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.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
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"?
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"?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, November 21, 2011
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..."
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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....
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....
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