Wednesday was a good day. I needed some time off campus. The drama was suffocating me. I met Sarah at Barnes and Nobles, and we drank coffee and chatted for five hours. She ordered an iced caramel macchiato (my favorite), and I tried a pumpkin spice iced latte (very good, I plan on getting it again sometime this weekend). We talked about everything and nothing: school, movies, addictions, depression, and lots about Christianity & Culture, and how the individualism of Protestantism has oftentimes lost the communal nature of Christianity. I spent the night at my friend Isaac’s apartment; from his back porch, you can see all of Cincinnati sprawled out before you. It was a cozy place. We hung out and talked lots about church, theology, Pauline studies and how essential it is to know how to interpret the Bible before actually reading it; because of the danger of reading the Bible without knowing how to interpret it, it’s easier and safer for Christians to read books by Max Lucado and authors of that nature. Thursday I worked at the Hilltop with Andrew, Kirby, and Katie. Andrew is my favorite supervisor to work with, he's really laid-back and jokes around all the time; Kirby is always fun, her awkwardness makes me hit the floor laughing many times; and while I don't know Katie very well, we found ourselves in playful fights the entire evening, and Andrew kiddingly kept exclaiming, "Stop fighting! I will not have Kirby working in such a hostile environment!" Good times.
From the moment I made the resolution to deal with certain things in my life, life itself became overwhelmingly complicated. Within the first 24 hours I nearly had an emotional breakdown, but after some time praying, things got much better. It seems that everything from my past—my regrets, my sins, my dark skeletons—is being dredged from the depths of my subconscious and flashed before my eyes. I can’t escape it. Everywhere I go, around every corner I turn, there it is, a great neon sign blinking it cataclysmic letters: DO YOU REMEMBER?! I clench my fists, close my eyes, take deep breaths, fight. My legs grow weak, I need support, I become flustered, the world spins. The sign grows larger and larger in my mind until it’s all I can see, and little voices scream obscenities and dark lies, masked ogres parading in my own mind. I drop to my knees and tears crawl down my face, and I plead with God to help me through the nightmare—and the ogres vanish, the vile shrieks silence, the sign fades into nothing, and my mind is clear and cool. I take a deep breath, stand, feel my heart beating in my chest. One foot in front of the other. I knew this would happen. The enemy knows how to play this game. I just didn’t expect him to be this vaulted against me. Maybe he knows something I don’t?
All of this drama makes me want to pack my bags and leave. I keep remembering Alaska: how peaceful and serene it was, how beautiful, how my problems seemed to fade into the background. I want to just move to Alaska and start a new life; but then again, that’s just escapism. It’s me saying, “I don’t want to deal with any of this. I want to leave it all behind me.” But, as I told my friend Katie, I am a walking baggage train: all of the baggage that manifests itself here won’t be left on the Holy Hill. It would follow me all the way to Alaska. Granted, moving to Alaska is just wishful thinking; but it does make a point: It would be easier to try to abandon my problems and not work through them, but that would never succeed, so I need to work through my problems. Open, shut, closed case.
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