I was doing some internet research of profound unimportance yesterday, and came across the claim that the “Lappy” era of Strong Bad emails has lasted for almost two years now. (If you do not happen to know what that means, I honestly can not stress enough how much better off you would be to NOT try to find out. Seriously.) Two years? That just couldn’t be right. So I looked it up (with the cursed miracle of the internet) and found out that the era in question began in November of 2004. 2004?! No, no… that must be a mistake… it must mean 2005…
Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Do you know what this means? I’m not just wasting days or weeks, but wasting whole years… [the best years]… of my life… (and you say this as if it were a surprise?)
So anyway, speaking of “cursed miracles,” I often consider myself “cursed with blessings,” in the sense that so many opportunities come my way that I have a tendency to just ignore them. “I need time to think things over… I don’t need to act on this right now, I can do it next time… There’s always a next time… Always.“
So I wait for the perfect opportunity. I wait, as days turn to weeks turn to years. I let chance after chance pass me by because it just wasn’t “perfect enough.” Such a foolish, arrogant security. Because there isn’t always a next time. You never know which chance will be the last; you don’t know how many grains of sand are in the hourglass; every time you say goodbye, you don’t know if it’s forever. All the while, I stand there waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
So that’s the story of my life… but no, this recent waiting is different. I haven’t been waiting for an opportunity, I’ve been waiting on something else this time. I’ve been waiting for a savior. It’s not my move. Or is it? I try to keep busy. I try to do the things I think I’m supposed to be doing in the meantime. Mostly I just wait. Kill time, and wait.
Is it me then? Is there something more I should be doing? Am I not trying hard enough? Are my priorities not straight enough?
I can’t wait anymore. I can’t.
Please, I just can’t.
Ah, you say that. But you can and you will. And I have to, because where would I go?
-Let’s go.
-We can’t.
-Why not?
-We’re waiting for Godot.
–Samuel Beckett
My church holds a worship service the first Sunday night of every month. The format of these is a bit different every time but they tend to be interesting, and I go when I can. I was understandably unsettled when instead of assuming a passive observer role, the head pastor called everyone to gather into groups of three or four to pray about various ministries and topics. It just so happened that I was sitting near and ended up grouped with the pastor of children’s ministries and her husband and the missionary pastor.
Did I dare to tell these two pastors that God and I aren’t on speaking terms right now? Of course not. I didn’t have to. For just as I am perfectly able to discuss the Bible as if I believed it were true, I can pray as if I thought someone was actually listening. I can turn it on and off just like that.
Today was the annual picnic for the entire church in the mountains. The highlight of this event is the baptism service in the lake and hearing everyone’s testimonies. (“When I was four years old I asked my mommy about Jesus…”) This year though, I couldn’t really concentrate on people’s stories, as I remembered back three years ago when I stood on that same beach and lied to everyone there, including my own mother.
This year I also decided to try a little experiment, to see if anyone would catch on to the fact that I was actually drinking straight vodka from my Nalgene. You don’t really think that you’re going to get away with this do you? I had visions of getting plastered and causing a scene. Surely with all the pastors and elders present some disciplinary action would have to be taken. Ah, but remember who you’re dealing with. I get away with everything. If anyone noticed that I was acting strangely, (or at least, a different sort of strange than normal) they didn’t say anything.
And what a precedent to set. If my “closest friends” don’t notice, I can go anywhere with this thing… church, school, wherever. And one can not help but wonder, am I the only one? So why bring any of this up? If anyone other than spambots read this anymore, maybe I really didn’t want to get away with this one.
So This is who am I am. I’m the guy that attends church “religiously” and says all the right things but lives the rest of my life with no thought to God. I can’t help wondering if there’s anyone out there who sees me as an example of a godly man. I certainly hope that no one’s eyes are so dim.
Almost exactly ten years ago, I was in the room with my mother when she received the phone call that her father had had a stroke. “He’s only seventy-six!” was all that she could say. Only.
No one could have possibly imagined that he would actually outlive her…
…But not by much.
Charles Nicholas Ziilch
June 21, 1920 – Sept 8, 2006