Stumbling Toward God?

“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.

When I returned from New Orleans last year, I was passionate about God. The next day happened to be “Student Ministry Sunday” or something at my church, so a group of high school and college students were leading the music that day in lieu of the usual band. They played a lot of songs that I did not know, but I sang along with all my heart… because the words are up on the screen and knowing the melody in advance doesn’t really matter much for a guy like me anyway.

I started writing a song back then too. The lyrics were based on several of my blog posts at the time. For awhile it had the working title of “April 1st”, merely because that was the day on which it was born. A year later, April 1st has come and gone and I still haven’t finished it. How soon we forget indeed. I also happened to notice that this week was the one year anniversary of my “new” blog.

On one of the last days of my trip to New Orleans this year, one member of my team commented to another, “It really makes you appreciate what you have back home, doesn’t it?”
Home? I thought, I’ve got NOTHING at home. Nothing and no one. So painful was the thought of having to go back to school on Monday that I was honestly hoping that that the plane would crash. It’s perplexing to me that while in New Orleans, more than one of my team members mentioned that they were encouraged by my work ethic, Whereas around here, especially concerning school, my work ethic is almost non-existent. “How come you never have homework to do?” I was asked recently. “You mean- ‘Why am I never doing my homework?'” I replied.

But I was talking about music. Last Sunday my church group had another “worship night.” Or at least, we were supposed to. Due to some miscommunication, no one was there to lead it. Of course I realized, living quite close to the church as I do, I could procure a guitar fairly quickly. Nor was I the only one to realized this. But I just didn’t feel like it. Curiously, I had considered bringing my guitar along that night anyway when I thought that someone else was going to be leading, but had decided against it.

Perhaps it was all those times last year when we kept scheduling worship nights which I felt obligated to lead by default, despite the fact that I was in open rebellion against God at the time. I would sing about loving and praising God, and then go right home and break things in frustration. So I just had a bad taste in my mouth for worship music.

But haven’t I been waiting for just such an opportunity for months? Well no, not this opportunity exactly. And I had fallen out of practice again anyway. But in a sense, yes, I suppose I was. So that’s another chance come and gone. I considered having a little worship night at my house this weekend to make up for it, but if there’s one thing I avoid more than playing music… it’s having people over to my house.

So at last I see the depravity of my ego. It’s not even enough that I be asked to play… I need to be begged. Speaking of which, a month or so ago, a friend was showing off his new piano and this girl was positively pleading for him to play the “Moonlight Sonata.” He declined repeatedly, as I sat there quietly fuming all the while. Now, how could I possibly take that personally, you ask? Well, as it happens, I had been struggling to learn to play that very song on the guitar for about four months, (which I consider to be no small task) and now suddenly I would never be able play it with out appearing to be catering to her whims. Bugger it all.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
— Prov 13:12

Perhaps you have never had a roommate who left a bag of potatoes in an unused cupboard – which you eventually located by the smell several months after he had moved out. Or maybe you never had the opportunity to take apart a garbage disposal that had not been working when you moved in to the apartment and discovered what was clogging it up. Or perhaps you have not been exposed to the contents of a refrigerator that was first underwater for several weeks, then without power for seven months.

I have not been quite so fortunate. So I quickly came to the realization that it doesn’t matter what you started with; after enough time, everything organic decays into the same black filth.

So too with hopes and dreams deferred and things left unsaid. It does not matter how great they were in the beginning, in time, it all becomes one vile mass of black filth. I had this imagery in my head for a long time before finally coming up with the perfect word to describe it; and that word is putrid.

Do you guys ever wonder what the hell I’m talking about on this blog?

As I think I’ve mentioned, a little while ago I spent some time reading a lot of my old posts. Intriguing stuff, I must say… and I wished there was more of it. Yet frustrating too. I would read a few of the vague references and think, “Ooh… I remember that day…” Then other posts would be merely something like, “You won’t believe what happened today.” What, that’s it? TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED! I was there and I don’t even remember. Now what’s the point of a post like that? Sometimes I’m vague because I’m never quite sure who will be reading it. At other times I’m vague because I know exactly who is reading…

I suppose all along I thought that one day I would have the answers that I was looking for, and that someday this would all come together and it would all make sense. It eventually became clear to me that that day was not quickly coming. So, a few months ago, I reached a critical mass and decided that I just wanted all of this trash gone from my heart. ALL OF IT.

It’s taken a bit longer than I anticipated. I once had a particular piece of emotional baggage that I carried around for about two years before finally looking inside only to discover that it was totally empty. Guess I don’t need THAT anymore. I had somewhat hoped that a similar thing might happen again. But this time, I’m just finding bags inside of bags inside of bags. In trying to go back and fill in the gaps, I often find myself leaping over chasms just to get to the holes that I wanted to fill in. Here we are in April and I haven’t yet finished describing the events of January. I sure hope that I haven’t missed anything interesting in the meantime.

Last year I went to New Orleans to help people clean out the trash and start to rebuild their lives. Then I came home and did the exact opposite in my own heart. Mulling all of this over, it seemed like there was only one thing for it:

Back to New Orleans!

I don’t believe the Devil
I don’t believe his book
But the truth is not the same
Without the lies he made up
Don’t believe in excess
Success is to give
Don’t believe in riches
But you should see where I live
I… I believe in love
— U2

When I was young I learned a game
Where love and happiness were the same
Now I’m older and I don’t play
I found out the hardest way
— Dramarama

There are a lot of pretty girls in the world… but only one of them is beautiful

Though my beliefs in other matters have changed wildly over the years, I always believed in love. Love is transcendent, undeniable, pure, true… and above all, exclusive.

One of the hardest things for me to accept has been the fact that my heart is a wicked liar.

I have repeatedly alluded to a certain individual who challenges me greatly. To put things in the best possible way, this person has even more serious communication issues than I do. I became uncomfortable about the interest she was showing toward me a number of months ago. She would always try to engage me in private conversation after Bible studies. I am still uncertain as to the point or even the content of these communications, but I became very weary of the fact that she was capable of at least enunciating when in a group setting, yet when one on one with me she seemed too nervous to even form coherent sentences. Eventually, I grew tired of these little episodes and told her straight out that I did not want to have these conversations anymore.

That is when the proverbial feces hit the fan. For the next three or four months, she would constantly tell anyone and everyone that she had “moved on with [her] life,” (at least whenever I was around) occasionally adding that she was not going to let me control her. Also during this time, she would send me a great number of emails. A lot of these were perfectly innocent “Bible commentary” type messages, which I found merely perplexing in their intended purpose. The others were more disturbing, in which she would accuse either me or others around her of things that were blatantly untrue. These almost always included a reminder that she was not chasing after me and was not interested in being my girlfriend. I did not know what to do with that. I suggest the analogy: if every single time you saw me, I were to remind you in all seriousness that I was not plotting to kill you, would you not be just a little suspicious anyway? Due to a somewhat similar situation in the past, I made it my policy to never respond to her emails, no matter what.

I will be the first to admit that I did not best handle this situation in an appropriate and timely manner. In fact, I might be the only person to admit that. One person told me at a relatively early point in the process that he personally would have gotten a restraining order a long time ago. Another said that he really saw Christ in me in the way I was handling things. That was a particularly difficult statement, being quite certain that Christ was not actually in me, for him to say so meant that this whole thing really is a farce.

The real trouble I faced was that in confronting her, I only saw a mirror. I intimately know what it feels like to care about someone who does not feel the same way. I know the profound sense that if you could just talk things out, to be able to connect, if the person would just see… and I know the overwhelming pain and frustration when it repeatedly does not happen. Facing her, I knew that if her heart could tell such lies… then so could mine. I could not take action to resolve the situation, because deep down I knew that whatever I might say to her, I should really be saying to myself, and I just wasn’t ready to accept that. The difference I saw between us was merely a matter of degree. I’m not sure it’s even fair to say that I had a stronger grasp on reality than she did; the only real difference was that I simply had a slightly better sense of what constitutes appropriate public behavior.

Breaking the Spell

I somewhat fear that God may be conspicuously absent from my narrative about God. So here we go. I tend to see God in amazing coincidences.

A few weeks ago, some folks from my church group went out swing dancing. I did not go, for a whole list of reasons, starting with, “I wasn’t invited,” and ending with, “It was ol’ Jingle Pockets’ birthday.” My favorite reason though (not that anyone asked) was “Not after last time!”

For one thing, I was still bitter about the fact that when I had tried to organize a group to go swing dancing back in December, no one wanted to go. (Which, come to think of it, might be exactly why I wasn’t invited this time.) I did actually go that time with the friend who had suggested the idea. (Confused you for a minute there, didn’t I?) Afterwards, when asked how it went, I would reply, “It was terrible… but I had a good time!”

What was terrible? My dancing? Well, obviously that… but I was actually referring to the situation as terrible. It was bad enough that no one else wanted to go, but in particular, that no ladies wanted to go. So it was just us two guys in a room full of dancing strangers.

Now, I knew that someone would probably ask me later if I had actually danced, and I would hate to have to say, “No.” More to the point, it would be quite a waste to have come all this way just to stand around and watch, because quite frankly, that wasn’t much fun at all. So I came up with the plan of observing carefully to find some wallflower who also didn’t know anyone there but clearly wanted to dance and was just waiting for someone to take notice of her. The only question remaining was, “How many beers do I have to drink before I’m willing to ask a total stranger if I can stomp all over her feet?”

I am not fundamentally opposed to drinking. I just decided a long time ago that it wasn’t something that I needed anymore. I really don’t care for the taste of alcohol, I would only drink for the effect, and that is something the Bible is clearly against. I do, however, drink on occasion under special circumstances. (Some of you are perhaps remembering a certain other recent occurrence, which was also rather questionable.) So there I was, a beer and a half in, already feeling rather tipsy (which was pretty disappointing for a guy who used to put down half a bottle of tequila in a single sitting), and I suddenly started thinking, “What the hell am I doing?” I may drink on special occasions, but this hardly qualifies. Here I was, drinking specifically for the purpose of getting drunk enough to do something that I would never do otherwise.

Having recently renewed my faith in God, I began to pray. I don’t remember what I prayed. I don’t think I even finished before my inebriated mind wandered off to other things. However, shortly thereafter, a girl came up to me and asked if I went to Trinity. Being a good fifty miles or so away from the church, I could only think, “Is she talking about the same Trinity? That was a hell of a guess.” She asked if I remembered her and told me her name. The truth is, I didn’t recognize her in the slightest… but I did remember meeting someone with that name not so long ago.

The point is, now I had someone to dance with. From my own church no less. Trust in Him, and God will provide.

Another incident also occurred in December. I had convinced my family to make charitable donations in lieu of Christmas gifts that year. So I was poking around online and got off on a slight tangent involving foreign adoptions. I don’t generally like to admit to even having any long term goals, but let’s just say that if I did, foreign adoption would be one of them. So I was reading about this organization that specializes in that, and there was a link to find out where they would be holding informational meetings. So I clicked on that. There were only about half a dozen states represented, but California happened to be one of them. So I clicked on that. I discovered that there was a meeting that very weekend, only three days away. Now if it was in LA, that would not be particularly surprising. In fact there were a few in LA in the coming months, along with San Diego and other metropolitan areas. However, this particular one that caught my attention was being held in Redlands, at The River church, which is WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE OF MY HOUSE. Could this have possibly been any more neatly packaged and delivered right to my front door? It had also recently come to my attention that not one but two of my female friends were also passionate about adoption. (Though they never actually mentioned the word “foreign.”)

What does all of this mean? As it happens, I had already planned on going to Mexico that weekend, and after mulling this over for awhile, I told myself rather sternly, “It doesn’t mean anything! Just stick with the plan, and whatever you do, keep your mouth shut!”

So I did, and I did. Well, up until now I guess.

I had thoughts for three separate posts floating around. The first one was meant for back in December, but Blogger wasn’t being nice to me then and I never ended up posting it. The second two were thoughts from this week, or today as the case may be. I decided to just have a three-for-one sale, as they are somewhat loosely related.

1. If Only For A Moment It All Makes Sense
Men tend to value and desire the physical aspect of a relationship. Women prefer the emotional connection.

This is not to say that men do not want or need emotional connection, or that women don’t desire physical connection. Quite the contrary in fact. But from my observations of humanity, for whatever reason, men focus on the one while women focus on the other. As far as drastic oversimplifications go, I feel that this is pretty solid. Of course, there are always going to be just enough of both men and women on the opposite side of the fence to confuse everybody. Forget about them. Are you with me so far?

Sometimes men desire (or worse – think they can get) the physical connection “for free,” i.e. without emotional commitment. Such men are called “scum-bags” (or your colloquial equivalent.)

I assume that I haven’t said anything revolutionary so far. Here’s the insightful bit: sometimes women also think that they can get the emotional connection “for free.” I don’t know of a corresponding colorful term for this, because I’ve never even heard it acknowledged as a problem before. In fact, I believe that this is considered perfectly normal.

I further propose that, just as a woman might desire to save herself physically for the right man, so a man desires to save himself emotionally for just the right woman. (By “man,” of course, I take what I know of myself and extrapolate to the rest of my gender.)

This doesn’t work. A relationship needs both, and you can’t really get away with either one without the other. Not for very long anyway. This, I believe, is what is confusing the bananas out of everybody. (And by “everybody,” of course, I just mean myself again.)

2. Dammit
So I ask myself, “Why are you only mean to the people you care about?”

The obvious answer:
“What are you talking about? I’m mean to everybody.”

Indeed, upon reflection on the past, I seem equally likely to snub a total stranger or my closest friends. Oh well then, that’s sure a relief. Ain’t nobody getting through this wall.

3. Story To Remain Untold
I had the startling realization today that as much as I desire- or think that I desire- true love, what I actually want deep down is a really good love story.

I met this girl once and I was interested in her and she was interested in me and we started dating. And that may make for a good relationship, but it just doesn’t make a very good story. Especially when I have the remains of a better story still dancing around somewhere in my head and in my heart. This explains why tend I to wait until I’ve already lost before I even really start trying… because that’s the point where it gets interesting.

I need to be able to say that I’ve climbed mountains and fought dragons just to be with you… especially since I’ve done such things in the past.

I’m not trying to suggest that this is good or even remotely productive, because as a matter of fact, it isn’t. Did you know I was a hopeless romantic? I did… It’s just that I forgot a long time ago.

I saw a bumper sticker last week. It had a black background with white letters that simply stated: All Else Failed. I could only think, “Ain’t that the truth?”

(The story so far: Part I, Part II)

For the next few days, I kept catching myself actually singing worship songs… and you know how much I loath worship songs. (I had another song in my head too, but that one deserves a post in itself, so remind me later.)

So, it was mid November, and I spent the next six weeks trusting in God and chasing every potential social and ministerial opportunity that I saw; trying to endear myself to an increasingly cliquish group who mostly did not seem to care if I was around or not; trying to restore a relationship with someone whom I was too blind to notice was screening my phone calls and unwilling to devote more than a few minutes to talking to me. “She’s just really busy…” I kept telling myself. Until it became obvious that she was perfectly willing to make time for other people. Several other people.

One morning in late December, I was still lying in bed, just thinking things through, and became suddenly so overwhelmed that I let out a bellow of pain. That’s no way to start a day. I let out another later as I beat my fists against the shower wall. (Which at least was less destructive than the last bathroom experience. Why all this rage in the bathroom? I tend to do a lot of my deep thinking in the shower as there is literally no possibility for distraction there… and when I think about certain things, I get angry.) Anyway, it was then that I realized with horror:

I had not been freed from anything… they’re just taking turns!

Who is, you ask? Well, did you do your homework on this post? (I told you it would be relevant.)

When I talk about this kind of thing, some have mistakenly thought that this “Scarecrow” I speak of from time to time is in fact some kind of demonic entity. That is not true. In one of those old posts, I was amazed and delighted to discover the statement: …a Scarecrow is simply a straw man, hung on a cross, to ward off Blackbirds. Wow. One sentence, three metaphors, all TRUE. I wonder how long it took me to think that up?

Anyway, there was a specific point in my life when I “created” this scarecrow in order to protect me from something even worse. (Which I really should have kept in mind when killing him off.) Sometimes even people who believe in God are unwilling to accept the existence of the Devil. Interestingly enough, I technically believed in the Devil first… I imagined a dark presence that sits upon your shoulder and whispers all manner of despairing things in your ear, or maybe straight into the back of your mind… I just called him The Blackbird.

As for the other… I have not mentioned to anyone what exactly I was doing last summer, when my friends had all left or were otherwise occupied, as I turned away from God. Maybe someday I will, but suffice to say for now, as the record that I did leave indicates, I identified a new demon.

So then, the Blackbird and the Wolf. Or as Radiohead so succinctly put it:
Sometimes you sulk… sometimes you BURN.

The problem, obviously, is that I said I was trusting in God’s plan, but I was still looking to this girl as a sort of “litmus test.” I will know God is real when He restores this relationship. I had given myself the loose deadline of New Year’s to get things straightened out. It had seemed like plenty of time, yet it didn’t happen. I couldn’t help but think that if I had only had my breakthrough a month earlier, I might have gotten somewhere. For everything had started to change back in October, but I wasn’t ready to move until November. As the year drew to a close, it was clear that I had fallen once more.

I put my trust in you
pushed as far as I could go
for all this, there’s only one thing you should know…

I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn’t even matter!
–Linkin Park

So that about brings us to here. It really makes no difference how much I love her, the fact remains that she did not respect me. Traditionally, I signal the end of a relationship by cutting off all of my hair. This posed a slight problem at the end of my third relationship, because I had actually never stopped cutting off my hair since the last time.

Are you ever in luck…
For as it turns out, at this point my hair was probably the longest that it had been in about six years… but I worked hard on that…
If you consider not doing anything for months and months “working hard.”
But I had been wanting to try something new, let it grow; I had been wanting to dye it as well, but was never properly motivated to undertake that operation.
That’s nice… Gone!
But it’s January…
GONE!

So I cut it all off again. I had also been trying some facial hair at the time and when I looked in the mirror the first time, my only thought was, “Man, you look like you just got out of prison.”

I DID JUST GET OUT OF PRISON!

But I didn’t necessarily want everyone that I met thinking the same thing, so that had to go too. I looked in the mirror once more and realized, “Now you look like a monk.”

I AM A MONK!

Yeah… don’t push it. Anyway, not a monk, but a soldier. I had named my demons, and I was ready to put on the full armor of God, look them right in the eye and say, “I know what you’re doing… AND YOU CAN STOP NOW!”

Of course, people can’t help but wonder why someone would cut off all his hair in the middle of winter, so I told people that it was my New Year’s Resolution to lose weight… which I thought was pretty funny.

…Yet so very very true.