Stumbling Toward God?

Last month:
“Can we sing As the Deer?” she asked, “I LOVE that song!”
I was almost nauseous as I felt the bottom drop out of a project on which I had been working for several weeks… again. Screw these people. They’re not your friends. I acted like I was going to the bathroom, then slid out the side door, walked all the way around the building to my car and left. Would anyone have really cared if I had gone straight out the front?

Two weeks ago:
Whilst I kept busy with my favorite, though utterly pointless, hiking games, “Guess which U.S. President…?” and “Does he have a beard?”, I was constantly catching little bits of deeper conversations about theology, relationships, mentors… all of the things I wish I had myself but don’t know how to get.

Last week:
I stopped in my kitchen at a picture I pass everyday. I picked it up and stared quizzically for some moments at… myself… with shoulder length hair. That can’t be right?

And on:
So, I’m now the drummer for my church group. The drummer. By request no less. I drum even worse than I play guitar. As a matter of fact, I once was determined to play “live” drums on one of my songs, but my rhythm was so off that I eventually just recorded the drum track twice in the hopes that the mistakes would average out.

Well, you’ve obviously found the new website. You may have noticed that I have not yet pulled the plug on the old one, but it won’t update anymore.

Anyway, awhile ago I went through a season of turmoil, then a season of reflection, and now I’ve moved firmly into a season of… what? I had been playing an awful lot of “Bang!” Lately, I’ve been doing an awful lot of homework. I’ve done several hours of homework on 14 of the past 15 days, including Friday’s, Saturday’s and one national holiday. That’s not like me at all.

So I stay busy. I can’t find the time to return phone calls or emails, but I still manage to go out. Though honestly, I can’t recall the last time I went anywhere or did anything with a group of less than five people. I don’t know when I started going for quantity of relationships over depth. Somehow I’ve managed to trade a reclusive antisocialism for a public one. Hiding in full view of everyone.

This too shall pass.

Since I’m oh so fond of linking, perhaps this would be a good time to review: years I, II, III.

My, that was considerably more depressing than I had expected. Apparently I’ve been going backwards this whole time. At least this year was more interesting than last. By far.

Yesterday a friend and I were wandering through the local farmers market when we passed a fellow standing on a footstool, Bible in hand, shouting to people that they were going to Hell if they did not repent. I instinctively labeled this man as a nutcase. But wait, is this not what I too believe?

As a matter of fact, it is not. I do not believe in Hell. Nor do I believe in Heaven. I do not believe in an afterlife at all. I do not believe that my mother has gone to another place… she is just gone, never to be seen again by me or anyone else.

That being the case, the consequences of sin and the matter of a savior remain merely academic questions. Therein lies the difficulty.

For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins…

If we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied.
— 1 Cor 16, 17, 19

Parts: 0, 1, 2.

By the way, I hope it is apparent that each of the three previous parts was about a different person. To continue the previous story:

Knowing myself as I do, I figured that I had about a week to ask her out, otherwise I would most likely spend months overanalyzing the situation and probably never do actually anything. This seemed like one of those “hot iron” type of situations, and it was important to strike while I still really did not have anything to lose. Besides, there’s no way that I would get a third chance.

Five days later, I made the call. Now, if you have ever had a serious conversation with me, you would know that if I have something important on my mind, it takes a ridiculously long time for me to work up to it. In my hesitation, I lost control of the direction of that conversation almost immediately. But I was able to get around to my point eventually. And seriously, five days is still an amazing personal record for me. (I think somebody owes me a quarter!)

“Well… I’m flattered… but no.”

WTF?
You know, I’ve thought this before, and I’m saying it now: Aren’t there, like, genocides and stuff going on out there? Shouldn’t God have better things to do than to come up with funny new ways to mess with my head? Well of course not, God is omnipresent and omnipotent.

In a sense, I was a bit relieved for her sake. For I had a turbulent sea of things going on just below the surface. It seemed almost deceitful to try and enter a new relationship when I knew that I was on the verge of exploding. Also, it’s not true that I had nothing to lose. For one thing, this was the only girl who would consistently give me a hug every time I saw her. Now I mostly just get hugs from guys. That was just poor forethought. More significantly, there was the loss of hope. For every choice made means a door closed. My long-term plan had failed. My back-up plan had failed. What now?

Curiously enough, with these two events coming so close together, I found that to truly be upset about either one meant admitting that the other did not really mean that much. And oh, by the way what was I asking her for anyway? Was it not the very fact that I had rejected dating, and was fascinated by this idea of “Christian Courtship” that lead me to church in the first place? Had I then not sold out my principals the moment I entered a relationship with that other girl, when from the very beginning we both admitted that it probably would not last? Was this not a further step in the wrong direction, asking for, essentially, a single date? Shouldn’t I therefore be directing any inquiries of this nature toward her father? Oh no. Oh haaeeell no.

So, that all pretty much sucked. But it was necessary. For the important thing is, the spell was broken. Also, did I not say before that I had plural options? Ah, and wouldn’t the next girl be positively delighted to know that she was, at least pragmatically speaking, the third choice? While I’m at it, why not just go alphabetically through every girl I know until one says yes?

So, at last, I could no longer deny: my heart is a liar. My heart is not even a consistant liar. Forget about these women. Had I not been vexed for some time by the fact that the church group seemed to have become less about God and much more about socializing and “hooking-up”? Yet what was I here doing? Why not try leading by example, numskull? Forget about these women, man, you need JESUS.

Part I

Let me tell you a story.

Last spring, my Bible study group decided to go country line dancing. This, I probably need not tell you, is not my cup of tea. However, a friend and I decided to make the most of it by buying some fabulously awful cowboy-style shirts for $1.45 each at the thrift store, and we looked, as they say, “hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night!” (It was important to pick up some authentic cowboy slang as well. Ahem.) Anyway, that evening, I had the pleasure of dancing with a certain young lady and discovered, much to my surprise, that I really enjoyed dancing with her. A lot.

This was quite a conundrum for me, because at that time, the very idea that I was capable of having feelings toward anyone else was both unexpected and unwelcome. Yet, in the coming weeks, I could not help but wonder if she felt any of what I did.

“You’ve had this problem before,” I told myself, “of being unable to move on to something new because of your refusal to let go of the past.” I have to admit that it seems that I have sabotaged myself more than once in this regard.
“No!” I declared, “My problem in the past has been my unwillingness to make a choice and commit to it.” So there and then, I made my choice. And I committed to it.

The results of that decision, I believe, have already been made clear. Conveniently enough, as life and circumstances would have it, I did not see this particular young lady for awhile after that. Out of sight, out of mind, and my focus moved to other things. As I have described elsewhere, last summer was bad, and fall was worse.

But in November, things started to turn around. Among other things, I started attending that particular Bible study again as well as a new church service. Toward the end of the year, as I began to see her more regularly again, and as my other hopes were crumbling around me, I could not help but wonder if I had really made the right decision back then. But even if there had been anything there, surely that ship had sailed six months previously.

That was the state of things on that solemn day in January when I challenged God for a sign. The next day was Sunday, and I happened to run into her just as I was walking into church. Is that a sign? Surely not, for we often went to the same church service in those days. So I took a seat next to the wall as was my custom, she chose the one beside me, and before long three members of her family came and sat in the row immediately in front of me, giving the distinct impression that I was now boxed in by her family. Now that seems more like a sign, no? That was still a bit of a reach perhaps.

The sermon that day was all about going through storms and at the end of the service (being the first Sunday of the new year) the pastor called for anyone who had been through a storm in 2006 to stand. Oh yeah… that’s me. This was followed by a request for anyone who was facing a storm in 2007 to stand, and a time of prayer.

After the service, her mother engaged me in conversation and eventually invited me to lunch with them. It is not so uncommon to have lunch after church… I had just never been invited by anyone’s mother before. Which in itself is a point worth mentioning. I, along with some others from our Bible study group, had been to their house for a couple of barbecues last summer. So I had met her mother before, and on those occasions, she was always so extraordinarily nice to me that I could not help but wonder if perhaps my name had come up before.

Anyway, under other circumstances, I might have declined this invitation, but on this particular day, I was immensely curious to see where all of this was leading. It then came out that we would be having this lunch not locally, but at a restaurant some thirty miles away. This prompted a discussion of how many vehicles were needed as people had to make various stops both before and after lunch. My friend, however, declared that she would not be needing her car, and proposed to ride with me.

At that, we departed. While in route, my friend received a call from her mother, saying that the proposed meeting time had been moved back. We would have been early anyway, as we had headed straight there while the others had various errands to run. Now with this, we had an hour or so to kill, which we decided to do at a nearby mall. By this point, it had become very difficult for me to dismiss this series of circumstances as totally random. I had done nothing whatsoever to bring any of this about, yet things were unfolding in a way that I could never have imagined or planned.

So, we spent our time wandering around looking at various things and talking about various things. The thought crossed my mind that she and my sister might enjoy shopping together, which, in light of this post, is perhaps the best I could ever hope for.

I’m not sure exactly when it was made clear to me that the reason we were going so far away was so that her grandparents could join us for lunch. I do know that I was aware of it by the time we arrived at the restaurant. We were still the first ones there, and as we sat waiting, I was brought back to reality. What in the world was I doing here? For, in my mind at least, if a fellow goes out to dine after church with a young lady and her whole family (minus one, but I will come back to that), then I should think that there might be certain expectations and assumptions made by that family that really were not true here. But the family was quite welcoming and the lunch was quite pleasant overall. Toward the end, my friend’s sister joined the group, and I’m pretty sure I saw a distinct what-the-hell-is-Tim-doing-here look cross her face for a moment. It was actually a relief to know that it wasn’t just me.

At the end, my friend got up to use the restroom, and before she had returned, everyone else stood up to leave. As no one else made any move to pick up her stuff, I reluctantly took that duty upon myself. So I stood conspicuously waiting for her, holding her purse and to-go box, thinking, “What IS this? I’m not the boyfriend. I’m not even a good friend. I’m just SOME GUY from Bible study!”

She would be joining the other females in her family for a shopping excursion, so we said our goodbyes and I was left to drive home alone. I could almost here God taunting me.

I DARE YOU TO GO HOME AND PRETEND THAT THIS KIND OF THING HAPPENS ALL THE TIME, AND THAT I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.

For in retrospect, this ought to have been a top contender for most awkward day of my life. Yet it wasn’t. I felt like I was playing the “boyfriend” role all day. It felt like a Ghost-of-Christmas-Future kind of thing. YOU WANTED TO KNOW WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE? THIS IS WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE. As I have said, when I asked for a sign, I expected something a little more subtle.

Part III

Where was I?

As stated, for months and months now I have been digging the trash out of my heart. I have spoken about love and the girl and the demons and the darkness and all that holds me down. I have been avoiding this for a long time, but hopefully by now, you have enough background information to make sense of the events of January.

Long had I waited and watched as new guys would come into her life, only to be rejected. Deep down I held on to the hope that she had not found someone to replace me… that maybe on some level she was really just waiting for me to get my crap together. But lately, guys were standing in line just to get shot down. It was not fair… I was in love with her before being in love with her was “cool.” Yet, ultimately I knew that I had less of a chance than any of them, because I had had my chance, and she had already determined that I was not what she was looking for. And though she hated being constantly put in an awkward position, she certainly seemed to revel in the attention.

One day, I was finally fed up with the fact that nothing I said or did or felt had any effect on her. I was done being one of the satellites orbiting in her universe. Her choices were her own, and I could no longer bare their consequences. It would not be polite of me to say what the final straw was. But I assure you, it was final.

That was a dark, lonely night. Yet, in one sense, it was liberating. I had been in the process of losing her for as long as I could remember – like slowly bleeding to death – now that she was truly gone, I hardly knew what to do with myself. I met with a friend to discuss, among other things, my options for the future.

After all, she was not the only attractive young lady I knew. Yet, I was sick of doing the “wrong” thing. I determined not to do anything without a clear sign from God. REAL clear.

“When are you going to get on Facebook, Tim?”
“As soon as I’m convinced that it’s nothing like Myspace.”

Well, I’m still not convinced. But I was assured that it’s a lot “cleaner” than Myspace, with no Victoria’s Secret ads or random naked people asking to be your friend. Also no annoying flashing things or multiple songs and videos all trying to play at the same time. One person even assured me that it is much more solid than Myspace, which was obviously built with Microsoft tools. (His words, not mine.)

So like a chump, I did it. Honestly, I really just wanted to log on and have it tell me something like: Welcome timoth! You have 0 friends. It was that kind of week. Disappointingly, Facebook has more tact, and merely told me that I had not listed any friends. So that was lame, and now I don’t really know what to do with it. I guess you can come find me if you know how it works. But you’ll need to know a little something about me, because I’m the seventh person with my name on there. That’s right.

Some things are too broken to ever be fixed. Sometimes this is expensive: a car that would cost more to repair than its worth; a project or a plan so flawed that it’s better to abandon. Sometimes the price is of a different kind: as in a relationship, a family, a life.

Mother was so strong. She would schedule her treatments around her transatlantic trips, because this thing wasn’t going to keep her down. But eventually it was all too much. I never thought that it would end like that. Breast cancer is a horrible thing, it’s an evil thing, but there are treatments and surgery, and then it’s all over and you’re fine again. I know several survivors. I never actually believed it was fatal. So I did not understand when I got that phone call.
“Mom is in the hospital. We would like you to come [to Geneva].”
“Ok, I’ve just got four weeks of school left.”
“No, you need to come now.”

They weren’t strictly out of options. But further treatment would be very harsh and the chance of success was not great. And she had had enough. Sometimes things are too broken to ever be fixed.

Some say that everyone dies alone. If there’s anyone of whom that isn’t true, it was my mother. That was two years ago. As for the rest of us…

My grandfather, who always said he would live to 100, died at 86, ten years after a stroke left him but a pale shadow of the man he was. Too broken to ever be fixed. My grandmother, who never gave up for all those years, left so frail and so lost without anything to do.

My family is broken; scattered all over the world. Too broken to ever be fixed. So I foolishly long for the day when I will have a new family of my own, a close family. But I fear that after this life, I am utterly incapable of forming and maintaining any such bonds. Too broken to ever be fixed.

i wear this crown of thorns
upon my liar’s chair
full of broken thoughts
i can not repair
beneath the stains of time
the feelings disappear
you are someone else
i am still right here

-hurt (johnny cash version)

All that I’ve really been looking for this whole time is someone who will not leave. They say God is always there no matter what. Whatever else I say or do or get distracted by, deep down that is what I came looking for, and that is what drives me on. If only…

this is the LAST NIGHT you’ll spend alone!
look me in the eyes so I KNOW YOU KNOW!
-Skillet

I know that I still have a story to finish from which I got off track. Actually, I have consistently managed to find other things to talk about for about four months now. I hope to get to that soon, just not now. Not today. Not this week.

When I mentioned shoveling all of the trash out of my heart, I was not actually anywhere near this one. But a couple of weeks ago, I was talking with someone who made a statement which (inadvertently) cut straight through to it. My, but that one was deep. So, nice day for it.

Sometimes I forget that she never met my mother. I know my mother would have liked her. Not that she had anything against my other girlfriends, but she didn’t particularly connect with them either. This one was different.

When I was visiting my parents for Christmas in Geneva, my mother told me that she would be coming to San Antonio for a conference in a few months. She said that she was going to invite ~ and me, until she realized that it was Easter weekend. Which to me implied that somehow because it was Easter, she wasn’t inviting us. (Those Christians do take their Easter seriously.) I mulled over that for a month or so before deciding that, formal invitation or no, I wanted to go. But I never passed along the pseudo-invitation. For one thing, I did not think that we were at the point in our relationship of taking trips together. In particular, my mother was making the lodging arrangements, and I rather suspected that she was not on the same page as to our situation, and that was certainly not a conversation that I wanted to have. A stupid thing really, for it needn’t have been a long conversation. Oh yeah, and it was Easter.

I did not know that it was to be the last chance. I never even asked. Even when it was all over, to this day I don’t think I ever even brought it up. How many unilateral decisions have I made, simply by never mentioning the option?

She never met my mother. But she knew me when I had a mother. And, perhaps more importantly, my mother knew of her. Which will never be true of anyone else I meet from that point forward. All I have now is a picture. It’s a nice picture. I… we went to every store, and looked at every single frame that was for sale in this town before I could finally choose one that was worthy. But ultimately, it’s just a picture of some stranger that my wife and kids (…your what?!“) will never know.

So it was that I got these two hopelessly intermixed in my head and in my heart. I needed the one just to keep the other alive. An important thing, surely, but it’s certainly no basis for a relationship. I also have a song I can no longer play, because it’s dedicated to both of them in different ways.

It’s hard to let go of so many dreams all at once.