Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Sick

My news feed sickens me this morning.  The blaring polarity reminds me just how far we (& I mean all humanity) have to go.

In the midst of writing, I look for temporary distractions, something to clear the webs that are forming in between words; a mental sweeping, if you will.
But now, that distraction to my train of thought has completely derailed me.

Whenever something happens that affects a large portion of society, I pay attention, but from afar.  I merely observe.  You won't hear my take all too often.

I see emotional responses to polarizing issues, responses that instantly build walls instead of tearing them down, emotional responses that only serve to deepen the divide, instead of bridging the gap.

The differences between "us" and "them" seems to be what's fueling the fire.  Or maybe the fire is fueled by the continual attention to, and pointing out of, the differences.

We (& I mean all humanity) have a tendency to promote ourselves above other human beings.

When we (& I mean all humanity) perceive a wrongdoing, it is our human nature to cry "injustice!".
Every group of people does this, on each side of every disagreement, or conflict.
Every. Group.

But regardless of groups, the problem of "us" and "them" remains.  As long as there are categories that we (& I mean all humanity) can use to divide us, "us" and "them" will always be an issue.

Unless, of course, we (& I mean all humanity) start to think, instead of relying on our betraying emotions to do our thinking for us.

It seems unheard of for people involved in a conflict to communicate anymore.  Not just talk to get the other side to understand, but to listen to the other side as well; the goal of communication being understanding.

Over and over and over again, in the midst of social issues, I don't see honest communication happening.  What usually starts with a decision by someone ends up as a shouting match between two sides, where everyone is wearing earplugs.  The people doing the shouting can't hear what the other side is saying (and/or won't), but they see the other side's lips moving, prompting more shouting.  Meanwhile, the world grows weary and bored of the same exchange happening over and over again, so they just walk away.  None of the issues are solved, and no one is giving any attention to either side anymore, which just adds to the unrelieved tensions.

Conflict breeds emotion, some of which can be healthy, and some of which is destructive.  Emotions run particularly high on social media, where no one is held accountable for the effects of their opinions and words.
Those who publicly announce their hand-washing of the situation, as well as those who make jokes about the situation, still feed into the conflict.

One post I saw by a public figure was incredibly mindful of both sides of the current conflict.  It was beautiful, really.
Being the glutton for punishment I am, I read the comments.
Like an idiot.

And as all comments usually do, they turned my stomach as hundreds of comments rolled by, pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", and in the most derogatory, condescending, and disrespectful ways.  Very few even addressed the mindfulness of the original post, they just hammered away, adding bricks to the wall between sides.

It breaks my heart to see how we fail to realize that if we keep pointing out the differences between "us" and "them", instead of addressing the issues that "we" (& I mean all humanity) face, then we are part of the problem, offering nothing worthwhile to a conversation that is so desperately long overdue.

Just like the arguments in the different conflicting social bubbles that continuously plague society, no one is interested in WHY people feel the way they do, or WHY people believe what they believe, or WHY people have the mentality they have, or WHY those difference even exist in the first place.

In order for that to happen, we'd have to get over ourselves.  We'd have to admit that we don't have all the right answers, because we haven't even tried on someone elses's shoes, let alone walked a mile in their shoes.  We'd have to give a crap about something other than ourselves, and our desire to be right.

Unless that happens, there will be no change; tensions will continue to boil underneath the placid surface of the American utopia, until the scabs that won't heal are ripped off once again.

History repeats itself, over and over, because we (& I mean all humanity) are too stubborn, too proud, and too ignorant to learn from it, to change the course of history for the better.


Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Descent

Alone.
He leaves Monday morning, and I descend once again.  Into the dark and quiet.

In between seasons, I feel like a leaf that's fallen from the tree, but hasn't reached the ground yet.  Suspended; like I'm supposed to see something from here, but I keep closing my eyes.
A leaf isn't supposed to be on the ground, it's meant for the tree!
     But it has a purpose on the ground, too.  It feeds the soil.
It doesn't do it alone, it can't.

*************************

I'm clinging to my crutches for dear life.  Maybe because I know something new is around the corner.  The anticipation is killing me.  I light another cigarette.  Frustration sets in, because I can't see it.  Light another cigarette.  It tastes like shit, and turns my stomach.  Whatever it is that's around the corner is going to be unlike anything we've ever seen.  My head spins, either from what this "new" means, or the rush of tobacco.

Never seen before.
Never existed before.
Never imagined before.

What the hell does that even mean?

*************************

Stupid cigarettes.

I glance at the lit cigarette between my fingers.  I've been smoking for half of my life now, the original intent so far in my past it doesn't even seem possible to recall, yet I do.

I was a kid, just emerging from under the protective proximity of my childhood.  Bound and determined to do something new, something productive.  In the perfect mix of arrogance and ignorance that we call fearlessness, I was gonna make something of myself.

Sitting in a park at my training base in Texas, with my new best friend, and the guys we're trying to impress.
I still feel the dry heat of that Texas sun beating down on us at that concrete table, sitting on that concrete bench.
I don't remember anyone's face but hers.  I remember the path of the sidewalk through the park, I remember the sprawling trees strategically placed in that park.
She smoked, why didn't I smoke?  It seemed like everyone around us smoked, so why not then?  I choked.
At least, that's what I remember.

I've never been a non-smoking adult.  I don't even know what that looks like.  That would be something new, wouldn't it.
Never in my adult life have I been free from the grip of these damn things.
I've gone through what seemed like transitions to different lives, but never free from these.
I stare at the wooden cross on my wall, and the smoke tendrils that curl in front of it.
Transitions from base to base, job to job, relationship to relationship.  All requiring discipline on my part, if I could muster up the can-do, fearless attitude.  My trusty cardboard pack and lighter never leaving my sight.

*************************

I focus on the church, I focus on community, I focus on learning, but all seem like sustained distractions; just a grander version of me sticking my head in the sand.

God's talking to me; afraid of what He might say, I keep covering my ears.  With Pinterest.  With games.  With books.  With social media.  With my own striving.

I keep running, I keep hiding; timidly crying out for purpose and clarity, but afraid of what that might look like.  Frustrated because others see what I don't.  Getting more and more pissed at myself for using my crutches to put up a smokescreen, so I can slink back into my descent.
My discipline absolutely sucks.  I'm rebelling against it for some reason.  Is it for the sake of rebellion, or am I rebelling out of fear?
I don't even know anymore.

*************************

My hometown is getting hammered by lake effect snow right now.  The pictures flooding social media and the national news are making me nostalgic.

I remember building forts and tunnels in the snowdrifts at the end of our driveway as a kid, I remember sledding at the golf course, snowball fights and snowmen.

The innocence of winter, not yet realizing that the white blanket covered real life.

Snow days and hot chocolate, rosy noses and wind chapped cheeks thawing, gloves and boots and hats and snowsuits all dripping their melting accumulations onto the basement floor.  Strategically shoveling the driveway into one gigantic pile in the yard to play on, dreaming of a pile so large we could reach the roof of the garage, then we could slide down the entire thing.

The days before responsibility, (other than not getting frostbite,) would rob us of these hours of imaginative and fearless play.  Before high school, before extracurricular sports and clubs, before driving, before jobs.
Before we grew up.

We can't ever go back, can we.
It wouldn't be the same.  The experiences, the lessons, the maturity gained along the way cannot be forgotten.  The perspective of "before" is forever altered.  We can long for it again, but we know, deep down, that the process of coming out of that was painful.  Lessons and mistakes I'd rather not repeat.

I can appreciate the innocence of those days, the blissful ignorance of life yet to come.
I can also recognize that every stage of my life has been marked by "I just didn't know any better."
I'd be a fool if I didn't acknowledge the same could be said of me right now, as well.

What is the "any better" that I'm afraid of?
And why am I so aware of it?

*************************

'Tis the season for me to be writing.
I can't get out of my head long enough to transfer thoughts to paper, let alone put together sentences that mean anything.

There are general ideas floating around in there, like spots you can't focus on when you look too long at the sun, like helium balloons in the sky.

Beautiful, remarkable in that they're lighter than air, and yet they escape me forever when I inevitably let go of the string.

Glimpses of ancient and eternal realities, brilliantly shimmering before being encapsulated by the thin membrane that distinguishes the difference.

The more I learn, the more balloons float away; drifting higher and higher on an unseen current.

I watch them disappear all the time, unable to hold firm to the strings connecting them to me.

I want to hold on, I really do.  But I keep running from the one thing I know I need the most.

The awareness of my rebellion physically pains me, shaming me back into the descent.


But the light never stops shining through the window, surprising me, blinding me, reminding me.
Always there.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Gossamer

[This should probably be three or four separate posts.  But it's one continuous train of thought; conversation; and it's a long one, where the cars are in no particular order.  Better grab a snack.]


Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together.  Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home.  We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.

I'm not a super social person to begin with.  I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so.  "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me.  At all.

As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities.  I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner.  I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional.  I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.

I currently don't work outside the home.  But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night.  That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.

What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.

As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial.  It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized.  I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.

When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony.  Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.

I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like.  I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it.  I study it.  I dream about it.  I ponder my part in it.

I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun.  These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.

During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write.  When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.

We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope.  We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ.  We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.

These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.

I come home, I think.  I pray.  I think some more.  I wait.  I think even more.  I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess.  Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless.  Which drives me NUTS.

One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community.  Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well.  And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen.  Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends...  (Great.  More to ponder.)  For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again.  In the meantime, I've been missing my family.  I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance?  That's some bullsh*t right there.

Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.

Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in.  In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith.  It's catching on across Christendom, too.  At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.

By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person.  I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got.  So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.

Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight.  It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet.  Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.

I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community.  That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all.  Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role.  As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.

I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community.  I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc.  A rescuer, in essence.

I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.

By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end.  The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot.  I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??"  Silently, my humility was starting to crack.

I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way.  I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.

At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing.  I began to swirl.  I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out.  I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".

I'm learning that the details trip me up.  I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God.  But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.

Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up.  Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.

Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".

Oh, the humanity...

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Waves




Waves rolling
     Across the sky...
Nudged & prodded & shaped by the wind;
     Ushering in the morning light.

Waves crashing
     In the form of time...
Rushing & slowing & passing me by;
     Relentless, unchanging.

Waves lapping
     At the shores of life...
Rhythms eternal in lessons we fight;
     Persistently shaping.

Waves rising
     From under the deep...
Surprising, upsetting, and tilting the vessel;
     Yet calm waters will no skills teach.

Waves swelling
     With destructive intent...
Swallowing those who attempt to conquer;
     Arrogance drives us to death.

We cannot beat them,
     We cannot stop them.
We can harness and utilize the waves;
     Only together.