About 6 months ago, during a breakfast conversation with a friend, the topic of bullying came up. His son was being bullied at school and he asked me for advice. I had none. Well, that's not true, but we'll get to that.
I grew up around 4 miles outside Lawrence, KS, but I went to school about 15 miles away from me. The school had 500 kids, kindergarten through twelfth grade. It was tiny. So everyone made friends fast and stuck with them the whole way through school. I, however, had a twin (a supposed built-in best friend) and ADHD, so the other kids weren't really very eager to play with me. To counteract the ADHD I was put on Ritalin, which turned me into a zombie: no personality, no hobbies, just school. I made straight A's, but if we lived in the caste system I would've been an untouchable. Persona Non Grata. The zombiefication didn't help my social cause.
Next, throw in a love for comic books. A serious love for comic books. An "I got in fights with my brother over which X-Man was the best" love for comics. Add to that my speech impediment, and I had zero friends. My parents will testify that everyday from kindergarten to 7th grade my brother and I got off the bus after school crying because the other kids were so mean to us.
So I know a thing or three about bullying, which is why my friend asked me what he did. And I'll be honest. I had an answer, but he wouldn't like it. I don't like it much either. The answer to how I got other kids to stop bullying me is simple: I didn't. They never stopped until the day I moved away. What's worse is after a while, I started to believe them. I believed that I was stupid, that I was mentally handicapped, that I didn't deserve friends, that I didn't deserve to be helped, that I was just a failure all around.
Most days, I do still believe them.
So here I sit, a 31 year old man, being tormented by voices that I haven't corporally interacted with since I was 16. The rational voice inside my head thinks it's time to move on, but not before he can insult me for being so stupid as to hold on to such irrational thoughts. Ironic.
And I'd love to wrap this post up with a nice warm-and-fuzzy thought about how God made me special and He loves me and blah blah blah. I know it's true in my head, but my heart is still scared shitless of failing and letting Him down, just in case it's only partially true. I'm scared of failing myself, my family, my friends. And no, I have no idea just exactly how I'd fail them, but I can take a few guesses.
I have to keep pressing forward, keeping reaching and growing and trying to succeed in this life. I'm not entirely sure what that means right now, but I do know that I'm having to lean hard on His Grace and trust that He'll tell me where I need to go when I get lost. But first, I have to shut up a few errant voices in my head.
P.S. I told my friend recently that what helps the most to combat bullying is friends and supportive parents that will help you become who you are, despite what others say. Simple but effective.
P.P.S. Cyclops was the best.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
On Being, Human.
I had an encounter with a penguin on Saturday at the Dallas World Aquarium.
He was separated from the rest of the pack, all alone on a rock. He looked at me, and I at him. He looked lonely, so I suggested that he swim back to his friends on the other side of the pond. Then, in a moment of melancholy, it struck me. "Perhaps he's forgotten how to swim. Perhaps he's forgotten how to be a bird."
I whispered to him, "Please don't forget how to be a bird."
And God whispered to me, "Please don't forget how to be Trevor."
And I shed a tear in the middle of the Dallas World Aquarium.
I did something new today. I admitted to someone that I was between churches. This is mostly shocking because I'd never admit this out loud, and the people at my former church have no idea. (Yes, I talked about this in my last blog, but seeing as how nobody at that church reads my blog...)
There's so much about the music industry that's about image and confidence and competence. To admit to being scared, or unsure, or ignorant, is to admit to an utter failure as a successful musician and (to a degree) human being. Yes, I'm fairly well removed from that world, but there are a few things I still carry around.
So the idea of admitting to being unsure about something so trivial as my church membership is automatically a bigger deal than it should be, never mind the fact that I'm regularly on stage, to be a role model for the congregation.
And it was hard to say. I wanted to come up with a different answer, to pledge allegiance to my former church, or a different church, or make up a church. Anything to seem confident.
And the idea of being without a home church is scary. I NEED accountability. I need a pastor and a family that I trust. I NEED to be seen as a whole human being, not just a bassist. I need to be encouraged to be that whole human being, not just a bassist.
No, I'm not sure what that means. I think it means that I need to be invited to barbecues, to interact with "normal" folks, to be invited to watch "The Game" (whatever that means), to build things, to read, to write, to run and jump and play, and maybe even to get in debt.
But I think I'm missing the point. Or rather, I'm afraid that I'm missing the point. I'm afraid there's some big thing that I need to do, that I know to do, that will take me to the "Next Level". Until I do this thing I'll just be stuck with the ol' "Sorry Mario, your princess is in another castle" routine. Problem is, I've no idea what this thing is. I don't think there is a thing, honestly. I think it's simply to remain faithful and steadfast, and to rise to the occasion. Meet challenges head on. Do laundry before you run out of clean underpants. Get a job that pays enough to provide nice things for yourself and the ones that you love.
On the flip side, what if I'm supposed to maintain the course? What if I'm only a few faithful steps from a couple gigs that set me up for the career I've been looking for? If I'm only a few calls away from being able to do music full time?
How do I chase God without being a musician? Is that what He's calling me to, or just what I'm afraid of? Of course, there's an easy answer to this. Just think to yourself, "What Would Jesus Do?" then do that! Ha! How silly of me!
I don't know that I'm ready yet to step away from playing like my life depends on it. I'm afraid I'll feel only regret and disappointment if I do. I feel such a strong calling, and I've always known that this life wasn't glamorous or pretty, so I've been prepared to be broke. But am I putting such an emphasis on music because I'm broken or because I'm called? How does one discern such things? Through prayer and fasting, through wise counsel, through the Word.
I honestly feel a little betrayed by my former church because I put faith in them and yet I very rarely felt like anything more than a bassist, just a body on stage to help give the appearance of prestige and preparedness that every new church plant so desires. And we're back to style over substance, worrying too much about image.
Please, don't misunderstand, I think my former church is a good place with good people. I simply think that my time there has run its course.
And with all this, I'm simply running around in circles. Please, if you have advice or insight, share it. I need all the help I can get.
He was separated from the rest of the pack, all alone on a rock. He looked at me, and I at him. He looked lonely, so I suggested that he swim back to his friends on the other side of the pond. Then, in a moment of melancholy, it struck me. "Perhaps he's forgotten how to swim. Perhaps he's forgotten how to be a bird."
I whispered to him, "Please don't forget how to be a bird."
And God whispered to me, "Please don't forget how to be Trevor."
And I shed a tear in the middle of the Dallas World Aquarium.
I did something new today. I admitted to someone that I was between churches. This is mostly shocking because I'd never admit this out loud, and the people at my former church have no idea. (Yes, I talked about this in my last blog, but seeing as how nobody at that church reads my blog...)
There's so much about the music industry that's about image and confidence and competence. To admit to being scared, or unsure, or ignorant, is to admit to an utter failure as a successful musician and (to a degree) human being. Yes, I'm fairly well removed from that world, but there are a few things I still carry around.
So the idea of admitting to being unsure about something so trivial as my church membership is automatically a bigger deal than it should be, never mind the fact that I'm regularly on stage, to be a role model for the congregation.
And it was hard to say. I wanted to come up with a different answer, to pledge allegiance to my former church, or a different church, or make up a church. Anything to seem confident.
And the idea of being without a home church is scary. I NEED accountability. I need a pastor and a family that I trust. I NEED to be seen as a whole human being, not just a bassist. I need to be encouraged to be that whole human being, not just a bassist.
No, I'm not sure what that means. I think it means that I need to be invited to barbecues, to interact with "normal" folks, to be invited to watch "The Game" (whatever that means), to build things, to read, to write, to run and jump and play, and maybe even to get in debt.
But I think I'm missing the point. Or rather, I'm afraid that I'm missing the point. I'm afraid there's some big thing that I need to do, that I know to do, that will take me to the "Next Level". Until I do this thing I'll just be stuck with the ol' "Sorry Mario, your princess is in another castle" routine. Problem is, I've no idea what this thing is. I don't think there is a thing, honestly. I think it's simply to remain faithful and steadfast, and to rise to the occasion. Meet challenges head on. Do laundry before you run out of clean underpants. Get a job that pays enough to provide nice things for yourself and the ones that you love.
On the flip side, what if I'm supposed to maintain the course? What if I'm only a few faithful steps from a couple gigs that set me up for the career I've been looking for? If I'm only a few calls away from being able to do music full time?
How do I chase God without being a musician? Is that what He's calling me to, or just what I'm afraid of? Of course, there's an easy answer to this. Just think to yourself, "What Would Jesus Do?" then do that! Ha! How silly of me!
I don't know that I'm ready yet to step away from playing like my life depends on it. I'm afraid I'll feel only regret and disappointment if I do. I feel such a strong calling, and I've always known that this life wasn't glamorous or pretty, so I've been prepared to be broke. But am I putting such an emphasis on music because I'm broken or because I'm called? How does one discern such things? Through prayer and fasting, through wise counsel, through the Word.
I honestly feel a little betrayed by my former church because I put faith in them and yet I very rarely felt like anything more than a bassist, just a body on stage to help give the appearance of prestige and preparedness that every new church plant so desires. And we're back to style over substance, worrying too much about image.
Please, don't misunderstand, I think my former church is a good place with good people. I simply think that my time there has run its course.
And with all this, I'm simply running around in circles. Please, if you have advice or insight, share it. I need all the help I can get.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
On Purposes, Special or Otherwise.
I always thought that when I got older I'd have things figured out. A common idea, I'd wager. But now that I'm older, I feel I'm no closer to figuring anything out. If anything, I'm farther away. Or maybe there's just more things to figure out. Either way, I'm fairly well screwed in the game of Life.
Most folks figure out a decent way to make their lives work, then fumble around trying to keep everything together. Humbling to know and admit. My problem is that I became so myopic and centered on one aspect of myself that I never learned how to juggle other things. I've been so obsessed with music that I've neglected to provide good things for myself via a good job or strong friends and family. While my friends were becoming teachers and pastors and engineers, while they were dealing with the world and the trials and tribulations that come of it, while they were having successful relationships and careers, I became a child with control issues who knew little to nothing of himself or the world outside of music and musicians.
I became this way because I haven't dealt with some pain and regrets in my past. Instead of coping and working out issues I just ran to music as an escape. In the world of music, I'm in control. I know what I'm doing, I can put things together, I can cope with anything that's thrown at me. Of course, this has left me with a string of crappy jobs and unhealthy relationships. I have a hard time expressing what I want for myself and from others, mostly because I have no idea what I want for myself or from others. Trust me, trying to feel satisfied in a relationship is damned near impossible when you've no idea what satisfies you.
But as the great Bill Cosby once said, that's not what I came here to talk about.
After church service today, a lady approached me. "I have a word for you. God gave me a word for you."
I don't take compliments well and the idea of God having a specific word for me is a high compliment indeed, so I just gritted my teeth, bared my false humility, and asked her what it was.
"You've spent so long chasing the music, and you've become very good at it, and God has blessed you, but you haven't spent enough time chasing Him."
Oh no, I've been found out! Run!!
She said a few more things, about "being moved by the music" and "there's a revolution in Worship coming, and you're going to be a part of it."
The random lady was right about me. Maybe not about the "revolution in Worship"(I'll talk about that later), but she was on point about me chasing music. And that's what I've been dealing with for the last few months. Not necessarily putting the music away, but finding the right place and time for it. A place and time that allows me to actually deal with life and pain and my past in a healthy way.
Part of that is my church life. I attend a good church with good people and a good pastor. But I don't feel connected to the church, and I don't feel yoked to the pastor. I feel like a musician. I feel like I'm only valued because I serve onstage consistently and have done so for the past few years. But I feel like I'm incomplete. I've only just recently realised that if I weren't playing at the church, I likely wouldn't attend. (In truth, when I'm not playing, I don't attend.)
The point of this revelation is that I need a place where I attend, regardless of my service onstage. In addition, I'd like it to be a church where there's no real chance of me serving on stage any time soon. I need to go because I want to go.
Of course, this is the juxtaposition, the hypocrisy of it all: I can really only receive value and acceptance if I'm valued for my playing. I've boxed myself in, if you will. And that's why I picked up the previously mentioned false humility.
Oh, to learn to be a real and complete human being! It sucks. It's taking everything I've known and loved and focused myself on and putting it aside, not away, but aside so I can address the rest of my metaphorical room.
I'm tired of being incomplete. It's lonely and it makes me feel crazy, like I'm constantly going insane, clinging to my last little shred of sanity, of humanity, of connectedness to the rest of the world, to the people around me. I've been trying to fumble around and keep things together without knowing where I'm going or what I'm keeping together.
Plus, this metaphorical crap I carry around isn't healthy for me. It infects my view of myself, it perverts my goals and desires, and separates me from the people I care about.
And that's the point, I think. We're all in this together as human beings, defined by who we are, not what we do. We all have pasts to get over, struggles to share, and dice to roll.
God doesn't save a plumber, or a teacher, or a designer; He saves men and women. It's high time I learned to be a man, a human being.
Most folks figure out a decent way to make their lives work, then fumble around trying to keep everything together. Humbling to know and admit. My problem is that I became so myopic and centered on one aspect of myself that I never learned how to juggle other things. I've been so obsessed with music that I've neglected to provide good things for myself via a good job or strong friends and family. While my friends were becoming teachers and pastors and engineers, while they were dealing with the world and the trials and tribulations that come of it, while they were having successful relationships and careers, I became a child with control issues who knew little to nothing of himself or the world outside of music and musicians.
I became this way because I haven't dealt with some pain and regrets in my past. Instead of coping and working out issues I just ran to music as an escape. In the world of music, I'm in control. I know what I'm doing, I can put things together, I can cope with anything that's thrown at me. Of course, this has left me with a string of crappy jobs and unhealthy relationships. I have a hard time expressing what I want for myself and from others, mostly because I have no idea what I want for myself or from others. Trust me, trying to feel satisfied in a relationship is damned near impossible when you've no idea what satisfies you.
But as the great Bill Cosby once said, that's not what I came here to talk about.
After church service today, a lady approached me. "I have a word for you. God gave me a word for you."
I don't take compliments well and the idea of God having a specific word for me is a high compliment indeed, so I just gritted my teeth, bared my false humility, and asked her what it was.
"You've spent so long chasing the music, and you've become very good at it, and God has blessed you, but you haven't spent enough time chasing Him."
Oh no, I've been found out! Run!!
She said a few more things, about "being moved by the music" and "there's a revolution in Worship coming, and you're going to be a part of it."
The random lady was right about me. Maybe not about the "revolution in Worship"(I'll talk about that later), but she was on point about me chasing music. And that's what I've been dealing with for the last few months. Not necessarily putting the music away, but finding the right place and time for it. A place and time that allows me to actually deal with life and pain and my past in a healthy way.
Part of that is my church life. I attend a good church with good people and a good pastor. But I don't feel connected to the church, and I don't feel yoked to the pastor. I feel like a musician. I feel like I'm only valued because I serve onstage consistently and have done so for the past few years. But I feel like I'm incomplete. I've only just recently realised that if I weren't playing at the church, I likely wouldn't attend. (In truth, when I'm not playing, I don't attend.)
The point of this revelation is that I need a place where I attend, regardless of my service onstage. In addition, I'd like it to be a church where there's no real chance of me serving on stage any time soon. I need to go because I want to go.
Of course, this is the juxtaposition, the hypocrisy of it all: I can really only receive value and acceptance if I'm valued for my playing. I've boxed myself in, if you will. And that's why I picked up the previously mentioned false humility.
Oh, to learn to be a real and complete human being! It sucks. It's taking everything I've known and loved and focused myself on and putting it aside, not away, but aside so I can address the rest of my metaphorical room.
I'm tired of being incomplete. It's lonely and it makes me feel crazy, like I'm constantly going insane, clinging to my last little shred of sanity, of humanity, of connectedness to the rest of the world, to the people around me. I've been trying to fumble around and keep things together without knowing where I'm going or what I'm keeping together.
Plus, this metaphorical crap I carry around isn't healthy for me. It infects my view of myself, it perverts my goals and desires, and separates me from the people I care about.
And that's the point, I think. We're all in this together as human beings, defined by who we are, not what we do. We all have pasts to get over, struggles to share, and dice to roll.
God doesn't save a plumber, or a teacher, or a designer; He saves men and women. It's high time I learned to be a man, a human being.
Friday, January 4, 2013
On Norris, Chuck
(started in February 2011, finished Jan. 2013)
As I write this, I am writhing in pure agony, afflicted by the evil plague that is Cedar Fever. Cedar Fever is a foul punishment, a pox unleashed upon mankind to make atonement for our sins; to give us a taste of hellfire and damnation; to push us to repentance for fear of this kind of suffering for all eternity. Lord, take me now!
When I'm sick, I get cranky, and crabby, and downright irritable. I snap at loved ones, I absent mindedly make harsh remarks to those that try to help me, and I'm just mean to little old ladies. So I must wonder, "why?"
I hate being weak. I hate the idea that I may be weak enough to actually get sick. I want to feel invincible, and being sick robs me of this delusion. It's my pride being killed, being dragged through the street and beaten with sacks full of nickels. As much as I may say that the Lord is in control, truthfully I'm only okay with that idea when I feel like I have the ability to relinquish control at any time. "The Illusion of Control." It's laughable, really. The idea that we have any power over the actions of others, or the actions of the universe, or even inanimate objects. I can eat the carrot, but if the carrot didn't want to be eaten, it will let me know soon enough by trying to come back up.
Every so often I watch my friend Matt's daughter Bella. She's about 3. When she's not feeling well she cries, she pouts, she becomes unruly and uncooperative. Sadly, the same can be said for me. I think sickness is the reminder that we are not in control, that we need to be cared for. It's a great equalizer, in that way. It doesn't matter how awesome you may think you are, you will get sick. John Stewart gets sick and needs his wife to care for him. Barack Obama gets sick and needs Secret Service to bring his chicken noodle soup. Chuck Norris doesn't get sick.
(I wish I were Chuck Norris)
A story I've heard often:
A man is hitchhiking and gets a ride from a man in a pickup. The driver tells the hitchhiker to hop in the bed of truck, and starts driving once his passenger is aboard. Looking back, he sees the hitchhiker standing up in the bed, still clutching his backpack. The driver tells him to sit down, put the backpack down, and relax. The passenger responds, "You were kind enough to give me a ride, I couldn't dare to impose on you by having you carry my bag as well."
Of course, this story is preposterous. Any rational human would put their bag down in the truck and relax. But lo, we aren't always rational.
Too often does God help us, give us a ride, give us direction or purpose, and in the face of His Grace and Mercy, we accept but refuse to lay down our burdens. Be it our pasts, our sins, our pride, our weakness, our flaws, we refuse to let Him carry it.
It's akin to that penultimate scene from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, when, dying on the side of Mount Doom, Samwise offers to carry the One Ring for Frodo. Frodo responds that he cannot, for it would destroy him. Samwise then does the only thing available to him: he carries Frodo.
Yes, I'm tearing up as I think about it. Too often must God carry me because I'm stubborn and bullheaded and refuse to share my burden with him, when all along I've been in His hands, burden and all!
He doesn't want us to be weak constantly, but He does want us to acknowledge our weakness, and in doing so, His strength. It's okay to be weak. It means that we're human. And in acknowledging our humanity, we acknowledge His Divinity. He'll gladly carry us, burdens and all, if only we'd stop trying to be divine ourselves and just be human.
As I write this, I am writhing in pure agony, afflicted by the evil plague that is Cedar Fever. Cedar Fever is a foul punishment, a pox unleashed upon mankind to make atonement for our sins; to give us a taste of hellfire and damnation; to push us to repentance for fear of this kind of suffering for all eternity. Lord, take me now!
When I'm sick, I get cranky, and crabby, and downright irritable. I snap at loved ones, I absent mindedly make harsh remarks to those that try to help me, and I'm just mean to little old ladies. So I must wonder, "why?"
I hate being weak. I hate the idea that I may be weak enough to actually get sick. I want to feel invincible, and being sick robs me of this delusion. It's my pride being killed, being dragged through the street and beaten with sacks full of nickels. As much as I may say that the Lord is in control, truthfully I'm only okay with that idea when I feel like I have the ability to relinquish control at any time. "The Illusion of Control." It's laughable, really. The idea that we have any power over the actions of others, or the actions of the universe, or even inanimate objects. I can eat the carrot, but if the carrot didn't want to be eaten, it will let me know soon enough by trying to come back up.
Every so often I watch my friend Matt's daughter Bella. She's about 3. When she's not feeling well she cries, she pouts, she becomes unruly and uncooperative. Sadly, the same can be said for me. I think sickness is the reminder that we are not in control, that we need to be cared for. It's a great equalizer, in that way. It doesn't matter how awesome you may think you are, you will get sick. John Stewart gets sick and needs his wife to care for him. Barack Obama gets sick and needs Secret Service to bring his chicken noodle soup. Chuck Norris doesn't get sick.
(I wish I were Chuck Norris)
A story I've heard often:
A man is hitchhiking and gets a ride from a man in a pickup. The driver tells the hitchhiker to hop in the bed of truck, and starts driving once his passenger is aboard. Looking back, he sees the hitchhiker standing up in the bed, still clutching his backpack. The driver tells him to sit down, put the backpack down, and relax. The passenger responds, "You were kind enough to give me a ride, I couldn't dare to impose on you by having you carry my bag as well."
Of course, this story is preposterous. Any rational human would put their bag down in the truck and relax. But lo, we aren't always rational.
Too often does God help us, give us a ride, give us direction or purpose, and in the face of His Grace and Mercy, we accept but refuse to lay down our burdens. Be it our pasts, our sins, our pride, our weakness, our flaws, we refuse to let Him carry it.
It's akin to that penultimate scene from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, when, dying on the side of Mount Doom, Samwise offers to carry the One Ring for Frodo. Frodo responds that he cannot, for it would destroy him. Samwise then does the only thing available to him: he carries Frodo.
Yes, I'm tearing up as I think about it. Too often must God carry me because I'm stubborn and bullheaded and refuse to share my burden with him, when all along I've been in His hands, burden and all!
He doesn't want us to be weak constantly, but He does want us to acknowledge our weakness, and in doing so, His strength. It's okay to be weak. It means that we're human. And in acknowledging our humanity, we acknowledge His Divinity. He'll gladly carry us, burdens and all, if only we'd stop trying to be divine ourselves and just be human.
On Fear, That Which Keeps Us Here
As I write today, I'm in a good amount of pain. Just yesterday I had surgery to fix a hernia I incurred almost 10 years ago. Why did it take me so long to fix it? Fear.
Fear of having to fully take care of myself. Fear of having to take full responsibility for myself. Fear of having to truly see my self-worth and invest in myself.
I've never fully taken care of myself. I rarely think of my diet, though I do exercise a few times a week. I have no car payment, I live in the cheapest apartment I could find, I own no furniture outside of that which fits in my bedroom. I scorn luxuries and niceties because I see them as immodest, unnecessary. But truth be told, I see them this way because I've forced myself into believing them to be so in an effort to justify my low self-worth. If I don't want them, then I won't have to justify not having them by admitting that I don't believe that I'm worth the investment.
It's the unending conundrum of Grace: That which we could never be worthy of, yet are given of it freely.
And so my surgery was a step in a new direction. I'm fully responsible for the bills. Nobody will give me money to bail me out of this debt. Never before have I been in debt, and I never really want to be, but it was necessary to take this step. I'm fully responsible for taking care of myself. I'm in the middle of a planned 5 day rest, and I don't have a dedicated caretaker for 3 of those days, so I must manage myself, force myself to rest, to believe that my well being is worth the shred of guilt I will incur from not working for 5 days.
You see, if I'm working, I can at least tell myself that I'm a productive member of society, that I'm contributing something to the world around me. Instead, I'm off for 5 days, and I feel like a lazy bum with nothing to contribute, leeching off friends and family. Yes, after only 5 days I dip to the bottom of the barrel, wallowing in despair that I've wasted my life, yet knowing full well that I'll be back at work on tuesday. Oh how glorious and irrational the human mind.
The other hard truth I'm coming to face is my own self-worth. I work because that's how I justify my existence. It's not enough to be me, to be the only me that will ever be, and to strive to be the best me I can be. I must give something of myself. Since I see very little of myself being of any worth, I work. Endlessly. I never take sick leave, I never pass up an opportunity to work, and I never shirk my responsibilities at work.
Yet here I sit, faced with the idea welling up from my heart and echoed by close friends for years that I do have something to give, something to say. That I've accumulated wisdom and guidance to share with the world. That my word may someday do somebody else some good. And I've seen it, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I feign humility, knowing that to accept a compliment would hurt my pride by forcing me to understand the role my presence can and does play in the world around me. How hypocritical, how ironic.
I know that the few readers of this blog are supportive of my endeavors, and they (you) believe in me. This I know. But I am a coward, afraid to acknowledge this, afraid to offer up larger portions of myself, of my wisdom (what little I have, at least), of my experience. I'm selfish in that way, thinking I have nothing to offer yet refusing to share anything that may be of worth. Again, I'm faced with the possibility that God has a plan for me, a plan that, despite my best intentions to muck it up, is still on track.
That, friends, is Grace in action.
As for fear, I'm still afraid. But the opposite of fear is faith. Not love, but faith. Trusting that God is good and good for us, trusting that friends and family will watch out for us, helping us as best they can, and trusting that we'll make the best decisions possible, in this life, for His Kingdom.
Fear of having to fully take care of myself. Fear of having to take full responsibility for myself. Fear of having to truly see my self-worth and invest in myself.
I've never fully taken care of myself. I rarely think of my diet, though I do exercise a few times a week. I have no car payment, I live in the cheapest apartment I could find, I own no furniture outside of that which fits in my bedroom. I scorn luxuries and niceties because I see them as immodest, unnecessary. But truth be told, I see them this way because I've forced myself into believing them to be so in an effort to justify my low self-worth. If I don't want them, then I won't have to justify not having them by admitting that I don't believe that I'm worth the investment.
It's the unending conundrum of Grace: That which we could never be worthy of, yet are given of it freely.
And so my surgery was a step in a new direction. I'm fully responsible for the bills. Nobody will give me money to bail me out of this debt. Never before have I been in debt, and I never really want to be, but it was necessary to take this step. I'm fully responsible for taking care of myself. I'm in the middle of a planned 5 day rest, and I don't have a dedicated caretaker for 3 of those days, so I must manage myself, force myself to rest, to believe that my well being is worth the shred of guilt I will incur from not working for 5 days.
You see, if I'm working, I can at least tell myself that I'm a productive member of society, that I'm contributing something to the world around me. Instead, I'm off for 5 days, and I feel like a lazy bum with nothing to contribute, leeching off friends and family. Yes, after only 5 days I dip to the bottom of the barrel, wallowing in despair that I've wasted my life, yet knowing full well that I'll be back at work on tuesday. Oh how glorious and irrational the human mind.
The other hard truth I'm coming to face is my own self-worth. I work because that's how I justify my existence. It's not enough to be me, to be the only me that will ever be, and to strive to be the best me I can be. I must give something of myself. Since I see very little of myself being of any worth, I work. Endlessly. I never take sick leave, I never pass up an opportunity to work, and I never shirk my responsibilities at work.
Yet here I sit, faced with the idea welling up from my heart and echoed by close friends for years that I do have something to give, something to say. That I've accumulated wisdom and guidance to share with the world. That my word may someday do somebody else some good. And I've seen it, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I feign humility, knowing that to accept a compliment would hurt my pride by forcing me to understand the role my presence can and does play in the world around me. How hypocritical, how ironic.
I know that the few readers of this blog are supportive of my endeavors, and they (you) believe in me. This I know. But I am a coward, afraid to acknowledge this, afraid to offer up larger portions of myself, of my wisdom (what little I have, at least), of my experience. I'm selfish in that way, thinking I have nothing to offer yet refusing to share anything that may be of worth. Again, I'm faced with the possibility that God has a plan for me, a plan that, despite my best intentions to muck it up, is still on track.
That, friends, is Grace in action.
As for fear, I'm still afraid. But the opposite of fear is faith. Not love, but faith. Trusting that God is good and good for us, trusting that friends and family will watch out for us, helping us as best they can, and trusting that we'll make the best decisions possible, in this life, for His Kingdom.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
On Sequels, Unnecessary.
I'm not getting anything done tonight. I set aside the time to blog and now I can't think of anything. Isn't that always how it goes?
Sunday, August 5, 2012
On Grace, Accepting...
Apparently, when in my last blog I noted that I'd be blogging again soon, I meant in a few more months.
I apologise for that.
Since I've last blogged, I've not heard any more from River or Destiny or anyone claiming to represent either party. For this, I'm grateful. Truly, I know I'm not ready to face that world again. So, dear reader (and more-so, dear Christ Follower), what, you ask, was the point of that interaction if not to get me to reconnect with those involved in said debacle?
I think it was to show me truly who I am, or rather, who I'd been becoming. (Yes, my grammar is inaccurate from a purely literary standpoint, but my point will support it.) You see, I was angry at River. Angry and bitter and resentful and ashamed. In my mind, I had wronged her, wronged Destiny, wronged my family, and God Himself. Though I had done everything I could (and I did the job of keeping my daughter and her mother healthy and sane as well as I could), I still failed. Or at least, I felt like I had failed. I couldn't process the whole affair. I couldn't forgive myself for the mistakes I had made, and no amount of good deeds could change my mind.
That's where Grace comes in. The Grace of God is a powerful thing. It had made a fool of me, and I'm thankful for it. The whole hub-bub was to show me how little mercy I had shown myself. How little I knew of Grace. If I couldn't forgive myself for my sins, my transgressions, how much more could God not even stand them? If I hated myself, how much more should He hate me? I don't deserve mercy or grace or forgiveness.
And there's the rub. He offers it nonetheless. Because He chooses to. He died because He chose to. And I have only to accept His offer, but I do so knowing that I'll never be worthy of it. It's a tension we as Jesus Lovers must live in, and I pray that I never cease to struggle with it.
Back to the point, I didn't like who I was becoming. I didn't like the decisions I was making with such an unhealthy mindset and view of God. Rather, my view of God was accurate (He is loving, merciful, gracious, and kind) but I didn't think any of that applied to me. It does, and dammit if that revelation won't be the death of me.
I'm still wrestling with this truth, and it still surprises and challenges me every day, but I think I'm getting better at forgiving myself as I go. Of course, as soon as I finish typing this I'm sure that statement will be challenged again.
Such is the cycle, the horrible, weighty, freeing, and wonderful cycle of Grace and Forgiveness. Just to let things go is the scariest and most freeing thing.
So now, I'm becoming somebody else, somebody new. A body that forgives himself and others more freely, and shows grace and acceptance openly. Or at least, that's who I'd like to be.
I apologise for that.
Since I've last blogged, I've not heard any more from River or Destiny or anyone claiming to represent either party. For this, I'm grateful. Truly, I know I'm not ready to face that world again. So, dear reader (and more-so, dear Christ Follower), what, you ask, was the point of that interaction if not to get me to reconnect with those involved in said debacle?
I think it was to show me truly who I am, or rather, who I'd been becoming. (Yes, my grammar is inaccurate from a purely literary standpoint, but my point will support it.) You see, I was angry at River. Angry and bitter and resentful and ashamed. In my mind, I had wronged her, wronged Destiny, wronged my family, and God Himself. Though I had done everything I could (and I did the job of keeping my daughter and her mother healthy and sane as well as I could), I still failed. Or at least, I felt like I had failed. I couldn't process the whole affair. I couldn't forgive myself for the mistakes I had made, and no amount of good deeds could change my mind.
That's where Grace comes in. The Grace of God is a powerful thing. It had made a fool of me, and I'm thankful for it. The whole hub-bub was to show me how little mercy I had shown myself. How little I knew of Grace. If I couldn't forgive myself for my sins, my transgressions, how much more could God not even stand them? If I hated myself, how much more should He hate me? I don't deserve mercy or grace or forgiveness.
And there's the rub. He offers it nonetheless. Because He chooses to. He died because He chose to. And I have only to accept His offer, but I do so knowing that I'll never be worthy of it. It's a tension we as Jesus Lovers must live in, and I pray that I never cease to struggle with it.
Back to the point, I didn't like who I was becoming. I didn't like the decisions I was making with such an unhealthy mindset and view of God. Rather, my view of God was accurate (He is loving, merciful, gracious, and kind) but I didn't think any of that applied to me. It does, and dammit if that revelation won't be the death of me.
I'm still wrestling with this truth, and it still surprises and challenges me every day, but I think I'm getting better at forgiving myself as I go. Of course, as soon as I finish typing this I'm sure that statement will be challenged again.
Such is the cycle, the horrible, weighty, freeing, and wonderful cycle of Grace and Forgiveness. Just to let things go is the scariest and most freeing thing.
So now, I'm becoming somebody else, somebody new. A body that forgives himself and others more freely, and shows grace and acceptance openly. Or at least, that's who I'd like to be.
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