Tell Me A Story

Stories. We each have one. When you were born, how you were raised, who you fell in love with for the first time, how you learned this, or forgot that, or were hurt. From my perspective, as a writer, everyone I look at doesn’t really have a story. They are a story. Prior scenes and chapters in their lives have led to the person now before me, chatting about a broken heart over coffee or rejoicing in their child’s 4 for 4 at bats in a little league game. It is no different when I look in the mirror; one moment sad, the next happy. We vacillate wildly, don’t we, you and I and everyone else? Yes. We do indeed. 

Every part of our story is a journey, documented and retained. Some stories tell of long stretches of glorious victory and, oh, how we must savor those, and remember of how we pushed on, and reveled in that magical state called “peace”. Other journeys were treks across vast wastelands of darkness, pain and sorrow. The feet carried, and the knees bent, all in an effort to get through, before the soul broke.

I've blogged in the past about how we're not alone, that we should lean; on family, on friends, and most of all, on God. The truth of the matter, though, is that some journeys are meant to be taken solo. I’ve been on one for seven months now.  I’ve finally exhausted my intellect and spent my will, which is a good thing. It means now, at last, I’m ready to listen and be loved again. I’m ready to reach out and grab hold, instead of avoid and push away. It’s a bit of a mystery, no? That God brings us to places, sometimes the deepest caverns within ourselves, often more than once, to show us that we can make it out, that we can indeed close one chapter in our lives, which helps us begin another. All in the context of an overall theme of "I Am". All in a character arc that reads beneath the stars. 

 

Weak Posts

"What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can't be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God's command is necessary. But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time." - Romans 7:15-20 (MSG)
 

Down the 15 Freeway, on the way to Las Vegas, there's on old fence, tattered and worn, protecting dry desert land that, as far as I can tell, is completely uninhabited now by anyone who would ever need a fence. Still. It's there. A solitary thing, holding the line.

I pulled into a nearby turn off once, and took a picture by the fence. There was just something about it that I wanted to capture. Something haunting, but dignified. It creaked loudly as I leaned against it, threatening to give way. The posts were weak, but the fence held. I'm no carpenter, but I figured it was due to the cross beams. All that wood, sun bleached and splintered, still strong after who knew how many years, because of its connectedness, because the weight borne against it could be shared.

We're no different, you and I. Each of us is a post, not nearly as strong as we think ourselves to be, but when the sun gets too hot or the winds of life grow too strong, we can trust in God to be our cross beams. He helps us figure out how to distribute the weight, and He tells us who to lean on and who not to lean on, because that's important too, because some people can't handle it right now, they're not ready for it, and others can.

These past three months I have engaged in dark behaviors, moods and tendencies that I thought myself well past. As a Christian I expected more of myself. As a human being I was unable. Somewhere along the path of faith I forgot that, oh yeah, Christians are still human. Scripture tells us that we were once "children of wrath", that we should work to evolve beyond this, but it also tells us, repeatedly, not to forget that the world that made us that way is still very much alive and well, calling us back to an existence that wants desperately to dry us out, splinter us and shatter us to pieces.

I thought I was a strong post. The Lord reminded me that I am but one post. I thought I could bear a great load. The Lord reminded me that, without Him, I can barely handle a single pound. The way we lean, the way we do or do not give way to the weight of this world, has a direct impact on the rest of the fence. So let's make a deal, you and I, okay? Let's stand together, as best we can, and trust in the cross beams to take care of the rest. That way, no matter what? We can stand strong.

Knitted

"I am your creator. You were in my care before you were born." - Isaiah 44:2

Have you ever noticed that the touch of another human being is the most welcome thing in the world, except for when you're in pain? Be it a cut, a scrape, a burn or even a pimple; when it comes to the body wounded, we are much more likely to recoil from the touch of someone else. It's as if the mind defaults to a defense mechanism that tells us to minister to our own wounds as the means to an end, namely self-preservation. It's instinctive and very real. If you don't believe me, then remember this blog the next time you get a really deep splinter in your finger. Who will have better luck digging it out? You or someone else? Or, more importantly, which way will hurt the least?

I am discovering that grief, for me anyway, is no different. I will tend to myself, thank you. I will immerse myself in the gray fog and pray for survival, each and every day, because - and I'm being so brutally honest with you right now - it actually hurts much less than when others try to step in and help me, or advise me, or talk to me, or empathize. This is my second journey through the valley of death over someone I have loved very deeply. First was my father, now my mother.

I had a class in Thanatology my senior year of high school. Can you believe that? Whatever possessed me to take such a class, I'll never know. I also fell in love in that class, with a girl who never loved me back. Keep following along. I'm getting somewhere with this, I promise. Anyway. Back to death...and grief and mourning. I know how it works. It's all very natural, a long process of five steps repeated over and over, until the heart no longer hurts and the mind no longer acutely questions. We each do it differently. Some seek counsel with close friends or family, some end up needing individual therapy, others group therapy. Some will lean on their priests or pastors, others will go straight to God.

This last group, the one's that flee to God? I think they've got it right. They're fleeing to love in the face of the loss of it. Does that make sense? I hope so. That eighteen year old me tried to get that part right in that class. I mean, I was not actively mourning anyone at the time, but amidst all that dark, depressing study of death I think I had to fall in love with someone just to survive!  My fault was in seeking love from another human being, instead of God. Because whether you're just studying the loss of death, or actually experiencing it? There's only one pair of hands that can truly knit your wounds.

They are, by no strange coincidence, the same hands that knit you together in the first place.

Fair & Cruel

"How could...something...so fair...be so cruel? When this...black sun...revolves...around you. There is an answer in the question...and there is hope within despair. - Death Cab for Cutie (Black Sun)

Imagine my surprise, a few weeks ago, after I posted my last blog, and seconds later my mother's tablet (which I haven't had the heart to disconnect) beeped. A message had arrived in her "inbox" : my blog. I had no idea she'd subscribed to it. The irony. And I thought, "This is all...so...unfair."

If you think about it though, really, really think about it? Death is fair. It is, perhaps, the fairest thing ever. An eternity in heaven, a home amidst the stars, free from pain and sorrows, in exchange for a life that was glorious at times, yes, but crushingly brutal at times as well. Want to leave your sins behind? Want to sleep well, really deeply, as you never have before, free from stress and fear and quiet hours fraught with the deep and painful concern that no one will ever truly understand you in this world? God eventually says, "Come with me." And when your time comes? I bet we all fight it, but I imagine not for one second longer than it takes to catch a glimpse of it: of what's next, of the loved ones waiting for us there, and the realized utter reality of heaven. It’s probably the easiest of goodbyes, because now you know that even those you leave behind will be along soon enough. No need to worry.The sting of death is lost when its reputation is destroyed. I bet my father whistled his way outta here and my mother? I bet she sang. A sweet hymn. For sure.

I’ve noticed that when I get into trouble with my grieving? It's when I start making my mother's death about me. It's hard not to make someone else's death about you, when you're all that's left : they're gone. Forever. But we must be careful, for the devil is in "forever". It's just a word - again, for those of us left behind - that can, yes, trigger hopelessness. But, in truth, forever isn't such a long time. If, for example, I have thirty years left on this earth? Then I'm only thirty years away from seeing my mother again. That's no "quick minute", I know, but it's a lot shorter than the vast expanse of this lie called “forever”. And between now and then God would have blessed me with a lot of living to do.

A friend gave me a book on grieving recently and in it there’s the suggestion to look at the entire tragedy of loss from God’s perspective. Imagine the difficulty of creating a creature so delicately complex and then asking it to figure itself out, knowing full well, as the Creator of the universe, that it never entirely can, due to the free will that must be imparted to it for that journey of self- discovery to even begin. Without free will you'd just have a bunch of robots. Yet the very thing it needs is the very thing that hinders it. For free will is all about life; to exercise it or to surrender it. In the process, these lovely creatures do so many beautiful things, and hurtful things and things that are just downright mysterious. And you let them, in Your grace and mercy, because you know that in the end they will be yours again anyway. Together at last, you can finally tell them what it was all about, and no matter what, you will love them through and through.

If you really, really think about it? It just doesn't get any fairer than that.

Mom, Death & Jacob

"So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me." - Genesis 32 (22-26) 

Yesterday I refused communion for the first time in nearly fifteen years. I just wasn't feeling it, and more importantly, my heart wasn't right. I knew that. I sensed it. And even though God and I are wrestling these days, and I'm punching him in the face every chance I can get a hand free, I still hold the bread and the cup in high enough esteem not to partake in them without a mind that's focused, or a heart that's ready.

On Dec 4th the Lord took my mother from me. Or maybe it was the 3rd. Or the 2nd. All I can say is, by the time I found her, face down on the floor in her bedroom, she'd been dead quite a while. Ice cold. Full rigor. Her eyes were closed tightly, as if the pain in the end were nearly unbearable. A massive heart attack, most likely, or a massive stroke.

I don't want to hear about how "it's a part of life" or that "these things happen". I don't want pious advice or empty platitudes. I only want one thing: answers. Jacob wrestled the angel of the Lord, and so, now, do I. Each day I step into the field and I shake my fist at God and ask the same questions before I attack him: Why did she have to die that way? What did she ever do to You? Why did I have to find her like that? Was I such a bad son? Such a shitty believer? What in the world were you trying to teach me? What lesson? What admonishment? How. Could. You. Do. This.

During this same time, I've had friends preoccupied with serious matters of their own. One is fighting cancer, another alcoholism. One has a child that's been forced to endure four surgeries in the past four weeks. I've got people I love fighting loneliness and illness, two more fighting brokenheartedness and failed relationships. Some of them are believers, some of them aren't. And I am watching, studying it all. They're human. It's life. Blah. Blah. Blah.

You see, the speed of the game is slowing down for me, and that can only happen with experience. But here's the thing : I don't necessarily like what I'm seeing. I see nothing but utter chaos. I see no order, no method to the madness, no direction and very little hope. I see people making grand stands, commendable examples and witnessing with a fervor that leaves me awe struck, but I'm losing my ability to see why. That's the truth. It's dark where I'm at. I can't see anything, much less any "why's", and I'm sorry if that disturbs you.

There's only one thing I can say: every, single time I have stepped out into the field to wrestle with the Lord? He has not backed down. Not one, single time. He shows up. He brings it. And as we struggle with one another, as I bite, punch, grapple and claw at him with all I have? As I scream at him with a rage that is all consuming? I have felt it...more than once...I have: his chest against mine...and I have felt Him weeping.

And I know beyond all knowing that I can fight all I want, for as long as I want, for the rest of my life if I so choose, and My Lord will never let go of me. Ever. And I love Him for that. I really do.

Double Minded

"But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. But he must ask in faith without any doubting, for the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind. For that man ought not to expect that he will receive anything from the Lord, being a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways." - James 1:5-8

At what point does your faith give way to doubt? That question has hung over my head this entire week, for a number of reasons. As such, I have asked it of myself and now I ask it of you. It's not a bad question, just an honest one. The way we answer it helps us to determine where we are in our hearts, our minds and on our walk either towards or away from God. That last part also makes the question a very important one.

I can't speak of you or to your life but I can speak of mine. The truth is I still cling to thoughts and behaviors of my "old" self that are both unhealthy and hypocritical. I want to say, "What? I can't help it." But I know I can. So when I judge someone who is pissing me off or look for too long at a short skirt I am, in many ways, indulging in the very behaviors that led me to the same dark place that made me cry out to God over ten years ago. That place where the "old" me had not exorcised his demons but, instead, threw a huge party for them and said, "Come on in!"

It seems silly. Stupid, really. I may not be able to speak of whatever you believe and/or how you believe it, but you can. How's it going? How are you feeling? Is God in your life, somehow or someway? Are you and He not on speaking terms for some reason? Or have you convinced yourself not to take the whole "God" thing too seriously? Are you still indulging in the double minded ways of this world and, if so, as my pastor likes to say, "How's that working out for you?"

You know, this is my 100th blog. When I started it about five years ago, I just wanted to share my life with others; the triumphs, the tribulations. It was my hope that I would always portray my life in a way that was real, so that the realness of your life wouldn't be such a solitary experience. So that you could say, "Yeah. I've thought that too." or "Man. I remember feeling that way before." The truth is that I've always been after the truth. But I've stumbled, badly, along the way sometimes. For example: one cannot blog about spirituality one day, then take a drunken selfie with cheerleaders and post it on his Facebook page the next, without appearing the fool. Or worse.

But, again, I've tried to keep it honest and part of that honesty is about the struggle. I'm no role model. But, hopefully, I will get there. Until then? It's been so nice to have you along for the journey. 

Backslider

“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” – Romans 7:15-18

One of the great mysteries in the journey of faith is the propensity for us all to backslide. Back into old ways. Back into sin. When I was a new believer this used to really frustrate me. I thought that any true faith required a ton of trust and, once broken, little or no forgiveness. You were either in or you were out, and there was no room for backsliding. It was a betrayal of God and, really, what could be worse than that?

But that definition of faith was my own, not God’s. It was built up over a lifetime of hurts and misguided beliefs. In my world there was no room for mistakes or backsliding in either my business or personal relationships. This was also how I judged myself. With each mistake I pushed myself further from God, convinced once again that I simply was not good enough for Him. On good days I told myself I was just a poor believer. On bad days I convinced myself that I was just a creature better suited for evil.

In Romans 7:15-18 we have Paul, a titan of the faith, expressing with shocking honesty that even he backslid from time to time. In Ellicott’s commentary on this section of Romans (and on 7:17 in particular) he says: “This, then, appears to be the true explanation of the difficulty. There is really a dualism in the soul. I am not to be identified with that lower self which is enthralled by sin.”

A dualism of the soul. It is, to me at least, an adequate and profound explanation for the tug of war I engage in, almost daily, with what I want to do versus what I ought to do. Yet we must remember to take comfort in the endless examples the Bible gives (David, Solomon, The Prodigal Son, etc.) that show just how willing God is to seek us out, love us and forgive us.

God knows our struggles, and he is not nearly as interested in our failures as he is in our loving efforts to show Him that we will try, and try again, to overcome them. So the next time you backslide? Remember: with fist to the ground and heels dug in deep? Push on.