, we ran across a few others. It was a sort of torture I couldn't escape. How do you tell your boss you would rather be stabbed in the face than look at pictures of your ex? How do you tell him that everyday you work really hard to NOT think about him? You don't. You just grin and bear it as though everything is fine. Thanks, ass.

I retained as much composure as I could and got the hell out of there. Luckily it was on the way out the door, so I could feign needing to get home to walk my cat.



Before I booked it out of his office though, a small miracle happened.

I took a breath, let it out and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a few connections were made. I thought about who I was, who I used to be and who I was working to become. The pain and humiliation started to take a back seat as the last few weeks, months and days came back into focus and some of the chances I have taken.



I went skydiving this weekend. Thats right, I jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet. I sucked in a breath, bravely hobbled to the front door, approached my destiny with a face like flint... then panicked as I got to the edge and then heard my tandem instructor yell "ready or not!" and push me out the door without my permission. It took me a full ten seconds to catch enough air to scream.



But I did it. Fuck yeah. I may have needed the push, but I got my ass up there and I did it. And the best part? As I was driving home with my friend (who had also jumped with me), as clear as day, a feeling that was true, real and honest welled up: confidence. I had done it. I had chosen to live, to take a chance, to take a risk, to feel the air as it rushed past, to look a fear in the face and beat the hell out of it. I didn't give in. Even better? I did it on my own. There was no one waiting for me at the bottom, no one patting me on the back, no one that cared other than me. I did it without him, without them, without anyone.



In the last few months I have adopted two kids from Africa, volunteered with IJM (and subsequently got to meet the Fray), listened to one of the most brilliant minds of theology NT Wright give a lecture to a group of 100 people (which is a small crowd for him), started a non-profit division of my company, swam in a public fountain in San Francisco, signed up to run a marathon, signed up for speed dating, learned how to bake, started a financial seminar to become debt free in under a year, sold or given away half of my clothing, stopped shopping, have signed my car up to be sold (this takes a while mind you), finally met the real Jesus, learned how to put people at a distance that aren't good for me, conquered the wounds of friendships and a myriad more of things.

Some of them are internal, some of them are external and some of them are just the beginning. Why is any of this important? Because healing from the past, for me, looks a lot like looking forward to the future. I have spent 27 years being what I thought people wanted me to be, what I thought I should be, I have loved in vain, wasted time, affection, loyalty, been fooled, swindled, stolen from, given away too much, taken too little and no way shape or form did I ever take into account the one thing that should have been considered the most, the value God places in me.

I never knew the purpose of life was to live. As I walked out of my boss' office, it was easier to give up bitterness, to walk past the pain because for once, the future is full of possibilities. Not just to fall in love, but for me. I fear everyday it's too late, that when I should have been starting out, the way I am now, I was distracted by trying to find and keep love. Instead, I'm doing it a few years later than the rest of the world, but that fear has to be the same one I faced getting on the plane. You know it's there, but fuck it. It's only half the story. I have to believe I can still bring something to this life. I know, deep down, redemption just isn't about living for eternity, it's about living now. I want to find the ceiling and break through. I'm not going to stop, to finish until I am the woman I want to be, until I leave a mark, until I have wrestled the world to the ground and NOTHING feels impossible for me. Isn't that what Scripture says is true? Nothing is impossible.... even jumping out of a plane.

I hurt. I hurt everyday. That pain, like the fear, is constant, but parallel to it, growing in momentum, is the burning to desire to do something. Anything. I won't let these things be the last of me. My story will be unique if only because from a quiet suburban life, from an inconspicuous beginning, I know He will do something great through me. My heart and soul hunger for His truth, His reality, His life, full of adventure, passion, conviction and compassion.

I want to love without reserve again, trust with hope, touch a million people with hands that have touched the face of God. I want to help set people free as I am set free in a hope that is deeper, more active, dynamic, strong and moving. We are not dead yet, and we will never be, so why do we act as if we are? So much is possible. The world can change, we can change it. As I jumped from a plane, the rush of air cleared away the cobwebs of confusion and clear as day, I realized, if I can, in under an hour, jump from 10,000 feet and live, there is so much to accomplish.

I have been a reluctant convert to living life. I wanted to settle down and spend Saturday nights curled up with the love of my life, but that isn't an option. And still, I have yet to feel like it was a fair trade off for how much it hurt, but I know one thing for sure, I never would have done the things I have done while under the shelter of someone else. I would have settled and never even felt the need to reach for more.

So now, I reach the edge of the door again and turn around knowing I will never have the real courage, looking back at my Savior/tandem and ask Him for a good shove. He gives me a wicked grin and says "I thought you'd never ask..."

Dimensions

If I had to describe what has changed within me in the last few months.... I'm not sure I could. I've been trying to, and I can't. Me, with all of my articulation and wordiness (for lack of a better term), cannot, in any way describe what God, life and death has been doing in me.

It is well established that there are multiple dimensions. We live in three, paper exists in two, time is one, but there are proved 11. It's as if nature itself is trying to convey the message: some things are incomprehensible. A million different things are happening at once, seen and unseen. Biblically this is sort of perspective that is not surprising. Sight, feel, smell, these are all finite, limited things, and yet the universe belies a sort of infinite. Both go hand in hand. Why is this important? Because when we are trying to comprehend the human heart, the spirit and soul, it is as though we are trying to place the finite in the infinite and make it work. Some things are only seen in hindsight, in the rearview mirror, as it were.

All I know is, at once, a million things came together and produced a sort of Bermuda Triangle of epiphany. Painful, freeing, sad, angry, excited, liberated, constrained, desperate, hopeful, these are just a few of the emotions, thoughts and experiences that pass through me within any given hour of late. My age, my stage, my place, my experiences, my losses, my gains, my hopes, my dreams, my failures... they have all collided. There is no net to catch me, no excuse to fall back on, no grand illusion to go by anymore. I am too old to be stupid and ignorant. The pain has been to much to deny emotions any longer (after a good 18 years of this), my questions have gotten to real to pacify, the cycles to prominent to be deceptive. I am powerless and yet have more power than I knew.

Things have to change and I have to be the one to change them. I need salvation more than ever, and yet I understand how salvation is not an arriving, but a process. Freedom is no longer a silly term, but something to attain, to strive for. I hate what has happened, but love what it has produced. I miss people I love so fiercely I can't help but want to scream, but I know, deep in my heart things could never be the way I wanted them and I could never go back. I am full of anger and yet knowing how angry I am makes sense and brings a sense of hope. I am for once, not numb and while it scares the hell out of me, I am too tired, to frustrated and too desperate to go back. I am aware, I am awake and I hate it, but love it.

Old dreams have revived and while they bring a mustard seed sized hope, I am overwhelmingly sad and angry at how the chains, lies and deceptions of the world have stolen years, opportunities and the God given confidence that could have sent me into orbit of opportunity. I find my back is against the wall: it is now or never. I do, or I don't. There is no excuse to not live my life fully and completely now. There is no person, nothing left to "accomplish" before I am fully responsible for every decision. I feel as though I am the servant with the talents given by the King. Did He give me 1, 5, or 10? What will I do with them? Have I wasted them yet? I feel as though He gave me one, I buried it, but have seen my folly. I am walking back, standing before Him. We both know there is something to be said. I have a choice in this moment. I can confess I buried the 1 talent and forgot where I placed it, or I can ask for more. "Master. I have buried the talent and I forgot where it was. I have squandered your wealth. But I am here because you have given someone else 10, so I am asking for 9 more. I will recoup what you lost." I'm wondering, in my rewritten parable, will He give me 9 more? Or better yet, in His kindness, will He forgive me the one, give me 10 and maybe leave the buried talent for someone to find, knowing His plan is better than my mistake? Isn't that what we hope for everyday?

In this life, right now, in this moment, I am banking on a story of unparalleled grace. I'm going to rewrite the story. On the cusp of too late, I am going to believe a better word and walk in a completely different direction. I'm rewriting the story line, giving up knowing the ending, or even tomorrow for that matter. I want to be surprised, because in my version, if I were to fill in these pages, my life is over. Done. I've already failed, fucked it up, made a mess. It's dirty, it's ugly and somewhere in the combination of voluntarily giving away my talents and having them being stolen, swindled away, there is nothing left. Time, funds, heart, dreams, hopes, the are all gone.

But in that, I am finding the gospel I have always longed for. The gap is being bridged in the most ridiculous ways. Sermons from Michigan and theologians from England. A new perspective from heretics that brings more freedom, more meaning and more grace than 15 years of church and contradiction have ever brought. Books 100 pages long by 19th century existentialists more acclaimed in the world than in the church, preaching experiencing the one to one relationship with Jesus. Where have we been for the last 100 years? When living a worldly life offers more freedom and hope than a life lived in relationship to the Trinity and the church, we are doing something wrong. Jesus came to set free, to bring hope. A REAL hope. Not something ambiguous and difficult and full of work and drudgery. His yoke is LIGHT. If we can't get, if people are missing hearing how great it is to know Him, there is something wrong, something amiss. And I for one, am a victim of it, and it stops here and now.

In a crazy sense of irony, as I take MORE responsibility for my life, as my eyes open more, as more pain enters, so does freedom, light and joy. I experience the beauty of a creation that was meant as a gift, a life that is meant to be lived in excitement and passion, and a revolution of soul that truly does heal from top to bottom. He is not as difficult, strict, angry, disappointed, distanced and general mean, as we talk about Him. WE are His purpose. If that is not a message of hope, of grace, I don't know what is. WE are His reason, WE are our own reason and part of His answer. How beautiful is that? How amazing is it to be an answer for each other?

These are just a few of the dimensions that I am learning in. A lot? No kidding. I am on overdrive 100% of the time. If I ever get a chance to stop and breath, I will be more than thankful. Even I can see why I need sleeping pills. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about why we exist. They said it would get better with age... um, they lied.

But that is neither here nor there. Mostly this crazy post was just to get a few things of my chest and try to put on paper a small portion of what I was learning. Sorry for the ramblings. I promise, in a year or two, it may get more cohesive. Or it may not. Who knows....

Chasing Beauty

When I was a kid, life was sort of chaotic. We moved the first time when I was four. We moved again when I was six, and again when I was seven and again when I was nine. My parents always rented and tried to find the right place, but it didn’t stick until they actually bought a house for the first time. We settled in and for a brief moment, things seemed normal.

At ten, my father had his second bypass surgery. The first time had been when I was four, also around the time we moved. When I was eleven, I skipped grade six and started middle school in seventh. It was a tough transition and I wasn’t used to the new dynamics, of much more than just the academics. I also contracted mono that year, resulting in multiple episodes of sore throats that seemed as though they were nothing more than attempts to stay out of school. Since his was an upside I couldn’t deny, it took them two years to figure out I wasn't lying but it was actually a symptom of the same illness that sent me to the couch falling asleep after school, and then into insomnia at night. They say you get over it, but in all honesty, I’m not sure. I’m still taking Ambien.

Around the same time I was diagnosed, my sister became pregnant with her first baby. From there, the rest is a blur. My dad worked from home, but never made money, my sister was an emotional basket-case, dealing with pregnancy and a broken heart and my mother was doing her damnedest to keep us all afloat, turning to work for relaxation and shopping for catharsis. Somewhere in there, I faded to a backdrop. Everyone was focused on supporting my sister, or my mom, or my father’s business and babysitting to boot. My parents had the usual connections to me through my activities, but as those filtered out and I got old enough to get around without them, my need grew less and my sisters grew more. I got a job to support myself and not be too much of a burden on a house that was already drowning in debt and denial.

Before all hell broke loose, I remember being maybe ten or eleven and sitting around one night with the family when a spontaneous moment of joy happened. I can’t remember why we were all together or what brought the moment about. But I remember the feel. My parents forgot their quick tempers and the resentments resulting from too much stress, my sister wasn’t the gloomy teenager, constantly bickering for attention and I wasn’t just the little girl to be tolerated, but once again, a part of something beautiful. We were a family, a collective of souls meant to help each other live out a life that is already so difficult.

It was as if a spell had fallen. The smiles were genuine, the laughter deep and releasing. I’m sure I didn’t understand the jokes, but I smiled and laughed because they were happy and when they were happy, I was happy. I remember basking in the glow of familial love, wishing it would never end, only the way a child can.

And then I had to pee. I held it as long as I could. Panic rose as the feeling grew. I shifted from side to side, my mind splintering between enjoyment and sheer torture. I stared at the bathroom, a mere six feet away, but I knew, the moment I left the magic would end. The clenched foreheads of survival would return, we remember how to bite at each other and defenses would be the better practice to grace and love. Those so much wiser and older than I, would return to their corners and I would get lost again, not yet privy to how sarcasm and bitterness worked to stave off guilt and pain.

Eventually I succumb and went to the bathroom, and sure enough, as I walked out, the retreat from armistice had already begun and more than a little crestfallen, I wandered my way back to the couch to resume my own retreat into someone else’s world. I shoved the disappointment and loss down, not understanding how people can be as close as a few inches, but really, a million miles away.

Last week I was driving home on a fairly misty day when I encountered beauty again. I came over the crest on Ygnatio Valley, back towards Concord around sunset. There are hills on either side with the “tri-cities” being visible on one side as you come either way. The sun was setting behind an overcast sky with low hanging dense clouds that look ominous, but didn’t have enough weight to deluge. The air was clear from an earlier rain, moist with left over drops bringing an extra bit of magnification to the views around me. The hills were golden without becoming brown, the sky a sort of steel/blue grey I can only describe as dynamic. I could feel the dimensions. The gold against the grey, against the great expanse… it was magnificent.

Sometimes language fails to capture what only the eye can see, or the ears can hear. We reach for phrases in a desperate attempt to articulate something that only the soul can interpret. And every once in a while, if you are lucky enough, in the most dull drum moments, this sort of connection to beauty, to life, to something more than just words on a page, grips you, shifting something deep down, then leaves just as quickly as it came. If you are really lucky and either caught off guard, or your heart has opened to see, you will involuntarily begin to cry, the beauty have knifed into a place long held back by your own set of demons.

On top of this small hill, with a monument to suburban life not far below, I found myself in the same sort of moment I did when I was a child with my family. I knew in a few short seconds I would come down the hill and the sight would be gone. My car would keep moving, the traffic around me refusing to let me slow or stop to drink in and quench my need for connection. I wanted to run into the sky, to wrap my arms around it, flinging myself into its great expanse, begging it to remain this beautiful forever. Echo my soul, my heart, my spirit like this, please, tomorrow, again and again… But beauty is like that. It’s bittersweet, knowing it will end.

There is a certain desperation I live my life with, an inherent fear that whatever good thing I am experiencing right at that moment will leave and I will never really know when the next beautiful moment will find me, or if it will. Everything always changed, and mostly, when it changed, it brought with it turmoil, pain, or more chaos. Things of beauty tend to bring with it a melancholy now, so I enjoy, mourning an inevitable loss.

I’ve carried this with me in many places and throughout many years, capping off my enjoyment, my sentiment, my heart, knowing the crush of disappointment, of grief. Paris, DC, Hawaii, sites tinged with sorrow. Times I have given in and trusted the joy to last, it hasn’t and it has seemed to only further the cycle of distrust and enmity. I sat in the Musee D'Orsey for three hours staring at a Monet one afternoon. I stared and stared and stared knowing I would never be able to explain it, or take a picture of it, or be able to bring it justice in any way, but also knowing, I needed that beauty.

I’m not sure what triggered, or what is to blame for why I feel the way I feel, and I really don’t care much, but I do wonder, is there a better way? Is there a way to be fully present to a world that was a gift to us, to a creation that is full of life and goodness and trust it will all be there again tomorrow? Can I look forward to moments of joy, or a present time of sorrow, or the conversation of a good friend and be fully present knowing it will end, but another will follow? I inherently doubt life beyond constant survival, but I also wonder, is there a way to live in a dynamic sort of grey? Dense clouds full of movement, expanding and collapsing with the air, with experience, ready to take the good and the bad, knowing, beauty will always win, your family will, one day move past its torment, memories of loss won’t always haunt and there are still sunsets to be enjoyed. I envey those that are able to do this, that live with a sort of abandon, not at all frightened at the fragility of life and community and goodness. I crave that sort of security, trust and consistency. I crave beauty, but know, until I let go, I will crave as a bottomless vat, always needing more and that brings about the question, will I ever be satisfied enough to stop running, or will I always be chasing beauty?

Maybe Even Thailand

There's something about pain, that as it heals, it only brings up more. Or maybe that's just me.

I have a birthday coming up. I hate birthdays. I really do. Not like I used to. I used to say I hated birthdays, but really I loved them. I always hoped if I said I never liked my birthday, someone would try to make me feel differently. Such is youth. Then I met someone and fell in love and everything changed. Love does that, you know? Real love changes everything.

This year, however, I am experiencing a sort of visceral reaction. Most of my life has been a stressful dance between denial, survival and grandiose hope. It all hinged on someday. Someday things would be better. Once I got here, did this, accomplished this. It was my family's motto. The big fights would stop when... fill in the blank. I always waited for that blank to be filled in. Jumping from lily-pad to lily-pad trying to make it all fit when I knew it never really would. Wedding says, children, houses, degrees, whatever it was that was 'out there.' But hope is a commodity that youth can afford, no matter how ignorant or misguided it is.

Then one day, for whatever reason, things did start to work out. I got into a great school fell in love, had the life of my dreams. Whatever it was that helped bring it about, I felt good. I felt wonderful. Everything did work out. The formulas, the systems, the promises, they finally paid off. Never mind the ache that still sat there, or the feeling of uneasiness I couldn't get rid of. It seemed like there was more, but I couldn't figure out what. I was living on a razors edge, instinctively feeling it. It seemed too easy. Signing on for loans and credit cards wasn't as easy as it felt. People don't fall in love, never fight and get married. I was stacking up debt, in more ways than one, living like I had no tomorrow to pay for. And I knew it, but I didn't know what else to believe. Life had been full of so many extremes, friends forever, until tomorrow, feast or famine, kings or paupers. There was never an in between and I think I knew I wanted to believe it would last forever, but knew, at some point things would have to change. I closed my eyes, took a breath and dove into how great that moment was, swimming in a world of denial and ignorant bliss.

So here I am, facing the first birthday in 27 years, honestly. Between the heartache of loss still creating a few shadows, the grief of time hangs over head like a harvest moon and the chains of debt pulling me back into a stark reality of how youth is wasted on the young, there seems to be nothing much to look forward to.

I'm curled up on a small couch, computer in front of me, a mixture of icons surrounding me. In one corner is a small box filled with memorabilia I had forgotten I had from a love long lost. In it is a letter written in hand by a man that can't spell and finds words hard to find sometimes. It was four pages long pouring out a vulnerable heart. Next to that is a box of things I have to ship out tomorrow that I sold on Ebay. $500 worth of things that I haven't looked at, touched or used in years and finally it will be going to a worth while cause, Sallie Mae. It's all sitting on top of the class Financial Peace by Dave Ramsey I just started taking. In the middle of the room, a stack of books. Some by NT Wright (since he is coming to town on Friday and I have registered to listen to him speak), Anne Lammott (a brilliant memoirist that I would love to emulate someday), Donald Miller (that I am mildly disappointed to hear is recently engaged, which scraps my plans to drive up and introduce myself explaining why we are the same person and he should marry me), a book of poems by the Brontes that I carry with me everywhere and a few leaflets on teaching in Thailand or getting my masters in theology. Really, both are a distraction, my empty attempt to feel as though I still have an excuse to not start really living a life I should be well on my way to establishing by this age.

And that's the point, isn't it? There is a truth that lingers beneath each pile that I have a hard time admitting to. A deeper reality that is the flip side to every coin. The old letters and items. I see a time of happiness, bliss, feeling loved and special and cared for. What I forget is, the letter was written after he started using again, lying to me the whole time. The whole thing was written with resentment in his heart, blaming me for driving him back to substance abuse. I'll never know how much of what he wrote was true, how much of it was an attempt to right the guilt in his own heart, how much he loved me for me, or because he needed something to make him feel like he wasn't the monster he would later allow himself to become. The pile of stuff is the sad result of living a life on luck and a prayer. There are bounds we live in, and when they are violated, when we push too far, when we let things and stuff and wounds spin us out of control, somewhere, somehow, we pay the price. I have a lot of work to do to get out of that mess. And the books? Well, that truth is actually the silver lining, if there is one.

They are the desperate attempt to make sense of the harshness of reality. If it is too good to be true, it probably is, but, what isn't true, is the feeling of unease. Peace is only subject to how much truth and reality is lived in. There will never be peace in denial, or in ignorance. There may be desperate joy, but the space that happiness needs to feel to beat back the restlessness, it just gets bigger. Those that have been down this road before me, they become beacons in the night, kindred spirits reminding me how the plight of the soul is nothing new. We are all searching, struggling, doing the best we can to walk our way through dark rooms, banging our knees on the coffee table as we go. We get bruised, step on others, fall, cut our hands on shattered glass. The mess of my life is nothing more than the attempts to get through without wanting to turn on the flashlight. I've preferred the dark and stacks of letters that still bring tears to my eyes, bills that have to be paid and another birthday that is coming seeming to whisper how little I have done of worth or real value, are all the results. Now, I just am refusing to close my eyes again.

It hurts, keeping my eyes open. I feel like I am waking up to so much, and I really don't like the sights. I hate that I have to spend a good while paying off debt of the heart, the soul, the mind, the spirit and the checkbook. And sometimes I want to close my eyes again. As I clean out my car to sell, as I sit at home alone, as I longingly stare at a beach scene, or talk to a good friend about her adventures in living the glamorous life free of the restraints I know, I just want to bury my head, and go shopping, or book a trip, or do something, anything to make me feel less stuck, less like a failure. I feel the heartache, the loss of time, the wishing I had done things so different and I want to scream, punch something, throw something, or just pray for all of life to just get better. I want to argue with God about redemption and making things right and how He should do that for me right now or the cross means nothing. My logic seems flawless until I realize, if that were to happen, if I were to get what I want and a miracle check showed up in the hand of the man of my dreams, or better yet, in the hands of every person that ever left me or ignored me, or was mean to me, I would find myself right back where I was a few years ago. Everything would be great, but then I would wonder when it would all disappear again and the razor's edge would be just as sharp. Feast or famine, king or pauper, all or nothing.... I would never learn how to live in the middle, in the grey, in the reality of death, pain, ache, loss, betrayal and I would never really survive.

God would stay up on His thrown, far away, displaced in some form of my imagination. I would never need Him to get down into the mud with me, helping me learn how to be part of my own redemption. I would miss the point. Of everything. And then, that's when the cross really would mean nothing. When I closed my eyes to the bad of life, to the pain, to the unease, inadvertently I closed my eyes to the greatness of God.

I'm scared. I'm scared I messed things up so badly it's too late. I think deep down, most of us feel that way. We are jealous of those that either never have to feel that way, or just seem to never have to face that feeling. But those of us that have big dreams, or big hurts, or big mistakes, we live in a world where the worst is possible and there are times it feels inevitable. I'm staring at my life, looking back with a critical eye, realizing how many times I've cycled through the same crap, the same way of living and I'm now closer to 30 than I am 20 and it scares me. There are no more excuses now. No more nets to catch me as I make a fool of myself. The risks are bigger now, and I am more mortal than I want to realize. I have to work at this thing, life. And I wonder how this gospel will really play itself out in my life. I wonder if I will have a testimony, or if that is just another grand illusion in the culture of denial I have grown up in. My consequences are very real and I'm not sure how much it's going to cost, in the long run, to really pay them off. I worry, did I give up my shot? Can something great ever really be produced from such a late bloomer?

I guess in time, I will find out. In time I will know what is grand illusion, and what is really possibility. Until then, I will bear down, survive another birthday, another round of holidays alone and then, spring will come. And with it, who knows, maybe even Thailand.

That's What It's All About

I used to think that being told to love someone is about you. I would read the Bible, or hear people speak and they would talk about loving our brothers, or being kind, or compassionate, or whatever, and I would feel guilty because I wasn’t living up to some standard. A good portion of the time, I still feel that way now, to be frank.

But lately something has begun to change. When you read through the Bible, or John’s letters, or you hear the things Jesus has to say, there are a few themes, and many people have said many things about what those themes are, so I won’t totally go off the deep end here, but what really fascinates me, is the concept of passion.

Everywhere, all over the place, we see it either played out, talked about, or lived with, or expressed through Jesus and His disciples.

Jesus throws over the money changers, He stops the group from stoning the woman; He doesn’t pull any punches with the rich man. The prodigal son’s Father weeping, Jesus weeping over Lazarus and over Jerusalem. Later, in the letters from John, he repeats the words love and truth over and over. How many times have I heard my dad tell the same stories, or say the same pieces of advice over and over? It has gotten to the point where I literally can mouth along what my dad is about to say.

And we do that with the concept of love, don’t we? “Love your brothers, love each other… etc)” It starts to have the drone of your father’s stories…
Jesus and John, however, had a certain sort of passion that infused every part of their lives. When they said something, they really meant it. So the thing Jesus talks about all the time is the Kingdom of God and John spends a lot of time talking about love.

Here’s the thing about love, if you have ever had it taken from you, or proved false, every statement John makes, every bit of the passion Jesus expresses, all of the sudden, those words become the most important thing you have ever heard.
I think Jesus and John knew what happens when we don’t live with honesty, with true love, that wants to see the best in others, that is hopeful, but also, just basically tries not to harm people in our path.

When Jesus was turning over the money tables, He was watching as the poor, the desperate, the hopeless trudged in and did everything they could to get to a God that was supposed to take care of them, and they trusted the men, the leaders, the religious that were there to help them get to that God. They had nothing else. I think He saw that and was enraged. Between Rome and the church they were the least, they were the true ‘99%’. Some probably knew, and hated the system, and I’m sure many had no idea how taken advantage of they were. And then they were told to worship and love this God. As their pockets were being emptied, and their children were being starved for education and bread, they were told God was still good.

Later, John was watching different things unfold. He was watching a new church start and people learn how to be in relationship that had never spoken to each other before; people from all sorts of backgrounds, ages, ethnicities and religions. Masters and slaves, generational feuds, people that had come from academia and people from the slums. All sorts of rag-tag converts attracted to a gospel with some teeth to it. And I imagine John couldn’t have been happier. This new group of people was going to have an amazing understanding of the world and who needed what and how to bring justice and goodness and compassion and food to each other. So he keeps saying love, remember to love. Go overboard. Love until it hurts and then keep going. They had something special, but it had to be protected. They needed to have grace for the differences, to let the foolish shame the wise and let the wise hurt a little. They needed the rich to become poor and the poor to get money so they could all walk a hundred miles in each other’s shoes.

In my heart of hearts, I believe a portion of that is because both John and Jesus has witnessed, had felt, had seen what it meant to have no love to your name. They had been rejected, bombarded, disenfranchised, disregarded and promised much, while given little, and then told to smile about it. Jesus had to feed thousands, question the norms and bring awareness back to the true message of the Torah and He was killed for it. Both had been called fools, over the top, too much, heretics, heathens, anything you could name. Their characters were called into question, their hearts, their minds and most of all, their spirituality. Jesus was accused of being possessed at one point. If that’s not offensive, I’m not sure what is.

People had come and gone from them. At the height of Jesus’ ministry, they say he had as many as 3,000 followers. By the time He died, no one was really shouting His name from the rooftops. They had watched people come in, looking for a cheap thrill, or something to make things better for a short time and then when the excitement wore off, they left. I think they had both felt what it meant to have someone promise to stand by you, to be with you, to love you and understand you, only to walk away when you went ‘too far’ or it just got tough.

I think about the people that have come in and out of my life, and every one of them I trusted to be something they weren’t. Mostly, it was just faithful, or gracious or even compassionate, but only a few, a true few have been able to really exemplify that. And not all of them are believers.

Losing love, or finding out that the love you were promised wasn’t ever real to begin is humiliating. And humiliation has an odd way of making people really mean and hurt and angry. I know this, because it has happened to me.

To tell the truth, I think John and Jesus spoke with passion and about love and the Kingdom because they knew people would need something to recognize other true, quality people by. Jesus talks straight to the heart revealing God and Himself and John comes later saying, this is how you recognize God in people, in each other, in yourself: love.

Forget the skin color, forget the country, forget the age, forget the occupation and status. Are they trustworthy? Are they kind? Are you trustworthy? Are you kind? Do you promise things you can’t give, do you hold onto to what you have so tightly because you fear if you let it go, you will never have anything? Then there is work to be done. It’s not going to be about religion. It’s going to be about letting your yes be yes and your no be no. Don’t take advantage of each other. Be different, but don’t use the differences as a weapon. They knew what it did to the heart to be hurt so deeply, and I think they wanted, above all, for their legacy, for the way that we showed each other and everyone else the heart of God, was to never do that again. It was to live with a soft heart, open eyes, a firm stance. It was full of passion, belief and commitment to the beauty that is love. Never about guilt, but always focused on the positive, rather than then negative.

You can almost hear both of them saying “Be careful. We are all vulnerable to the pain of life, and we, above all, have to be on each other’s team. We have to support each other, allow for differences, not give up on each other, we have to pursue truth together and respect someone else’s opinion. We have to protect this, so don’t promise what you can’t give. Commit to each other, believe in each other, hope for each other, be in relationship, talk stuff out, get a beer together and enjoy life together. You were created to love, so do it. Fulfill your destiny and purpose and be for each other the answers to all the questions. Let all of the laws hang on your love for each other and let everything else go. If you can’t enjoy the conversation, stop talking. Preserve each other above all. Get the ass out of the pit, even on Sunday. Because, that, my friend, is what it is all about.”

No Crazy

For years I have heard people talk about being “sold out for Jesus.” I hate that phrase. It makes me want to punch someone. Yes, I am that violent sometimes. The sort of violent Jesus embodied with He drove the merchants from the temple.

I was listening to a sermon by Rob Bell today. Well actually, I think I have listened to four or five of them in the last three days. I’m drinking in the perspective he has like water on a parched land. Donald Miller, Rob Bell, Scot Knight… I can’t get enough. Something resonates. I wish I could put my finger on it, but I can’t totally yet. It’s something in the way he thinks about faith, life, God, the world, as though the Bible is so literal, so simple, but really, so complex and rich, everything wrapping back around into the heart of God. The relationship between Him and His creation is depicted as so perfectly harmonious, generous and hopeful. Love abounding, living in the life of God is as true, as real, as profound, as calling, as life-giving and tremendously scary, frustrating, hard, painful and shaping.

I’ve listened to a thousand sermons, her hundreds of speakers, been to so many Bible classes I want to scream. I’ve got stacks of books, devotionals, binders full of sheet music from worship services, Bible in different translations… each other them telling me how to get closer, how to understand more, how to truly be “set free.” All of it left me unsatisfied, unfulfilled, only adding to the feeling of hopelessness, frustration and anger with God. He felt distant, unreachable, and impossible and I hurt more and more. So I did the only thing I had left to do, I jumped off the cliff and let go. I punched the out clock and walked off the job. Everything I was supposed to be, everything I was supposed to think, everything I thought I wanted, it all seemed to lead to a dead end, so I just got out of the car and started walking a different direction.

There was a division between what I was seeing, what I was feeling, what the Bible was saying, what people were saying, what people were doing, and I felt like a rat on a wheel that was just running on empty. Where was this damn thing going anyway? Who is this really benefitting? Why does God need these things from me? Why do I need to punish myself so, and why are you telling me that this is all there is? I was screaming, seething and then finally breaking from the inside out.

I wasn’t rejecting God, I was rejecting something, but I knew it wasn’t God. I was walking away, but it wasn’t from faith. I was letting go, but not of truth. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just knew what I wasn’t doing anymore, and that was good enough.

It still is.

I don’t know how to reformulate all of this, but I do know, I was right. I say that not in gloating (okay, maybe a little), but mostly in the “I KNEW it!” sort of way. Ha! I was right all along! Pointing, shouting, doing a little jig, there is an exuberant little freedom that affirms how crazy I haven’t been. That’s right!!! Not crazy!

I can’t tell you what it feels like to read a book, hear a sermon, read a blog and hear someone say what I haven’t had the language, the words to string together. I actually found myself crying the other day as relief flooded my soul. The last 10 years of struggle seemed to, for once, for one second, for one beautiful moment, be validated. I’m not alone… my spirit, my heart, my soul, they knew better. I knew better…

Believe it or not, there is no arrogance in what I say. No, none at all. When you spend years pushing back against a very strong culture, a very ingrained system, knowing for some odd reason that it isn’t right, but having no weapons to fight with, having no way to be different, to confirm or be judged, having no skills to understand what is right, hearing someone else come along and finally fill in the gaps, make sense of what I have fumbled around in the dark with…. There is a held breath, an exhale that actually is painful. When people look at you as though you are crazy enough, you start to really believe them. I must be so off, so wrong… I shouldn’t trust anything I think or do. Finally, that’s not true anymore. It’s not pride that makes me dance like I just scored a touchdown, it’s realizing I wasn’t the problem, they were.

My whole life I have felt different. I know most people do, but truly, I have felt disassociated from people, felt that I was speaking a language that was different from theirs. I’ve been playing their game because I had no other choice, no other ways of thinking, viewing the world, acting, or living. Pulling myself out of this has been nothing short of hell, but finally, slowly, things are starting to make sense. It’s fragile, tiny, and I am still so susceptible to the insidious ways the world works.

What’s worse, I look around and I have built my life on what everyone else has said was right. Even though I knew it was wrong, I had no other examples of how to live, be and do life, so I have just gone with the flow and I find myself in a place of great hindrance and binding. My closet is full, but my bank empty. My head is full of knowledge, my heart lacking understanding. I’m still exhausted from malnutrition, stunted in growth by a place, time and people that I have at once fought and been molded by.

I listen to Rob Bell, read Donald Miller, watch stories of people that I respect unfold and know that is how I want to live, but I have the chains attached now. Loans, credit cards, TV’s, cars, bills, etc. There is no real freedom. I have no idea how to do any of this. I only know the way I have always been told, and it is such a small, rigid perspective, seeing none of the possibility, none of the promise of a God that I want to dive into. I want to remove the chains. I’m not sure how, but I want to.

So now, now I wonder how can God do this? Can He? Will He? I’m asking for Him to do the practical, the impractical and the impossible. I’m wanting to believe in every good thing of His, every good promise, I want to jump off the cliff, again, but do it with just a touch more understanding of what I am asking for.

Ironically, it is less stressful to ask God to take care of something and set me free, than it is to think about my life and my need to take care of it myself. It goes something like this:

“Jesus, I know You know I have done the best I can with what I have. I have mimicked what I have seen, made bad decisions and generally lived the exact opposite of loving and trusting in You. But no matter what the past, this is all I have to offer. I want to live a life that is generous, wise, free, able to move with Your spirit. I will go anywhere, do anything. I promise, I will not put my light under the bed, or squander my talents. I see now. It has taken me so long to get here, but I see now. I get it, and I trust You. I truly do. You are so different than what people have told me and You truly are what I have longed for my whole life. I may be joining the party a little late, but I’m here. I don’t want to be tied down to things, stuff, money, small dreams and empty hopes. But in some very practical ways, I am. You have known my path from front to back, from beginning to end, from the first the last. Tell me how to honor what I have and what I don’t have, how to live a life that is mimicked after Yours, full of joy, peace and freedom and I will. How do I do this?”

There are so many things I could do, there are so many things I want to do, there are so many places, jobs, schools… it goes on. But I don’t want to do what I have done, which is not really know, scramble and try to make something work. I don’t want to continue to try to fill the empty spaces and do what feels comfortable. What I really want is to finally live the faith I have, fully and completely. I want to act like I believe what I believe, that God is in, above, around, in front, behind, past, present, future, is Alpha, Omega, Creator, Savior, Empathizer, Dreamer, Hope Giver, Revolutionary, Challenging, Risky, amazing roller coaster amazingness and I was put here to be alive body, mind, spirit and soul.

It’s going to be okay. I know it is. I want to leave and would love the opportunity to really go, but I know, God has a purpose. He would not have put the restlessness in me He did so many years ago, just to satisfy me and my curiosity, but He did it with a purpose. I have things to take care of and I’m not going to be irresponsible with my life anymore, but at the same time, I know my wings are just starting to make sense and I can’t live without flying anymore. I’m not going to settle for small dreams anymore. Why would I?

In this circumstance I refuse to use the Bible as a weapon, but I really want to quote some Scripture that has been absolutely tortured by the church…. But I will resist.

Emet

The Hebrew word for truth is emet. I happen to have an obsession with words and to be honest, this may or may not be the most fascinating word I have ever heard, or learned.

I found a fascinating website called "Hebrew for Christian's." Now don't get me wrong, I sort of hate anything that starts with an objective and tries to make it fit, but this website seems to have some real authentic understanding. It isn't afraid to broach some of the more radical forms of Judaism no one in the Christian community wants to talk about, ie, Kabbalism, Mysiticsm, etc. The fact they even mention these terms without finishing the sentence with some sort of quantitative justification makes me smile and builds just a seed of trust otherwise unknown.

The word emet, or truth, comes from the Hebraic understanding that truth is in relation to the person. It is about a way of living, rather than a set of rigid facts and provable circumstances. It is about doing, rather than being. The view of truth, as quoted, is more "the dynamic, the changing, and the idea that truth involved the formation of the character of the person - and the restoration of the world." On first glance, I can guarantee you that the majority of Christians would take this statement and find it heretical, but on closer examination, I find it rather supra-Christian.

I've spent the last 10 years fighting a battle I didn't know I was embroiled in. Powerful cultural norms that masquerade as freedom seduced me into a worship of something other than God. Religion replaced faith, sets of rules informed belief, rather than belief informing a way of life. For years I got how wrong this was, but could never put my finger on it. Until that is, recently.

How do I explain this? You can't change a system when you don't know it's changing you. My deepest desire has been to know the true heart of God. The way He is described in the Scriptures, violent in love, angry in jealously, passionate in mercy, unsatisfied in goodness... as though He would never be able to settle for anything less than complete and total abandon. I needed that. Somehow I knew, if I could just taste that, for one moment, for one split second, everything would fall into place and the world would really start to change for me.

I was right.

As I have found myself violently searching for Him, I have been violently searching for anything that would fill the hole created by a culture, a church, a community, a family that carved out space in me. Faster than I could fill, the hole just opened wider and wider, swallowing everything from my pride and dignity, to my time and money. Would the right city, the right job, the right friends, the right lover bring the completion? I knew it wouldn't and so two paths continued, along side each other. Desperate for love, acceptance, place, home, I knew it was only going to come from Him, but I didn't know how to get there.

Pastors, teachers, friends, songs, books, all said the same thing. It was my fault. I was fighting Him, His love, His presence, I was choosing to disregard Him, His commands and His desires for me. There was this great divide in what everyone said the problem was, and what the answer to that problem was. Well, you are the problem and He is the answer, so you should get on that. Wait, what? Yeah, I know, but how do I get there? Um.... just do it. And in the meantime, don't act like an ass or you will be kicked out.

Great. Thanks. I'm screwed.

And I was. I lost everything. And I don't regret it. Everything I lost was never worth having, and yes, that includes people.

Learning, for the first time in my entire life, that God wasn't as angry as made out to be, that His impartation to the earth was less of a reluctant giving in and more of a joyous desire to continue to create, was like a breath of fresh air. The Son of Man did not come to condemn, but to set free. We say it, but how much do we get it? How much do we treat each other that way?

When someone tells you they have made a mistake, what is your reaction? Do you joyfully enter into their heart, saying something encouraging, life giving? If they challenge you, your thoughts, your beliefs, your perspectives, do you get frustration, or try to boundary them in by being the Devil's Advocate? Do you "encourage" them to see the "Christian" perspective? Do you quote Scripture and remind them why they shouldn't think that way, or do you enter into the conversation, asking the next question, going a step further, curiously trusting that their heart is honest and maybe they might just be right?

When someone hurts you, are you willing to point it out without pouting, getting angry and walking away? Can you be honest without being judgmental? If someone is "living" a way you don't agree with, are value judgements (they are good or bad, or their faith is strong or weak) about person made, or are you looking into their heart, seeing past the action?

If you have answered yes to any of these, I hate to break it to you, but you aren't a very good Christian. That's right, you suck at your own religion... oh and God is disappointed. You should really repent and be a better representative of a loving Christ. Your faith probably needs some work. It looks like you may be struggling in your relationship with Christ, and I know I'm worried for you.

Sucks doesn't it? See, it's so easy, it's so damn easy, but it is the revolution of Jesus not to be any of that. It is the upside down-ness that says "Challenge, bring it on! Truth should be shaping me everyday, and if what you are saying is true, than it is Godly and right. Awesome. Your struggling? Your fighting things through? Your doubting? Perfect! That most likely means you are on the right path! Some things should be rejected and let go of. Some beliefs are bad. What are you challenging? Concerned about the existence of God? Cool, let's talk about that, tell me what you think, what makes you question these things?"

And that my friends, is when the conversation really begins. That's when life really happens. When something dies, like a faith based on a culture rather than an experience, or when the concept of the love of God is questioned and met without love, the questioner is proved more right than wrong, and truly, who loses out? Most likely not the person who is questioning. See they are coming to a place that every one of us should struggle with, truth. Honesty. Self-reflection. They are working to let real truth become dynamic in their life, struggling to align their experiences with God's truth. They are seeking emet.

The first, middle and last letter of the word emet are the first, middle and last letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Truth, is represented in picture and language as encompassing all. Taking the first letter out leaves it meaning death. That letter, Aleph, means glory of God. That is the beauty of the Hebrew language, it's like Words with Friends. They attach and grow on each other, each adding up to more and more meaning (or points). Put it together, to pursue truth, or emet, is not possible without the involvement of the glory of God. To pursue truth is to pursue the glory of God.

Jesus came to be the way, the truth and the life. To fight for truth, to struggle, will always lead to Jesus. It can't help but not. Truth, life, God, they are all integrated, all swirling around each other, impossible to separate. Is it possible to see how this can bring more, more and more freedom to us? When someone, or we, or I challenge something, it is the very heart of God. It is part of His reflection in the life of the person. Why then, do we fear so much? Why do we feel the need to cage them, to structure it their argument, to qualify and remind, or caution? Shouldn't we be encouraging the person? Pushing them to go further, to never be satisfied? Shouldn't WE never be satisfied? Since when do we have it all figured out?

I was never the problem. The world is. Men are. I have tried to see God through men and it will never work. In fact, it has been the most detrimental part to my belief, my faith, my trust in Him.

Sin, missing the mark, failing, those aren't marker for how much I love God, how much faith I have, how Christian I am. They are indicators of how much I believe in my own humanity, my own goodness, my own honor. They are messages I am sending to myself, to others and to the world around me how much I have bought into the lies of the world. They are the times I decide I can't ever truly engage in beauty, truth, real love, real meaning and purpose, so I say "Fuck it," get tired of trying to make things work, get wasted and do what I want. And it works. Damn it, for that moment, it works. I connect with something and for a moment the guilt, the shame, the constrictions, the worries, they fall off and I am free. Sort of.

But later, the colors fall, the smell of the air, the open horizon, the melancholy that won't go away, they remind me that I am more, that there is more, and even though I haven't found it yet, it is out there. He is out there. And knowing Him will be worth more.

The more I fight with Him to break off the chains of the world, the views of minimization, the anger of false Gods the church has taught me, as I give up the black and white for the grey, as I accept my humanity, my struggle for what it is, truly a God-send, I see more and more the life giving breath and how to connect with it. The false versions become less attractive because they work somewhat not as well as learning a greater emet.

For the first time, entering into His world is more about entering into beauty, possibility, freedom, acceptance of who I am, grace that means more than just getting by. I am pulled more and more in the direction of His kingdom, His amazing sense fo wonder, crazy interpretations and the endless depth of thought, philosophy and spirituality. I am excited by the empowerment He offers me, the trust He places in me and the permission He gives me to live my life out loud, at the top of my lungs, screaming for the sake of screaming. He is rejoices in my emotions, my passions, my intensity, my vulnerability and frailty. He cheers me on as I step farther and farther into the dark of unknown, lighting my path just enough in front of me to let me know I'm on the right one. He laughs a boisterous laugh, fairly shouting "welcome! Come join the party!" I can feel the generations before me nodding in affirmation as I defend my positions, and try to stump their intellectualism. There is a collective, "Oh I remember asking that question. It's a good one. What was your answer?"

As I chase emet, I am beginning to see how it is shaping my life. The colors, the landscape, things are changing. Acceptance is coming easier. Letting go of old perspectives, handling fear, disappointment, it's starting to make more sense. I know I may struggle for a while, but I know things are getting better. Some serious foundations have shifted, and I will never be able to go back. I will have to find a different place and setting somehow. These truths, they will need to be nurtured, protected and imparted for a long time. I have a lot more shedding to do. I have a lot more things to challenge, probably a lot more tears to shed, a lot more nights filled with anxiety, wondering what the hell is going to happen next. I know I will never be satisfied with living a simple life. I'm going to have to clean out my bookshelf and start fresh. The next step isn't going to just be about skydiving, learning to ride a motorcycle, or running a marathon. I want to do those things, but they are going to have to be fully just because I want to live life and enjoy this amazing creation God has given me.

But living fully invested in the emet of life is no longer an option. It is now a way of seeing the world, people, life, myself and God. It will require all of me. My job, my finances, my dreams.... the future I wanted. This way of life is bigger than finding a husband, friends, or living just for the pleasure of living. It is so much more, but it is the only thing that satisfies. It is the only thing that makes me feel normal, as though I have a home. When I feel so misunderstood, so bereft of home, community, it is the only thing that reminds me, maybe it's because I have yet to find those that also understand the power of emet and to honor anything less, is to disengage humanity from me, to cut off a portion of myself that is integral to hope, faith, heart, love, goodness and beauty and those are things I can't live without. This is the only place I make sense. In Him, in chasing, challenging, in struggling, fighting for emet to shape me from the inside out.

I don't know where it will lead, but I know one thing for sure, where ever it goes, I will follow. I won't make it fit my world, I will fit my world to it. It is greater than me and I will honor it.