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.”