Stumbling Toward God?

Moving On

2007-06-15T14:09:00.000-07:00

I am now the proud owner of timoth.net. So one day soon this blog won't be here anymore, it will be there.

Breaking the Spell (Prologue)

2007-03-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

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

Breaking the Spell (Part II)

2007-06-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

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

Breaking the Spell (Part III)

2007-06-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Breaking the Spell (Part I)

2007-06-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

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.

I Don't Sleep, I Blog

2007-01-10T00:00:00.000-08:00

I haven't really been able to sleep for days. I attribute this to a very strange and interesting weekend.

Friday night went long, and ended traumatically from me. I am definitely not proud of the way I behaved, but I am not impressed with the behavior of certain others either. The details aren't important, only my reaction. It was the end of something that had been going on for a long, long time. This is about a girl of course, as most things are. I wouldn't really say that it was the last straw, because the truth is, the last straw had already occurred and I had made my decision. It's just that I still had lingering doubts, and was not fully prepared to enforce that decision. However, Friday night was, to switch metaphors, the last stop on a very long ride.

This is where I get off.

To allow that realization fully sink in was painful. I've started seeing a counselor by the way. (Oh, thank God, I hear you say. And yes we should all thank God. For many things.) However, my next appointment was not until Thursday. It was Friday night. (Well Saturday morning if you want to get technical.) THURSDAY! I can't wait until Thursday! I need to talk to someone right NOW! Well, you know, I suppose there was someone that I could call. Accept that it was about 3:30 in the morning. Maybe I could just text message to have her call me when she wakes up... At this point I metaphorically grabbed myself by the shoulders and shook. Are you out of your MIND? Have you been paying any attention AT ALL? How about finding a male friend, you moron!

I would not have thought that I got any sleep at all that night, except that I seemed to wake up at some point. Regardless, I was actually lying down for less than three hours, and most of that was not spent sleeping.

Blogger switched to some kind of new system a little while ago. One side effect of this was that my new posts weren't actually showing up. I had a lot of things that I wanted to write about over the holiday break, but didn't bother, just figuring I would look into this problem later. It was "later" now. I kept reposting and resetting and just plain kicking my blog until it worked again. Because I've had some things I wanted to say.

Morning came, and things seemed far less bleak in the daylight. I'm sure I over-reacted. Still, I asked myself, what part of "OVER" do you not understand? I did find a friend, who gave up a significant portion of his day on my behalf, for which I am eternally grateful.

But where do I go from here? This has been my focus for so long. I'm tired of doing the wrong thing. I didn't want to do anything without a clear sign from God.

Saturday night I did get a reasonable amount of sleep, but still woke before my alarm. Sunday I can barely believe. I went to church as usual. Leaving the service, the friend that I had been sitting with and I were accosted not once, but twice. The first was by a total stranger who seemed genuinely offended that we were about to leave without saying anything to him. But we had never met the guy. Then again in the parking lot, this time by another of the people who has been a great challenge to me. I couldn't really understand what this person was trying to tell me. In fact, the core of the problem is that I am never sure what this person is trying to tell me. But the things that I do understand disturb me greatly. The emails even more so. This person seriously needs help, but I don't know what I can do. I have asked a number of people for advice and they all can only tell me some variation of they think that it's an unfortunate situation that I have found myself in. I have let things go far too long without doing anything. So today, as I was listening to this barely audible rambling, I could only think, "End it. End it now." But even so, I repeatedly opened my mouth and no words came out. One thing that I could understand, that kept being repeated was, "You made the right decision." What decision? I didn't make any decision! It has been my very lack of making a decision that has compounded the problem! Every time that we "talk" I just stand there like a fool! What planet is this person on? How about just a punch in the face and then I run for it? That would probably get the point across better than anything I could say anyway. Fortunately I was not alone, and my friend eventually found away to gracefully interrupt, otherwise I think I might still be standing there.

Oh, but it only gets better. Through a quick series of increasingly unusual circumstances, I suddenly found myself in what I can only describe as what must be "someone else's comfort zone." What the hell was I doing here? You know, when I asked for a sign from God, I was really expecting something a little, well, subtler. Not to be yanked clear out of my own life and dropped off with a nice, "And once you find your way back home, try to pretend that this happens all the time and God had nothing to do with it."

No sooner had I returned home and lay down to try and nap when I got a phone call with an invitation that I promptly accepted without thinking. It basically involved returning to "the scene of the crime" from Friday night. What is wrong with you? Isn't that the LAST place you want to be right now? Why did you even answer the phone when you saw that name come up? Like I said in my last post, I will agree to almost anything when caught off guard. And let's try to keep perspective, truly the last place I wanted to be was, as always, Cal Poly Pomona. Well, maybe I could just not show up. But you said you would go. Well, maybe I could just call and say that I had something else to do and couldn't make it after all. But you don't have something else to do. Alright fine! So I went. It wasn't as bad as I thought. It was actually worse, but for an entirely different reason than I could have expected. So I left.

I went to my church group Sunday night. After getting there, I noticed on my phone that I had missed a call about an hour earlier from someone who happened to be in the room now. I asked him about it. "Oh, I was just calling because..." More bad news. Good thing I had already decided not to let that kind of thing bother me anymore. Then during announcements, I learned that there would be a meeting the following week, "To see if anyone is interested in continuing to meet on Sunday nights." What again? Didn't we go through all this last year? Then we went through our study, at some point of which I made what I thought was a trivial observation that for some reason everyone at my table thought was brilliant and wanted me to share with the room. When I declined, not wanting to take credit for something that I felt was fairly irrelevant to the study, some one else announced it and made a point to include, "That was all Tim!" at the end. Yeah, thanks for that.

Can I go home now? Not yet, I still had one more conversation, at the beginning of which I could only think, "Oh jeeze. You? I had forgotten that you even existed through all of this. Please don't tell me that you're expecting something too?" But it was nothing like that. I guess sometimes people can have conversations without any drama.

Often times people do something after the meetings but I was DONE. Besides, I had some place to be at 6:00 am. So I went home... and couldn't sleep. I blogged. I eventually went to bed around 1:00, but still managed to get up several minutes before my alarm. I thought I could come back home when I was finished and get a couple more hours of sleep, but tired as I was, it didn't happen.

Of course, there was also that annoying revelation, "I still have to go to school?! How is THAT important right now?" Monday happened to be the last day to drop classes without it going on your record, and I rather considered dropping my last class of the day merely so that I could go home early. But I didn't, and when I did get home... I still couldn't sleep.

So, interesting times, but even in the days that follow the question remains: Why Can't I Just Sleep?

*For the record this post was composed over the course of several late nights.

Selling Out

2007-05-28T09:56:00.000-07:00

"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.

Broken

2007-05-22T15:42:00.000-07:00

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

what have i become
my sweetest friend
everyone i know
goes away in the end

and you could have it all
my empire of dirt
i will let you down
i will make you hurt

if i could start again
a million miles away
i would keep myself
i would find away

-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

Not Now

2007-05-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

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.

With a "K"

2007-05-13T11:27:00.000-07:00

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 time. 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.

How Soon/How Long

2007-05-04T08:37:00.000-07:00

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.

Baggage

2007-04-13T23:00:00.000-07:00

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!

Seeing God

2007-03-16T10:28:00.000-07:00

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 leu 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.

Three Revelations

2007-03-08T21:48:00.000-08:00

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.

Bondage (Finale)

2007-02-28T12:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Bondage (Part I)

2007-01-17T11:21:00.000-08:00

Some time ago, I was asked point blank, "Have you ever opened yourself up to demonic influence?" All I could say was, "Probably..." How do you respond to a question like that? I've had a pretty interesting life. I've experimented with different things. I've been in places where things were being experimented with. If it's actually possible to open yourself to demonic influence, I suppose I must have done it.

Sometimes it can be much easier to attribute my struggles to an external source. I do sometimes refer to my demons as if they were real entities. I have met a couple of people who claimed to have actually seen demons. I am obviously skeptical of this, although these have been people that I actually know and consider to be generally rational, not just some random lunatic. Overall, as I have mentioned before, this is not something that I want to be true.

I actually just have trouble openly accepting the spiritual realm at all. Some of you may have noticed that I've had a spot of difficulty in accepting God as well. I remember going for a walk one time, this would have been in about May or so, thinking about how I see hope and joy in other people, but I just can't seem to get there myself. I see issues and problems in my life and in myself but still I just feel like I'm being swept along on the river of life, unwilling or unable to take any action or make any change in my course. I couldn't understand why. I didn't know the nature of my bonds, didn't know what was really holding me back.

I recognized that, all in all, I was doing pretty well in life. I didn't need to worry about food or shelter or finances or security like so much of the rest of the world, and on top of that, I was doing pretty well in school through little effort of my own. Still I felt so utterly empty inside. I have known people in my life who cut themselves. For the first time, I understood that. I knew what it felt like to have such an unbearable emotional pain that you desperately want the physical pain to match.

I never did harm myself physically, but in my frustration, I became destructive in other ways. One time, when I first told someone that my grandfather was dying, he asked me if I was angry at God for that. My somewhat confused response was, "No... should I be?" It had not even occurred to me that God had anything to do with it. He may as well have asked if I was mad at the President because of my grandfather. God was in books and in sermons and theological debates and even sometimes in my personal interactions, but my grandfather was real. This was life and death we were talking about, not theology. My friend went on to say that God must be getting ready to use me in a big way to put me through the wringer like this. I thought about that statement when I got home. I appreciated his sentiment, but I felt that it actually displayed a complete lack of understanding of what I was going through. My whole problem is that no matter how much I've read or heard or talked about... I understand who people say God is, but He just isn't present, isn't real in my life. God must be getting ready to use me... NO HE ISN'T! I punctuated this thought by hurling the glass that I happened to be holding to the kitchen floor. I stared at that for a moment thinking, "I liked that glass..." This wasn't the first time I had broken something while thinking about this kind of thing. Eventually, I swept the broken glass into a pile, but left it there for several weeks as a reminder that this is what happens when I think about God.

The most dramatic of these moments came a few weeks later, after my grandfather had died. I was in the bathroom, refilling a spray bottle of Clean Shower from a larger jug. I can't remember what was going through my head, but at some point I just turned and hurled the spray bottle into the shower. It caught the curtain, pulling it down, rod and all. I was surprised that it had the mass to do that. But I didn't stop. I followed it by throwing the empty jug, then a ceramic soap dish, the glass used to hold my toothbrush and razor, and finally the glass hand-towel bar after tearing it from the wall. Fortunately my house has two bathrooms, as there were broken shards of various things all over that one.

Also during this time, one of my "favorite" things to do was to lie on the floor, unable to move. Sometimes I felt as though I was literally being held down by a very heavy weight, and could not get up even if I wanted to. Sometimes I would be lying awake at night in Pomona and I would decide to just roll out of bed, and then under it. I honestly can not think of any possible advantage of being under the bed rather than on top of it, yet I did this more than once. And sometimes when I would lie on the floor, I would literally writhe. I felt like the "reality" that my eyes were seeing and other senses perceiving wasn't real, that it was something like The Matrix where my head was being fed lies but my real body or maybe just my spirit, was actually somewhere else, trying to move, trying to see, but that I just couldn't break free. And I would actually convulse in my efforts to escape from this world.

As I said, I don't want to believe in literal demons. I like to think of them metaphorically, as personifications of personal struggles. But even I had to admit that there was something serious going on here.

Part II

You Can Just Deal

2006-12-30T11:11:00.000-08:00

There are a few people in my life right now that are a great challenge to me. There's one guy in particular that I want to mention. When I first started to get to know him, he was constantly being berated by others for the things that he said. The challenging part was, I felt that everything he said was true, and often rather accurately described something I was going through myself, yet somehow, coming from him it all seemed absolutely ridiculous. Sometimes it wasn't even the things he said, but just his casual, carefree attitude toward things that I take very seriously.

For example, a small group of us were gathered to play some worship music at his house. After things had begun to wind down, he turned to me and said, "Play one of your songs." Now a great number of things were going through my head at that point. First of all, my particular style of music has no place at a worship night. But then again, not all of my songs make you want to go right out and kill yourself. I even thought of three or four at the time that could have worked. But then came the question of whether I was even capable of playing them. For one thing, I don't feel that a lot of my songs transfer well to acoustic (or even just one) guitar, but more to the point, playing guitar is not like riding a bicycle. You DO forget how. It had been a long time since I had played any of those songs and it would be really embarrassing to not know my own music. On top of it all, I really do not function well when put on the spot like that, and ultimately the best I could say was, "That's probably not wise." So I dodged that one. But he wanted to hear one of my songs. He wanted to hear MY music. I can't begin to explain what that feels like.

There are obviously people who know that I write music that have expressed curiosity, but there's something flimsy about that, like the empty promise of a "Hey, we should hang out 'sometime'." It's a very different thing when I'm sitting there with a guitar in my hands and someone is asking me to play. It's been a long, long time since that has happened. In fact, I wasn't sure if it had ever happened, although that's probably not true. Thinking back, I can really only even remember the first of my three girlfriends ever expressing interest in my music.

Now along comes this guy, just blindly stumbling onto a very deep seated need for of mine for a certain kind of validation, finding a button that I didn't even know I had and leaning on it.

That seems to be pretty typical of him. The examples are too many to mention. It seems like every time I see him there's something new that just makes me think, "That too? Is no part of my life safe from this guy?" I also have to say that his strategy toward women is definitely one that I had not seen before. I had heard about it before I ever witnessed it in action. When I eventually did, I initially could only watch in horror, thinking, "Someone please take the shovel away before he completely buries himself!" That slowly turned to amazement at the idea that such a method might actually work. (It really only has to work once I suppose.)

The strange thing is, I actually like this guy. I think he's pretty cool, and we actually have a great deal in common. It's just that my ego can only take so much. So finally I see what the real challenge is here. I spend so much time worrying about what is "appropriate." I am in many cases so burdened by it that I am paralyzed with indecision. This guy doesn't care about appropriate. He just dives straight in to anything and everything.

Ultimately, I see that he is who I could be, if only I could live without fear.

Falling In Love (Is So Hard On the Knees)

2007-02-14T20:47:00.000-08:00

There is an inconvenient fact in my past, that a certain young lady has had, and continues to have, an incredibly dramatic impact on several areas of my life. I say "inconvenient" because her influence is severely disproportionate to her actual presence in my life. I only had consistent and meaningful interaction with her for a period of a few months, and that was several years ago now. Yet, the choices I made back then continue to dictate not only what I spend my time doing, but also where and to some degree, with whom.

It was because of this girl (or more precisely, because of her father) that I started going to church in the first place. I tried to keep that fact quiet for years, although I've been more open about it recently. So several people knew that already. What is considerably less well known is that I followed her from community college to university. Now, she was not the only reason I chose this particular school, and I have had no trouble explaining my choice to people without ever mentioning her. I would have at least considered this school regardless. But the obvious fact remains, of the schools I did consider, I ultimately only applied to one, and it was the same one where she happened to be.

So years later, when my search for God had left me as empty and broken as ever, and I was miserable at a school that failed to meet my expectations in so many ways, I could only look back with the painful realization that I did all this for her... for nothing.

It was also inconvenient because there was someone else who was far more significant to me, yet had nowhere near the same impact on my life.

I was in love with someone else when we met. I wish that were not true, but it's undeniable. Even worse, for the entire duration of our relationship, there was a part of me that felt that I was doing the wrong thing, and that when our relationship would reach its inevitable end, I could get back to pursuing my "real" goals. That is probably the deepest regret of my entire life, and nothing I could ever say or do can erase it. It was only after it was over that I realized what a fool I had been. (I'm a special kind of dumb that actually waits until the basket breaks and then tries to put all my eggs into it.)

Things were different after that, but in a strange way, better. Our friendship was deeper and more honest. Our relationship seemed more "real" to me, which is somewhat ironic, because we did not have a real relationship at all. But even that was not to last.

So I spent a year, a solid year, just waiting, watching, hoping. I kept my distance, afraid to get to close, as other people came and went, as new opportunities lead to new disappointments over and over again. Through it all I remained convinced that deep inside was a little girl who just wanted to be held, and loved, and told that she was beautiful... who maybe one day would realize that that was more important than having all of her expectations met.

In the meantime, I wrestled with demons.

And what of that other "inconvenient" girl? How can someone who meant so little have done so much, while someone who meant everything to me did so little?

Little, I say? Did I not have to get a cell phone plan, because long conversations on a prepaid phone were too expensive? Why, I've called her just to chat more than I have anyone... and there is no second place, because that's not something I ever did before. She did not so much force me to look critically at myself, for I was pretty good at that already, but she inspired me to grow and change in a way that no one ever has. Though that was a painfully slow process, it was nonetheless real, and one that I never wanted to end.

So there I finally have the answer I was looking for: that girl may have changed my life... but this one changed me.

It wasn't until the week after Christmas, at 28 years old, that truly understood what love was. The actions and decisions this girl was making were driving me absolutely mad. But I still wanted to make things work. I started to identify with Hosea, although that's not a reasonable analogy as I my own actions have been very far from noble and innocent. But maybe even that is the point. I'm flawed, she's flawed, but I was still committed to loving her. True love isn't just a feeling, it's a choice.

And with that, another realization. I had been head over heels in love with my first girlfriend. So much so that I was completely blind to her real nature. And when that was revealed to me, I found that as much as I was in love with her, I really did not like her... at all.

My second girlfriend, I loved. I cared about her, I enjoyed spending time with her, I found her attractive... but I always felt that there was something missing. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, deep down I longed for a certain spark, a certain passion that just wasn't there.

My third girlfriend was the only person that I have both loved and been in love with at the same time. Now that is a truly amazing thing that is worth holding on to. Unfortunately for both of us, it took a great while for me to reach that point, and that "same time" did not quite coincide with the period in which we were actually dating.

Interlude: A Flashback

2007-02-09T10:27:00.000-08:00

My narrative is not over by the way, but it's taking much longer to write than I anticipated. Here it is February and I'm still talking about November.

A quick flashback then. If I've never mentioned why I frequently go to Mexico (and I'm not sure that I have)... then ask me about it later. Suffice it to say, I was in Mexico in September. The place at which I usually stay has amenities like electricity and plumbing. This was my first time staying at "The Ranch", which is located in the middle of nowhere, a 45 minute drive away from the main stretch along a windy, rocky, dirt road, does not have such luxuries. (Perfect for an electrical-engineering-hating luddite such as myself.) The sleeping accommodations consist of about a dozen single room "loft houses" in two semi-circles (like an "m"). For whatever reason, I could not get to sleep one night, and perhaps out of boredom as much as necessity, I got up multiple times to go to the bathroom. Being male, I did not feel the need to walk the several hundred feet to the outhouse, and chose to simply to do business around the back of the house.

The first time I was up, I was perplexed by a rapidly dancing point of light coming from a different part of the camp, that looked as if someone was erratically waving around a small Mag-lite. I could not think of a good reason for someone to be doing this in the middle of the night, and figured instead that it must have something to do with the dying embers of the camp fire which was also somewhat in that direction. However, when I looked in the opposite direction, away from the camp, no people, no fire, still I saw the same dancing light.

The second time I got up, as I was making my way to the back of the house, I distinctly heard what sounded like someone running off in the distance. As I stood wondering about this, the sound changed so that it seemed to be coming straight towards me. It was dark, but I could still see well enough to know that there was nothing moving in the clearing in front of me. So my ears were telling me that something was coming straight at me and my eyes were telling me that there was nothing there. At that point I decided that I really did not have to go to the bathroom after all, and scurried back into the house and to bed.

"What?" I chastised myself, as I lay there. "I thought you weren't afraid of anything!" Well, first of all, I don't recall making that claim. But assuming for a moment that I did, even if it were true that I am not afraid of anything in this world, if something that I can not see is running toward me, I simply did not want to be around when it got there.

I don't know what all that was about. I was in an unfamiliar place, late at night, and my eyes and ears were just playing tricks on me is all. There's no reason to think anything supernatural was going on, right? Right?

For outside of your comfort zone... Here be Monsters.

Bondage (Part II)

2007-02-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

(Read Part I)

As I have mentioned, I started going to a new church service in October. The music was good. Really good. It made me cry. But what does that mean? These were not tears of joy, or relief, or anything like that. I picture a poor orphan boy, a street urchin if you will, standing outside a toy store window on Christmas Eve, looking in at all of the decorations and lights and there are stuffed animals and a colorful Ferris wheel and a model train going around and around... but he's standing out in the cold, and despite all of the wonder and the hope... deep down he knows that none of that is ever going to be for him. And like that little boy, I cry.

In November, I was reading some of my blog posts from LAST November, and from the past year, and I was shocked to realize that they might easily have been written in the last week. I had been hurting for a long, long time. I had spent so much time just waiting for something to happen; something to happen with God, something to happen with school, something to happen with a certain someone from my past... just waiting. For something. Anything.

After years of waiting...
Nothing came.
As your life flashed before your eyes,
You realize...

I'm a reasonable man
Get off
Get off
Get off my case get off my case
--Radiohead

The first Sunday of every month, my church group gathers in its entirety (supposedly) and studies Ephesians. I do not remember the specific passage that night (somewhere around the end of chapter 4, beginning of chapter 5, I think), but I vividly remember feeling that I had a very heavy weight upon me, such that I could barely keep my head up. I wanted to lie down on the floor right then and there. I didn't though. What I did do was unscrew the lid of my water bottle, stare into it for a moment and then replace the lid without taking a drink - three times in rapid succession. Which I suppose must have tipped someone off that something was on my mind because at that point I was invited to step outside.

There have been two points in my life when I have looked into the sky and told God to "Bring it." The first time, I had no idea what I was in for. This time... maybe I did, maybe I didn't. At that point, someone else came outside and, um, exploded... and my friend and I ran for it and spent a good hour in hiding. That's right, hiding. At church. The absurdity of the situation was just plain comical. I needed that.

Anyway, that situation was "resolved" somehow (I don't know... I wasn't there). For the first time in a long time, I was cheerful. I had hope. I was almost giddy. Things seemed to be aligning just right, the way I had been hoping for so very long... But in the end, it was not right enough. From higher hopes comes a greater fall. I went home, and never even made it from the garage into the house. After another mild, yet increasingly-too-common violent episode, I collapsed against the door that leads into the house. I could no longer pretend that I did not understand what was really going on here... that I did not see the writing on the wall. I could not do this to myself anymore. I did not want to ever feel that way again. Ever.

I had been debating leaving my church group for some time. But these were my friends, my community, and I had come to realize that it was very important for me to be around other people. I knew that walking away would mean stepping into a very dark pit. I really wasn't looking forward to that, because I felt that I had just come out of a very dark pit. Yet I had begun to accept that maybe it was necessary to go through that darkness just to emerge on the other side.

The next Sunday, I woke up convinced that that evening would be my last time at 20 Somethings. I did, however, consult with one last person , who ultimately talked me out of it. As chance would have it, I could not be there the next Sunday anyway, because of a school field trip. (Which also marked the first time that I missed church for a completely non-Christianity related reason. And... TIME! Three and a half years... 182 Sundays.) To my recollection, I only told one person that I wasn't going to be there that week. The next week, no one asked where I had been, if indeed anyone even noticed that I was missing. So this is what I'm fighting so hard to hold on to.

I'm confused now as to the order of things. I know all of this was going on in November. At some point, I was in Pomona, lying on the floor again, as was my habit. I had no more strength. My simply head could not take anymore theology. I could wait no longer. I had no more strength. I could not go on, not just in my walk with God, but with life in general. I had nothing left. But the words of the new worship leader kept echoing in my head. "Cry out to Jesus." "You don't have to clean yourself up first." "Jesus will meet you where you are." "Cry out to Jesus." "Cry out to Jesus." Well, I had never actually done that before. So what if I just put aside the endless debate of theology vs. skepticism in my head? What if I just see what Jesus can do? What happens when you reach the end, the absolute bitter end, and then you just close your eyes and keep walking? I rolled over onto my hands and knees (or perhaps more accurately, my face), and I cried out. Maybe audibly, I don't remember.

So what does happen? Well, nothing at first. But I spent an awful lot of time on my knees in the following days. Over and over I prayed that my eyes would be opened. By this point it was almost Thanksgiving, and starting with that business about my mother, my eyes were opened to a great many things. I was telling someone about a month later that ever since trusting Jesus, I had been getting my ass kicked. He told me that would be "The Adversary." Really? I had just assumed that it was God himself. I have stated before that around Thanksgiving, God kicked my butt for four days straight, and just to keep it interesting, on the third day he punched me full in the face. Starting that Wednesday evening, every conversation and interaction that I had with people revealed my place, my significance; with my family, my "friends", my church group in general. Most of these seemed to indicate that I was completely expendable. I was also (unintentionally?) mocked with an impromptu song set to the tune of (of all things) a Radiohead song. God certainly knows how to make it personal.

The "punch" came while watching Batman Begins. I had seen this movie before, but somehow this particular line failed to capture my attention:
Patients suffering delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormentor, usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes.
In this case, a scarecrow.
Well, that certainly made me sit up straight. Come now, that was simply uncalled for.

Four days of this kind of stuff. On the fifth day, I decided that, hey, as long as I'm getting my butt kicked anyway, I might as well just go straight to the source: The Epistle of James. Have I ever mentioned how fond I am of that book? I came to God in the first place while reading it. Now only two verses in:
Count it all joy my brethren when you meet various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

Wait, steadfastness is a good thing? Here all this time I thought I was just being an idiot. Well then, in that case, "Bring it! Bring it, bring it, BRING IT!" This was Sunday again, and after church I went for a walk. Finally, I felt that something was different. I felt alive for the first time in a long time. I felt free. I also felt that somewhere I had lost an entire year of my life. No more waiting. I decided to pounce on every opportunity that came along and trust that God would lead me through.

Later that day, I wanted to communicate this change to the only person that I thought would understand. Unfortunately, circumstances between us had long been such that I was only ever permitted an extremely narrow window of private conversation in which to get my point across. I prepared myself: You get one sentence. Maybe two. GO. "I'm not really sure where I've been for the last year, but I think I'm back now."
"Back where?"
"Back... here..."
Bugger, focusing on the wrong word. And that was that. The point I was trying to convey was that I, timoth, (for that is my true name) was back, and that whoever had been running things (if anyone) for the last year or so had been relieved of command.

Thanksgiving

2006-11-25T08:06:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday, I went to the Thanksgiving Eve service at my church. At one point, there were open microphones for people to stand up and share what they were thankful for. A fair number of people shared about having a loved one in the hospital, and how grateful they were to God for watching over them. A couple of these people personally thanked the head pastor for coming to the hospital.

When my mother lay dying, there was no pastor. My mother was raised in a christian home. My sister and I were not. I am quite certain that my mother did not have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. She definately did not consider him to be the only way, truth and life. The Bible is quite clear about the fate of such people.

On the night my grandfather died, my aunt told me that wherever he and my mother were now, she was sure they were having a great time together. I don't remember what I said to that. If I believed in anything, it would be that when my grandfather got where he was going, he was going to be real upset to find out where my mother had ended up. But of course I don't believe that. How can I believe that?

When my mother lay dying, there was no pastor. If the Christian message be true, then the only thing standing between my mother and a lot of weeping and gnashing of teeth, the only one there who could deliver the gospel, was me. In her last moments, I did not know how to try to convince my mother of something that I was not even certain about myself. I would not let her dying thoughts be that her only son was a fool. I could not do it. I did not do it.

Why don't you try carrying something like that around for a year and a half, and see how open YOU are to accepting the Bible?

Hey, Here's an Idea

2007-01-30T11:58:00.000-08:00

I know January is almost over and all, but maybe for a New Year's resolution, how about not sending anymore emails when I'm in a bad mood? Especially to people who have nothing to do with why I'm upset in the first place. Done that at least four times this month already. For example, if a professor happens to move the due date for a project that I haven't even started yet from the next week to the next day, and I don't have nor can I possibly get the components I need in time... maybe that's not the best time to fire off a response to the ex-girlfriend. Live and learn I suppose.

While I'm on the subject of discretion, in the past two weeks, I have learned of a couple who has recently started dating, a couple who is engaged, and a couple who is pregnant. Since I don't have any idea who knows what, and it's not my place to say, I have not said a word to anyone about any of these. I just want to say that if anyone has anything they would like to share with my 3 or 4 regular readers, feel free to comment.

Former (Living Room) Rockstar

2007-01-19T11:55:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, what about the cliffhanger? I needed a break from these epic multi-day posts. Especially on that topic. Some of this may yet prove relevent anyway.

I wanted to go back to the musical incident mentioned here. First of all, I am quite surprised that I had time for all that to be going through my head, given my tendency to shut down when put on the spot. But then again, for all I know, it may have been ten minutes between the request and my final answer. In that time, it was even suggested that I just play the music and leave off the words. (It occured to me today that I have actually done that once before... in South Africa of all places.) I neglected to mention in my other post that I had been about to simply ask for requests, and that if anyone in the room had managed to come up with the title of one of my songs I would try my hardest to play it. Ultimately though, I was much more concerned with what might be unleashed. [Click, click.]

[By the way: yes, that was an intentional slam on two of my former girlfriends. Why didn't you ever ask me to play? But even as I ask the question, I know the answer. They had heard me play, and let's face it, when it comes to music, my ego far outweighs my talent. Even so, if you should happen to date a musician in the future, especially one with some kind of regular performance, I'm sure it would mean a lot to him (or her) if you actually went to see them play. Even if it meant changing your schedule. Just saying.]

I actually did have a few non-original songs practiced and ready for just such an occasion, but that wasn't what was asked for now was it? Anyway, in the following days and weeks, I brought a number of my old songs back out of the closet, just in case. You know, some of the songs that aren't in the key of Em. (I'm good at preparing for situations that have already past, aren't I?)

I have discovered some interesting things. One of the biggest surprises to me is "The Saddest Song." That song had an interesting history. I believe I wrote the lyrics first, then set them to music. I quickly realized that while the lyrics were (as you might expect) sad, the music was really more angry. So I separated the two. To the angry music, I attached a phrase that had been kicking around in my head for awhile, "Wasting the best years of my life." Due to (rather ironic) laziness, that song has actually only ever been referred to by the first word of its intended title. Never the less, it took on a life of its own, arguably becoming (if Less is More could be described as a one-hit-wonder), the one hit. For the original "Saddest Song" lyrics, I wrote some simple music to fill the void, but that song really never went anywhere. I remember one time my bass player specifically asked if that song actually existed, for I guess it appeared on my "in progress" list, but never came out in a jam session... ever. In recent days, however, I find I actually quite like it. The music is undeniably basic, the words aren't much better (one of the verses still makes me think, "Was that the best you could come up with?") But hey, less is more, no?

On the opposite side of the spectrum, there is one called "The Last Time", which was the only song to emerge from my Phoenix era. Holy crap, that song is creeeepyyy. No wonder I hated Phoenix. I can't even play it through without thinking, "Yeah... nevermind," and stopping. I actually don't even remember how all of it goes, and that really doesn't bother me.

There are several other fine choices as well. I could go on and on. I can't help it, I really like my own music. [The ego thing.] To be candid, there are a few songs that have actually been out of the closet for awhile. Some that have had a chance to be resurrected in Garageband, although most of this has been unfruitful. And my favorite of the bunch is a song called "Shades of Gray", which was the last one I wrote before this all began, and technically never went into the closet with the others at all... I've secretly kept it in my active repertoire the whole time.

So maybe I'm more ready now. But remember the rules: I have to have a guitar in my hands when you ask.

Well, That Sucks

2007-01-07T22:49:00.000-08:00

For some reason, I was thinking earlier today that my biggest flaw is that I am utterly incapable of thinking on my feet. I will agree to just about anything if caught sufficiently off-guard. This has been especially problematic in financial matters. (It costs HOW much? Gee... I guess I'll just pay that then...) Another aspect that I realized today is that it also prevents me from having really meaningful conversations. I can't answer a question that I have not thought about in advance and am prepared to talk about. Often, I can't even answer about a topic that I have given thought if the question simply isn't asked in quite the right way. Regarding something I said a couple of posts back some one told me that it wasn't their fault that I never mentioned stepping on a bee, that I had plenty of opportunity. And that's true. That anecdote was actually meant as a criticism of the general lack-of-giving-a-crap attitude that I felt in the group, myself included. I wasn't trying to say that I was right and the problem was with everyone else. In fact, in that specific instance the only reason I even mentioned it here on the blog was because, strange it it may seem, I had actually forgotten about it earlier and somehow happened to think of it while writing that post. I digress. My point was, when asked a question that I am not prepared for, for some reason my brain just shuts off and I can only give some vague response, often no more than a single word. I think there was a time when I actually prided myself on this, in a Yeah, I'm mysterious, what are you going to do kind of way. Now I realize that I'm not vague in a conscious effort to hide anything (usually). I'm only vague because I am a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad communicator. And I want to change that now but I don't know how.

I mentioned in some post awhile back that I was envious of someone else's deep theological conversation. I see now that this is why I never manage to get into those myself. I can't engage in any kind of deep conversation, because I get completely derailed whenever someone introduces a point I had not considered. I like to consider various perspectives and yet I simply can not do it on the fly. In another recent post, I was listing reasons that I do not participate in group discussions, then a couple of days later I added that it also takes me too long think of responses.
I meant it as a bit of a joke, but I think that it is much truer than I initially realized.

So, that sucks. That is my number one flaw. And now that I see it, what can I even do about it? Is it actually possible to develop the ability to think on the fly if one does not already have it?
How am I ever supposed to be a missionary if I am unable to engage people in conversation?

By the end of the day I realized, "Wait, I have a better one." How about the fact that my brain is fricken' wired backwards? When I get upset about something my response is generally to withdraw and not talk about it. Well, first of all, this must be difficult to notice at all, because, as I just finished describing, my non-upset response is also to not talk about things. Even so, there are some people who do know me well enough to recognise the withdrawing part and realize that something is wrong. Their response usually seems to be to assume that I need space and that I will talk about it when I'm ready. Which seems a perfectly reasonable assumption, it just happens to be dead wrong. Because not only is something bothering me, but then I also perceive that nobody cares, and very quickly spiral further into depression. I'm not going to talk about it when I'm ready. I'm going to talk about it when you show me that YOU are ready to enter the dark world of my private thoughts. People have there own problems and I don't want to dump mine on anyone who doesn't ask for it. So I don't get many takers there. (And the ones that do are often more psychotic than I am).

Immediately prior to becoming a Christian, I got really mad at a friend of mine. I honestly don't remember what it was about. (Which is strange in itself, because it generally takes a lot of effort to really piss me off.) I flat out stopped talking to her, which was blatantly obvious given that we were working together at the time. Then God turned my world completely upside down. One of the first things I realized was that I ought to try to repair some of my existing relationships. So I apologized to my friend. She basically accepted my apology and was glad to be able to resume telling me about whatever was going on in her life, and never bothered to ask why I stopped talking to her in the first place. That pissed me off anew, but since I was in apologizing mode, I felt that I had to suck that one up as well. Apparently it's just not unusual for me to give someone the cold shoulder for three weeks without any explanation.

So what did I mean by the brain wired backwards? I need time to think when I'm in the middle of conversation, but when I get upset and apparently signal that I want time alone, it's actually the last thing I need.

At this point I'm tempted to pout my lips and say, "Awww, is poor timoth upset because his little attention-getting games don't work?" See, this is why I loath myself.

Hope

2006-05-06T22:36:00.000-07:00

In my Bible study a few weeks ago, we discussed how the word "hope" has different meanings for Christians and non-believers. For Christians, "hope" is a guarantee; something that you know is going to happen. For non-believers, it is really quite the opposite. "Hope" is something that you want to happen, but it is not at all certain. In fact, it generally implies that this thing is more likely to NOT happen.

How did this difference occur? I can only imagine that it came from repeatedly hoping for things that did not come to pass. I think I can speak for cynics everywhere to say that hope only leads to disappointment and regret. That is, of course, the hope for things that will not be. If you always hope for true things, you will never be disappointed.

It has been a source of great vexation to me that both my own experience and my understanding of the Bible lead me to the conclusion that God does not really give a flying noodle what I want. Oh, there are some verses here and there that would seem to suggest otherwise, and some fringe theologians have built entire ministries off of that, but I think that those who really study the Bible would agree with me, though they would obviously spin it quite differently.

Anyway, why should He care, really? When what I want and what I feel changes from day to day, moment to moment? I keep wanting to think that my feelings mean something, and that the things that are important to me might be important to someone else. But I am constantly reminded that they do not, are not. Ultimately, they can not, because in order for what I want and what I feel right now to be significant, to be "true," I would also have to admit that what I used to want and feel are just as valid. But in most cases, they are not.

An eternal God sees my yesterday in exactly the same way that He sees my tomorrow. What possible importance can my desires du jour have? But for me, who has no choice other than to live one day at a time, nothing could be more important.

I Had Such Hopes...
I have a journal in which I write even less often than I blog, but I have been using it for the past few days to write some notes in. Today, I happened to read what was on the first page. Written during my church group's summer retreat last year, it was a list of issues that I was struggling with at that time. The shocking thing was that I could easily make an identical list today. How can this be? Has really nothing changed, at all? What in the world have I been doing for the last year?

I have not been literally sitting around doing nothing. There have been struggles, ups and downs, disappointments and new hopes; but all the while I had the ultimate hope that I was on a path that was leading in a positive direction. Yet here I am, in exactly the same place. All of my searching has led nowhere, all of my hopes have been in vain.

And yet, foolish as it seems, I still dare to hope that God will come through, that love will come through. Honestly, that is why Sundays have become so distasteful. I start every Sunday morning with such hope, but by the end of the day, I am always left broken again.