My Safest Place

My safest place is my own creation. It is a mental retreat, a cognitive reality, where I can exist without trouble. It is immune from every attack; spiritual, emotional, or physical. Within such walls, I am loved, appreciated, respected, significant, and I belong. I am worthy of the highest affection. I am a child, but I am also a god.

My safest place is a bunker deep in the middle of the largest, hottest desert. It is huge, but barely visible as it sits level with the surrounding sands. Yes, it is air-conditioned, but my favorite features are on the outside. It is no mere ivory tower; it is a fortress created for my ego to rest.

Surrounding the bunker are my boundaries maintained by an unseen force with an ultimate desire to love and value me. At least 200 yards out swirls a wall of sand circling with hurricane force winds. This wall serves as a warning to all who pass that they must be nice to me. In fact, the wall will only harm you if part of you harbors any ill-will towards me. If you are seeking me out so that I can fulfill some need of yours, it will not let you pass, whether I want it to or not. If you are not coming their for me, me when I am at the most selfish, then you are not welcome.

Within the wall of sand is a large pillar of fire. The fire is my favorite feature due to the fact that is the most threatening and the most protective. It is a purifying fire. I mean no harm to anyone, but this will harm you dearly if you choose to approach it with any other motive besides love for me. If you want me, it will burn you. If you merely like me, it will burn you again. If you are willing to criticize me, it might even kill you. In fact, if you merely came to be silent and listen to me it will still burn you, because every person knows that listening involves much more than being silent. If you came to relate your life story to mine, you will not make it past the first step. Even if, unbeknownst to you, that you will lie, emotionally manipulate, argue, or fight for any of your own control or rights in the bunker, you will be reject here first. The fire is a brilliant ego check on all who enter. None can fool it. You are either their for me, in my world, or you will be harshly rejected.

Lining the inside of the pillar of fire is a soft pillow of clouds. Thicker than a snow storm of dandelion pedals, it quiets every noise for me and comfortably dims the heat and light. And within that comfort, lies my bunker.

It is a magical place, filled with objects and space and time that arranges itself according to my wishes. I can do no wrong within it. I cannot hurt a soul, nor can they hurt me. No angry words are spoken there. There is no drama, no gossip, no liars, no manipulators, no challenges. Here I am valued, protect by the forces outside me. Here I am loved, comforted by my surroundings and the environment created for me. Here I am respected, without argument or conflicting personalities. Here I am appreciated, where my creations hang on the walls, sit on the floor, as beautiful and perfect as they are in my mind. Here I can exhale, close my eyes, rest and relax with selfish freedom. Here I am safe.

A Rant About Marriage

Since when did marriage become the jaded reason for every married persons' existence? At what point did marriage excuse people from dealing with their own individual problems? Did the vows, kids, careers, or money change the definition of responsibility? Since when did the practice of using the words 'I love you' to cover up unloving actions become so popular? At what point did the fact that people change become incompatible with marriage vows? Or monogamy? Or spirituality?

Many married people I know are going through issues. No problem, right? We all go through issues. But here is my personal issue: no married person I know thinks an unmarried person can understand or provide insight into their 'marriage' problems. Sorry, but I take that personally. At what point did a marriage cease to be a intimate relationship? I've had my fair share of such relationships, making ridiculous and reprehensible mistakes in each one, such that I learned more about myself and relationships through each one. Just because I did not make any vows, nor did I live with my x-girlfriends, does not make my opinion shallow.

Are you actually suggesting that I cannot see when you're being selfish? Or that your wife is just an egotistical bitch who cares more about her career and self-image than you? Or that your self-worth is wrapped up in him? Do you not see for yourself that he has let you down and that's okay? Do you know what you were expecting from marriage? I've heard that expectations are premeditated regrets, so do you think that's true? I've been in codependent relationships, so can I not recognize codependency? I've been controlled and controlling, so can I not advise on self-control and boundaries?

Let's make one more thing perfectly clear: there is no such thing as a Christian marriage. Marriage is not God-ordained, it is a social institution. It is an agreement between two individuals that actually requires both parties to live out their lives together. A Christian marriage is an invention by the Christian church that requires people to live out their lives and their marriage according to Christian principles. In other words, a donut with frosting is still a donut.

Believe it or not, there really isn't anything spiritual about marriage. Otherwise, every atheist on the planet wouldn't be able to get or stay married. Since when did we over-spiritualize and over-romanticize marriage to be somehow 'above' a personal and practical social relationship? There are forty year old married couples that still fight! Fighting is a part of marriage. Conflict, change, bills, and doing the fucking dishes are a part of marriage. What is so spiritual or romantic about that?

So then, why do we look for spiritual or romantic solutions to marital problems? God is not putting you through trials right now, you're being insecure that your wife isn't interested in you anymore, and you're probably right. God has nothing to do with it. Your three month long engagement and five year marriage did not turn out to be 'what was meant to be'. So no, you're not leaving the One person you were meant to be with. You cannot fix your marriage just because you're supposed to stay married. Very simply, it might have started with a simple mistake that has grown to have enormous personal consequences. Believe me, you're not an abnormality here. I'm single, I know.

Can we please start to be more practical and less romantic/spiritual about marriage? It is quite necessary to do so. Generally, a visit to your local secular therapist will do more for you and your marriage than a Christian counselor or pastor. I would like to see marital problems be worked out in healthy ways such as learning communication, tolerance, personal growth, and even divorce rather than cheating, lying that violates trust, having open marriages, manipulation, and ugly battles for control.

Desiring Truth and Goodness Beyond Doctrine

The following quote is from C.S. Lewis' fictional book The Last Battle. Aslan, the lion, represents God in the book. While Tash (along with others) represents Satan or the Evil One. Emeth, a leopard and follower of Tash, suddenly finds himself in an open field:

"So I went over much grass and many flowers and among all kinds of wholesome and delectable trees till lo! in a narrow place between two rocks there came to meet me a great Lion. The speed of him was like the ostrich, and his size was an elephant's; his hair was like pure gold and the brightness of his eyes like gold that is liquid in the furnace. He was more terrible than the Flaming Mountain of Lagour, and in beauty he surpassed all that is in the world even as the rose in bloom surpasses the dust of the desert. Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child? I said, Lord, thou knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.

"Then he breathed upon me and took away the trembling from my limbs and caused me to stand upon my feet. And after that, he said not much, but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in. Then he turned him about in a storm and flurry of gold and was gone suddenly."

I really admire Emeth in this book. I've been thinking about his situation recently. Emeth served a false god. Aslan does not reject him, but accepts his service to Tash as if it was his own. There is a portion of humanity that is often forsaken by Christianity (and other religions as well), that is, the willingness to seek truth and goodness present in all people. No man would willingly trade the knowledge of something true for something that is false. Likewise, no man would willingly, with full conscious knowledge, do something evil for its own sake. Every man can commit to pursuing these things while at the same time belonging to any religion, church, culture, ethnicity, race, country, or people group.

If their commitment to such righteous goals is true, that is, willed by all of themselves, then I know of no other more valuable or noble act, either internal or external, that could be done. I do not believe God would disavow such commitment and service. How could he? Did he not create such a creature who could desire truth and goodness with all of themselves? How then, throughout his life and even at the end, would such desires be tossed aside because of his limited knowledge of all things? What else can we do but strongly desire the knowledge of truth and that which is good, and to be willing to commit to such things? Such is an inherent capability in all of humanity that cannot be ignored, but must be acknowledged and rewarded, even if it is does done with a limited knowledge of Good and Evil. We are limited creatures, whose capability to do good is so great, that such a commitment to do good and seek truth in all of ourselves is to be admired, even by God.

Given the shaft

Yes, I was dumped. Yes, it really fucking hurts. No, I don't regret it. Relationships can be silly and serious things. This is the more serious side, where one looks at the sum of everything and decides whether the risk was worth it or not.

The last fight we had, the one in which she broke up with me, she was more honest with me than ever before. The truth was never more clear to me, I don't really know why. The bottom line came to this: she did not want to be in a relationship with me because of some things I had felt/said and was continuing to say. In part, I was relieved. I knew she had a problem with things I had felt and said, but never had it been so clearly dealt with before. Finally, I heard in literal terms why she had such a problem with me. There were no grey areas, no conditionals, no flip-flops. The truth was out and I understood. And, as much as it pains me to say it, I enjoyed hearing it, even if it was difficult to do so. I consider what happened between us as a good relationship, even the hardest parts.

I hate speaking of these events in past tense. There were many good times. I really like that girl and I really care about her. How is she doing? Can it really be over? The air feels so thick. The end of a relationship is so much like the death of something. It feels so permanent, so lonely. C.S. Lewis spoke too soon when he said that grief felt so much like fear. I have felt fear, both deep and broad, and this is nothing like it. I am quite familiar with insecurity or anxiousness concerning some potential danger. Grief is nothing like a "flight or fight" response. There is nothing to fight, and nowhere to run.

In a sense, it is a relief for me. There is nothing to fight, and nowhere to run. My broken heart can travel with me, sit with me, read with me, or play with me. I can schedule my meetings with it, like on my bed at night or with my guitar in the afternoon. At other times, I can ignore it. Actually, being in a state of grief feels quite comfortable. Hopefully I will not get too comfortable. But I find myself not wanting to feel any other way except sad.

Toward the end of our last conversation, she knew I didn't agree that we should be broken up. She wanted to know why I disagreed. I could hardly say. What do you tell someone who has expressed such a strong dislike of your behavior and feelings? I could only really tell her that I understood why she no longer wanted a relationship, and I simply repeated back to her what she told me about it, hardly any of which I believed to be true about myself. I felt like I was lying. It is difficult to tell someone they are wrong about you when they feel so strongly about how your actions affected them, especially in a relationship. Past hurts always take priority over present knowledge. And the only good thing I could manage to do was to understand and empathize.

But then again, I want to be understood also. I don't want to be controlling, feared, or fought with. I don't want to be with someone whom I continuously hurt without knowing it. If I'm being a jerk, then I'm wrong. But if I'm talking about feeling insecure or anxious, I just want to be listened to. I enjoy people who listen to me with validation. I don't want to be changed or others to change for me. I want to be treated as acceptable, just as I am, as I want to treat others. But this is difficult to negotiate in relationships. There is a fine line between telling someone the truth of how you feel in the context of each other and starting a fight with accusations and criticism. We just couldn't manage to communicate well.

Anyway, I was happy before her. This simple grief feels honest and clean, wholesome even, a slow return to a more familiar life. Time to give the rejected ego a rest, to let things take their natural course. I always enjoyed the "otherness" between us, now I will just learn to appreciate it further. The risk was worth it for all of the good times and the bad, even this.


"Hope deferred makes the heart sick." Whoever wrote that, was brilliant.

This, my friends, is a panic attack

I can barely live in my own skin
My muscles underneath quiver with fear
Potential pending doom grows without restraint in my head
But I cannot find the dangers
They are myths I believe
They are myths I created
But I feel that they are true
Consequences to things yet unoccurred
A tragic story of life events yet unlived

Tense thoughts lock my back and shoulders in a prison of panic
My hands tremble with fear
My breathing quickens, and I feel like I'm going crazy
My body is prepared for a war with my mind
I debate myself over self-worth, value, and lovability

They say I'm too hard on myself
That I'm good for people, funny, and lovable
But what if they knew me better?
If they saw me now, shaking in the fear of nothing?
I talk to them and they ask me what happened,
What happened? They say,
And I just want to cry, I don't know
Nothing, everything, just happened.
I feel stuck under a black umbrella of my own thoughts
With sunglasses so dark they can block out the sun
I cry out of sadness, a deep grief for my life
I'm sorry I have hurt, been immature, and used you all
Be merciful and lock me up so I cannot hurt another
And so I do not hurt myself

I need deep truths
God, give me something I can grip firmly
Hold on to for dear life, dear trust, dear intimacy, love
Would you like my vocal chords so I can actually hear you?
I can give you my anxious skin so you can touch me, give me a hug perhaps?
A set of clothes that I can touch?

I feel ill, sick with sticky worries
And I am tired, giving too much credence to my mistakes
I have invited fear and hurt into my home
And it has stayed, now unwelcomed, but burrowed into me
I have tried to smoke it out with cigarettes
Drown it in alcohol
Loosen its grip with sex, careless decisions, and positive self-help books
I feel too much
I need deep truths, deep magical thoughts
Grounded in a constant source of comfort
But I feel so much

Loving Another

"Love ceases to be a demon only when it ceases to be a god." - M. Denis de Rougemont

I wholeheartedly agree with the maxim that "it is not good for a man to be alone." We are, as people, meant to fulfill each other's inherent needs for companionship. The denial of this fact, like the manufacturing of illusionary feelings that we are "blessed" or "gifted" with being single or celibate, also denies the need we have to find someone to love. Frankly, the denial of this need makes us unstable and insecure. As Carl Jung said, "what you resist persists." As such, we should first simply acknowledge our need of this love in our lives.

No doubt most people believe truly corrupted love is sex without love or commitment. This makes perfect sense, but it must also be said that truly romantic love is not present in such activity. True love dominates sexual desire, refining and reorganizing our thoughts and behavior. By itself, sex desires something. If sex persists without love, then we tend to fall in love with the "loving", not the person herself, based on what we get out of it. Love, on the other hand, desires the object of love, the beloved herself, someone in particular.

Love makes a man not just want any woman, but one particular woman. Furthermore, he does not want the pleasure he gets from her, but her in authentic form. This is not a calculated decision, or a product of will power, it is a simple pre-occupation with her that develops. He did not choose her, nor did she him, based on comparing other women to her. In fact, his needs here are entirely a distraction from appreciating her as admirable in herself. Very simply, he is quite intoxicated by her, without giving any regard to his pain or pleasure. She is undeniably separate from him, like the beauty present in a colorful sunset, but he cannot (and would not dare) take it with him.

It is so important to keep the separateness or otherness of those loving relationships at the forefront of our minds. Because if we were to allow our pre-occupation with the beloved to take control, it would soon become an obsession, and then a burden for the lover and the beloved. In fact, I have found that such a process ends up with the worst sort of selfish behavior, where I would not care about the beloved at all, except that she were to make me feel complete and met my needs for intimacy. Such a thought turns her from what was once specifically beautiful and valuable into even less than a woman. She would become any woman, nothing special, and there to make me feel better. Granted, it is wonderful that she can do things that mean much to me, but we must resist loving those things more than her herself. We must maintain gratefulness rather than expectations.

That, in fact, is how I want to be loved and not loved as well. I want to be loved as a special, unique, and independently wealthy poor man who is, in and of himself, full of worth and potential. I want to be loved truly, as I myself am, with appreciation for what I do and freedom to grow up from my mistakes. But specifically, I want to be loved as another, from only one other, who is incredibly grateful for me.

Seriously Silly Daydreams

It seems to me that history's most ruthless tyrants were those individuals whose professional egoism did not allow themselves to be laughed at. One cannot laugh about all of the circumstances in life or characteristics of self, but certainly there are a few that are quite entertaining. In fact, my most humorous characteristics are those that would otherwise appear as the most serious flaws.

For example, I have developed the habit of associating a self-centered daydream with ever song I listen to. The daydreams typically involve myself as the center of attention and a selected audience. For John Mayer's “Your Body is a Wonderland,” I am singing said song in a small club to an audience of fond friends and one particularly impressed, attractive woman. For ACDC's “You shook me all night long,” I am singing said song at a karaoke night at the local bar. Of course, David Crowder's “Obsession” I sing in front of church at a special worship night. For the Last of the Mohican's Soundtrack (track two in particular) I am part of a special operations unit in the Army defending the homes of some friends from brutal ninja-like terrorists.

Through these and other childish imaginations I have fought a starship in an X-wing, beat an Ethiopian in a cross-country race, outdanced the best breaker on “So You Think You Can Dance,” tackled LaDamian Tomlinson for a prize-winning rookie opportunity, used The Force to make my friends fly, shot a bee off a deer's butt at 1,000 yards with my own rifle, kicked the crap out of some high school bullies as Raiden from Mortal Kombat, took friends on a joy ride in an F-22 Raptor, etc. This list truly never ends because it is always being created. I can be a hero, a saint, a lover, a wise man, a legend, or even a superhero. Truly, if I were to take this too seriously, my egoism could make even Hitler blush. There is only a slight seriousness in that I am able to see the weaknesses in my own self-worth through my dreams. I can look at these dreams and know my insecurities without even thinking hard. But even these cannot be taken too seriously. One does not see a child being condemned by their parents for a having dreams of what they will be when they grow up. And, in fact, I am still growing up.

My most frequent dreams are those involving the women I have loved, or perhaps, wanted love from. Again, a serious flaw if one were to pay too much attention to the negative effects. But the innocence in which I dream about them must be understood in no more serious terms than that of a romantic and oversensitive language of thought. To those romantic interests, at the extreme, I have been a provider, protector, and cherisher of them. I have flown across the world to wish them a happy birthday, given them expensive gifts grown from the intimacy of inside jokes, sang them songs I have written about them while kissing them, worked 60 hours a week in a cubicle just so they could have the car they wanted, been a good father, made them laugh harder than they did while being tickled as a child, played and prayed with them, etc. These are my fondest dreams because they create in me such a blissful feeling of relief.

However, a serious character flaw is represented by these daydreams such that it indicates a desire for a woman, any woman, to make me feel complete. Such is not a desirable quality for any man in a relationship, because the woman would know that she was completely unnecessary, and that any woman would do for him. How would you feel if your partner wanted someone to love and be loved by, but not you specifically? In contrast, how would you feel if they wanted you specifically, with all of themselves, and without any regard to another? To sum up, at the worst, my daydreams are indicative of my desire to simply be accepted and loved for who I am. Surely, this cannot be all that wrong; perhaps foolish, but not evil. It is a delicate balance of egoism and silly daydreams growing up into self-controlled passion. I must not give it its head, but I must also maintain its innocence with a sense of humor. Anyway, I'm working on it.

Performance and Opinion

There are two things I have been caring about far too much in life: my performance and others' opinions of me. The latter only really comes along during relationships, but the former is almost always present.

I am slowly discovering that life really is like Calvinball. It is a game, our game, where we make up the rules and the only goal is a relationship with God. The standards by which we live can first be established by our parents, teachers, pastors, etc. But, as adults, we must form our own standards by which to live up to. We establish the par, the grading system, the GPA. It is our decision, our responsibility, and our freedom. This is my life, so I make the rules.

But first we must realize that the standards by which we were taught to live up to are not exactly in our best interest. My skills and talents, as well as my weaknesses and character flaws, are uniquely my own and cannot perfectly conform to any moral system in existence. Because my relationship with God is unique, and my purpose for living is only my own, I must establish my standards and expectations of myself based on this relationship and purpose.

For example, Christianity has taught me that, in order to have a good relationship with God, one must always believe in Him and never sin. Sure, we all know that we doubt and are sinful, but it is still wrong to be that way. Well, that's bullshit. When will we begin to believe that "all things work together for the good of those who love God"? All, fucking, ALL things. That includes sin, no? C.S. Lewis said that "the good man is sorry for the sins which have increased his need. He is not entirely sorry for the fresh need they have produced." I am not redefining sin as not really sin, I am simply putting it in the context of a relationship with God. To trust that God grace is sufficient for me is to tell me that I can do no wrong in His sight. I'm quite sure this will upset the moral elite, the high tower church attenders, but what good would I be if I could not live my own life as I see fit?

Here is my purpose in life, a simple explanation of why I choose to live: I live to enjoy a relationship with God and be happy. I am not here to be a good person. I am not here to make everyone feel safe and secure. I am not here to conform to others' opinions of me, even those opinions formed in my most intimate relationships. Knowing the purpose for which you live allows you firmly develop the rules by which you live. Once these rules, your rules, are in place you can begin to let go of those standards by which others have held you to for so long. You are free to discover your own weakness, the definition of which changes according to the purpose of the life you are pursuing.

If my purpose in getting something to eat is to merely satisfy hunger, I should expect to eat anything that would fill my stomach. But if my purpose in getting something to eat is to be filled with something delicious and somewhat healthy, I should not eat just anything. Neither of these purposes in getting something to eat is objectively wrong or immoral, but they both result is very different standards and rules by which one allows themselves to eat. In both cases, one must decide their purpose before attempting to fulfill that purpose by creating their own standards.

Likewise, one must be realistic about their own abilities in order to create personal morals for themselves. We must be aware of our weaknesses and strengths, and learn to emphasize our strengths to succeed in meeting the standards we set for ourselves. We cannot always be working on our weaknesses and attempting to improve on ourselves without using our strengths to get us through.

A Few Verses By Which I Cling

Romans 8:31-39
31What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? 33Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. 34 Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised— who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. 35Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?
37No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:28
28And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Psalm 139:1-18
1O LORD, you have searched me and known me!
2You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.
3You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.
4Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O LORD, you know it altogether.
5You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
6Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.
7Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
8If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
9If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
10 even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
11If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,"
12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.
13For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
14I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
15My frame was not hidden from you,when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16Your eyes saw my unformed substance;in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
17How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
I awake, and I am still with you.

Isaiah 54:10
"For the mountains may depart
and the hills be removed,
but my steadfast love shall not depart from you,
and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,"
says the LORD, who has compassion on you.

Psalm 32:10
Many are the sorrows of the wicked,
but steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the LORD.

Exodus 15:26
...for I, the LORD, am your healer.

Fear and Self-Loathing in San Diego

While fighting for the Army, I have been trained to face almost any type of enemy. For the most part, I have learned how to adapt and overcome their defenses. I have also learned how to defend myself from their attacks. Thanks to this training, I really have very few fears about going to war soon. I have little fear of any enemy, except one.

In the Lord of the Rings video game there is a dark magic spell you can use called "Whip of the Master." The effect of the spell is that your own character speeds up and strengthens their attacks. I cannot think of a better description of how I have been living recently. I have pushed myself far too hard and I have become overwhelmed with insecurity. I am more afraid of my own insecurities and character faults than any external enemy. I am more afraid of going to war than I am of being in a relationship that exposes me for who I am. At times, I would rather face a man who has full intention of killing me in hatred rather than dealing with my own criticism of myself. How do you fight such an enemy? What do you do with your own cruel criticism? You can't kill or stop self.

Thanks either to my parents, prior bad relationships, or other hurtful experiences, I do not know how to simply "be okay" with my own insecurities and flaws. Despite the fact that I know there is no such thing as a perfect person, I hold those expectations of myself naturally. I am constantly breaking my own rules and reacting to that with extreme criticism. I am my own worst enemy.

I know that everyone feels this way at times. But I am more the sort of person who becomes overwhelmed by it all. My standards for myself are far too high. The difference between who I am and who I expect myself to be has grown to an unacceptable distance. Hence, I have become overwhelmed with anxiety. Even now, as I write this, I am kicking myself for being this way. It is extremely difficult for me right now to just cut myself some slack, take a break and still be acceptable.

This question was posed to me today: If your son had no confidence in himself, or was feeling very insecure and unlovable, what would you tell him? I think I have my answer: I would tell him I loved him. I would tell him that he was loved, and that it would always be so, because he is my son. He has intrinsic value. He is accomplished, not because of his accomplishments, but because he lives and breathes and eats and sleeps as himself. I am proud when he does well, because I know he is not hurting himself, but I am just as proud when he is simply himself. He is uniquely him. I would tell him he does not need another, any other, to make him feel like a desirable and successful person, not even me. He would have my confidence and my trust, even if he doesn't have his own. I would use all of the faculties of my mind, I would shamelessly try to convince him and persuade him that he is "the beloved." I would want to fight his shame in full force. I would reason with him about his confidence and help him understand that, without comparison to anyone else, he is incredibly important on his own power. I would tell him to openly accept his faults as uniquely his with an attitude of full, unconditional compassion. I would warn him not to expect something from someone else that he cannot do for himself, because I know he can. In short, I would want to break through his doubt and skepticism about himself with my love and respect for him.

See, I could tell him all this, but I can barely imagine someone saying that to me. My parents never told me that, no one has. It is something others have learned in childhood that I must learn as an adult. I must learn how to accept love, accept myself, and have it be just that simple. I am the one whose standards I must live up to. I intend on lowering those immensely so I can lower my anxiety and raise my confidence. I guess I just want to balance my expectations to the point where I can say, "what I did was what I could do," and have that be okay.

The journey of self-discovery is laced with danger. At every new discovery, every new tendency, every simple mistake in behavior or fault of character, there is the temptation to take such knowledge and condemn ourselves with it. I was never taught how to fight that because my parents were ill-equipped to do so themselves. I know because I spoke with them about it. They passed it on to me and I have continued with it. I am now trying to end it. It is a slow, painful, anxiety-laced journey to accept and love myself.

It is funny how everything I do in life becomes a step to a closer relationship to God. Right now, I want to know God's thoughts about me. He is the source of confidence in myself. He is the source of my acceptance, of grace, of healing, of identity. He is my source of peace while I live. I need to know Him, trust Him, believe Him, and experience His love not just for me, but of me. He is my only confidant, my only consistent lover, because He sees my true value. I believe it is the highest of virtues to trust that God loves us, because frankly, it is our most fundamental need.

A Child's Single-Mindedness

It is moments like these that I have to laugh at myself. I do not laugh because I am not conducting serious business or because I am telling a joke. I laugh because I am somewhat like a child trying to do things that only adults are able to do. It is funny, much as is seeing a child trying on their parents' clothes, trying to eat much too large bites of food, or simply walking in shorter steps trying to keep up. I am growing up in a clumsy sort of way.

Perhaps the most serious of all struggles is the contest of being double-minded. When we are unsettled, undetermined, or even vacillating between two thoughts and different times, we become unstable, unfaithful, and untrue to ourselves. It is clear to me, and quite tragic also, that even the most intelligent among us, with their ability to logically hold many perspectives of the world, cannot attain wisdom because of their double-mindedness. The smartest man is not necessarily the wisest man. They broadly reach out ways in which to understand and live when they really should be reaching deep.

Truly, one of the wisest things ever said was that "everything under the sun is meaningless." The elimination of perspectives and beliefs not yet grounded in experience unites the heart. We cannot find comfort in the truth unless we have rejected mere beliefs. A dually-convinced mind is no mind at all. It is useless, like a mirror broken into a thousand pieces. Shallow, clever, or somewhat peer-pressured perspectives of things that do not resonate with my heart are like poison to me. I am not saying it is inherently bad to understand various arguments and opinions of the world, just as I would not say bleach or sulfuric acid is bad in and of themselves. Indeed, they are quite useful. But if I were to swallow bleach or sulfuric acid, to open my mouth and ingest them as a part of me, I would die from their effects. In the same way, I choose to understand but not believe, to listen but not agree, to want but not need those guesses about life that do not resonate with my heart as if they were solid gold truth.

In this way, I am more like a child than in any other situation. I reach my limits with patience in watching my parents and I want to try on my own. It is more beneficial to me to believe wholeheartedly and unmistakably in one thing than to believe shallowly and cleverly convince myself of some goodness in all things. I prefer to desire the desirable, this is why I am a Christian.

The idea that humanity is a playground (or battleground) for love to be given, received, shared, and that Love Himself exists is irresistible to me. Yes, I confess, I believe because I want to. I am a Christian, not because the sum of the facts about the world and history, but because I am drawn to it. I am pulled in, compelled by the deepest hope that gives me undeniable faith. I need to believe. My greatest needs introduced to the greatest Source creates the perfect magnetism. The message of God's love for me commits me to seeing it through, as if by my efforts I could will it to be. It is a sacred romance, an enchantment with truth. The gospel of redemption penetrates my heart so effortlessly one would think that I have never read any book on religion, philosophy, or enlightenment. Skepticism, double-mindedness, and the debates are left by the wayside as I celebrate the discovery of simply desiring Love, Goodness, and Truth.

I do not know by what means anyone else believes in God, Christianity, or whatever. But for me, I am quite like a child growing up in a world much too large for him, trying to pursue the most desirable thing. I am at my best when I enjoy the enjoyable, love the lovable, and play. It is all really quite silly, something I imagine more intelligent people than myself would call childish, ignorant, or foolish. I admit that I know very little, but at least I know one thing.

"Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." -The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis

Neediness

Something happened to me on Sunday. I woke up with a desire for intimacy with God that was overwhelming to me. I felt my need for Him weighing down on me with paralyzing force. At first, I panicked. "Fight or flight" instinct kicked in and the anxiety pushed me to rush to church 30 minutes before the first service even started. My heart was breaking, or I was realizing it was broke, as if from the rejection of a fond lover, and I wanted to beg for mercy. "Take me back. Please do not make me feel this way." My need for God, for security, identity and intimacy was laid out in raw form. I could not ignore it.

The sovereignty of God is never more apparent to me as in these moments. It is clear to me: I have a God and He dominates me. I laugh at the absurdity of "free will" in such moments, as if to say, "Choice? What choice? I was overwhelmed." My heart just broke and I was left instantly intoxicated by my need for all things Godly.

I cannot think of anything else but to see Him, hug Him, laugh and cry with Him, eat with Him. I want to blur the border in the "otherness" of matter and exist with Him in time and space. I want Him to exist in me, deep inside me, as me, and I in Him. I want Him so close that my hand on His shoulder is His hand on mine. If the reader isn't too offended, or too Freudian, I would say that my desire for closeness with Him surpassed even the sexual magnetism between lovers. I wanted Him in me, and I in Him, as far as intimacy would allow. Unity, oneness, whatever you want to call it, called to me.

But I did not have it, I simply became aware of my need for it. The desperation of my awareness grew exponentially on Sunday morning and in no time at all it had crushed my heart and left me, teary eyed and sniffling, barely able to lift my head, empty and broken, in the back row of worship at church. I felt like a limp noodle, like a mannequin made of cheap, thin glass.

I stayed for both services solely due to the fact that I knew the pastor would offer prayer services to those who needed it at the end of each. "Hi, my name is Benjamin. I really need God. Can you pray for me?" or something along those lines, was requested of one. I talked with those especially safe friends, who do not offer estranged compassion, advice, or similar stories. Those friends, whose thoughtful smiles and wise eyes melt away the fear of being misunderstood, listened to me for an hour after the last service ended. Right after Independence Day, I learned (felt? experienced? swallowed?) how dependent I was.

That evening I stopped panicking. I was still heart-broken, but I could finally relax. There is a special sort of peace that develops when you are grieving. It is a hard-fought, courageously reasoned, and open perspective of the way things are and the way you wish them to be which calms your nerves and gives you patience. True patience is learned by created comfort, via reasoning, in the midst of adversity.

There is no real end to this story. I still feel the urge to clutch my chest, bend over slightly, and groan. My heart feels like it gained ten dark pounds. I cannot swallow correctly. But at least now I can show a genuinely patient smile. I really need Him for everything. It is a painfully obvious, and painfully not so obvious, truth.

I Do Not Belong Here

I have a sense of estrangement to this world. I feel as though I am a traveler from a far distant land that has come to grow up and live where I am. In fact, I do not even claim dual citizenship, this is simply not my home. I have had to learn the language, cultures, customs, and even how to cook and eat the food. But I do not find my identity in these things. They are the mediums by which I live my life, but they do not define me. In fact, I am sometimes slightly annoyed with the fact that I am required to eat and sleep. I am meant for something more.

I feel slightly guilty when I say this because I know how dear my friends are to me and I to them. I further acknowledge that some of them feel the same way I do, maybe even came from the same place, and perhaps that is why we are friends. I cannot explain this much because it is actually quite hard to describe, but I feel like I was placed here, that I originated elsewhere and I was put here for a purpose, but for what I do not know.

Frankly, especially during the hard times in life, I do not care about the purpose. I simply question my obedience to certain dogmas, like when stopped at a red light with no other cars on the road. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? It's just a stupid red light. Blue lights don't do this to me, so why is red so important? It's a red octagon-shaped shard of metal created in some factory that is obligating me to be where I do not want to be for no good reason. Why do I listen to it? I am tired of conforming to the system.

It's not just the socially symbolic things like traffic signs, police, and money that leave me feeling alien. I resent having to eat in order to not be hungry, having to sleep in order to not be tired, having to monitor stress, physical activity, tan lines, and back hair. As Steven Tyler of Aerosmith expressed in a moment of immortal genius, "We are spiritual beings trapped in physical bodies." I hate doing these things out of necessity. I mean, what is the point of fingernails, honestly? Why do I sweat and stink in the heat? Why do my teeth feel like chalk after I sleep? Why can't my clumsy ass just dance like I can imagine? Why does my tongue st-st-st-st-stutter in front of an audience? Why can't I sing how I feel? Did I mention back hair yet? I guess they are part of the purpose for my being here, but I still resent the obligation, the dependence on physical matter. I do not resent responsibility, I would just rather be responsible for something else, like a garden.

Despite the fact that this is a temporary intuition, it occurs quite often. I find myself desiring more, even more than I have ever seen. Even after discovering the most mind-blowing thing in nature, or falling in love, or having the epiphany of a lifetime, I am left slightly dissatisfied. It is like tasting spaghetti, but not my mother's spaghetti; or hugging a stranger instead of a friend; like touching a baby's skin with latex gloves on, I feel that I am not getting the real experience. I know what this is meant to be, but it appears to me as an imitation, an artificial sweetener.

The longer I live my life the more I realize that nothing here will ever meet my need on this level. I am not at home, not even in my greatest triumphs, loveliest relationships, or standing in the face of the most amazing scenery. Sometimes they merely resemble shadows.

Another Lewis quote:
“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

Hebrews 11:13-14:
"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."

Résumé Writing

I just finished writing my résumé. As with all good résumés, mine employs action words like “developed,” “maintained,” and “organized.” It is has a simple layout and uses short, descriptive sentences. Even though it is somewhat debated among résumé advisors, I decided to have an “Objective” section. I am rather proud of summarizing things so concisely and efficiently, even if I used two pages to do so.

But this is not an employee résumé. I will not be turning it into any potential employers because this résumé is a summary of my life, complete with important events and relationships. For example, my “Objective” section is as follows: “To glorify God by enjoying Him forever.” I debated using “To be happy” instead, but there really is no happiness if it is not about something. Of course, I also have an “Education” section, but below that are the “Relationship History,” “Greatest Compliments,” and “Excellent Friendships” (which really doubles as my references) sections.

The Relationship History section begins like this:

Jennifer Howard
January 1998 – December 2000
Dating with Discussions of Marriage

• Introduced to her at church and developed a friendship
• Requested her to join me for prom and organized the trip
• Maintained a dating relationship for two years until I moved away to college
• Ended the relationship when I realized we could never end up together

The next entry covers my failed engagement relationship, and is followed by one that began on the Internet. At the end of the section I summarize the few, but still significant, various drunken make-out sessions and hook-ups with girls. I can only use the term “girls” to describe them because I honestly cannot remember most of their names. I assume the reader now understands why I will not be turning this in to potential employers.

Under the Greatest Compliments section are a few of my favorites:

“I feel so much safer knowing someone like you is defending this country.”
“I have learned more from being your friend than an entire lifetime at church.”
“If I could only have one other person with me on the planet, it would be you.”
“If I ever end up going to war again, I want you fighting right next to me.”

That last quote came from my Drill Sergeant in boot camp. The date they were received and the speaker’s name are noted in proper format for a professional-looking résumé. I had difficulty recalling these exact quotes, so it took me some time. The “Excellent Friendships” section was difficult to write also, but for a different reason. Due to spatial concerns (one can never overwhelm the reader of a résumé with too much content), I had to narrow it down to three. Clearly, this section overlapped with my “Paradigm Shifts” and “Challenges so Hard I Wanted to Quit” sections because my most excellent friendships were born out of such moments.

The vulnerability present on these two simple pages is terrifying. There it is, my life, with all of its accomplishments, compliments, friendships, mistakes, and intentions gone sour. I think the format made it easier to write, and makes it easier to look at, given that it is simply a basic summary in a presentable layout. These pages contain the most concise and accurate (to me) portrayal of who I am and who I have been. It wasn’t as depressing to write as I first thought. In fact, I feel a sense of relief or release or self-actualization or something else a psychologist would say. In any case, it was a great exercise, and I will probably do it again in a few years’ time.

Intercessory Prayer or Senseless Rage?

I have this weird thing that happens sometimes. It happens when I know someone I care about is hurting or at risk. Sometimes I am so motivated by another person’s troubles that I would like to speak to someone about it immediately. This is not the small sort of thing that happens when a steak is cooked too rare at a restaurant and needs to be sent back, nor when the incorrect amount of change is given and needs to be settled. I am speaking of the type of senseless outrage that inspires me to kick open the gates of Heaven, calmly walk past angels and beauty, approach the throne of the Almighty upright with shoes still attached, and politely ask the Lord of Hosts just what the fuck He thinks He is doing to my friend’s life. And as senseless as I know it is, and as outrageous as it appear to others, I think God actually likes that about me. In fact, I think He made me that way.

My favorite story in the Bible is probably about Jacob wrestling God. To sum up, Jacob wrestled God for an entire night and, despite the Lord disabling his hip during the match, Jacob holds on to Him and states, “I will not let you go unless you bless me,” which He does. Abraham also did this by saying to God Almighty, “Far be it from you to do such a thing,” while they fought over the fate of Sodom. Stubborn. As. A. Mule. Nothing really sums up the Lord’s power and compassion to me like these stories.

I would absolutely love to wrestle Jesus. The closest I can get now is to simply yell at Him about an issue. I do not argue, I tastelessly express my displeasure, because there really is no arguing with God. I mean, I do argue and reason, but that is not the point. No, I merely take out my frustrations on Him and I do not tire until He responds. I am honestly quite surprised that I am not struck down by lightning during these times, but that is a part of the lesson. My God listens.

At first, I am like a challenger entering the ring. I have a score to settle and I do not care about having an objective opinion on the matter. There is no person on earth I could do this with, because I would, frankly, hurt them badly. It goes beyond venting. I wouldn’t stop until I had destroyed either them or myself. And that’s pretty much what happens when I challenge God to a wrestling match. We tend to roll around with the aggressiveness that would traumatize any mother to watch. I pound Him with, “Why would you do this?!” “Some love you have!” “At what point did you not expect me to be upset?” “How can you just sit there while this happens?” I pull no punches, leave no doubt unturned, and throw low blows. I fight dirty, bringing up my personal past hurts and questioning just why He hasn’t learned to meet those needs in people yet. In a sense, I fight like an angry child.

At the time, I simply do not care. I have no morals, no authority, no allegiance to any set standard of behavior. I give no fuck. I am enraged about the issue and the only thing I can do is take Him to task about it. I have listening long enough to know how I feel and I bring that to the Lord with an aggressive agenda for our meeting. I am General Custer, one of the 300 Spartans, a nerd approaching the playground bully, David running at Goliath.

I cannot help but think that during these times He is simply playing with me. He is toying with me, but not in a condescending sense. It is more like when a dog owner plays tug of war with their dog, or when two puppies threaten each other with open but soft biting jaws. The dogs fight with all their might, but are not capable of injuring the other. I guess it is best described in the serious events of a son challenge the authority of his father, or when two brothers must wrestle to test their strength. I need to be deeply reminded of my personal relationship to God. We are unique, and my relationship to Him is like no other. I must know that He cares about me, about what I care about. I need to feel His concern, His resistance, His response; and so I push Him and press Him for it. I need to know where we stand with each other, if He still cares, if He still loves me, and if I still love Him. I am overwhelmed by the need for Him and He must know it.

As we fight, I learn. He makes me feel His concern by pressing further how much I need Him. He emphasizes my need, so that I am like a helplessly crazed lover saying to the beloved, “I need you.” No other relationship would accept this dependence, but He invites, even pursues my need. It is the basis for every good thing in my life. It is here that I stop fighting, and I simply break down. The arms or paws or jaws or whatever I have been threatening with ungodly harm become my refuge, my retreat, and my pillows. A cloud to hide behind, a pillar of fire to shield me. It is a sweet surrender. I love these calm moments after everything has come out. The thunder and rain has just stopped and I am left damp and calm.

Once I am understood, and He has given me an audience, I feel confident again. I am confident because I know I will be coming back to do the same thing soon, but He is ready and willing to take me on. There was never a more caring father, brother, or friend.


Here is an exerpt from The Magician’s Nephew by C.S. Lewis showing an exchange between Fledge the horse, and Polly and Digory the children, concerning Aslan the Almighty Lion:
“I am hungry,” said Digory. “Well, tuck in,” said Fledge, taking a big mouthful of grass. Then he raised his head, still chewing and with bits of grass sticking out on each side of his mouth like whiskers, and said, “Come on, you two. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty for us all.” “But we can’t eat grass,” said Digory. “H’m, h,m,” said Fledge, speaking with his mouth full. “Well–h’m–don’t know quite what you’ll do then. Very good grass too.”
Polly and Digory stared at one another in dismay. “Well, I do think someone might have arranged about our meals,” said Digory. “I’m sure Aslan would have, if you’d asked him,” said Fledge. “Wouldn’t he know without being asked?” said Polly. “I’ve no doubt he would,” said the Horse (still with his mouth full). “But I’ve a sort of idea he likes to be asked.”

Thoughts on humility, confidence, and insecurity

It is no secret that confidence is a desirable trait for any person. Confident people are seen as attractive, reliable, and generally “safe” for anyone. They typically achieve much in life, as much as their potential will allow. Truly confident people rarely have insecurities, those troubling doubts about personal worth, security, or lovability. But exceptionally confident people, who look much different than the normal sort, have balanced it with humility.

I love humility, but humility is too often confused with insecurity. The fact that I know my negative traits does not make me insecure. I know my strengths as well. It is perceived worthlessness, unlovability, or inadequacy about these traits that forms into the stickiest fears and doubts. Weaknesses are not insecurities by themselves. Weakness must be mishandled, denied, or compensated for in order to become insecurities and truly ruin confidence. Insecurity says, “I don’t think I can do that,” but Humility says, “I cannot do that, I can only do this.” Both of them are right, but they are not the same.

Humility is true confidence in action. It is not the type of confidence you will find from the guy who approaches you in the bar and introduces himself as your next boyfriend. Generally, he probably just wants to buy you a drink so you won’t notice or care about his overbearing cologne, hairy back, or sexual motives. He wants you to believe his hair, compliments, and carefree attitude are more important than his carelessness, eyes, or body language. He probably owns a big gun, which I do too, but that is not the point. This guy, with his elaborate dancing techniques, chauvinistic yet sweet manners, or exaggerated similar interests is the top card on the house of cards. He is Daffy Duck dressed like Bugs Bunny, or Eeyore acting like Tigger. Insecurities are negative traits covered up by ego and they will come out when the guy at the bar has run out of pickup lines, flattering words, and hilarious but one-lined jokes.

Why do I know this guy? Because I have been this guy. The aggressive jackass traits of socially confident guys appear to me the same as stage fright in teenagers. Puberty didn’t last long enough for them to realize how silly it is to strike a pose and how endearing it is to be honest. It is the difference in affection one would feel for a prim and proper cat as opposed to a mellow lap dog. We laugh at the cat, and love the dog. Still, people go to ridiculous lengths to proposition themselves. They’re like rap stars on the red carpet, wearing everything from feather hats to clocks, as if they were living on stage rather than with the audience.

Confidence without humility comes from those who are secure because they simply have no insight into their weaknesses. For the fun-loving, Tigger-like confidence, ignorance is truly bliss. I enjoy the company of such people, but I would never trust them. Given the right person, situation, or event, the confident person can turn into a coward without ever having realized his weakness. When a bad day at work turns into a kicked-in door or a casual conversation with another turns into a jealous outrage, you have discovered what that laissez-faire personality knew nothing about.

I have met some rather unintelligent and ugly people who were far more attractive than the most accomplished athletic thinkers because, despite their lesser skills and clumsy flaws, they were neither shy, overly-humorous, nor compensatory for them. They were humble, which only comes as a result of honesty, giving no room for baseless insecurity, and thus giving off an endearing confidence. The arrogant, conceited, or otherwise confidently defended egos only attract mistrust.

Christian Hedonism, I guess

The degree to which simple pleasures can be corrupted into harmful evils is constantly shocking to me. I often wonder, “How could such a good thing be so wrong?” A harmful action tends to always have some innocent goal. Even serious offenses like murder, rape, and insulting words can all be motivated by a natural and good desire to experience peace and happiness. To hunger for love, happiness, and peace cannot be bad because they are features of the Creator that command desire. Since God created all good things, and us in His likeness, can we not say He also created in us a divine desire for those things? Conversely, there is no good thing that can be manufactured from the sources of Hell. In and of itself, there is nothing even tempting about Hell. But tragically, it only takes a simple enjoyment of pleasures at the wrong time, in the wrong way, or in the wrong place that can turn them into devilish actions. Worse still, people frequently make such mistakes and turn them into habits. It is quite sad, really, because it seems so simple to just enjoy pleasure purely.

In fact, it is the strongest pleasures, like love, which can do the most damage. As we know, we often hurt the ones we love the most, I know I do. But why? Even in simple friendship, which is probably the easiest of relationships to keep unscathed, we still betray trust and offend each other. Is this really necessary? None of it is ill motivated. There must be some inherent flaw in the system of individuals and each other that trips up our God-given desires. It is this constant transition between goodness and evil that supports my belief in Satan as a fallen angel, obedience as a process, and Jesus as a way to salvation.

The good news, the greatest news, is that no true pleasure can be spawned from pure evil. Everything that feels good, brings happiness, or satisfies is inherently from God, and God's pleasures are more powerful than any cheap imitation. Mercy triumphs over judgment, love covers sin, and a well-placed compliment can make a bad day into a great one. Like a waterfall constantly flowing over a cliff, pleasure purely enjoyed can be cleansing from evil and it is constantly being created, like time itself.

I guess this is why vulnerability and forgiveness are such powerful actions. They are the catalysts for changing pride and conceit into humility and love, and thus any harmful action into a healing one. The most frightening part of this change is the approach or process we must go through in order to pursue it, and thus, do the right thing. We must go through a stage where two irreconcilable thoughts are present in our minds, like the justification for revenge and the reasons for reconciliation, and one must win. We simply cannot stay in this state for long.

It is here where our pursuit of joy is the most practical, most right thing we can do. The desire for love, companionship, friendship, and comfort both given and received can overpower any evil because they are divine desires themselves. We must think of the highest rewards, meditate on them, even dream of them so that we feel a love for them so strongly that they begin to define us. The only failures and hurts I have caused in my life, which there are many, have come when I have stopped pursuing my most satisfying dreams.

"If there lurks in most modern mind the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." --C.S. Lewis

I Met a Girl I Have to Write About

I met a girl I have to write about. She is gone now, perhaps for good, but I needed to write down the thoughts that have subjugated the time surrounding my sleep. Since I met her, the vast majority of my thoughts have been about her and the vast majority of my actions are attempts to escape thinking about her. The proverbial hooks are strong with this one. Looking back on it, everything about her was surreal.

She was intelligent, even brilliant, almost crazy. She knew of her ability to take on the greatest thinkers in history, which made her slightly conceited but very confident. She was more articulate and persuasive than a university gang leader. Attractive was not the word to use here. Holy hotness does not come close. Everything about her was an intriguing mix. Her face was beautiful and cute, she smelled of jasmine and apple scented cream, her eyes were hazel and blue. Oh. My. God.

On the other side of the conversation is me, insecurities and cigarettes, all of which have doubled in production since I met her. In general, I am confident of myself in most areas, but I am utterly fragile in just a few. And, by some strange stroke of luck or magic, all of these chinks in the armor have been reincarnated from the pages of my journals since meeting her. I have smoked twice since starting this piece. Everything from fear of abandonment, loneliness, failure to establish myself in life, to physical body type has been brought up. I have been terrified, confused, hurt, jealous, happy, ecstatic, and anxious simultaneously, at many times in the day, for weeks. I have not been calm or at peace. I feel like I am getting sick on an amazingly fast rollercoaster and yelling “Slow the fuck down!” as I pass by the control center.

It seems to me that the smartest people in the world are also the most manipulative, and so I am inclined not to trust her. This is a blanket assumption, but I must consider it. One simply cannot know when they are truly being used, especially if one does not care whether they are or not, which I frankly did not. Most likely, I am like every other guy she has met, because from what I have gathered from my friends, being attracted to her is not unique. Intimacy with this girl is practically impossible for me. She shares so much of it, and invites it even more. I fear I would not be unique, and thus, easily abandoned.

Does she have any faults? Absolutely. Perhaps the reader will be relieved to know that I am finally being realistic here. A glimmer of hook sticking out of the bait, maybe? Posted warning signs on the doors and windows? Sure, there are plenty. But she tells me about them. She is honest and vulnerable. I could hurt her if I so desired because she gave me that opportunity. But I am so inspired by her exposure that I only want to protect her. I feel privileged to know her weaknesses, not empowered. I would sooner loose a limb than say a hurtful word or have a selfish response to her. She might be crazy, but she might also be the right type of crazy. An insanity that perfectly fits with mine. Two more cigarettes down.

But let’s be realistic. She is gone now. I am slightly saddened about ever meeting her because of this fact. Like jumping on a large trampoline together, she skyrocketed the degree to which I have since experienced my life. My life since has been both broad and wide, such that I have done so many new things I cannot recall them all and I have done them with such a depth of thought and personal investment that I feel slightly traumatized. It was an amazing experience, and I greatly appreciated having it. Hopefully this is my last thought in the afterglow and I can move on with my life without waiting too anxiously for someone like her to come along again. So, insecurity tells me that she is gone now, probably for good, probably didn’t mean much, probably enjoys the company of many others far more than me. These are not entirely true, but I must mention them, because they are part of working through fears to openly and confidently enjoy life. There is little left to do and I am indeed left with some great memories.

I Hear the Words

Hearing the music from outside
I wander in the dimly lit room
Colors near, silhouettes far
I look for a chair, for my space
I need my space, my privacy, my mood lighting
I have so much to do today.
I slip down into my nervous skin
feel the weight of my own feet put pressure on the ground
The chair shifts slightly as I lean forward
and cover my face to hide from the floor.
I need an open channel, a medium for communication
I need my paycheck so I can pay my bills
Breathing control, concentrate, knock, seek
I listen, perhaps He is trying to talk to me?
I hear the music, the voices, the noises,
the Sunday morning service
Let us simplify
I hear the words
They tell me to exalt Him, to lift Him up
I want to talk to Him first, to explain myself
I introduce myself to Him every week
Again, they say exalt Him
The repetition is soothing, but I know all of these songs have a chorus
How do I talk to Him?
My channel is not yet open to Him,
I do not feel connected. I want to belong.

I have not forgotten You
You were the One I have felt, nearly touched.
You were the One who took away my ability
to control my own body for two hours on October 19, 2001
You were the One they told me I had received,
and You were the One who numbed my pain.
You gave me chills and tickled my feet.
I had forgotten these, even though I tattooed my arm to help remember,
so I am sure I have forgotten many others.

Give me a command Lord.
I want to be doing the right thing, right now
even if it is only for a brief moment.
I have some change in my left pocket, does anybody need it?
What do you want me to do? To be? To go?
I sit silently waiting, pretending to be praying.
Waiting.
My attitude must not be right.
Did I say something wrong?
I’m trying to do the right thing.
Let us simplify
I hear the words
They tell me to exalt Him, to lift Him up
I remember You

They told me I was a fool for wanting You to make me happy
They said I was lazy
They mocked me
But You, You inspired me.
You pulled me.
You persuaded me.
You wooed me.
You proved your ownership with Almighty pleasure.
You put Glory in front of my eyes and said,
“See Me.”
You spoke to me calmly.
You changed me.
You made me taste. You made me drink.
You made me, the sworn enemy of Your methods, love You.
Amazing
I love You.
I love exactly how I feel right now.
I can sit, sing, read, sleep, or dance.
You have demonstrated power over me
I do not complain

We are introduced again
I know who I am
from experiencing You
Experience, trumping all skeptics
I smile, chuckle, laugh and cry
I know what I should be doing
Should? Who would use such a word for worship?
I am loved, I am broken, I am compelled
I am happy
I exalt You, I lift You up
without lifting anything
I know exactly where I belong
Here, right here, in my space
In my room, in Your house
Singing, thinking, praying, reading You
I exalt You
I am so small and perfect in this place
I exalt You, the repetition so soothing
I praise You, an extremist converted
I lift You up

Second Choice

My informal introduction to dating took place in the fourth grade with Tamara Doster. She was hot, athletic, and had one of those sweet yet rough whispery type voices. I flirted my best and caught her attention, but only for a second. I soon learned that she was more interested in Josh, and she trying to pull the same move on him. I was looking at her, she was looking at him, and so if she was looking at him, she wasn’t looking at me. Of course, Josh was interested in someone too, just not Tamara. My situation improved when he asked another girl out and Tamara was left to no one except me to play with at recess.

And thus began my dating life as the Second Choice, a leftover, a hand-me-down, a work of art on the wall. Some guys sometimes call this “sloppy seconds,” because one is basically feeding off of the crumbs of what someone else had. It has become a ridiculous pattern in my dating life. I’m looking at her, she’s looking at him, he starts looking at another, and then she sees me. This is a predictable pattern, like the stages of grief or small talk conversations. I am Plan B, the backup, the reservists, the “if no one else will love me, I’ll be with him” guy. At best, I am a passive opportunist. At worst, a man-whore.

I have learned to live with the subtle regret that accompanies a relationship wherein I was not the first choice at the time. In past relationships, I dated incredibly nice girls who tried to make me feel like the first choice, until the real first choice showed up again. It was a nice, but completely false, gesture. In order to facilitate the survival of my self-esteem, I have developed a tolerance for being easily passed over at first glance. “Yeah, you’re great, but I really like him. Bye.” “No problem, I completely understand.” She leaves and talks with him, he leaves her, and maybe she comes back. I wonder if my career as a wallflower at high school dances contributed to this lifestyle.

But I am tired. I am tired of “loving on” those who use my sincere affection for filler. They treat me as if I am offering them a break from typical guys, but without acknowledging my specific affection for them. This pattern, this inherent flaw, this cruel trick game honestly hurts and I am usually left trying to recover my sense of direction and value. I am a passionate person, with earnest poetry and inside jokes and silly adventures waiting for someone, anyone, who will see me as a First Choice. I do not love lightly or selfishly. But with so many hearts already filled with Xs, nice guy friends, and “like a brother” relationships, I wonder if I will ever connect with someone who isn’t already fascinated by someone else first.

I’ll be honest. I have this guilty pleasure, this lonely late night movie, this carton of chocolate ice cream that leaves you worse off than when you started. It is the dark shadow that falls over the divine desire to love someone. Sometimes I get so sick of bottling up romance and affection that I cannot help but let it out. In my moments of desperation, I “love on” someone who doesn’t even need it or deserve it, stranger or not. I know I’ll be getting nothing back except a smile and a wave goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

After all of the dreaming, writing, thinking, praying, and crying, there is still passion yet to be released into action. I feel compelled to compliment a beautiful girl. I listen with absolute empathy to the stories of good intentions met with broken hearts. They laugh, I laugh; they cry, I cry. I am real with them. My sincerity can be gauged by the degree to which I hold out my simple heart and purposeful remarks in vulnerability. If the girl is wise, I ask for her advice on something, anything, which lets her know it. I plot out my compliments, gifts, and affections as though they were top secret missions to infiltrate enemy territory. I steal smiles, pickpocket “thank you”s, and boost confidence without blowing my cover. I let them know my day, my week, or my month has been improved by them, and it is absolutely sincerely true.

I freely admit I have maintained my Second Choice status because I indulge myself in this delight. I have taken what was once meant to be given to one worthy enough to sit on top of my highest pedestal and given it to a perfect stranger. But I cannot help it. The anxiety of loneliness is compounded by the impulses one feels from love unspent. And before I go mad or insane or become overwhelmingly depressed, I release these urges in steady routine, like the geyser of Old Faithful.

For those who say I should save it for someone special, I bring up my original point. I am routinely the Second Choice, the substitute, the second string, the spare. Should I offer all of my affection to one who will receive it one second and give it to someone else the next? Or should I offer tiny pieces of the affection to those whose need is great enough to appreciate it? I would gladly lighten the faces of a hundred people than make one potential lover glow. I am not happy with Second Choice, I am miserable. I care too much to be treated so carelessly.

Feeling Used

I am angry. I am so fucking furious I could bite this cigarette in half. I hate feeling used, unimportant, tossed aside. I did nothing to warrant this besides ignoring all of the completely fucking obvious warning signs. At first I thought I was just being polite, then extra polite, then tolerant, inconvenienced, and finally just self-sacrificing. Luckily, staring at my neighbor’s hummingbird feeder apparently awakens my sense of self-worth. How the hell did I ever get into this situation?

It starts with wanting something you’re not allowed to have, like respect without honor, faith without risk, success without failures, an apple without sin. I want this and I don’t want to pay for it. See, I only want this, just this, nothing else. All of the structure and responsibility around it, I don’t really care to see again. It’s actually easy to get: just ask, ignore, or be funny. Small amounts of “just this” and “only that” grow into larger amounts of “needing this” or “really liking that.” But sometimes, usually after the pleasure or security or silver-lined clouds break for a time, you realize how fucked up it all is. This arrangement, this social contract, this exchange, this relationship, is a slavery. And just then, just immediately for a split second, you can feel a slight coldness in your chest, like an ice cube, sinking down into your heart toward your spine. Grief. Good fucking grief.

I don’t mind being used for things like favors, one-sided conversations, or human ladders. I just want to know I’m being used when I am. If I am being used, I want to know that my personal value as a human is only based on my performance in one specific function. I’m okay with that, when I know it, but I prefer the choice. If you only want one small part of me, do not lead me to trust you with more than that. My life does not grow back.

It’s fucking absurd how disappointed I become when I am used by people who consistently just use people. It’s their M.O., but I still sign up. Fucking Satan. That’s his best talent. I am so much more of an ass than Adam. If I was in that garden, the first tree I visited would’ve been that “bad” one. And if a snake came up to me and promised me knowledge of good and evil from just one bite, I’d say “That’s awesome, I’ll take two apples, I have a girl to impress.” There is no better salesman for my slavery than an empty stomach.

Inevitably, the thing you set out to use ends up using you. Like unwrapping the biggest present at Christmas to find an empty box. I feel cheated, but I cheated first. It is not unfair that my cookie-filled fist is stuck in the jar. Just when you think that doing the right thing makes no practical sense, it ends up being the most practical thing you can do. On the morning after, when I need to prop up or cover or lean my head on something in order to think, I feel hope deferred. In the morning of mourning, when your foolish choices make your brain’s check engine light blink, time stops like looking in a mirror.

I am fucking angry. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. The second came when I ignored the first. A third there will not be. That is some life poetry.

My Parents' House

I've just spent the past two days at my parents' house, formerly known as the confines of my adolescent youth. It is so relaxing here I wonder why I ever left. The daytime here is absolutely calm and docile. The nighttime is even better. Today I actually had to remind myself to walk slower, talk about less important topics, and focus on the taste of food.

In fact, I just spent the past hour sitting outside on the front porch looking out at my old stomping grounds. After the many months and years I've spent on that porch, I could probably draw the landscape from memory. I remember the shape and color of trees despite the changing seasons. Even at night, every porch light and star is familiar to me in both color and brightness. Sometimes places are so familiar that they are like friendly ghosts one can sit with and visit. And honestly, while I was lying down in the driveway staring up at the stars, I actually did talk to them. I don't really know why.

I know this place so well. I know the sound and texture of every door and lock in this house. Thanks to my high school adventures, I know how navigate every obstacle between the front door and my room without making a sound. I can even do it in the dark, seriously. I know the angle at which the screen door squeaks, the creakiest portions of the wood floor, and the amount of twist to apply to the door knob without hearing it open. I've never felt so comfortable in bare feet.

I can actually retrace my life according to what I see here. The one stop light in town used to be just a stop sign when I first arrived here at four years old. The dirt lot on the corner was paved for a supermarket when I was six. Our house was built when I was nine. I helped my dad put in our sprinkler system at ten. A faulty rope swing and I broke a branch off of the nearby oak tree when I was eleven. The 30 foot cottonwood tree in our backyard fell victim to my lawnmowing skills when it was only one foot high. I chopped it down to grass level again about two months later. My dad was pissed, but I now brag about how it is the tallest tree in our yard.

I put those rocks there, that tree there, and painted this side of the house. I know where every sprinkler pipe is laid out under the lawn, and I can still see the burnt holes in the wood siding that suffered the stare of my magnifying glass. Sometimes I feel like this place knows me better than I know myself. I guess the same can be said about my parents, but I hate saying that. I feel comfortable around the things I know so well. I guess they know me too, but they never make any demands of me despite that advantage. I love that, and I guess I love this place because of it.

If I Ran Heaven

If I ran heaven, there would be a special area reserved for angels to sit and listen to people. The Holy Spirit Himself would give in-flight tours of creation, describing the design and function of every living thing with far more detail than the Discovery channel.

If I ran heaven, outside the front gate would be a garden filled with second chances. Everybody would be able to go there, even if it was hard to see some people who could never enter the gate. There would a special detachment of angels to help the Saved deal with the loss of the Unsaved.

If I ran heaven, all questions would be able to be answered, even if they were bad or irrational. With this in place I could discover the location of every pair of my socks, every unsolved mystery, and all of my x-girlfriends' thoughts. There would be an apology wall, where every bad memory could be written and received in public vulnerability. There would be a swimming pool that washed away every broken heart and bad childhood memory.

If I ran heaven, there would be a heavenly Olympics, where participants could race mythical characters such as The Flash, box with Superman, and if they're lucky, wrestle Jesus. And even though we wouldn't have bodies to maintain, there would still be a gym.

If I ran heaven, there would be a school for everything taught by the Lord Himself. We could sit and listen to lectures on His design of nature, language, culture, and chocolate. There would be a comedy show with video presentations on the silliness of humans that far surpasses America's Funniest Home Videos. The Lord Himself would reminisce about His best moments watching the proud and professional suffering hiccups, yawning, goosebumps, and being ticklish.

If I ran heaven, sleep would be an unnecessary, yet popular pastime. I could curl up with most fuzzy and dangerous of animals. All of my past pets would be there, of course, and I could listen to them reminisce about the times we had together. I could meet every animal I hunted and we could fondly recall their last moment on earth together. Somehow I believe early American Indian tribes would help me here.

If I ran heaven, there would a room larger than the earth itself filled with music from every culture on earth. Tribes from every continent would be able to speak their language, cook their food, and host their most honored ceremonies. Parties would be held every day and night in each section, and politics would be banned everywhere. I could spend at least a hundred lifetimes in this room alone.

If I ran heaven, tattoos would be the norm. Dances would be taught on golden floors. Crowns would be given as birthday gifts. And Stella Artois would be on tap.

And finally, if I ran heaven, everything would be so lovely that one would always want to worship. Guys could look at girls and think “Praise God! That is the hottest, most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” And girls could look at guys and think... whatever it is they think about guys. We could sit in front of the Lord's throne and feel every emotion at once. We could look at Him and not be able to blink. We could hug Him and never let go. We could sing in perfect harmony together. We could talk late at night under the stars. We could eat next to Him at every meal. We could smile at Him and He would smile back. We could sneeze and He would say... whatever it is He says when we sneeze.

Slightly Overwhelmed

At present, I am overwhelmed. But I am easily overwhelmed, so this is no more surprising than a sunrise. However, unlike the mechanics of our galaxy, my road to overload is not perfectly predictable. Everything seems to hit at once. Like a prism focusing many colored rays of light, the facets of my life unexpectedly arrive together and blind my once alert senses. In short, when it rains, it pours.

Work, business, and money all seem to tighten the same muscles in my back. I am stressed and easily made tense by them. Since high school, I have maintained the responsible practice of planning my career at least five year in advance. I knew where I would be in five years. Unfortunately, I have revised those plans every five years since then. The finish line keeps moving. So, I have given up on predicting my future place in the world. Instead, I just scratch what needs itching and massage those back muscles in steady rhythm. Like the Irish, it seems I will put up with something being wrong for the rest of my life. It all seems difficult, so does it really matter what’s next?

I used to have a girlfriend to massage these muscles for me, until I realized how much she caused those muscles to tense up in the first place. Since my last serious relationship ended, I have only dated sporadically. The bottom line is this: I want a good girlfriend, but I cannot provide for one. I cannot maintain another spiritual life besides my own. Perhaps I am not ready, but I like to think that I just haven’t found the right person yet. Still, the need for companionship remains. And on those lonely nights when no one is around to talk to, I feel myself wanting to listen and connect with another, just one other. It is a sad support to live without.

Lastly, I have been caught up in the discouraging trends in my church. Christian culture has taken such a bad turn. We have far too many demands of each other and far too many rules to live by. There are many mercies that Christians understand to be rights, and as such, they cry out in injustice and outrage when their comfort is violated. The pressure of a call to holiness combined with the intensity of personal emotions (or “passions” as we call them) makes for an outrageous religious cocktail. So, everyone is gullible to guilt. We are overly-sensitive to shame, and that is shameful. The pulpit is open to the squeakiest wheel and the highest emotional bidder. We are drunk and inept because we have swallowed the pain of these vocal individuals and shat out rules for their safety. We have become a community of God’s children who act like children, and that is neither safe nor Biblical. We are love without power, words without meaning, and friends without benefits. We can neither give nor receive well, not even compliments.

So, at present, the things I usually rely upon for great security are all showing me their back side. I know God has control over my work, business and money, but must this be accompanied by so many crushed opportunities and hopes? After so many slammed doors, one begins to think that when “God opens a window instead” it was meant for me to jump out. And at what point did my family of Christian brothers and sisters become one of children looking to each other for parenting? We are the God-given owners of our own choices, feelings, actions, etc. Nobody is responsible for you anymore, especially not me, and not now.

There comes a point when one must say, “I don’t need this,” and simply walk away for a time. I need to recharge and just take care of myself. It is too late to play guitar or call a friend. The bouncer at my local pub has not seen my face tonight, nor is it likely that he will. So, I am forced to just write, and I guess, just write it off.

Dating in the Late 20s

Nothing inspires celibacy like the current trends in single Christian female circles. It seems like every single Christian girl is simply a good girl waiting for the right good boy to come along and pursue them. They wait and quote scripture to back up their claims that they should be waiting because good boys are supposed to be the Christ-like leaders and take initiative.

Two things:

The fact is, when you find a good boy, he won't seem nearly as attractive as a confident jackass. And even if you do find him, chances are he won't pursue you in the same way the jackass would. There will be no flattering comments about your looks or personality that make you swoon because the good boy is not interested in getting some tail that night. In fact, being a good boy, he probably lacks the assertiveness it takes to hit on you in the first place because his passive “let's all get along” approach has been the chief cause of his popular, good boy status. A good boy who is popular amongst his peers is probably less assertive than a smooth rock. Seriously ladies, show me a good Christian boy and I'll show you a completely spineless wimp. He is probably liked by everybody, loved by some, but only knows about intimacy with pets rather than girls.

I have nothing against good boys except this: they make the rest of us look bad. How am I supposed to compete (yes, competition) against good boys in Christian circles when my virginity is far gone, my church volunteering is minimal, and my church attendance is dependent on the type of coffee and donuts present? I do not part my hair, run an activist club, or meet with the pastor on a regular basis. I guess this somehow makes my faith somewhat questionable. Appearances, as we know, are fully accurate.

Perhaps I am just sick of dating “Suzie Q” Christian girls who expect me to be the good little boy they've always wanted to raise and follow. I am tired of my faith and character being questioned because I do not improve upon the spiritual habits of the girls I date. My last relationship ended because I download illegal music and unethically bought tickets to a movie. Seriously. I have had enough of the “Hello Kitty” type DTR sessions that reiterate how important it is to have Christ as the center of our relationship. Yes, I have read and learned from Dr. James Dobson, Joshua Harris, Dr. Henry Townsend and C.S. Lewis, so what? At what point did you expect me to not have my own faults that you would have to confront? Did you not expect a person on the other end of this relationship? The ideas you received from Sunday school, relationship books, and jealously observing those “I wish I had that” type of relationships simply do not apply to real men.

And while we're at it, let's talk about observing those “I wish I had that” relationships. I cannot comprehend how some Christian girls actually believe some relationships are perfect. It seems like some girls just see a happy couple at church and think “their life is so much better because they have a good guy like that.” Honestly, I do not know what they think. But this would explain why most of the girls I have dated were looking for the ideal relationship rather than experiencing the uncertainty and frequent instability of becoming emotionally intimate with a real boy. That's right, I've got no strings to make me perfectly safe! God made me a real boy years ago. Freak.

Are we not past this immaturity yet? I swear I'm only going dating women who are at least 30 years old. Perhaps I should even start dating divorced women because they might have learned what it's like to introduce a good boy into leadership as a real man. Like me, they've been to the circus and seen the puppet show, so there's no curiosity about sex, living together, praying together, and all of the problems that rise in between. They realize that, unlike what we learned in relationship books, people change for each other in relationships. We adapt. We overcome. We accept and reject faults as best we can. We look past what we cannot control or change, and focus on what we can do and say.

Good little boys shouldn't be what you're looking for. Ideal relationships do not exist. Pure safety and stability is a myth. Let's all grow up like Pinocchio and start to use our own principles to stand on. Get to know people before you judge their character. Judge people by the way they live their lives, not by their passion for following rules and praying before meals. It’s okay to like someone because they are simply attractive. Girls, you have permission to be wise and raw, so take advantage of it. Stop falling for the good boys whom you end up resenting because they weren’t as good as they first appeared. Look for the guys who know themselves, who can present themselves without spin, and who you can trust to be exactly what they tell you.